The return to the West Mountains was marked not by the creaking of the cart, but by the heavy, comforting weight of the silver pouch tucked inside Lin Chen's robes. Thirty taels. It was a sum that could buy a decent house in the county seat, or feed a family for years. To Lin Chen, it was merely the first breath of air after a long dive.
They arrived at the ranch just as the first grey light of dawn pierced the mist. The clearing was quiet, the animals huddled in their sheds, steam rising from the roofs.
The door to the hut flew open before they could even unhitch the donkey. Lin Mu stood there, his face pale with worry, a heavy iron fire poker in his hand. Zhao Hu was right behind him, sword drawn.
"Brother!" Lin Mu cried out, dropping the poker with a clatter. "You're back! We were... we were worried when you didn't return by dark."
"We worked late," Lin Chen said, swinging his stiff legs off the cart. He tossed the pouch to Zhao Hu. "Count it."
Zhao Hu caught the bag, feeling the weight. His eyes widened. He loosened the drawstring and peeked inside. The glint of silver reflected in the firelight.
"Thirty taels," Zhao Hu whispered. "The banquet...?"
"Was a success," Lin Chen confirmed, stepping inside the warmth of the hut. He slumped onto a stool, every muscle in his body aching. "We have a contract. The Immortal Feast will buy our meat. But we need volume. And we need quality."
He looked at Dahu, who was grinning ear to ear. "Dahu, go sleep. You've earned a day's rest. Tomorrow, we build the seed beds."
***
The thaw was progressing rapidly. The snow had retreated to the shadowed crevices of the mountains, leaving behind a landscape of brown mud and rushing water.
Lin Chen stood in the lower field, the area he had designated for the primary pasture. The soil was wet and cold, smelling of ancient rot.
*System, analyze soil.*
**[Soil Analysis: Lower Slope Field.]
[Nitrogen: Low.]
[pH: Slightly Acidic.]
[Temperature: 5°C (Too cold for germination of Ryegrass/Alfalfa).]
[Recommendation: Construct Hot Beds.]**
The problem was clear. Spring was technically here, but the mountain soil was stubbornly cold. If he planted the expensive Ryegrass and Alfalfa seeds now, they would rot in the ground or lie dormant until the weeds choked them out. He needed to trick the earth into warming up.
"We don't have plastic sheeting," Lin Chen muttered, pacing the field. "We don't have electric heaters. We have to do this the old way."
He gathered the team by the woodpile.
"We are going to build a nursery," Lin Chen announced. "A hot bed."
"A hot bed?" Er-Leng asked, scratching his head. "Like a warm cot?"
"In a way," Lin Chen said. "We dig a trench. We fill it with fresh manure—horse, cow, donkey, mixed with straw. We pack it tight and cover it with a layer of soil."
He kicked the ground. "The manure will rot. Decomposition creates heat. It can raise the soil temperature by ten degrees or more. We plant the seeds in that soil. When the seedlings are strong, we move them to the field."
"Rotting manure grows grass?" Dahu looked skeptical. "Usually, we just throw the seeds and pray."
"Prayer is for the temple," Lin Chen said, picking up a shovel. "Science is for the farm. Come on. Dig."
They dug a trench three feet deep and ten feet long. It was backbreaking work, but the promise of the silver had invigorated the men. They hauled the mixed manure from the compost heap—steaming, pungent, and alive with microbes.
"Stomp it down!" Lin Chen ordered, jumping into the trench. "We want it to heat up, not expand. Pack it tight!"
Once the trench was filled with the manure "engine," they covered it with six inches of good topsoil mixed with sand.
"Now, the cover," Lin Chen said. "We need to trap the heat."
They didn't have glass. Lin Chen had improvised. He had spent the morning in the village, buying sheets of rough, oiled paper from the paper-maker—normally used for windows or umbrellas. He built a wooden frame over the trench and tacked the oiled paper across it.
It was primitive, translucent, and fragile. But it worked.
"It's like a little house for the grass," Lin Mu observed, looking at the low, paper-topped frame.
"It's an incubator," Lin Chen corrected. He carefully sprinkled the Ryegrass seeds onto the warm soil. "Water it lightly. Lukewarm water. We don't want to shock them."
***
While the grass was germinating in its heated cradle, another task demanded attention.
The sheep.
The fifteen sheep from Wang Da and the original herd were shedding. Their winter coats were heavy, matted with mud and burrs. It was time to shear. If they didn't, the sheep would suffer as the weather warmed, and the wool would be ruined.
Lin Chen had bought a pair of heavy iron shears from the blacksmith. They were blunt and crude compared to modern electric clippers, but they were effective.
"Hold the sheep," Lin Chen instructed Dahu. "Don't strangle it. Just pin it down gently."
Dahu wrestled a ewe to the ground. Lin Chen knelt, the shears in his hand.
*System, activate Shearing Technique.*
The knowledge flowed into his wrists. *Cut close, but not the skin. Follow the contour. Keep the fleece in one piece.*
*Snip. Snip.*
The sound was rhythmic, like a heavy pair of scissors cutting canvas. Lin Chen moved with a surprising fluidity. He started at the belly, working his way up the side.
"Watch the wrinkles," Lin Chen muttered to himself. The local sheep had wrinkly skin, a trait that made shearing difficult. "Stretch the skin."
It took him twenty minutes to finish the first ewe. The fleece came off in a greasy, dirty sheet. The sheep stood up, looking skinny and ridiculous, shivering slightly.
"Wow," Er-Leng breathed. "You stripped it naked."
"Better naked than suffocated," Lin Chen said, wiping sweat from his brow. "And now we have wool."
He looked at the pile of fleece. It was dirty, full of lanolin and vegetable matter. "We need to wash this. We need a creek and soapwort."
"Boss," Dahu pointed. "Look at the sheep."
The ewe, freed from her heavy, matted coat, pranced around the pen. She seemed lighter, happier. She immediately went to the hay trough and ate with vigor.
"They eat better when they aren't carrying a blanket of filth," Lin Chen noted. "Alright. Next one."
They spent the entire day shearing. By sunset, they had fifteen fleeces and a pile of very cold-looking sheep.
Lin Chen looked at the wool. It wasn't the fine Merino wool of the future, but it was decent. It could be spun into sturdy cloth or felted into rugs.
"We sell this?" Zhao Hu asked, prodding the greasy pile.
"Not yet," Lin Chen said. "Washing and carding takes time. We focus on the meat and the grass for now. We store the wool. It's an asset."
***
That evening, Lin Chen sat in the hut, examining the **[Advanced Soil Analysis Report]** the system had provided.
The report showed a map of the ranch. The lower slopes were fertile but acidic. The upper ridge was alkaline but dry. The key was balance.
"We need lime for the lower field," Lin Chen said, making a note. "To fix the acidity. I'll have to buy it from the kiln."
A knock came at the door.
It was rare to have visitors at night. Zhao Hu reached for his weapon, but Lin Chen waved him down.
"Enter."
It was a young boy from the village, panting heavily. "Master Lin! My father... he says you have to come! The village headman is fighting with a merchant!"
"What merchant?"
"The one selling lime! He says the price doubled because the road is bad! Headman Li is trying to stop him!"
Lin Chen paused. Lime. Fate was pushing him.
"I'm coming," Lin Chen said, grabbing his hat. "Zhao Hu, you're with me. Dahu, watch the fire."
They walked down the dark path to the village. The commotion was near the village square. A cart was parked there, loaded with white sacks of quicklime. A fat merchant was shouting at Headman Li.
"Two hundred coins a sack! Take it or leave it! The rain washed out the bridge, I had to take the long road!"
"That is robbery!" Headman Li shouted, his face red. "It was one hundred last month! The farmers need this for the fields!"
"Not my problem!" the merchant sneered. "If you don't buy, I go to the Prefecture. They pay whatever I ask for the city walls."
Lin Chen pushed through the crowd. "I'll take it."
The crowd went silent. The merchant turned, a smirk on his face. "Ah, another customer. Two hundred coins, firm."
"I'll take all of it," Lin Chen said calmly. "Ten sacks."
Headman Li looked at Lin Chen in horror. "Lin Chen! You are mad! You will bankrupt yourself!"
Lin Chen walked up to the cart. He poked a sack. "Two hundred is steep for quicklime. But I have a cart, and I have strong men. I will pay one hundred and fifty. And in exchange, I will allow you to use my donkey path to bypass the washed-out bridge for your next delivery."
The merchant blinked. "Donkey path? Up the mountain?"
"It connects to the trade road further up," Lin Chen lied smoothly. The path was barely wide enough for a mule, but the merchant didn't know that. "It will save you half a day's travel. One hundred fifty. And you unload it at my gate."
The merchant calculated. Saving half a day meant he could make an extra trip. It was profitable.
"Fine," the merchant grunted. "One fifty. But I'm not unloading. You do it."
"Deal."
Lin Chen turned to the villagers. "Headman, I will have surplus lime. I will sell it to the villagers for one hundred and sixty coins. A fair price."
Headman Li stared. "You... you are helping us?"
"I am a rancher," Lin Chen said, adjusting his hat. "I need the village to have good harvests so they can buy my meat. We are neighbors."
He turned and walked away, the crowd parting for him.
"Zhao Hu, bring the cart. Dahu, Er-Leng, get ready to haul rocks."
As they loaded the heavy sacks onto the cart, Lin Chen smiled. He had spent half of his banquet earnings in a single night. But he had secured the soil treatment, gained the favor of the village, and established himself as a player in the local economy.
The hot beds were warming. The lime was ready. The grass would grow.
**[Mission Complete: Soil Preparation.]**
**[Reward: Alfalfa Seed Pack (High Yield).]**
**[Mission Update: Plant the Pasture.]**
The ranch was waking up.