novelraw Chapter 141: At Eighty, I’d Still Slap Myself for This
Chapter 141: At Eighty, I’d Still Slap Myself for This
Leon watched as Lewis held a calendar in one hand and a pen in the other, circling dates and jotting things down. Curious, he leaned over for a closer look.
To his surprise, Lewis first marked all the traditional festivals in Stardew Valley. Only after that did he begin noting down the birthdays of Pelican Town residents, writing the names of the birthday celebrants. But even though Stardew Valley had plenty of residents, Lewis only wrote six names.
“All right, here you go.” Lewis capped the pen and handed the calendar to Leon with a reminder.
“Why only six? And why are they all girls about my age?” Leon asked, exasperated.
“Because my pen ran out of ink,” Lewis replied matter-of-factly. “I’ll add the rest next time.”
“When’s next time?” Leon pressed.
“Next time is next time. Anyway, I’m heading over to Marnie’s. If it rains later, the road through the Coal Forest will be a mess.” With that, Lewis swaggered off, leaving Leon standing there with the calendar.
Leon sighed.
Grumbling aside, he understood what Lewis meant. Some things just couldn’t be forced.
Even in fishing, you had to bait the spot first—how much more so with feelings? Especially since Leon was determined to become the most devoted man in Stardew Valley, this wasn’t something to rush.He tucked the calendar into his System Backpack and wandered over to the riverbank near Willow Lane No. 1 and No. 2. Spotting a right-angled slope in the stone embankment, he began setting up for fishing.
His bait was fermented dough mixed with a special additive: bug meat dropped by the insects in the mines.
It looked disgusting, but it wasn’t particularly foul-smelling—just strongly fishy. Perfect for luring fish.
He tore off a small piece, hooked it, and cast his line into the water, where bubbles rose lazily in the humid air before the rain.
Sitting cross-legged on the stone slope, Leon eyed the one-meter drop from the embankment to the water. It was clearly a reinforced section of the riverbank. He found himself wondering: if he pulled out a Cherry Bomb, lit it, and tossed it in, would it blow this section apart?
That morning, he had seriously considered fishing with a Cherry Bomb. The game didn’t allow it, but in reality, there were no such limits. Still, he worried about damaging the embankment, so he hesitated.
He was debating whether to test it in a more remote stretch of river when his fishing rod suddenly bent into a deep arc. If not for the bamboo rod’s excellent flexibility, it might have snapped.
Realizing he’d hooked a big one, Leon quickly stood and worked the reel, pulling in the opposite direction of the fish’s frantic thrashing.
But this was no ordinary catch. It was powerful and agile, darting back and forth in the water, trying to dive into snag-filled areas. Leon could feel the extra drag each time it neared underwater obstacles.
Fortunately, both his rod and line were top quality, and he had enough strength to keep the situation under control, holding the fish within his line’s maximum range.
For five or six minutes they fought, until the fish began to tire. Feeling the pull weaken, Leon reeled in quickly.
When the line was halfway in, he caught sight of the unlucky glutton: a black, whiskered shape.
It was his rainy-day target—catfish.
Sensing danger, the exhausted catfish made one last desperate surge. Leon, caught off guard with the drag loose, saw the fish strip all the line from his reel again. Recovering fast, he regained control, continuing to reel in even during the struggle, fearing the line might snap from prolonged tension.
This was a massive catfish—what fishing enthusiasts called a trophy fish. If it got away, he’d regret it so much that even at eighty, he’d slap himself for the mistake.
But the catfish’s final stand lasted barely twenty seconds. Then it went limp, and Leon reeled it in with steady hands, finally dragging it ashore.
It was huge—at least 1.2 meters by his estimate. No wonder it had fought so hard.
Covered in slime, it was slippery to handle. After making sure no one was around, Leon quietly stored it in his System Backpack.
First catch of the day, and it was a giant catfish. Leon was in high spirits. His custom bait had truly proven its worth, making all his trouble worthwhile.
To get the dough and bug meat to blend perfectly, he’d chopped the bug meat by hand and kneaded it into the dough himself. He wasn’t the only one who suffered—the Galaxy Watermelon Knife had taken the brunt of the messy work.
He only had one kitchen knife for cooking. Even if he could clean it afterward, the thought of using it on bug meat would ruin his appetite. So, the Galaxy Watermelon Knife had been sacrificed for the job.
Judging by today’s results, both he and the knife had not labored in vain. At least the catfish loved it.
Tearing off another chunk of bait, he hooked it and cast again, settling back into his cross-legged position to watch the bobber.
“I thought you were Willy. Turns out it’s you. So, it’s going to rain, and you’re not busy on the farm today?”
As he waited, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t even need to turn around—he recognized Haley’s voice instantly.
“Yeah. What about you? How are you up so early?” Leon glanced at his watch. It was just after seven. Most young people without work would still be snug in bed at this hour.
“It’s too stuffy inside,” Haley explained. She crouched beside him, eyeing his setup. Aside from the rod in his hands, there was nothing else. “You didn’t bring a fish box?”