Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

Lin Yuan turned and glanced at him. Matt was sitting on the kitchen threshold, wearing that wrinkled white T-shirt, a can of cola on his lap, his hair still messy, and his eyes still dark circles. He looked no different from usual—a rich kid who stayed up all night playing games and lived on potato chips and energy drinks. But when he said, "Make the afternoon free," there was not a trace of hesitation in his tone.

"Thanks," Lin Yuan said.

"No need to thank me. You cook, I do the chores. Fair enough." Matt stood up, glanced into the pot, and said, "Beef and potatoes stew, is it ready to eat now?"

A large plate of stewed beef with potatoes was served.

The beef chunks were stewed until tender, trembling slightly when picked up with chopsticks. The first sensation in the mouth was the salty-sweet sauce, followed by the rich, fatty flavor of the beef itself; it melted in the mouth after a few chews. The potatoes were thoroughly stewed, coated in a thick broth, and had a soft, sandy texture inside. The carrots, with their slight sweetness, elevated the overall flavor of the dish to another level.

Matt ate three bowls of rice.

At the end of the meal, he used a spoon to scrape the remaining broth from the bottom of the plate, poured it over his fourth bowl of rice, mixed it well, and ate it bite by bite. His expression was as devout as if he were performing a religious service.

"We'll finish filming on Wednesday," he mumbled, his mouth full of food, "and then we'll make this again when we get back."

"OK."

"Can we have that braised beef tomorrow?"

"It can be eaten tomorrow."

"What about oxtail soup?"

"It can be tomorrow too. The longer the soup simmers, the better."

Matt nodded, finished the last bite of his meal, put down his bowl, leaned back in his chair, folded his hands in front of his stomach, and closed his eyes. His expression was one of deep satisfaction.

Lin Yuan divided the remaining potato and beef stew into two portions. One portion was packed into a thermal container to take to Robert tomorrow. The other portion was sealed with plastic wrap and put in the refrigerator to eat the day after tomorrow. The heat in the braising pot was turned off. The beef shank continued to soak in the braising liquid, the lid tightly closed. Tomorrow morning, it would be taken out and sliced, becoming the braised beef that Matt had been waiting for almost two weeks. The oxtail soup was still on the stove, the heat turned down to the lowest setting, the soup barely moving, with only an occasional bubble rising to the surface, bursting and releasing a hint of ginger and bone aroma. It had been simmering since morning, and the broth had turned milky white, with a thin layer of glistening oil floating on the surface. Tomorrow, it would be reheated, with white pepper and chopped green onions added, making a bowl of warm and comforting soup.

He cleaned the kitchen thoroughly. He wiped the stove, washed the pots, and hung the cutting board to dry by the window. After putting everything back in its place, he stood in the middle of the kitchen, inhaling the lingering aroma of braised food and the rich flavor of beef bone broth.

He picked up his phone and sent a message to Robert.

"Professor, I'll reshoot the forging scene next Wednesday. I've asked my roommate to help with the camera, so the camera angle and lighting issues should be resolved."

Robert's reply came faster than expected.

"Okay. Let me know when you're done filming."

Just as Lin Yuan was about to put down his phone, the screen lit up again.

"By the way, my wife asked me to ask you if you could make an extra portion of the braised pork."

Lin Yuan smiled and typed: I'll bring it tomorrow. Also, there's beef stew with potatoes and oxtail soup.

The other side remained silent for a few seconds.

What time will you arrive?

"Ten o'clock."

"Okay. I'll wait at the workshop."

Lin Yuan placed his phone on the table and turned off the kitchen light. The sound of Matt playing games drifted from the hallway; the keyboard clattered loudly, occasionally punctuated by a low curse—he'd probably lost another ranked game. The smell of potato chips wafted in through the crack in the door, mingling with the lingering aroma of braised food in the kitchen, creating a peculiar olfactory combination—like the nest of a gamer invaded by delicious food.

He returned to his room and sat on the edge of the bed.

The system panel expands automatically.

[Forging Skill: Expert (8950/10000)]

Main Quest: Embark on the Journey. Progress: Audition video in production.

The side quest "Do a Good Deed Every Day" has been completed. Rewards are pending.

He glanced at the number and closed the panel. Not far off. A few more days of practice, and without waiting for the preliminary rounds, he could reach the master level simply through normal forging experience. But the system's rewards weren't just experience points—the blueprint for Cloud Pattern Steel and the special skill of Stacked Fire Forging were things he couldn't acquire through training alone. He had to pass the preliminary rounds.

He lay down and stared at the ceiling.

Reshoots on Wednesday. Matt will be in charge of the camera. The picture quality should be fine.

He closed his eyes and mentally reviewed the forging process—from ignition to quenching, every step, every camera position, where Matt needed to stand, and the trajectory of the camera movement. After going through it all, he turned over and went to sleep.

-----------------

On Sunday evening, Lin Yuan returned from the workshop at almost ten o'clock.

He spent the entire afternoon in the workshop, reshooting the forging scene twice. The first take was still a bit tense; he could feel it himself when watching the playback—his shoulders weren't hunched as much as last week, but the rhythm of the hammer strikes was too fast, as if someone was urging him on from behind.

He rested for half an hour, drank a can of Coke, took Robert's 1095 hunting knife off the wall and examined it again, then set up his camera and took a second picture. This time it was right. The rhythm of the hammer falling was his own rhythm, unhurried and unpretentious, each strike landing precisely where it was meant to.

He imported the footage into his computer, did some rough editing, and only after confirming that the video and audio were fine did he pack up and leave. By the time he left, it was completely dark. All the windows in the row of teaching buildings were dark, except for two streetlights in the parking lot, whose orange light shone on the gravel ground, casting halos of light.

When Lin Yuan returned to the dormitory, the hallway was unusually quiet. There were no game sound effects, no keyboard sounds, and the TV wasn't on. Lin Yuan took out his keys to open the door, but the door opened from the inside.

A girl walked out from inside.

She had blonde hair tied in a low ponytail, with a few stray strands falling across her face. She was beautiful, the kind of beauty that would make you take a second look. But something was off about her clothes—only the top two buttons of her shirt were fastened, the collar was open, revealing a section of her collarbone, and the hem was tucked out from under her skirt, hanging wrinkled on her body.

She glanced at Lin Yuan, her gaze lingering on his face for less than a second, then turned and walked past him, her high heels clicking on the corridor floor, disappearing into the distance at the top of the stairs.

Lin Yuan recognized her.

Katherine Bryan. A celebrity on campus, the founder and core figure of a small feminist group, who frequently organizes rallies on the lawn in front of the student council building, holding signs and giving speeches through a megaphone.

Lin Yuan had seen her a few times on campus, and each time Matt pulled him to take a detour. Matt once said, "The way that woman looked at me was like she was looking at a goose waiting to be plucked."

The door closed behind me.

Lin Yuan walked into the living room. Matt was sitting on the sofa, in the same posture as usual—slouching, a bag of potato chips on his lap, the TV on but muted. But his T-shirt was on backwards, the seams showing. His hair was messier than usual, as if someone had grabbed it.