Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

The line immediately fell into disarray.

The few people who were originally in line were pushed to the side, and the newcomers surged to the long table. The noise grew louder, not from anger, but from urgency—the kind of urgency one feels after being hungry all day and knowing that the food is almost gone.

"Is there anything else?"

"How many sandwiches are left?"

"Where's the milk? Is there any milk left?"

Someone reached for the tray on the table, their fingers touching the stainless steel edge with a clinking sound.

Emily straightened up and raised her voice slightly: "Please line up—everyone, please line up and come in order—"

Nobody listened to her. People who had just gotten off work were hungry and tired; all they could see was the food on the table. It wasn't malicious; it was instinct.

Lin Yuan stepped forward, shielding Emily behind him. He didn't speak, but simply placed his hand on the edge of the table, his gaze sweeping over the few people crowded at the front. The movement was small, but his shoulder perfectly blocked Emily's view.

The chubby policeman poked his head in through the doorway, glanced at the chaotic scene inside, cursed "Jesus," put his coffee cup on the steps, and squeezed into the crowd. He was big enough, with shoulders almost as wide as the door frame, and a loud voice.

"Everyone, step back! Line up! Come in order!"

After a few words, the crowd managed to form a crooked line, but they still craned their necks to look ahead and kept shuffling their toes on the ground.

The food was indeed running out. Sandwiches were being dwindling, and only a few cartons of milk remained. Those at the back of the line began to get impatient, muttering something under their breath, their voices slurred and their tone growing increasingly harsh.

Just then, Lin Yuan noticed something.

---

The relief station staff—not Emily, but three other people who regularly help out there, two men and one woman, all around forty years old and wearing church name tags—were not distributing food.

They are looking at a little girl.

The girl was about eleven or twelve years old. Her light brown hair was tied up messily at the back of her head, with stray hairs escaping from the hair tie and sticking to her cheeks and neck.

She was wearing a gray T-shirt that was clearly two sizes too big, with the neckline hanging loosely on her collarbone. Her exposed arms were as thin as two tree branches, with protruding elbows, like an unpolished wooden sculpture.

She stood quietly in the middle of the line, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes fixed on the ground. She didn't look up, didn't glance around, and didn't make a sound.

She had been waiting in line for almost twenty minutes.

Those people were talking in hushed tones.

"Only three left." The woman crossed her arms and gestured towards the little girl with her lips. She wore a dark purple cardigan, and her hair was styled in tight, tight curls that clung to her scalp. "For her?"

"Give it to her," said a bearded man in a low voice. His beard was unevenly trimmed, longer on the left than the right. "Look at her like that, do you think she can be saved?"

"It's hopeless," the third person chimed in. This man was tall and thin, wearing a baseball cap pulled low so his eyes were obscured. "They robbed you as soon as you stepped out the door. Last time, that old man with the bad leg got his food and had just turned the corner when someone pinned him to the ground; his face was scraped raw."

"This girl is even thinner than that old man. I think it's unlikely."

"Want to make a bet?" The woman smiled, not a friendly smile, but the kind of smile that comes from finding a bit of amusement. "I bet she won't make it out of this street. Ten bucks."

"I bet she can keep one share," the bearded man said. "She definitely won't keep either."

"You have a kind heart," the woman said with a hint of sarcasm.

"It's not that she's kind-hearted, it's that she runs fast. Look at her legs." The bearded man gestured towards the little girl with his chin. "That girl must have trained in track and field before; she still has calf muscles."

"No matter how fast she runs, can she outrun those guys?" The woman gestured towards the door with her chin.

Lin Yuan followed her gaze.

At the entrance of the relief station, several homeless men sat leaning against the wall. Three men were present: one older, with gray hair, wearing a dirty military green jacket; the other two were younger, one with scars on his arm, and the other wearing a tattered fisherman's hat. They seemed to be doing nothing, as if simply sunbathing, but their eyes were elsewhere.

It all comes down to that little girl.

It wasn't an overt stare, but a subtle, almost imperceptible gaze peeking out from the corner of their eyes. Like a pack of animals waiting for their prey to emerge from their den, they were silent, but every muscle was taut.

The little girl clearly sensed it too. Her shoulders were tense, her shoulder blades protruding sharply beneath her T-shirt, and her hands gripped the hem of the T-shirt tightly, her knuckles white. But she didn't leave the group, nor did she look back.

Lin Yuan's hand tightened on the edge of the table, his fingertips pressing against the cold stainless steel edge.

"—Want to gamble?" the bearded man asked again, pulling a crumpled ten-yuan note from his pocket and folding it between his fingers.

"I bet. I'm betting she'll get a beating, but she won't die," the man in the baseball cap said.

"Then I'll bet—"

"What are you talking about?"

Emily's voice suddenly rang out. It wasn't loud, but it was very clear.

She stood at the other end of the long table, her empty plate already set down. The stainless steel tray sat on the table, crumbs from sandwiches still clinging to its edge. Her face was expressionless, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the three people—not glaring, but staring, a relentless, unblinking stare that revealed every single change in their expression.

The three of them paused for a moment, then looked at each other.

"It's nothing, just kidding," the bearded man said first, chuckling. The smile lingered for two seconds before vanishing. He stuffed the ten yuan back into his pocket. "Just chatting."

"I heard you," Emily interrupted him.

Her voice didn't rise, nor did it tremble. Each word was like a nail driven into the ground, unwavering. For the first time, Lin Yuan realized that this girl, who usually spoke softly, possessed a completely different aura when she was angry—not the hysterical kind, but a chillingly quiet kind. Like a lake in winter, the surface still, but the bottom icy.

The bearded man opened his mouth but couldn't say anything. His beard twitched, like a stranded fish.

Emily walked over to the little girl.

Her steps were slow but steady, the straps of her apron swaying gently behind her. She didn't look at the three staff members as she passed them. The woman in purple took a half-step back.

The little girl looked up.

Her eyes were grayish-green, large, and appeared even larger set in her thin face.

It wasn't fear, but something more complex—vigilance. Not just for Emily, but for everyone.

Lin Yuan had seen that look before. Back in Longquan, stray dogs would occasionally pass by the factory gate, so thin you could count their ribs one by one. If you reached out to feed them, they wouldn't run away, but their eyes would always be fixed on your other hand.

It's that kind of look in their eyes.