Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

The host stood directly in front of the four workstations, with the second round of questions lit up on the large screen behind him.

"Swordsmiths, the second round of the competition now begins. You have three hours to complete the handle installation, blade sharpening, and all finishing touches. After three hours, your swords will enter the performance testing phase. Good luck."

The timer started ticking at exactly three hours, and the green countdown timer quietly ran down the workshop wall.

Greg was the first to walk toward the materials rack.

His movements were much more efficient than in the first round, and the previous panic in his steps was gone. He stopped in front of the material rack, his gaze sweeping over the rows of lumber—stabilized wood, Micarta, G10, antler, brass, copper—then reached for a piece of dark stabilized wood and two brass rods, and turned back to his workstation. He even cleaned the oxide scale off the workbench with a steel brush before setting up the belt sander.

A person's mindset is something that can't be hidden in front of the forging table. During the first round of smashing the blanks, his shoulders were hunched over, and he stood in front of the power hammer as if he were being judged. But now, standing in front of the belt sander, he adjusts the angle of the dark stabilizer wood clamped in the jig, his movements unhurried and his hands steady.

He knew he had little chance of beating Lin Yuan—the cloud-patterned dagger now lay quietly on Lin Yuan's workbench, shimmering and gleaming, like an unframed work of art that inspired awe and fear. But Greg's target was no longer Lin Yuan. He wanted to defeat someone else.

Zach stood in front of his workstation, looking down to inspect the cracks on the tool blank.

He turned on the belt sander after the timer ticked for about two minutes. It wasn't that he wasn't in a hurry; he had examined the crack several times before starting. He first used a ruler to measure the location and direction of the crack, and then gently ran his fingertip along the end of the crack to determine its depth.

The crack extended about two centimeters upwards from the root of the blade. It was shallow and showed no signs of penetrating the blade. When he ran his fingernail across it, he felt a slight biting sensation, but the end did not show any tendency to extend further. He quickly made a judgment in his mind: he could try to remove it by polishing.

The belt sander started with a hum. He aligned the crack with the curved surface of the belt, applying very light pressure, sanding once, then lifting it to check. He ran his thumb across the sanded surface to confirm the crack had been completely removed. After about four passes, the crack was gone. He wiped the blade clean with a damp cloth and checked it again against the light—smooth, without any remaining crack shadows.

He let out a long breath, a breath he had held for as long as halftime.

The crack was fixed. The warping remained. But warping wasn't a problem for him—a slight bend of about three degrees along the spine of the blade. He would heat the blade to a dark red glow at the apex of the bend with a propane torch, then apply a reverse fine-tuning force to the clamp while it was still hot, allowing the blade to naturally return to its original position as it cooled. He had done this countless times, in his garage, and in workshops where knife enthusiasts gathered; his technique was practiced. The flame from the torch licked the spine of the blade, the dark red light reflecting on his face, as the clamp handle slowly turned in his hand.

Three minutes later, the blade was as straight as ever.

He placed the straightened tool blank on the workbench and ran his fingertip along the entire back of the blade to confirm that the curvature was completely eliminated. Then he picked up the shank material next to the belt sander—a light gray G10 with copper rivets. His steps were still a little quick as he went to get the material rack, but his hands were no longer trembling. Being able to solve the problem was his skill. But the problem was—he was also spending time. The timer had already ticked past twenty-four minutes.

Lin Yuan did not operate the belt sander.

While Zack repaired the cracks and straightened the blade, Lin Yuan stood in front of his workbench, looking down at the cloud-patterned dagger. The blank lay quietly on the table, the light from the camera lamp illuminating the blade, the cloud pattern flowing silently. His finger lightly touched the base of the blank—the spot where the handle would be attached. Then he looked up, his gaze sweeping over the materials rack.

He knew the standard knife handle assembly process very well: select a piece of stable wood or Micarta, drill holes, file out a curve that fits the palm, attach it, sand it smooth, and you're done. He had assembled countless such knife handles in Professor Robert's workshop, each one fitting perfectly and each one able to withstand the scrutiny of the judges.

But this blade blank is different—it's made of nearly three thousand layers of cloud-patterned steel, and the double-edged blade, after water quenching, resembles two symmetrical flowing waters. He poured more skill and time into this blade than into any of his previous practice pieces. If it were just fitted with a piece of mass-produced stable wood, it wouldn't be bad, but he felt it was a waste.

The handle he wanted wasn't just functional. He wanted a handle that matched the blade. The guard, the handle, the rivets—each of these three things had to be aesthetically and technically equivalent to the blade. He even started considering adding a scabbard, if time allowed.

Lin Yuan glanced at the timer. There were still about two hours and forty minutes left. In terms of time, he had enough.

After making his decision, he didn't go directly to the materials shelf to get the handle material, but instead went to the equipment area first. There was a small crucible furnace and a sand box there, the basic casting equipment provided by the program team for the contestants. He picked up the sand box and checked the moisture content of the sand—slightly dry, but sufficient. He sprinkled a layer of fine talcum powder on the sand surface, smoothed it with a scraper, then picked up the mold frame placed beside him, selected a tool holder mold of suitable size, placed it on the sand box, and began filling it with sand. The sand filling action was very steady, each layer of sand was compacted just right, leaving no air pockets.

After the mold was formed, he went to the material shelf, took two pieces of brass from the brass section, and also picked up a small piece of copper rod. The brass was used for the knife guard, and the copper for the rivets.

Back at his workstation, Lin Yuan lit the crucible furnace. The propane flame hummed, and the brass in the crucible gradually turned red and bright, eventually melting into a pool of golden-orange liquid metal, with a slightly shimmering sheen on its surface.

He gripped the crucible with tongs and steadily poured the molten copper into the casting spout of the sand box. The golden liquid flowed down the sprue into the mold cavity, creating a wave of heat above the sand surface.

After casting, he set the sandbox aside to cool naturally, wasting no time. He took a piece of ebony wood from the materials shelf—genuine natural ebony, heavy in his hand, with such fine wood that no obvious pores were visible, and a uniform jet black color, occasionally revealing very faint brown grain under the light. This piece was enough for him to make a complete knife handle panel, and the remaining scraps could be used to make some small accessories.

He first used a band saw to cut the ebony into two rough pieces that fit snugly against the sides of the blade, leaving enough allowance at the edges for further processing. Then he drilled a hole in the blade, replaced it with a small drill bit, and drilled rivet holes in corresponding positions on the two pieces of ebony.

When drilling, the speed is set low, and ebony wood chips roll out from both sides of the drill bit. They are as dark as dark chocolate and have a faint sandalwood scent.

After drilling the holes, he began making mosaic nails. The method for making mosaic nails involves wrapping a thin metal tube around a thick rivet, filling the middle with small rods or thin tubes of different materials, and after polishing, the cross-section will show a patchwork pattern effect.

Instead of using ready-made rivets, he took a short piece of brass tubing and a thin copper rod from the materials shelf—the brass tubing was fitted over the copper rod, and the gap between the tubing and the rod was filled with stainless steel capillary tubes. The three materials were fitted together and gently hammered to form a composite rivet rod.

The copper block in the sandbox had cooled to a dark red color. He used pliers to grip the edge of the mold and gently pried it open, breaking the sand mold apart and removing the brass cutter guard from inside. The gate and parting line on the blank still had a rough edge, but the overall shape was already there—the arc at the bottom of the cutter guard fit the root of the cutter, the arcs on both sides were symmetrical, and the thickness was uniform.

He attached the guard to the hilt of the blade, tested the fit, and then began refining it with a file. The file moved across the brass surface, leaving fine metal threads, gradually shaping the edges of the guard into a curve, replacing the harsh angles of the raw casting. After filing, he used sandpaper to polish it step by step, from coarse to fine, and finally lightly ran a cloth wheel with a little polishing wax over it. Under the light, the brass guard gleamed with a warm, golden sheen, lacking the harsh shine of a mirror finish, but possessing a calm and understated quality like the patina on old bronzeware.

After installing the guard, he slipped two ebony veneers onto the sides of the blade's hilt. Brass-plated mosaic rivets were threaded through holes in the hilt, their heads pressing precisely into the rivet holes of the ebony veneers. He gently tapped the ends of the rivets, causing them to expand slightly within the holes in the hilt, thus securing the veneers and the blade together.

The hammering force is precisely controlled—too heavy and the ebony will crack, too light and there will be gaps; the rivet must just fill the hole without applying excessive radial stress.

After riveting, he picked up a file and began to shape the handle. Ebony is much harder and more wear-resistant than ordinary wood, so the file needs more consistent pressure when moving it; otherwise, it can easily create an uneven, curved surface.

His hands were steady, the file moving evenly along the mortise and tenon joint of the handle, each file following the same direction as the previous one. The ebony's curved surface gradually took shape, the thickness of the handle naturally narrowing from the guard to the end, so that when held in the hand, the palm fit perfectly against the highest point of the curved surface.

After filing comes sanding. Starting with 600 grit, then 800, and finally 1200 grit. Ebony doesn't need any coating or varnish during sanding—this wood contains natural oils, and after sanding to a high grit, it naturally develops a matte sheen, feeling warm and smooth like jade. Unlike plastic handles that become slippery with sanding, it has a slight adhesive force that prevents it from slipping in your hand.

After attaching the handle, he turned the knife over and examined the overall effect under the light. The brass guard formed a golden transition line between the blade and the handle, while the dark ebony wood extended naturally downwards from below the guard. A copper mosaic stud ran through the center of the handle, revealing a tiny concentric circle pattern composed of copper, brass, and stainless steel on the cross-section—not an ostentatious decoration, but a subtle and ingenious touch that echoed the flowing cloud patterns on the blade.

The handle is complete.

He glanced at the timer. A little over an hour remained. That was enough time to make a scabbard.

He hadn't seen any suitable leather for the sheath in the workshop—the production team had provided handle material, metal fittings, rivets, and glue, but sheath material wasn't in the standard package. He gestured to Mark on the sidelines, who quickly walked over, listened to his request, and gave him a "nobody's ever wanted this before" look, but he was quick—he returned a few minutes later with several strips of leather borrowed from the props team, a few sheets of thick vegetable-tanned leather, and a small roll of braided rope.

Lin Yuan took the leather and ran his fingers over the surface of the vegetable-tanned leather. It was of uniform thickness, without any scars, and stiff enough. He picked up a leather cutter and cut the leather into two sheaths, the length of the dagger, leaving enough allowance for sewing. Then he sandwiched a thin layer of soft lining between the two pieces of leather—a last-minute idea to prevent the blade from rubbing directly against the hard leather inside the sheath. He used a hand-stitching method, with even and fine stitches, pulling each stitch taut with the same force, allowing the sheath's curve to naturally follow the blade's contours.

After sewing it, he gently moistened the scabbard with warm water, then pressed it lightly along the contours of the blade with his fingers, shaping the leather while it was still damp. He had seen his father do this step when he was in Longquan—his father would use a wet-pressing method to make the leather conform to the curve of the blade when making scabbards, so that the scabbard wouldn't lose its shape after drying. His movements weren't as skillful as his father's, but he had already grasped the feel of it with the strength in his fingers.

After shaping, he placed the scabbard on the edge of the workbench to air dry, and then spent the last few minutes doing the final finishing touches on the blade. He went through the blade again starting from 1200 grit, and after each section of grinding, he soaked it in water to cool it down.

He watched the changes in the cloud-like patterns on the blade—from rough to fine, from blurry to clear, from still to flowing. After reaching two thousand marks, he didn't continue upwards, but instead used a clean cotton cloth dipped in a little oil to gently wipe the blade.

The cloud-like pattern became more three-dimensional under the oil film, and the gradient between the dark and light layers turned into an extremely fine silver line.

The gold of the brass guard and the black of the ebony wood separate the sturdiness of the hilt from the ornateness of the blade, while the red copper mosaic nailed to the hilt quietly gleams with a faint light, like a cloud pattern on the blade floating out of the steel and landing on the wood.

The timer entered its final few seconds. Lin Yuan sheathed the dagger and placed it on the worktable.

The buzzer sounded as the second round of the competition came to an end.