Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

The next morning, before dawn, Robert's car was already parked downstairs at the dormitory building.

Lin Yuan got into the car carrying his fishing tackle bag and insulated box. The professor took his fishing rod bag and put it in the back seat. He glanced at the brand-new olive green fishing tackle bag and said, "The equipment looks quite decent."

The car drove north along the country road for about half an hour, then turned onto a gravel-paved side road. After passing through a pine forest, the river stretched out in the morning light.

The river wasn't flowing too fast, and a few clumps of aquatic plants floated on the surface near the bank. On the opposite bank was a low shrub slope.

The air was filled with the smell of fishy water mixed with the scent of freshly cut grass. Several water birds stood on the shallows on the opposite bank, occasionally pecking at the water's surface.

Peter had arrived and was squatting by the river, adjusting his fishing reel. He waved to them as the car approached.

Lin Yuan and Robert got out of the car carrying their equipment.

There were already a few people on the riverbank—Frank, whom I had seen at the last gathering, was setting up his fishing chair, and another person I had seen at the gathering but hadn't talked to much was bending over and fiddling with his fishing reel. Next to Peter, there were two empty chairs, obviously for the two people who hadn't arrived yet.

"Two more are on their way," Peter said as he looped the line. "They said they overslept, so we don't need to wait for them."

He baited the lure, flicked his wrist, and the fishing line drew a very thin arc on the water's surface before falling into the deep water near the opposite bank.

The professor found a fishing spot under an old hickory tree, whose trunk stretched diagonally towards the river, and whose shade perfectly blocked the light that was just beginning to brighten in the early morning.

Lin Yuan set up a fishing chair next to the tree roots, opened his fishing tackle bag, and laid out each item in the order shown in last night's video—rod, reel, line, lure box.

He watched a few fishing tutorial videos in his dorm room and memorized the movements very well, but when he actually tried to fish, his lack of skill was exposed.

The line got stuck several times when I first hooked the lure. I finally managed to get the line through the last guide, and the lure wobbled on the rod tip, almost snagging on my sleeve.

Peter glanced at it from afar, put down his fishing rod, and walked over.

He took the fishing rod from Lin Yuan's hand, pinched the second guide at the tip of the rod with his fingers, and straightened the line again.

"Thread the line through the guides from the largest to the smallest, and only attach the bait after threading the last one. Attach the bait to the clip on the rod holder, don't pinch it with your hand—it's easy to snag it into your flesh." His technique was very skilled; he demonstrated as he spoke, his voice low, but each step was performed slowly and clearly. After finishing, he even had Lin Yuan repeat it himself.

Lin Yuan sat on the fishing chair, gripped the fishing rod tightly, flicked his wrist, and the lure flew out, landing not far from the shore, splashing a small clump of water.

He reeled in the line, letting the lure sink to the middle of the water, then leaned back in his chair and waited quietly.

Occasionally, a fish leaps out of the water in the early morning, creating a fine ripple that is quickly smoothed out by the current.

Robert had already cast his line twice, his movements unhurried, the fishing line gleaming with a fine silver light in the morning light.

Frank whistled in the distance, his rod bent, and he pulled up a small bass the size of his palm. He removed the hook and threw it back into the water.

Lin Yuan's float sank.

The vibration at the rod tip traveled through the carbon fiber to my palm—it wasn't the shaking from the wind, but something pecking at the bait underwater.

He immediately stood up and lifted the rod, which suddenly bent into an arc, and the reel made a sharp dragging sound.

Several people around turned around at the same time. Frank put down his rod and shouted "Got it!" Robert also put down his fishing reel and turned to look in Lin Yuan's direction.

"Don't pull back too hard," Peter walked over and stood beside Lin Yuan, gently pressing his wrist as he gripped the rod. "Let it swim. If you pull back too hard now, the line will break. Let it out a little—yes, lift the rod tip up."

Lin Yuan lifted the rod tip upwards, loosening the reel by two turns, and the underwater pull actually became heavier.

He followed Peter's instructions, steadyed the rod, slowly reeled in the line, pulled a bit, paused, and let the fish get tired in the water before continuing to pull it back.

Suddenly, a splash erupted on the surface of the water as a bass, its scales gleaming olive green in the morning light, leaped out of the water, sending water droplets flying everywhere.

The shore suddenly became lively. Frank loudly announced the estimated dimensions, another companion took out his phone and started recording, and someone quickly came over to help by pulling a net bag out of the insulated box.

Robert squatted down by the water and cleanly and efficiently scooped up the fish with a landing net.

The bass was flapping its tail in the net. He removed the hook, flipped the fish over to look at it, and then handed it to Lin Yuan for a glance.

"Sure," the professor tossed the fish into Lin Yuan's fish basket, patted the water off his hands, and said, "You caught a bass on your first fishing trip. This one isn't small; you could consider making a fish rubbing or a specimen as a souvenir."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Lin Yuan asked instinctively.

Steamed sea bass is an excellent ingredient. He had made it more than once when he was in China. The meat is tender, and when you drizzle a spoonful of hot oil over it after steaming, the aroma of scallions and ginger is fully released.

Peter gave a wry smile and put the net back on the grass.

"This river looks clean, but in reality, there have been more than a dozen factories running along its banks for decades. In recent years, environmental protection efforts have yielded some results, and the water quality looks better, but the heavy metals in the silt at the bottom of the river still exceed the standards."

The fish we catch can't be eaten. We've been fishing for them for so many years; we always release them back into the wild or make them into specimens.

Robert squatted on the bank and lowered the fish basket into the water to keep the bass submerged.

He straightened up and sighed: "When I was a child, the perch in this river were a local specialty. My father would bring me fishing here every Saturday, and my mother would stew the fish I caught that very night. I still remember the taste."

Later, more factories opened up, and fish became increasingly scarce; no one dared to eat the ones they caught. Now, if you want to eat sea bass, you have to buy farmed ones from the supermarket.

Looking at the bass swimming slowly in the fish basket, Lin Yuan felt it was a real pity—such a plump bass, freshly caught, lively and full of life, its flesh at its firmest, could only be used for rubbing or released back into the wild.

Thinking of the things he'd seen in environmental news, he casually asked, "Don't those environmental organizations cause trouble? I remember the environmental organizations here seem to be quite troublesome."

Peter was changing the bait on his fishing rod when he heard this, so he looked up and his lips twitched slightly.

That expression wasn't a smile; it was the expression of someone who had worked as an industrial safety consultant for the state government for over a decade, when asked about a pain point that only those in the industry would understand.

"Guess who the biggest financial backer of those environmental organizations is." He baited the hook, flicked his wrist, and the fishing line arced into the river.

Lin Yuan paused for a moment, then realized what he meant and stopped asking.

He sat back down on the fishing chair, rebaited the hook, and cast it out again.

Ripples spread across the water, and water birds on the opposite bank fluttered up from the shallows, circled halfway, and then landed back down.

Robert took two cans of Coke out of the cooler, handed one to Lin Yuan, opened the other, took a sip, and said nothing more.

The system panel in the corner of my field of vision flashed.

Lin Yuan was already used to the slight glow that occasionally popped up on the panel, but this time the prompt made him pause.

His system is called the "Life Assistance System". For more than two years since it was activated, it has only had two skill categories: forging and cooking. There are no cooking tasks issued for a long time, so its presence is so weak that sometimes he himself forgets that such a category even exists.

He once thought it was actually a forging system, just with a euphemistic name.

But just as he lifted the rod, new content popped up on the panel.

[Host has completed its first fishing attempt.]

The fishing skill category is now active.

[Given the host's complete lack of fishing experience, the following skill is provided as compensation: Basic Fishing.]

[First successful fishing attempt, reward skill: Lucky Fishing Spot. Effect: Makes it easier to find fishing spots with abundant catches, and slightly increases the catch rate.]

Two skill panels sat quietly below the Forging skill, their icons simple line drawings of fish. He glanced at the Fishing skill's name, which was identical to the concise label that appeared when the Forging skill was first activated.

The shore quieted down again, with the occasional sound of someone reeling in their line to change bait, the reels making a steady click. Morning light filtered through the gaps in the hickory tree canopy, cutting moving streaks of light across the water's surface.

Lin Yuan leaned back in his fishing chair, his fishing rod resting steadily on his knees.

It's a pity we can't eat the fish, but sitting here all morning is much easier than swinging a hammer in front of the forge.