The romance of the "ranching dream" evaporated by the fourth day of clearing the West Slope.
In Li Wei's previous life, he had watched videos of cowboys riding through golden meadows, the sun setting behind majestic mountains. It looked poetic.
Reality was far less cinematic.
It was blisters that popped and wept. It was the grit of yellow dust coating his throat until even water tasted like sand. It was the relentless, monotonous *thud-thud-thud* of the pickaxe against the hardpan earth.
Li Wei stood on the slope, his tunic stripped to the waist, exposing a chest that was rapidly tanning but still leaner than he would have liked. He wiped sweat from his eyes, leaving a muddy streak across his forehead.
"Break," he rasped, leaning on his axe.
Beside him, Li Jun collapsed onto a pile of cleared thorns, groaning dramatically. "Third Brother… I think my arms are going to fall off. If they do, you have to feed me for the rest of my life."
"Stop complaining," Li Hua said, though she sat down heavily next to him. She had insisted on coming today to help haul rocks, claiming the exercise would make her strong enough to fight off bandits. She was currently picking thorns out of her palm with a grimace. "Even the chickens work harder than you. They scratch the ground all day. You just groan."
"The chickens don't have to move boulders the size of my head," Jun retorted weakly.
Li Wei ignored their banter, his eyes scanning the hillside.
They had cleared perhaps a third of a *mu* (approx. 220 square meters). It didn't look like much. Just a scar of brown earth on the yellow hillside. But to Li Wei, every inch was a battle won against the land.
Qin Hu sat on a large rock nearby, sharpening a sickle with a whetstone. He didn't sit because he was tired; he sat because his bad leg was acting up. Li Wei noticed the slight tremor in the man's left knee whenever he shifted his weight, but the former soldier said nothing. He simply worked through the pain, his silence louder than Jun's groans.
"The soil here is compacted," Qin Hu said suddenly, his voice breaking the rhythm of the insects. He ran a calloused hand over the dirt. "Hardpan. Water won't soak in. It'll run off. If you plant grass here, it'll wash away with the first heavy rain."
Li Wei nodded. He had anticipated this. The System had been giving him updates on soil quality, and they weren't good.
"We need to terrace it," Li Wei said, pointing to the slope. "We can't just plant on a flat surface. We need to build small walls, level the ground, and create steps. That will hold the water."
"Terracing?" Li Jun sat up, horrified. "That's… that's engineering! That's for rice paddies! We're just planting grass!"
"Grass needs water and roots," Li Wei said firmly. "If we don't do it right, we waste the seeds. We do it right, or we don't do it."
He looked at the sky. The sun was a merciless white disc.
"Alright. That's enough clearing for today. We need to prep the soil before we can sow. Jun, help me haul the manure."
"Manure?" Jun's face scrunched up. "You mean the chicken poop?"
"And the cow dung we bought from the neighbor," Li Wei said, pointing to the sacks near the path. "The soil is dead. We need to wake it up."
***
**The Investment in Dirt**
The concept of "fertilizer" was not new to farmers, but the intensity with which Li Wei applied it was unusual.
Most farmers scattered manure thinly, treating it as a supplement. Li Wei treated it as the main course.
He had spent another twenty copper coins buying old, rotted manure from a neighbor who owned a single ox. It was cheap, smelling faintly of ammonia and earth.
"Mix it with the topsoil," Li Wei instructed, his hands deep in the muck. He didn't wear gloves. He needed to feel the texture. "Break up the clumps. We want the soil loose, like bread crumbs."
"I never thought I'd pay money for poop," Li Hua muttered, but she shoveled diligently.
Qin Hu watched them for a moment, then hobbled over. He didn't have the stamina for the heavy digging, but he took a rake and began smoothing the earth with precise, short strokes.
"Young Master," Qin Hu said, the title still feeling strange on his tongue. "You treat this grass like it's rice. Is it really worth it? We could just let the chickens roam and eat the wild weeds."
Li Wei paused, wiping his hands on his trousers.
"Qin Hu, have you ever seen a soldier try to fight on an empty stomach?"
Qin Hu nodded slowly. "A hungry soldier is a dead soldier."
"Exactly. The grass is the stomach of the ranch. If the grass is poor, the cattle are poor. If the cattle are poor, the meat is tough and the milk is thin. If we want to raise cattle that are worth gold, we need grass that is fit for kings."
Qin Hu looked at the dirt, then at Li Wei. A slow understanding dawned in his eyes. This wasn't just farming. This was logistics. Supply lines. Resource management. It was war, fought against nature instead of men.
"I understand," Qin Hu said. He attacked the dirt with renewed vigor, smoothing the terrace with military precision.
Li Wei smiled. It was a slow burn, but the team was forming.
***
**The Seed of Hope**
That afternoon, Li Wei brought out the seeds.
He hadn't bought them from a shop. The shops in town sold grain, not pasture grass. Instead, Li Wei had spent the previous evening in the deep woods at the edge of the village, using the System's identification function.
**[Wild Ryegrass (Variant). Quality: Low.]**
**[Potential: Moderate. Can be improved with System Breeding Knowledge (Tier 1).]**
He had gathered two large sacks of wild grass seeds—seeds that most farmers considered weeds. But in his hand, illuminated by the faint blue interface, they were potential gold.
"Is that… weeds?" Li Jun asked, peering into the sack. "We're planting weeds?"
"These are Ryegrass and Fescue," Li Wei corrected. "They grow fast, they have deep roots, and they are rich in protein. Cattle love them."
He knelt on the newly leveled terrace. The soil was dark now, mixed with the manure.
"System," he thought. "Activate Breeding Protocol for Grass."
**[Protocol Active. Host must plant seeds in optimal conditions.]**
**[Condition 1: Soil aeration – Pass.]**
**[Condition 2: Moisture retention – Low. Warning: Irrigation required.]**
Li Wei frowned. The irrigation was the bottleneck.
"We need water," he said aloud. "We've turned the earth, but it's dry as bone deep down."
"We can carry buckets from the village well," Li Hua suggested, wiping her brow. "But that's a long walk. We'll be exhausted before we even water the ground."
Li Wei looked down the slope. The System had detected an underground spring, but digging a well was beyond their current manpower and funds. They needed a cheaper solution.
He walked down the hill, scanning the terrain. The slope angled down towards a small, dried-up gully.
"Qin Hu," Li Wei called out. "When it rains, where does the water flow on this hill?"
Qin Hu looked at the gully. "It comes from the ridge behind us, funnels into that ditch, and washes out into the main river."
"Can we redirect it?"
Qin Hu studied the land. He was a soldier; he knew terrain. "We could build a small diversion dam. A wall of rocks and mud. When it rains, the water would pool at the top of the slope and seep down, rather than rushing through the gully."
"Slow the water down," Li Wei mused. "Let it soak into the earth."
"It won't work for the dry season," Qin Hu warned. "Only for the rains."
"That's enough to start," Li Wei said. "If we can catch the next rainfall, the grass will germinate. Once the roots take hold, they'll hold the water themselves. It's a cycle."
"We build the dam then," Qin Hu said, grabbing a shovel. "Jun, Hua, bring rocks. Lots of them."
"More rocks?" Jun groaned, but he got up. There was no arguing with the soldier's tone.
***
**Evening: The Family Table**
By sunset, the first terrace was finished. It was a modest patch of leveled earth, fertilized and sown with the wild grass seeds Li Wei had collected.
They had also built a rough stone barrier at the top of the slope—a simple check-dam to catch runoff. It was ugly, made of jagged rocks and packed mud, but it was functional.
The walk back to the house was silent. The adrenaline of starting a new project had faded, leaving only the heavy exhaustion of physical labor.
Dinner was a somber affair. The grain stores were visibly lower. The porridge was thinner than yesterday.
Father Li Dazhong stared at the bowl, then at Li Wei.
"You spent money on manure today," he stated. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Li Wei said, eating slowly to make the small portion last. "To prepare the soil."
"And you are using the family's labor—your brothers, your sister—for this… grass hill."
"I am, Father."
"The neighbors are talking," Dazhong said, his voice low. "They say the Li family's third son has gone mad. They say he's ruining his body and dragging his siblings into a pit. They say you're planting weeds for ghosts."
Li Wei put down his bowl. He looked around the table. Grandpa Li was smoking. Mother looked worried. Li Chen was trying to be invisible.
"Let them talk, Father," Li Wei said calmly. "They see weeds. I see feed. They see a barren hill. I see a pasture."
"And if it fails?" Dazhong asked, his eyes hard. "If the rain doesn't come? If the seeds die? You have spent the money we could have used for grain in winter."
Li Wei met his gaze without flinching. He respected his father. The man was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Fear was his default setting because the penalty for failure was starvation.
"If it fails," Li Wei said quietly, "I will go to the town and work as a coolie. I will carry sacks until my back breaks to pay back every copper. I will sell the chickens. I will not let the family starve."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, rough cloth bag. He placed it on the table.
It was the remaining copper coins from the egg sales. He had kept a reserve.
"This is thirty coins," Li Wei said. "Keep it, Father. Hide it. This is the family's emergency fund. I will not touch it for the ranch."
Dazhong looked at the coins, then at his son. He saw the resolve in Li Wei's eyes—a resolve that hadn't been there two weeks ago. The boy had become a man.
Dazhong slowly reached out and took the coins. "I will hold this. But know this, Wei'er… the field is unforgiving. The weather is unforgiving. Do not bet everything on hope."
"I'm not betting on hope, Father," Li Wei said. "I'm betting on hard work."
He turned to his little brother, changing the subject to ease the tension. "Chen'er, how is your handwriting?"
The boy looked up, startled. "It's… okay, Third Brother. The teacher says my strokes are strong, but I need to write faster."
"Show me after dinner," Li Wei smiled, his expression softening. "I want to see the hands that will hold the Imperial Seal one day."
Chen grinned, his fear of the dinner table dissipating.
***
**Night: The Incubator**
Later that night, while the rest of the house slept, Li Wei was in the storage room.
He had a blueprint in his mind, provided by the System days ago: **The Simple Incubator.**
The chickens were laying, but natural hatching was slow. A hen could only sit on a few eggs at a time. If he wanted to expand, he needed to industrialize the process, even if it was primitive.
He had scavenged a large clay pot, some straw, and a few ceramic tiles.
**[Construction Step 1: Create a thermal mass base.]**
He arranged the tiles at the bottom of the wooden box he had built, packing them with ash for insulation. He placed a clay jar filled with warm water in the center.
**[Construction Step 2: Create the egg chamber.]**
He arranged a layer of eggs around the water jar, careful not to let them touch. He covered them with a quilt.
It was a delicate balance. Too hot, the embryos died. Too cold, they stopped growing. He had no thermostat. He had to rely on the System's temperature reading and his own diligence.
**[System Monitoring Active.]**
**[Current Temp: 38.2°C. Range: Optimal.]**
**[Days to Hatch: 21.]**
Li Wei sat back on his heels, wiping grime from his face. He was exhausted. His back ached, his hands were raw, and his stomach was gnawing with hunger.
He looked at the humble box. It looked like a pile of junk. But inside, life was forming.
He looked out the window at the dark silhouette of the West Slope. Under the moonlight, the cleared patch of land looked pale and vulnerable against the wild brush.
"It doesn't look like much yet," he whispered to the silence.
But it was his. Every rock moved, every sack of manure hauled, every seed pressed into the dirt.
It was slow. It was painful. And the harvest was months away.
But for the first time in his life—both lives—he felt like he was building something that couldn't be taken away by a pink slip or a corporate restructuring.
He blew out the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
"Goodnight, little ranch," he whispered.
He had to be up in four hours to turn the eggs and check the temperature.