He Xuan's hand snaps out and catches the fish in his own hand, where it wiggles. The nail on his other hand grows longer, sharper, as he quickly and precisely spikes the fish brain so that it dies and goes still. Then he works on pulling the hook from the mouth.

"They taste better if you kill them quickly," he says, lest Shen Yuan dare to think him humane. He tosses the fish in the cooler bucket beside him, to be gutted later. His fingers are back to normal, barely even bloodied by that bare-handed kill.

"Well done, xiandi," he says. "You're very accomplished for your first time. You'll have to get your own fishing pole."