Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

A man who hadn't spoken much before—wearing a gray windbreaker and a faded baseball cap, who had been quietly fishing most of the morning, only occasionally chiming in—also joined in. Lin Yuan had seen him at the party, but they hadn't really spoken; he only knew that the man worked in administration at the state university.

"Colleges also have leagues. The Bassmaster College Series is national, with several regional tournaments throughout the year. You just need to join Clemson's fishing club and register on behalf of the school."

"What kind of boat will you use for the university race? You're not going to have to buy your own lure fishing boat, are you?" Lin Yuan started to take this topic seriously. The prize money of $100,000 for the championship of a regional race is not a small amount. Although there are races not every day, if there is a real chance to get a ranking, the return on investment is not worse than taking custom orders.

"University competitions don't use lure boats." The man in the gray jacket shook his head. "University competitions use regular kayaks or small sampans. You can rent one at the school's outdoor sports center for a few dozen dollars a weekend. They have several specialized fishing kayaks, the kind with live fish holds. If you don't want to rent one, I know a physical education professor who has an old fishing kayak that's been sitting in his garage for two years; you can borrow it."

"He's right," Peter nodded. "The equipment requirements for college tournaments aren't high. The rod and reel you're using now are sufficient. Just get a slightly thicker line—there are too many big fish in your river, and an eight-pound line won't be long enough if it breaks a three-foot fish once or twice. You don't need to add anything else."

"So the only extra investment is to replace a spool of cable?" Lin Yuan asked.

"Pretty much. Oh, and a fishing license too. A freshwater fishing license in South Carolina costs a few tens of dollars a year and can be obtained online."

Lin Yuan leaned against the picnic table, twirling the can of beer in his hand twice. He knew better than anyone how he'd caught those dozen or so fish that morning—it wasn't due to some mysterious fishing talent, but purely a boost from the system's skills. Basic fishing taught him how to judge water depth and choose bait, and a lucky fishing spot had led him to the most densely populated area of ​​fish. Without these two skills, he would most likely have ended up like most beginners, sitting by the water all morning empty-handed.

The problem now is that these two skills are permanent, not a time-limited experience. If he can maintain his current form—no, even if he only performs at 70-80% of his potential—he will be competitive in university competitions. Combining his own accumulated skills with the new fishing skills granted by the system, perhaps in the future, besides winning the knife-forging competition, he can also achieve success in fishing itself.

"I still want to confirm one thing first." Lin Yuan put his beer on the table. "Is today's performance my normal level, or just pure beginner luck? If I can't catch a single fish next time, then signing up will just be a waste of everyone's time."

"That's easy," Frank chimed in. "Come back next week. Change the time of day—don't choose the morning, choose the afternoon or evening. Change the fishing spot, don't always sit under the willow tree. If you can still maintain at least a 50% catch rate by changing the time and location, then it's not luck. Then you can sign up again, and you'll have a better understanding of the situation."

"I agree." Robert took off his glasses, wiped them, put them back on, and looked at Lin Yuan. "Let's verify this systematically. This is the basic approach to materials science, and it applies to fishing as well."

"Okay." Lin Yuan nodded. "I'll come again next week at a different time. If I can keep that up, I'll go to the fishing club and ask about registering."

"If you can keep this up, just come find me." The man in the gray jacket took out a business card from his pocket and handed it to Lin Yuan. It had the logo of the State University Student Activities Center on it. "I'll help you contact the school's fishing club and outdoor sports center. I'll take care of the kayaking too."

Lin Yuan accepted the business card and thanked him. Peter took the last batch of roasted chicken legs from the grill, arranged them on a plate, and placed the plate on the picnic table. The group each grabbed a new beer and sat around the grill, eating and chatting.

A breeze blew across the river from downstream, carrying the scent of aquatic plants and pine needles. A few fishing rods were still scattered along the bank, and occasionally someone's float would twitch, but no one was in a hurry to pull it up—barbecuing and ice-cold beer were more important than fishing at this moment.

Lin Yuan sat at the picnic table, finished the last chicken leg on his plate, wiped his hands with a napkin, and then leaned back in his chair, basking in the midday sun. The lingering excitement from the morning's matches had slowly faded, replaced by a solid sense of comfort.

Peter pulled a few more cans of beer from the cooler and tossed them to the people next to him. The aluminum cans arced through the air before Lin Yuan caught one, the icy touch sending a shiver through his palm. He pulled the tab, took a sip, and leaned back in the folding chair next to the picnic table, stretching his legs out.

The charcoal on the grill was no longer flaming; the grayish-white charcoal was covered with a fine layer of ash, and the residual heat made the surrounding air tremble slightly.

Frank took a bite of the roasted chicken leg and mumbled, "This trip was worthwhile. Last time at the gathering, Lin Yuan grilled the meat, and this time I saw the fish he caught. Should we have him show off how to grill meat and fish at the same time next time?"

"Then you'll need to prepare another grill and put it next to his fishing spot." Peter smiled as he placed the grill fork aside and wiped his hands with his apron. "But seriously, Lin Yuan, if your performance today were in a formal competition, the organizers would have to take you for a urine test."

"A urine test?" Lin Yuan didn't react.

"Drug testing. Professional bass fishing competitions have drug testing, to prevent anglers from using drugs to maintain their focus. With your kind of continuous catches, the first thing other anglers will think is what you've been doing." Peter forked a chicken leg from the grill and put it on his plate. "Try again next weekend at a different time. If you can still catch half that number at a different time, then it's not luck. If you want to sign up then, I can get you in touch with some anglers I know. They know the fish distribution in the local competition areas very well and can give you some advice."

"I also think we should test it again." Lin Yuan took a sip of beer. "What if we don't catch a single one next time? Today's success was just pure luck. You can't use luck to enter a competition."

"But you can brag about your luck forever." Frank raised his beer can and toasted him. "A three-foot bigmouth bass, we old guys have been in this river for years and never caught one. You can go back to Matt and tell him that you not only won the knife-making competition, but you also broke all our records on your first fishing trip."

The group chatted for a while longer. The man in the gray jacket mentioned that there was an outdoor sports expo at the state university next week, with booths selling fishing gear. Lin Yuan could go and see if he could find any suitable reels and spare rods. Peter offered to send Lin Yuan the contact information for the lighting technician they had mentioned at the factory, so he could contact him directly once the video of Shenpi sewing the stitches started filming. Lin Yuan noted everything down, put his beer can on the table, stood up, walked over to the fish basket, and squatted down to look inside. A dozen or so largemouth bass were slowly circling in the net, their scales reflecting the afternoon sunlight, transitioning layer by layer from dark green to olive green. The largest giant stayed quietly at the bottom of the basket, its gill covers slowly opening and closing, occasionally flicking its tail, causing the surrounding fish to sway.

The professor walked over, stood next to him, and glanced into the fish basket. "Catching a three-foot bigmouth bass on your first fishing trip? That's a really high starting point. From now on, no matter how good the fishing spot is, you'll always use this fish as a benchmark."

"Then get a bigger one next time."

Robert's lips twitched slightly, and he patted him on the shoulder.

"By the way, if you're going to sign up, you'd better hurry." The man in the gray jacket put the empty beer can on the table. "The schedule for the Bassmaster College Series events is announced in advance each year, and there are limited spots for popular events. Once they're full, registration closes. You should check with the fishing club to see if there are any spots left this year."

"Okay. I'll ask after the trial fishing next week."

The embers on the grill gradually faded to a greyish-white, and the last batch of chicken legs was devoured by Frank and Grey Jacket. Peter began cleaning up the grill, pouring the ash into a sealed aluminum foil bag and wiping the grill grates with the damp sand from the riverbank. The group packed up their lines, removed the reels and put them in their bags, folding up their fishing chairs and tucking them under their arms.

Lin Yuan pulled his fish basket out of the water, water gushing through the mesh, revealing a dozen or so largemouth bass floating belly-up and slapping their tails inside. He placed the basket on the grass and asked the man in the gray jacket to take a picture—he was squatting beside the basket, a dozen large olive-green fish spread out inside, the largest one lying across the front, its tail fin wider than his two hands put together. Peter leaned over and glanced at the photo, saying it would look great on social media. Lin Yuan asked which social media account, and Peter said, "Aren't you about to register an account to post forging videos? Fishing achievements can also build up your popularity."

The professor helped him carry the fish basket to the riverbank, and the two of them worked together to turn the net over. The largest, a three-foot-long behemoth, slid into the water first, paused briefly in the shallows, its gills snapping open and closing violently twice, then flicked its tail, creating a splash before disappearing into the deep green river. The remaining dozen or so fish followed, splashing a string of fine sprays on the shallows, leaving ripples that quickly spread across the surface before being smoothed out by the current.

Lin Yuan rolled up the fish basket and hung it outside the olive-green fishing tackle bag Matt had given him last time, then packed away the rod and reel. There was a faint red mark on his finger where he gripped the rod handle—not a blister, but a trace of blood circulation from holding it for a long time. This spot overlapped perfectly with the calluses he had developed on the handle of his forging hammer.