"Are these mesh holes too big?" Wang Hao squatted by the ice hole, his fingers, reddened by the cold, hooked into the coarse hemp rope on the edge of the fishing net. "I reckon a half-catty fish could slip right through."
The cold air from the river surface crept up his pant legs, freezing his knees stiff.
Qu Qiaoliang was busy scattering pine branches on the ice to prevent slipping. Hearing this, he let out a scoff, his breath instantly condensing into frost: "Do you think we're scooping dumplings? The silver carp in this reservoir are at least an arm's length long!"
Chapter 95