The success of the Spring Plowing Festival should have bought Li Wei a week of peace. It did not.
Two days after the ceremony, while Li Wei was knee-deep in the irrigation ditch checking the sluice gates, the shadow he had seen at the festival materialized.
The man in black armor didn't knock. He stood at the ranch gate like a statue of war, his hand resting on the hilt of a straight sword. He wore no family crest, only a simple iron badge pinned to his chest—a tiger swallowing the sun.
Chen Hu was the first to spot him. The former soldier went rigid, his hand instinctively moving to the knife at his belt. He recognized that stance. He recognized that badge.
"Boss," Chen Hu whispered, his voice tight. "That is a Tiger Guard. The Imperial Secret Service. They handle logistics and... executions."
Li Wei wiped the mud from his hands. "If they wanted me dead, I wouldn't be standing here. Stay close."
Li Wei walked up to the gate, tipping the brim of his wolf-pelt hat. "The Westland Ranch is closed for private business today. Unless you're here to buy manure?"
The man didn't smile. He looked past Li Wei, scanning the ranch with predatory efficiency.
"Li Wei," the man said. His voice was gravel grinding on stone. "I am Captain Wang of the Northern Logistics Division. I saw your... demonstration... at the plowing festival. You handle beasts well."
"I handle them better than I handle bureaucratic talk," Li Wei said. "State your business, Captain."
"The northern border is restless," Wang said, cutting straight to the point. "The Xiongnu tribes are moving. The army is mobilizing for a long summer campaign. We have grain, we have arrows, but we lack... durable meat."
Li Wei's ears perked up. "Durable?"
"Salted pork rots in the summer heat within three days. Dried fish crumbles to dust in the saddlebags. The soldiers need protein that survives the march. Something that doesn't break, doesn't spoil, and doesn't need cooking."
He looked at the smoking shed. "I heard you have a way with beef. Can you make it march?"
Li Wei's mind raced. The military contract. The holy grail of any agricultural business in the ancient world. A contract with the army meant volume. It meant protection. It meant silver by the chest.
"I can," Li Wei said slowly. "But not the brisket. That's for the Governor's table. For the army... I have something else."
He turned to Chen Hu. "Bring the strips from the drying rack. The 'Iron Meat'."
Chen Hu nodded and ran to the shed.
Inside the shed, hanging from the rafters away from the prime briskets, were long, thin strips of beef. These were cut from the round—the hind leg of the old oxen. Tough, lean muscle.
Li Wei had prepared these as an experiment, based on the South African *Biltong* and American *Jerky* traditions. He had marinated the strips in vinegar (to kill bacteria), salt, brown sugar, and crushed coriander, then hung them in the smokehouse for days until they were dry, hard, and dark.
Chen Hu returned with a wooden platter. The strips looked like dark, twisted bark.
Captain Wang picked one up. It was stiff as a board. He tried to bite into it.
*Snap.*
The Captain frowned. "It is hard as iron. My men will break their teeth."
"It requires work," Li Wei admitted. He took a strip. He didn't bite it. He tore a piece off from the grain, using his back teeth to shear the fibers. He chewed.
The flavor exploded—salty, tangy, smoky. As he chewed, the dried meat rehydrated in his mouth, becoming a rich, beefy steak that released its juices slowly.
"Try tearing it, not biting through," Li Wei instructed.
Captain Wang followed the instruction. He tore a strip along the grain. He chewed.
His eyes widened.
It wasn't just edible. It was intense. A single strip felt like eating a pound of meat. The salt replenished what was lost in sweat. The protein fueled the muscles.
"It is... potent," Wang said, finishing the strip. "It tastes of fire and earth."
"It weighs nothing," Li Wei said. "One pound of this equals three pounds of fresh meat. You can carry a week's worth of rations in a saddlebag. It won't rot. It won't break. In the rain, just wrap it in oilcloth."
Captain Wang looked at the platter with new eyes. "This is soldier's food. How much can you make?"
Li Wei thought of his supply chain. The "Fallen Stock" purchasing station. The old oxen. The injured cows.
"Currently, I can produce fifty catties (approx 30kg) a week," Li Wei said. "If I expand the drying shed, perhaps one hundred."
"I need five hundred catties a month," Wang said. "Starting next month. Can you do it?"
It was a massive ask. He would need to buy every broken-down ox in the province.
"I can," Li Wei said, sensing the opportunity of a lifetime. "But I need silver upfront to buy the livestock. And I need the army's protection for my transport wagons."
Captain Wang stared at him. This was not the simpering son-in-law the rumors spoke of. This was a merchant who knew his worth.
"I will give you one hundred taels of silver as a deposit," Wang said, pulling a heavy pouch from his belt. "Deliver the first batch to the North Gate barracks in thirty days. If the meat is good, you will have a standing contract for the autumn campaign."
He dropped the pouch into Li Wei's hands. It was heavy. *So* heavy.
"And Li Wei," Wang added, his voice dropping to a warning. "The Imperial Army does not tolerate failure. Do not take the silver and run."
"I don't run," Li Wei said, weighing the silver. "I ride. We have a deal, Captain."
Wang nodded, turned, and marched out.
***
The moment the gate closed, Li Wei threw the pouch to Chen Hu.
"Count it. Then hide it. We don't want Uncle De smelling this much silver."
He turned to Sheng. "We need to scale up. We need to buy every old cow within fifty miles. I need you to go to the horse market. I don't need more horses right now. I need *wagons*. We need to look like a transport company."
"Brother! One hundred taels!" Sheng was shaking. "That is... that is a fortune!"
"It's a debt," Li Wei corrected. "A debt of meat. We have to turn that silver into beef jerky before the month is out."
He walked to the workshop, pulling out his notebook.
*Logistics:*
* *Goal: 500 catties of Jerky.*
* *Raw Material needed: Approx 1500 catties of live weight (accounting for waste/bones).*
* *Current Stock: 0.*
He had to strip the market.
"Chen Hu," Li Wei called out. "You're going to the far counties. Take the horse. Offer ten percent above market price for any draft ox over ten years old. Tell the farmers... we are saving their retirement."
***
**The Next Morning**
Zhao Qingyu arrived to find the ranch in a state of organized chaos.
Men were hammering on a new extension to the smoking shed. Wagons were being repaired. The smell of vinegar and spices filled the air.
"Li Wei!" she called out, stepping over a pile of wood shavings. "What is happening? The servants say the army visited."
Li Wei walked out of the shed, wearing a leather apron, his face smeared with soot. He looked tired but electric.
"Wife," he greeted her. "We have a contract. The army."
"The *army*?" She froze. "The Imperial Army?"
"They want my 'Iron Meat'. Five hundred catties. They gave me a deposit."
He reached into his apron and pulled out a single gold tael—a tenth of the deposit. "Here. For the family accounts. Consider it the first installment on the loan."
Qingyu looked at the gold coin in her hand. It was heavy, cool, and stamped with the Emperor's face.
"You turned... garbage... into gold," she whispered.
"I turned hard work into gold," Li Wei corrected. "But I have a problem. I need to process a lot of meat quickly. I need a faster way to cut it. Hand-slicing takes too long."
He looked at his workshop. He needed a machine. Or at least, a tool.
"I need to go to the blacksmith," Li Wei said. "I need to invent a slicer."
He turned to Qingyu. "Will you stay and watch the fire? The jerky needs to stay at a specific temperature. Too hot, it cooks. Too cold, it rots."
It was a request for help. Not an order. Not a plea.
Qingyu looked at him, then at the chaotic, messy, thriving ranch. She looked at the gold in her hand.
"I... I suppose I can check the temperature," she said, tucking the gold into her sleeve. "But do not expect me to carry manure."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Li Wei smiled.
As he walked away, shouting orders to Sheng, Qingyu stood by the fire pit. She watched the smoke rise.
He was doing it. He was actually doing it. And he had just handed her a gold tael as if it were a copper coin.
For the first time, the thought crossed her mind: *Maybe I didn't marry a burden. Maybe I married a bear.*
**[System Notification]**
**[Contract Secured: Imperial Army Logistics.]**
**[Funds: High.]**
**[New Quest: The Slicer. Invent a mechanical meat slicer to increase production.]**
**[Deadline: 30 Days.]**
Li Wei grinned. He had an army to feed, a slicer to invent, and a ranch to build.
The West was getting busy.