Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

The next morning, Lin Yuan was still asleep when his phone vibrated. Doug's name was on the screen. He answered, and Doug's voice was so loud it sounded like he'd been walking for a long time.

"Lin Yuan! I'm setting off now, I'll arrive at your town in about an hour and a half. Are you at the forge today?"

"Yes. Just navigate here when you arrive, I'll send you the address." Lin Yuan sat up from the bed and sent the location of the forging workshop.

After hanging up the phone, he walked to Matt's bedroom door and knocked twice. "Doug will be there in an hour and a half. Weren't you going to record a video of him taking the knife? Get up now."

Matt's door was flung open almost immediately. His hair was a mess, like a bird's nest, and his eyes weren't fully open, but he was already walking out. "I'm going to wash my face. The camera battery was charged last night, and the memory card was wiped clean."

The two bought two hamburgers at a fast food restaurant next to the dormitory building and drove to the forge while eating.

Daniel arrived earlier than them. The door was already open, the ventilation fan was running at a low speed, the debris left on the worktable from last night had been cleaned up, and the floor had been mopped with water, leaving watermarks on the cement floor.

He was squatting next to the quenching tank checking the oil level when he heard the engine and looked up, nodding to Lin Yuan.

Lin Yuan opened the cabinet in the office area and took out the short sword. The black walnut wood scabbard gleamed a deep dark brown under the fluorescent light, and the stingray skin grip was clearly defined.

He drew the knife from its sheath and slowly examined it under the light.

The cyan-gold cloud pattern spread quietly on both sides of the blade, and the fine lines formed by eight thousand layers of forging extended from the base of the blade to the tip, with each line flowing in the light.

He dipped a cotton cloth in a thin layer of knife oil and applied it evenly from the base of the blade to the tip. Then he put the knife back in its sheath and placed it on the worktable.

A dark blue Ford Raptor pulled up in front of the forge. Doug Macheda jumped out, wearing a dark gray T-shirt, work pants, and old tactical boots, with an eager look on his face.

He strode over and gave Lin Yuan a high five, the force of which made Lin Yuan's palm go numb.

"Where's the knife?"

Lin Yuan pointed to the worktable. Doug walked over and looked down at the short horizontal sword lying quietly on the black velvet cloth.

He reached for the knife, gripping the scabbard with his left hand and the hilt with his right, and drew the blade from the sheath. His movements were slow, as if he were unpacking a package he had been waiting for a long time.

He stopped the moment the blade was fully drawn. The cyan-gold cloud patterns flowed slowly under the fluorescent light, the lines as fine as hair, layer upon layer, one after another, spreading evenly from the base of the blade towards the tip.

The dark bronze tsuba (guard) with its taotie (mythical beast) pattern gleamed with a warm luster in the sidelight, and the scales on the stingray skin handle were clearly defined. Doug held the knife to his eyes, flipped it over, and then flipped it back over. His breathing slowed noticeably.

This man, who had seen hundreds of entries at the knife-forging competition, was now as quiet as someone standing in front of a painting in a museum, reluctant to leave.

"My God." His voice was low, unlike his usual loud and rough voice, but rather an exclamation that rolled out of his throat after seeing something far beyond his expectations.

He gripped the knife in his hand, twisted his wrist, and the blade traced an arc in the air.

The stingray skin scales on the handle fit snugly in the palm, with the center of gravity positioned three to four inches in front of the guard, providing just the right amount of inertia when the wrist is engaged.

He twirled the blade again, the tip cutting through the air with a sharp, clean sound, without any unnecessary recoil.

"It's so easy to use. It's easier than any knife I usually use." He turned the knife over to look at the blade, swung it around a bit, then stopped and asked in an itchy tone, "Do you have anything to test the knife on? A wooden stake or something—I want to cut something. Anything is fine."

"The forging workshop has just opened, and we haven't prepared these yet." Lin Yuan glanced around the workbench and indeed there were no suitable materials for testing the blade.

Doug grinned.

"I knew it. That's why I brought it." He turned and walked out the door, taking two things out of the raptor's rear compartment.

One is a brand-new ballistic gel dummy, with an outer layer of polymer skin that simulates human tissue, filled with ballistic gel, and a skeleton made of high-strength engineering plastic—a product from the same supplier as the one used in the program.

The other is a cow skull with horns, the bone is hard and the horn base is thick, it was obviously specially selected.

He fixed the dummy to a cast iron frame in the factory's open space, and placed the bull's skull on an old workbench next to it.

Then he picked up the short sword, turned it over in his hand, and his expression suddenly became somewhat hesitant.

"Is the blade strong enough? It would be a waste if I chipped it while cutting bone." He gently ran his thumb along the edge of the blade, as if checking its sharpness.

"Actually, we could use a different metal material to test the hardness. Horn and bone won't be enough to measure the knife's limits," Lin Yuan said calmly, leaning against the workbench.

Doug suddenly looked up at him with a "Are you kidding me?" expression.

"Metal material? You mean a steel shield or an iron plate? No way. That would ruin the knife. I cut steel plates on the show because that's the rule; once a contestant submits their work, they have to follow the procedure."

But this is my own knife—you know how much money I spent and how long I waited. If it gets even a scratch, I'll be heartbroken for years.

"Let's try it with cow bones first."

Doug walked up to the bull skull, gripped the knife with both hands, took a deep breath, and slashed down.

The blade landed right in the center of the bull's skull and went through it with almost no resistance.

The skull was split in two along the midline, with a smooth and even cross-section without any torn edges. The clean cut surface left by the blade after it went straight through the bone was visible where the bone was cut.

Doug looked down at the blade—it was completely unharmed, not even the continuous reflection of light after the slash was broken.

He then walked over to the horn and made a diagonal cut at the thickest part of the horn's base. The horn snapped off instantly, the break as smooth as a mirror.

He held the knife up to the light and flipped it over. The blade was intact, and the bluish-gold cloud pattern still flowed quietly, without any change.

"This isn't the limit. What did you just say—metallic materials?" Doug ran his thumb along the blade, then turned to look at Lin Yuan. "Now I think cutting steel plates isn't out of the question."

"Want to try it? I have a spare 1084 steel plate here, about a quarter inch thick."

Doug hesitated for two seconds, then shook his head.

"I'm not going to try anymore. The cow bone and horn are enough. I'll use this knife for the rest of my life, and it won't leave a scar. It has already proven what it can do, and there's no need to take risks to prove anything more." He flipped the knife over in his hand and walked towards the gel mannequin.

Over the next few minutes, Lin Yuan witnessed what a real knife test was like.

Doug used a short crossbow to test cutting, chopping, and piercing techniques on the dummy in turn.

When the blade slices through the polymer outer layer, there is almost no resistance—it's not cutting in, it's gliding across, like a hot knife cutting into butter, the outer layer automatically flips open to both sides following the trajectory of the blade.

The internal structure of the ballistic gel is as if it doesn't exist in front of the blade, and each horizontal slash leaves a clean and neat cut on the dummy.

He shattered the collarbone and ribs—the engineering plastic skeleton was no different from cow bone under the blade of the cloud-patterned steel, breaking in two with a single stroke.

The final cut slashed diagonally down from the shoulder to the side of the abdomen, splitting the entire upper body of the dummy along the diagonal. The upper half held for a moment before slowly sliding down the sloping cut and crashing onto the concrete floor of the factory with a dull thud.

Doug straightened up, looked at the mannequin on the ground that was now only half its original size, then looked down at the knife in his hand, and remained silent for a moment.

His expression was completely different from when he was holding the knife, hesitant to use it—shock, satisfaction, and a little disbelief.

"This knife is sharper than the half-sword you made in the competition." He held the knife up to the light to check the edge again. "Not 'sharper'—it's better to use."

A half-sword requires two hands to cut, but this knife can achieve the same cutting efficiency with just one hand. When I cleaved the dummy's ribs just now, I barely applied any force; the knife just absorbed the impact on its own.

He placed the knife on the worktable and took his cell phone out of his pocket.

Then he did something that surprised Lin Yuan—he didn't pay first, but instead took videos and photos.

He drew his short sword from its sheath, placed it on a black velvet cloth, and took several high-resolution photos from different angles.

Then he asked Matt to hold the phone while he brandished the knife a few times and recorded a video.

After taking all the photos and videos, he immediately posted them on his social media account with the caption: "It's finally in my hands. Ten times better than I expected."

After sending the message, he put his phone in his pocket, took an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, placed it on the worktable, and pushed it in front of Lin Yuan.

Lin Yuan opened the envelope and glanced inside—a cash check for fifty thousand US dollars. He put the check back in the envelope and pushed it back.

"The previously agreed-upon range of 10,000 to 30,000 is too much."

"Not much. Listen to me." Doug pushed the envelope back in front of Lin Yuan, his expression unusually serious. "I know I told you before that you could set the price, and I also said it would be ten thousand."

However, a custom-made knife of this caliber would start at $100,000 at any knife show auction.

I'm not exaggerating—Nelson and David both told me the same thing. If I only give you ten thousand, I'm taking advantage of you. And not just any ordinary advantage.

"But that was an auction. You're my first client, I—"

"Because I'm the first one. When your orders are booked until next year, you'll thank me for giving you a good start today." Doug interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Fifty thousand. You have to take it whether you like it or not. Consider it peace of mind for myself."

Lin Yuan looked at him and finally accepted the envelope. "That's settled then. I'll treat you to dinner tonight."