The Ferryman's eyes were saucers of shock, his mouth agape as if to catch falling stars from the disbelief that wrapped around him. Before him stood Wang Xuan, who had sliced through celestial threads with an air of nonchalance, as if severing the fates decreed by the heavens were but child's play. The young man's previous finickiness, his unabashed bluntness—it was all a meticulously orchestrated ruse to secure the most exceptional "bait" before daring the grand act of snapping the line that tethered an artifact of the moon. 2

But the most shocking revelation for the Ferryman was the extraordinary sharpness of the short sword in Wang Xuan's grip. He had long surmised the fishing line was of extraordinary make, etched with innumerable symbols of resilience, far surpassing the sturdiness of his own fishing line, and thought to be indestructible. Yet now, it lay severed.0

Wang Xuan perched on the bamboo raft, his silhouette etched against the moonlit sky, short sword in hand as if it were an extension of his own will. The line that had proven more formidable than even sun gold, woven with the essence of the Dao, was clearly a treasure beyond comparison.0

The Ferryman's gaze intensified, his thoughts reeling. Had this young man overstepped? After claiming the bait, it seemed he was poised to slice through the fishing line itself. The Ferryman half-expected Wang Xuan to inquire next if he intended to yank down the fishing rod—or perhaps even the moon's fisherman himself.3

With the stone tablet no longer anchoring it, the celestial line danced whimsically in the night breeze, its crystalline thread glinting with symbols, emanating a profound aura of the Dao.0

Wang Xuan's hands moved through the air, hovering...1