The morning after the storm was draped in a thick, low-hanging mist that clung to the knees of the mountains like a wet shroud. The world felt renewed, if damp. The "Alkali Death" soil of the Lin property, once a grey and dusty waste, was now a deep, chocolate brown, drinking in the nitrogen-rich rainwater.
Lin Yan stood in the center of the yard, his boots sinking an inch into the mud. He wasn't looking at the sky; he was looking at the North Slope. The deluge had triggered a minor shift in the mountain's ecology. When the high-altitude pastures became too treacherous and the winds too sharp, the wild herds moved downward into the sheltered gullies.
"Da, Er, San—gather the ropes," Lin Yan commanded. "And bring the old transport baskets. Today we aren't builders; we're shepherds."
Lin San, the most agile of the brothers, was already buzzing with energy. He had spent the last week practicing with the rawhide lariat until his arms were sore. "Are we going for the Iron-Hoof bulls, Yan'er?"
"Not yet," Lin Yan cautioned. "We don't have the fencing to hold a bull, nor the strength to feed one. Today, we look for the 'Mountain Silk'—the wild blue-horns. Their wool is thick from the winter, and their meat is lean. If we can capture a small flock, we'll have the beginnings of a textile trade for the sisters."
The Gulleys of Stone Creek
The trek was grueling. The mountain paths had turned into slick slides of shale and mud. Every step required the brothers to dig their toes in, their breaths coming in white plumes.
As they climbed, Lin Yan observed the flora. The System's map was pulsing with green markers. The rain had brought out the 'Iron-Root' vines—a hardy, fibrous plant that was terrible for eating but perfect for weaving reinforced fences. He made a mental note to send the younger sisters up here later with shears.
"Look!" Lin Er whispered, pointing toward a narrow ravine.
There, huddled under a rocky overhang to escape the dripping trees, were five wild sheep. They were smaller than modern breeds, with curved, slate-blue horns and shaggy, matted coats that looked like dirty clouds. They were skittish, their ears twitching at the sound of a snapping twig.
"Don't rush them," Lin Yan whispered. "San, you take the high ridge. Da, you move to the mouth of the gully. Er and I will stay here. We don't want to catch them all by the neck—we just want to drive them toward the narrow passage where the mud is thickest."
It was a classic "Pincer" move. In his past life, Lin Yan had used similar tactics to corner market competitors. Here, the stakes were much more visceral.
The drive was a chaotic ballet of splashing mud and sharp whistles. Lin San moved like a mountain cat, leaping from rock to rock to turn the lead ram back toward the center. When the sheep hit the deep, sludge-like mud at the bottom of the gully, their small hooves struggled.
Whish!
Lin San's rope flew through the air. It wasn't a perfect loop, but it snagged the rear leg of a ewe.
"I got one!" he yelled, digging his heels into the muck.
Lin Yan moved in, his own lariat ready. He didn't go for a throat catch—too much risk of choking the animal. He threw a wide loop that settled over the shoulders of the lead ram. The ram bleated a challenge, its muscles rippling, but the weight of Lin Yan and Lin Da on the other end of the rope was too much.
By midday, they had three ewes and one ram secured. One had escaped into the higher crags, but Lin Yan didn't mind. "Four is enough. A flock starts with a family, just like a house."
The Scholar's Trial
While the older brothers were wrestling sheep in the mud, the youngest, Lin Xiao, was facing a different kind of storm.
The village school was a small, draughty building run by Teacher Meng, a failed Imperial candidate who took out his frustrations on the sons of farmers. Lin Xiao, despite being the thinnest and poorest of the students, was undeniably the brightest.
He sat at the back of the room, using a charred stick to write characters on a flat piece of slate.
"Lin Xiao," Teacher Meng barked, his bamboo cane tapping against his palm. "Stand and recite the third chapter of the 'Classic of Filial Piety'."
Lin Xiao stood, his back straight despite the patches on his tunic. He recited the text perfectly, his voice clear and steady. The other boys—the sons of the grain miller and the village elders—watched with simmering resentment.
"Very good," Meng said grudgingly. "But tell me, Lin Xiao... I hear your family has come into 'strange' wealth. They say your brother raises demon-birds and builds walls of mud. Does the 'Classic' not teach that a scholar should distance himself from the pursuits of the merchant and the butcher?"
The classroom went silent. It was a trap. If Lin Xiao defended the ranch, he was "un-scholarly." If he denounced it, he was unfilial.
Lin Xiao looked the teacher in the eye. "The 'Classic' teaches that the greatest act of piety is to ensure one's parents do not starve. My brother works the land so that I may work the brush. If the Sage had no grain to eat, he would have had no breath to teach."
Teacher Meng's face turned a mottled purple. He raised his cane, but the bell for the midday meal rang. Lin Xiao bowed deeply and walked out, his heart pounding. He knew his path was narrowing. The richer the Lin family became, the harder the world would try to pull them back down.
The First "Ranch" BBQ
As evening fell, the Lin courtyard was a scene of organized chaos. The four new sheep were tied to sturdy posts in the new cellar, their coats being dried with straw by the sisters.
"We need to celebrate," Lin Yan said, looking at his weary family. "And we need to test the meat I've been aging."
He went to the cold corner of the shed and brought out the mountain hare he had brined and hung days ago. The meat had darkened to a deep mahogany, the surface firm and dry. To his family, it looked "spoiled," but to Lin Yan, it was a masterpiece of enzyme breakdown.
He built a large fire in the center of the yard, using dry cedar and pine. He fashioned a spit from a green branch and began to roast the hare, basting it with a mixture of wild honey, salt, and the rendered fat from the goat's milk.
The aroma that began to drift across the fence was unlike anything Stone Creek had ever smelled. It wasn't the smell of boiled soup or burnt grain. It was the smell of Caramelized Protein—the holy grail of ranch cooking.
The family gathered around. Even Zhang He, the mason, looked on with wide eyes. Lin Yan sliced the meat with his new iron knife. The outside was a salty, sweet crust; the inside was incredibly tender, falling apart at the touch.
"Eat," Lin Yan said, handing the first piece to his father.
As they ate, the exhaustion of the day seemed to vanish. Lin San began to tell the story of the sheep-catch, exaggerating his leaps. Lin Xiao recounted his "battle" with Teacher Meng. The sisters laughed, their faces glowing in the firelight.
For a moment, they weren't the "Poor Lins." They were a clan.
"Brother," Lin San said, his mouth full of roasted hare. "What do we call this? This life?"
Lin Yan looked at the rising walls of the Big House, the bleating sheep in the cellar, and the vast, dark mountains waiting to be conquered. He thought of the word Ranch, but that wasn't quite right for this world.
"We call it the Foundation," Lin Yan said, his voice low and steady. "We are building a house that will last a thousand years, one animal and one character at a time."
But as they laughed, Lin Yan noticed a figure standing at the edge of the firelight's reach. It was Qin Zhan, the disgraced soldier he had seen at the market—the man the System had identified as his future right-hand.
The man was watching the fire, his hand resting on the hilt of a broken sword. He didn't look hungry for food; he looked hungry for a reason to live.
Lin Yan stood up and cut a thick slice of meat. He walked toward the shadows. "The fire is warm, traveler. And the meat is plenty. Will you join the Lin family tonight?