Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

The sun moved from the east side of the hickory tree canopy to its zenith, and the temperature rose accordingly.

Lin Yuan sat under the tree for more than an hour, changing the bait twice and casting seven or eight times, but the float did not move at all.

The river was bustling with activity—Peter caught another small black bass, unhooked it, and threw it back into the water; Frank's rod bent twice, neither of them big, but each time it drew teasing from the people nearby.

Even Robert pulled a palm-sized sunfish from the deep water and casually tossed it into the fish basket, glancing at Lin Yuan without saying a word, but the slight smile on his lips was more effective than any words.

Lin Yuan pulled the rod back and checked the bait.

The lure was intact, the water depth was right, and the professor had helped him choose the fishing spot—Peter had just glanced at his spot and said it was fine, as several big fish had been caught in this area in previous autumns.

He cast again and leaned back in his fishing chair, staring at the float.

Ten minutes, fifteen minutes. The float didn't budge. He reeled in the line and cast again.

A few people nearby chatted occasionally—Frank mentioned that a new postdoctoral fellow in the department had scratched the objective lens of the metallurgical microscope, and Robert said that the spare lens for that microscope was kept in the storeroom, with the label he had personally put on it years ago, but no one remembered it after three different logistics staff.

Peter added that he had encountered a similar problem with his safety training materials; the electronic version was actually harder to find than the paper version after it was archived.

Lin Yuan listened while keeping an eye on the float, and smiled when he heard something interesting, but his fishing rod never gave any signal.

He finally couldn't resist and put away his rod, then started to change fishing spots.

They either move to a new location in a grand manner, or they take a few steps to the left, cast two lines, and if nothing happens, they take a few steps to the right and cast two more lines.

Each time I lifted the rod, there was a hint of impatience—my wrist trembled a little faster than at the beginning, and the rhythm of reeling in the line was not very even.

Peter walked past him without saying anything, but simply moved his thermos next to his fishing chair.

Frank glanced at it from afar and exchanged a look with Robert—the kind of look an experienced angler would have when they see a novice getting restless, without any mockery, just the unspoken understanding between those who've been there.

Just then, the sound of tires rolling over gravel came from the other side of the sidewalk.

A dark green SUV was parked on the slope. Two people got out of the car and walked towards the river, each carrying a fishing tackle bag.

The one in the light blue sun-protective clothing waved to Peter and shouted, "I bought something on the way, so I'm half an hour late." The one behind him had already squatted down by the river to test the water temperature.

"Find yourselves a spot," Peter said, pointing to the riverbank. "All the good spots are taken. Walk upstream a bit."

The two newcomers didn't pick and choose. They found an open space next to Frank, set up chairs, and started chatting with the people next to them while baiting their hooks. They mentioned that a new breakfast shop had opened in town and made pretty good sandwiches, suggesting that they could go there for a meal before meeting up here next time.

Peter said that next time you would be in charge of delivering takeout.

The group laughed a few times, and the conversation returned to fishing.

Taking advantage of this moment, Lin Yuan opened the system panel.

The icon for a lucky fishing spot was lit up, and he tapped it. The color of the riverbank in his field of vision suddenly changed—several spots were marked, including the two spots where the professor and Peter were sitting, which were clearly good fishing spots according to the skill's assessment.

The brightest point among all the markings is located upstream on the riverbank, a little further away from the others, near a crooked willow tree.

He moved the fishing chair over, set it up again, and sat down.

This time he didn't rush to cast his line.

There's no switch to actively trigger basic fishing skills, but the moment he sat down, the scattered information in his mind automatically connected—the relationship between the lure's sinking speed and water temperature, which was discussed in last night's video; the timing of setting the hook and the rhythm of reeling in, which Peter had just taught; and even the mistakes he had just made.

When I was probing the water depth with the rod tip, I moved too quickly, and the sound of the lure hitting the water was too loud, scaring away the fish in the shallow water.

When reeling in the line, I was too hasty, and the lure's movement became unnatural.

Even the fact that he caught a fish on his very first cast is now considered by him to be pure luck as a beginner—that bass was probably starving.

He re-baited, checked the knot, and adjusted the brakes.

With a flick of the wrist, the lure flew out and landed on the line where the shadow of the willow tree met the current.

The sound of it entering the water is very soft, and the reeling speed is slowed down, allowing the lure to walk in a natural arc underwater.

Lin Yuan then took a deep breath, preparing to calm down and wait patiently.

However, before he could catch his breath, the float sank.

It's not a light peck, but a sudden, forceful descent that pulls the entire float into the water.

The rod tip instantly bent into a full bow, the reel emitted a sharp screech, and the sound of the spool spinning at high speed was particularly loud on the quiet river surface.

The pulling force from the water was many times greater than that of the first bass. The rod bent almost parallel to the handle, and the carbon material made a slight creaking sound under extreme stress.

Peter was the first to turn around, his hand, which was changing the bait, stopped moving.

He glanced at the curve of Lin Yuan's rod tip, immediately put down his own rod, and stood up: "This one's not small. Don't reel it in yet—stand the rod upright!"

Robert also stood up from the fishing chair, spat out the half-eaten grass stem he was holding in his mouth, picked up the landing net, and walked quickly toward the willow tree.

Frank put his fishing rod on the fishing chair and stood up.

The two newcomers were drawn over by the commotion as soon as they cast their lines.

Lin Yuan gripped the rod handle with both hands, the rod tip pointing upwards, the reel still hissing.

He could feel the underwater pull through the rod in his palm—not a continuous drag, but a series of deep dives, each head swing causing the rod tip to vibrate violently.

When he caught the first bass, he was still able to keep track of Peter's instructions, but this time all his attention was on the section of the carbon rod that was bending violently between his hands.

The rod was bent to its limit, the reel was still hissing, and the carbon fiber rod made a slight creaking sound under extreme stress, as if it would break at any moment. Lin Yuan gripped the rod handle with both hands, the tip pointing upwards, his thumbs numb from the pressure of the handle.

The underwater object plunged deeper again, the spool reversed at high speed, and the line was pulled out more than ten times before he reacted and adjusted the brakes to reduce the speed at which the line was released from the spool.

The people next to them had already put down their fishing rods.

Frank was the first to gather around. He stood behind Lin Yuan with a net in hand, glanced at the curve of the rod tip, and shouted back to Peter, "This is definitely not a smallmouth bass. Smallmouth bass don't have this much power."

Peter was moving Lin Yuan's fishing chair back so he wouldn't trip over it when he backed up. Hearing this, he replied, "It's not like a catfish either. Catfish sink to the bottom and drag themselves, but this one shakes its head."

Look at the twitching of the rod tip—the frequency of each head jerk is different; that's how bass jerk. But with that much force, it can't be small.

Robert had already taken the website to the water's edge.

He didn't participate in the argument; he simply squatted beside the willow tree roots, his eyes fixed on the water, waiting for the moment when the fish would first turn over.

The two newcomers also gathered around, one of them taking out his phone to record a video, muttering, "If this is a bass, we old guys won't have to brag about catching the biggest one anymore."

The back-and-forth struggle lasted for nearly fifteen minutes.

Lin Yuan's arms were starting to ache, and sweat was streaming down his temples, but his hands remained steady—after swinging a forging hammer for over a decade, the endurance in his forearms had unexpectedly come in handy when it came to fishing.

Each time the underwater tension eases slightly, he tightens the reel and pulls the rod tip back in; each time the fish dives deep again, he raises the rod tip to allow the rod's elasticity to distribute the impact force to his wrist.

Peter whispered to him, reminding him of the rhythm: "Let it go a little, let it swim! Okay, pull back! Let it go again! Don't rush, pull it back when it gets tired!"

Finally, the frequency of the rod tip's trembling began to decrease.

The underwater pulling force is still there, but it is no longer a series of sharp thrusts; instead, it has become a heavy, slow drag.

Lin Yuan lowered the rod tip and began to steadily reel in the line. The spool spun back and forth, and the ripples on the water's surface grew closer and closer.

The fish flipped over.

A huge splash erupted on the surface of the water, and an olive-green spine arched out from the middle of the splash. Its scales flashed in the sunlight for a moment before sinking back down.

In that instant, everyone on the shore could see its size.

"My God." Frank excitedly took two steps forward, carrying the landing net. "Bigmouth bass. Bigmouth! This size—did you see that? How wide was the dorsal fin to the pelvic fin when it flipped over? At least two and a half feet, maybe even close to three feet."

"A three-foot bigmouth bass." Peter shook his head, a strange sense of awe in his voice. "We've been fishing in these waters for so many years, and none of us have ever encountered one this big."

Robert didn't say anything.

He had already put the net into the water, standing in the shallow water that didn't even reach his calves, his trouser legs mostly wet, and he remained motionless, waiting for Lin Yuan to pull the fish into the net.

The two newcomers also fell silent. One held up his phone, steadily tracking the fish's movements, while the other squatted by the waterline, his finger on the shutter button, holding his breath and waiting for the moment the big fish would emerge from the water.

Lin Yuan reeled in the last bit of line, lowered the rod tip, and lured the fish's head toward the shore.

The fish had reached the shallow water, its tail slapping the surface, splashing water onto Robert's shoulder.

Robert didn't dodge. The moment the fish turned to its side, he scooped the net around from the tail end, and the whole fish sank into the net.

Peter threw down his phone and stepped into the water, supporting the bottom of the net from the other side. Together, the two of them pulled the fish ashore.

The fish fell onto the grass, its tail still thrashing about, sending grass clippings and mud flying everywhere.

Lin Yuan squatted down and held the fish's body down. His fingers were pressed behind the gills, and he could feel the fish's heart still beating violently.

This is a largemouth bass.

It is nearly three feet long from the snout to the end of the tail fin, with a broad back, scales that shimmer with a deep olive green in the sunlight, and a clean white belly.

(Freshly caught, a bit small, only a little over two feet)

When the fish's mouth opens, it can fit an adult's fist. Its jaw is thick and powerful; the violent head-shaking during the sawing was the result of that muscle exerting its strength.

There was a moment of silence, then everything erupted into chaos.

Frank squatted down next to the fish, compared the length of the fish's body with his hand, and then compared it with his own forearm, only to find that his forearm was not even as wide as the fish's tail fin.

"A three-foot bigmouth bass. I've been fishing in South Carolina for forty years, and the biggest one I've ever caught was just over two feet. This one is almost half again as big as my personal record." He stood up, hands on his hips, looking at the fish still wagging its tail on the grass, then at Lin Yuan. "Your first time fishing. You caught a bass on your first cast, and this on your second."

This isn't good luck, this is called—where did you come from?!

"Luck is a newbie's strength," Lin Yuan said.

He himself hadn't fully recovered from the 15-minute back-and-forth struggle; his arms were trembling slightly, and his fingers were still in the arc of his grip on the rod, but looking at the fish on the grass, he couldn't help but smile.

"This isn't beginner's luck." Peter walked over, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His T-shirt was soaked through when he was carrying the net. "Beginner's luck means catching a medium-sized one."

This is something—all of us have been fishing for over a hundred years combined, and none of us have ever caught anything of this size in this river.

One of the two newcomers finally looked up from behind his phone screen and said to Lin Yuan, "Make this fish into a specimen and hang it in your forging workshop. When people come to you to order knives in the future and see this, they'll think you can make anything."

Everyone crowded around to take a group photo.

Frank squatted down next to the fish and gave a thumbs up. Peter picked the fish up horizontally, his arms bulging with veins from the weight of the fish.

Robert stood to the side and wasn't in the photo; he only took a few pictures with his phone while Frank was taking photos.

Finally, someone handed the phone to the professor, who then had Lin Yuan stand in the middle holding the fish, while the others stood on either side, and they took several group photos.

After the group photo was over, Robert pulled the fish basket out of the water and opened it up.

Lin Yuan picked up the fish and carefully placed it into the fish basket.

The fish rolled over in the net, flicked its tail twice, and then calmed down.

Robert submerged the fish basket back into the water and tightened the rope around its mouth.

The group returned to their respective fishing spots, and the atmosphere was no longer as quiet as before.

Frank, still shouting towards Lin Yuan from dozens of meters away, said, "Come every week from now on, and maybe we can catch all the old fish that have been raised in this river for over ten years."

Peter laughed and replied, "You just don't want to pay the rent, do you?"

The rhythm of casting and reeling in resumed on the river, but everyone would occasionally glance toward the willow tree, as if the big fish might leap out of the water again.