Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

He spent eight days going through the basics of heat treatment from beginning to end.

From normalizing, annealing, spheroidizing annealing, quenching to tempering, each process was compared using more than a dozen different combinations of process parameters.

The curve showing the effect of quenching cooling rate on hardness, the hardness decay law at different tempering temperatures, and the transition layer and interface bonding formed by carbon migration between two types of steel in composite forging—he knew all of this before. The knowledge he gained in university classes and the practical experience he gained in the workshop were enough to arrive at a correct result.

But now he is no longer pursuing what is "right".

"Correct" means meeting the standards, conforming to the standard process taught in the textbook, and conforming to the judgment criteria passed down from generation to generation by experienced craftsmen.

The finished product is flawless, but once you get to this point, you realize that you've only been following in the footsteps of those who came before you. You haven't made any mistakes, but you've only been replicating their experiences.

The difference between "correct" and "excellent" lies in the step of transforming passive execution into proactive creation.

He began to stop simply following the process flow chart and instead made his own judgments and fine-tuning of each process parameter.

He will adjust the tempering temperature, holding time, and cooling speed according to the actual situation of each steel billet, rather than following a fixed formula.

Beyond "excellence" lies another level he is exploring but has not yet fully reached—the ability to integrate all theories, skills, and experiences into his very being, transforming them into something deeper than muscle memory and instinctive reactions. Just as a person raises their arm to shield their face, this action requires no thought, originating from a deeper part of the body and brain, and is closer to some kind of innate instinct.

He could feel himself walking in that direction.

What propelled him forward were three things: the modern metalworking theory he learned in university classrooms, the family forging techniques that his father had taught him for nearly ten years in front of the forge in Longquan, the skills bestowed upon him by the system—tempering spirit, stacking fire forging, and the cloud-patterned steel that had not yet been unlocked.

Theory provides an understanding of the essence.

It's not just about knowing "how to do it," but about understanding "why to do it this way"—why the transformation of austenite to martensite during quenching must be completed in which temperature range, how the decomposition of martensite during tempering affects the balance of hardness and toughness, and whether the effects of different alloying elements on the CCT curve shift the incubation period to the left or right.

Inherited skills provide practical experience that cannot be learned from textbooks. For example, how to judge whether a steel billet has been heated evenly by touch, or how to determine which part of the billet has not been forged enough by hearing the echo of the hammer.

The special skills granted by the system are like filling the tiny gap between theory and practice with molten steel, turning them into a whole.

Three lines, twisted into one.

Lin Yuan felt that he was climbing to a higher level in forging skills, with a more solid foundation under his feet and a vision that could see further.

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He did not stay in the workshop in the afternoon.

The official notification from the production team has arrived. The competition will be filmed at a film studio in Atlanta. Check-in time is 2 PM on the weekend, and the competition will start on Monday and last for three days.

The competition is an elimination format, with a fixed topic for each round. There are limitations on materials, craftsmanship, and time. The completed knives must be reviewed by the judges and subjected to a violent test.

He made a list of things he needed to bring to the competition.

He packed two sets of clothes, a lab notebook and pen, a thermos, and a phone charger. Then he opened the system's storage compartment, took out the apprentice's forging tools, and placed them along with the leather bundle and other luggage.

He took out the forging hammer separately.

When he first got the tool set, he just thought it was easy to use and regarded it as a high-quality piece of equipment, like changing to a handy weapon in a game. The attributes would be better than the blank version, but it was still essentially a numerical bonus.

Now he could see where the precision and craftsmanship of this hammer lay—the center of gravity of the hammerhead was precisely calculated; it wasn't just a matter of randomly finding a center of gravity, hammering an iron rod to the end, and then attaching a hammerhead.

The position about three-tenths of the way forward, where the center of gravity is positioned, has undergone repeated trials and adjustments. A little more would be too aggressive, and a little less would be too soft. These seemingly insignificant details are often the important markers that distinguish an ordinary craftsman from a true master.

The dragon head emblem on the hammerhead is more than just decoration.

If the hammerhead is heated to a certain temperature, the emblem will turn bright red, as if it is spitting flames.

This is a very practical design – the hammer head temperature needs to be checked frequently during the forging process to prevent the hammer head from overheating and causing a decrease in hardness.

With this temperature indicator function, there's no need to stop and test the temperature of the hammer head with the back of your hand, or rely on experience to judge.

He slowly ran his finger along the inscription on the hammer handle.

FORGED IN FLAME, TEMPERED ON ANVIL.

Bathed in the flames of war, forged on the anvil of battle.

Each letter is deeply engraved, with clean edges and no burrs.

He put the hammer back into the leather pouch, rolled it up, secured it with a brass buckle, and placed it next to his backpack.

Then he walked out of the room.

Matt was sprawled on the sofa, holding a can of Coke, while a trailer for a new game was playing on the TV.

He glanced at Lin Yuan as he came out of the room and noticed that most of the things that were haphazardly piled on the sofa had disappeared, and the empty soda cans and leftover potato chip bags on the coffee table were also gone.

"You tidied up?" Lin Yuan looked at the much tidier living room and was a little surprised.

"Hmm." Matt took a sip of his Coke, his tone flat but his face showing an expression that said, "It's no big deal." "You're leaving tomorrow, right? I thought it would annoy you to see the living room so messy, so I tidied it up a bit."

Lin Yuan looked at him for a while.

Matt Wayne, a guy who even texts his roommate to ask which drawer he keeps his socks.

Thanks.

"No need to thank me." Matt sat up a little on the sofa, placed the Coke can on the coffee table, and asked, "How's your preparation for the competition going?"

"good."

"What does 'it's alright' mean?"

"It's alright." Lin Yuan sat down at the other end of the sofa, leaned back against the sofa back, and stared at the ceiling. The water stain on the ceiling, shaped like a bird with outstretched wings, was still in the same place. "I've practiced everything I needed to. We'll talk about the rest at the competition venue."

Are you nervous?

Lin Yuan thought for a moment.

"A little."

Matt turned to look at him.

This answer was clearly unexpected—in his impression, Lin Yuan was always confident in everything he did. He never messed up when cooking, he didn't even need to look at the blueprints when repairing the grinder, and every hammer blow landed steadily and firmly when forging iron.

He thought the word "nervous" had nothing to do with Lin Yuan.