Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

Lin Yuan chose the newly opened upscale steakhouse in town.

Having lived in the United States for over two years, this was the first time he had ever voluntarily stepped into a place with crystal chandeliers hanging at the entrance and parking lots full of European cars.

When Matt tossed the car keys to the valet, he added, "Be careful, don't break them." The valet took the keys expressionlessly, his movements swift and efficient.

The restaurant lobby was dimly lit, with a small candle lamp on each table, the warm yellow light just enough to see the menu clearly.

The walls are adorned with oil paintings by local artists, all landscapes, framed with thick gold trim.

The air was filled with the mixed aroma of buttered steak and roasted garlic, while piano accompaniment drifted faintly from a corner.

A waiter wearing a white shirt and black vest came up to us. He was Chinese, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, and his hair was neatly combed back with hair gel.

When he saw Lin Yuan, his expression changed noticeably—not a frown, nor a pout, but something more subtle: his professional smile remained, but the muscles at the corners of his eyes relaxed for a moment, as if he had already categorized the face in front of him into a certain drawer in his mind, and then quickly closed the drawer.

"This way, please, all of you." He picked up three menus and turned to walk towards the back of the restaurant.

Lin Yuan glanced at him, said nothing, and followed him inside. The waiter led them to a booth near the kitchen aisle. Next to it was a potted Monstera deliciosa, about half a person's height, which barely blocked the light when the kitchen door was opened. But every time the door was opened, a smell mixed with dish soap and damp rags wafted in.

The table was covered with a white linen tablecloth, and the cutlery was neatly arranged, but a small piece of plaster had peeled off the wall behind the chair. It wasn't very noticeable under the warm light, but it was definitely there.

Matt stood in front of the booth without sitting down.

He glanced at the kitchen aisle, then at the few empty window seats in the distance, and his expression changed.

"Wait a minute." His voice wasn't loud, but his tone was no longer the usual lazy, drawn-out one. "Those window seats over there are empty, why are you leading us this way?"

The waiter turned around, his expression remaining calm: "Sir, those seats require advance reservations. You're a walk-in customer, so this is the area currently available."

"What about those booths in the middle? Were they reserved too?" Matt pointed to several empty booths in the center of the lobby. The seats were covered with dark red leather cushions, and a crystal chandelier hung overhead, casting a soft and even light.

The waiter's lips twitched down less than a millimeter. "Those are reserved too. We get a lot of customers on weekend evenings, so our seating arrangements are based on reservations—" Before he could finish speaking, a middle-aged man in a dark blue suit with a bronze name tag on his chest strode over.

The name tag read "Leader". He was probably in his early forties, and his hairline had receded considerably, indicating that he had worked in the catering industry for many years.

He glanced at Matt's expression, then at the waiter's position, and quickly made a judgment.

"Is there a problem?"

Matt pointed to a booth in the corner: "There were three of us, and he led us to sit by the kitchen aisle. There were at least four empty seats there, and he said they were all reserved. I don't really believe that the reservation rate for Sunday night is 100%."

The foreman's gaze lingered on Lin Yuan's face for a moment, then looked at Matt. His lips moved as if he was about to say something ambiguous and polite, but then he caught a glimpse of the person standing next to Lin Yuan.

Doug Macheda was wearing a dark gray T-shirt, his arms crossed, and his 1.9-meter frame and the faint tattoos on his forearms were very recognizable in the candlelight.

The foreman's expression changed; he clearly recognized Doug. He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if to confirm, and then took half a step forward.

"You are—Mr. Ma Keda? A judge for the sword-forging competition?" The foreman's voice carried the cautiousness of someone who had discovered an unexpected treasure.

Doug nodded without saying anything more.

He is usually very direct with the contestants on the show, but very easygoing with the fans. But at this moment, he completely handed over the initiative to Matt.

The supervisor immediately turned around and whispered something to the waiter.

The waiter's face flushed slightly, and his lips moved, but the supervisor didn't give him a chance to argue, gesturing with his chin towards the kitchen.

The waiter tucked the menu under his arm and quickly disappeared behind the door in the kitchen aisle.

"This way, please, gentlemen." The head waiter personally picked up three menus and led the three to a semi-circular booth by the window in the center of the lobby.

The largest crystal chandelier in the restaurant shines overhead, casting its light on the deep red leather cushions, while the street scene outside the window is illuminated by warm neon lights in the night.

He personally opened the menus one by one and handed them to the three of them. He then personally filled the glasses on the table with ice water, stepped back, and bowed slightly: "I will arrange for another waiter to serve you three immediately. The drinks tonight are complimentary from the restaurant, please help yourselves."

After the newly assigned waitress—a young girl with dark skin—finished pouring water and left temporarily, Matt picked up his iced water, took a sip, put the glass on the table, and looked at Lin Yuan.

"In this kind of restaurant, there's a specific order to which seats which customers sit. He led us to the corner not because it was cooler there. He was assigning people to different areas according to his classification criteria."

I'm not saying you're going to cause him trouble, but if I hadn't spoken up, we'd be sitting in that shabby corner tonight, eating dinner smelling like dish soap.

Doug spread a napkin on his lap and nodded in agreement: "He's right. The less you say anything about these things, the more they take it for granted. It's not about causing you trouble, it's about letting them know—I understand what you're doing."

Lin Yuan took a sip of ice water, shook his head and smiled: "I noticed some of it, but I didn't want to cause trouble. When I first came to America, people would slap their change on the table at fast food restaurants instead of putting it in their hands, and I was asked several extra questions when opening a bank account. I've encountered these kinds of things a lot."

At first, I didn't know how to react; later, I just couldn't be bothered to react.

"But you're not an ordinary international student anymore." Doug leaned back in his chair, looking intently at Lin Yuan. "You're the champion of the country's top forging program. More people will know you in the future; your face will appear on television, in magazines, and on video websites."

You can stay silent today, but you need to get used to this fact—you're no longer the one who needs to put up with things.

"Let's not talk about that." Lin Yuan closed the menu and changed the subject. "Speaking of which, when is the show airing? My family is really looking forward to seeing me on TV!"

Doug clearly didn't intend to dwell on that topic any longer, and casually picked up where Lin Yuan left off: "It's already started airing this week. But your episode was moved to the later part."

The producer said that the episodes in which you participated were the climax of this season, and they had a long internal debate about them during the editing process.

Several segments were filmed so brilliantly that the judges' performances were completely out of control. They hesitated about whether to cut some of the judges' outbursts, but in the end, they couldn't bear to cut them.

So they decided to schedule your episodes later, and not air them at the beginning.

"When will it be broadcast?"

"In a few weeks. The production team hasn't set a specific date yet, but I don't think it'll be too late. The show is already hyping it up; the trailer showed a few shots of you at your workstation—blurred, no face shown, but some fans have already guessed that there's a really strong Chinese fighter this season." Doug grinned at this point. "Can you receive American TV programs where you live? Or are you planning to copy them and send them back?"

"My dad can climb over walls," Lin Yuan said.

Doug paused for half a second, then let out a low, unrestrained laugh.

A few customers at the next table turned to look at him, but he didn't care at all: "Your dad learned how to scale the wall just to watch his son on TV? That's more interesting than any of the contestants' stories on the show."

However, Lin Yuan replied with a somewhat unfocused look in his eyes, "No..."