The celebrations of the New Year faded like the embers of a dying fire, leaving behind a quiet, biting reality. The red lanterns still hung from the eaves, but their festive glow seemed dimmer against the iron-gray sky of early February.
The snow had hardened into crusts of ice that crunched loudly underfoot, signaling that the deep freeze was not yet ready to release its grip on the land.
Inside the Chen household, the atmosphere had shifted from celebration to calculation.
Chen Yuan sat at the main table, a ledger open before him. Beside him sat a plate of thinly sliced bacon—the "La Rou" he had cured. The meat was translucent, the fat white as jade, the lean meat a deep reddish-brown, marbled with the fine lines of the curing process.
He picked up a slice and held it against the light.
"It's good," he muttered to himself. "But is it good enough to sell?"
The bacon was a luxury born of necessity—a way to preserve the pork they couldn't eat fresh. But in Chen Yuan's mind, it was a product. A brand.
"The smell is too strong for the common market," he analyzed, taking a bite. The smoky, peppery flavor exploded in his mouth, followed by the rich, savory taste of the fat. "Villagers might find it too foreign. They prefer fresh meat or simple salted pork."
He turned to Wang Shi, who was mending a coat nearby. "Sister-in-law, if we were to sell this in the city, who would buy it?"
Wang Shi looked up, thinking. "The rich. The merchants. People who are tired of eating the same salted pork every winter. This... this has a flavor. A 'strange' flavor, but tasty. Like the food the foreign merchants bring."
"Exactly," Chen Yuan nodded. "It's a premium product. We can't sell it in the streets. We need a high-end buyer."
He closed the ledger.
"I'm going to the city tomorrow. Not to the Steward. To the restaurants."
* * *
The next morning, Chen Yuan prepared the sled.
He packed ten slabs of bacon, wrapped in clean muslin cloth, into a wooden crate. He also packed a small bag of the dried mint and a few potted chrysanthemums that were still blooming, just in case.
"Xu Tie," Chen Yuan called. "Are you coming?"
The veteran stepped out of the shed, tightening his belt. "Restless. The dogs need a walk. We'll come."
He whistled. Hui Hui and Hu, now considerably larger and sporting thick winter coats, bounded out of the snow. They were still clumsy, but their barks were deeper, more authoritative.
"They are good for guarding the sled," Xu Tie said, patting Hu's head. "Let's go."
The journey to the Prefecture City was smoother now. The main road had been packed down by traffic, and the sun was strong enough to soften the ice slightly during the day.
As they approached the city gates, the guards barely glanced at them. Chen Yuan's face was becoming familiar. The massive black bull pulling the sled, however, still drew stares.
"Make way!" Chen Yuan called out, guiding Hei Tan through the crowded streets.
He didn't head for the market district. He headed for the "Pleasure District"—the area where high-end restaurants, teahouses, and inns catered to the wealthy merchants and visiting officials.
He stopped in front of a three-story building with a red facade and gold trim. A sign hung above the door: *Immortal Pavilion*.
It was one of the most famous restaurants in the city, known for its exotic dishes and high prices.
"This place?" Xu Tie scoffed. "A bowl of noodles here costs a tael of silver."
"Which is why they can afford my bacon," Chen Yuan replied calmly. He jumped off the sled and tied Hei Tan to a post. "Watch the sled. If anyone touches the meat... let the dogs handle it."
He grabbed the crate and walked inside.
The interior was warm, filled with the scent of expensive incense and roasted duck. Soft music played from a balcony above.
A waiter in a clean blue robe rushed over, looking down his nose at Chen Yuan's patched, rustic clothes.
"Boy, delivery is around the back," the waiter said dismissively. "This is the front entrance."
"I'm not a delivery boy," Chen Yuan said, his voice steady. "I'm a merchant. I have a specialty ingredient for your Head Chef. Is he available?"
The waiter laughed. "Chef Zhang? He is busy preparing lunch for the Magistrate! He doesn't have time to talk to every farmer selling turnips."
"Tell him I have 'Western Smoked Gold'," Chen Yuan improvised, using a flashy name. "Tell him it pairs perfectly with their famous wine. If he doesn't like it, I'll leave and never come back."
The waiter hesitated. The confidence in the boy's eyes was unnerving.
"Wait here."
The waiter disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned, looking flustered.
"Come in. But make it quick."
* * *
The kitchen of the Immortal Pavilion was a chaotic battlefield of heat and steel. Cooks shouted, fires roared, and cleavers chopped rhythmically.
In the center stood a large, rotund man in a white apron—Chef Zhang. He was tasting a soup, his brow furrowed.
"What is it?" Chef Zhang barked, not looking at Chen Yuan. "I have a banquet in two hours. Don't waste my time."
"Chef," Chen Yuan bowed slightly. "I have pork. But not ordinary pork."
He opened the crate. The smell of the apple-wood smoke and peppercorns wafted out, cutting through the greasy smell of the kitchen.
Chef Zhang paused. He sniffed the air.
"What is that smell?" He turned around, his eyes narrowing. "It smells like... a campfire? And peppercorns?"
He walked over and peered into the crate. He picked up a slab of the bacon.
"It's pork belly," Chef Zhang said. "But the color... it's preserved? It feels hard."
"It is cured and smoked," Chen Yuan explained. "The meat is rubbed with salt and spices, then smoked over fruit wood for days. This kills the bacteria and infuses the flavor. It can be stored for months without spoiling. And when you cook it..."
"Quiet," Chef Zhang cut him off. He pulled a small, sharp knife from his belt and sliced a thin piece of the raw bacon. He smelled it again, then popped it into his mouth.
He chewed slowly. The kitchen went silent. The sous-chefs watched nervously.
Chef Zhang's expression shifted from skepticism to surprise, then to concentration.
"The texture is firm," he mumbled. "The fat... it melts differently. It has a smoky depth that fresh pork lacks. And the pepper... it tickles the throat."
He swallowed.
"Slice it," Chef Zhang ordered a sous-chef. "Thinly. Then blanch it in hot water for a minute to remove excess salt. Stir-fry it with garlic sprouts and chili."
"Yes, Chef!"
Ten minutes later, a plate of stir-fried bacon arrived. The smell was heavenly—savory, spicy, and smoky.
Chef Zhang tasted it. His eyes widened. He took another bite, then another.
"This..." Chef Zhang wiped his mouth. "This is not a winter food for peasants. This is a delicacy. It has the rusticity of the countryside, but the complexity of... of a fine wine."
He looked at Chen Yuan with new respect. "Boy, where did you learn this?"
"It is a recipe from the far West," Chen Yuan said. "I have more. I can supply you regularly."
"Price?" Chef Zhang asked, getting straight to the point.
"Fresh pork belly costs twenty coins a catty in the market," Chen Yuan said. "This is processed. It takes time, salt, and wood. I sell it for sixty coins a catty."
"Sixty?!" Chef Zhang exclaimed. "That is triple the price!"
"Chef," Chen Yuan said calmly, pointing to the plate. "Can you buy that taste in the market? Can you buy the preservation? In summer, when fresh pork spoils in a day, this will still be good. You can serve 'Immortal Bacon' all year round."
Chef Zhang stared at the empty plate. He knew the customers. They would pay silver for something new, something exotic.
"Forty coins," Chef Zhang countered. "And I take all you have."
"Fifty," Chen Yuan said. "And you don't take all. I bring you ten catties a week. You have priority, but I keep the right to sell to others later."
"Forty-five. And you deliver to the back door."
"Deal."
Chen Yuan smiled. Forty-five coins per catty. He had about twenty catties on the sled. That was nearly one tael of silver just for the meat he couldn't eat himself. Plus, the profit margin was huge—the processing cost was low.
"I'll bring the rest from the sled," Chen Yuan said.
* * *
As Chen Yuan walked out of the kitchen, feeling lighter, he nearly bumped into a man entering from the front hall.
It was a man in his thirties, wearing a silk brocade robe. He had a sharp, fox-like face and a fan in his hand.
Behind him stood two burly guards.
"Watch where you're going, boy," one of the guards growled, shoving Chen Yuan aside.
Chen Yuan stumbled but caught his balance. He looked up. The man in the silk robe didn't even glance at him; he just walked past towards the private rooms.
"Manager Lin," the waiter bowed obsequiously to the man. "The best room is ready for you."
*Manager Lin?*
Chen Yuan's mind raced. The Lin Family. The meat monopolists.
He watched Manager Lin disappear into the back. The Lin family controlled the slaughterhouses and the fresh meat supply in the city. If they found out Chen Yuan was selling processed meat—meat that didn't require their slaughterhouses—they might see it as competition.
Or worse, they might want to take it over.
*We need to be careful,* Chen Yuan thought. *We are still too small to fight a dragon.*
He went to the back door and brought in the rest of the bacon. Chef Zhang paid him on the spot—nine hundred copper coins. A heavy pouch.
"Good doing business," Chef Zhang said. "Next week, bring more. And maybe... try smoking a leg? A ham?"
"I'll look into it."
* * *
The ride back was tense.
Xu Tie sensed Chen Yuan's mood. "Trouble?"
"I saw a Lin family manager," Chen Yuan said, patting the pouch. "They control the meat. Right now, I'm just a flea on a dog's back. But if I grow..."
"They will bite," Xu Tie finished. "We need teeth of our own."
"The dogs are growing," Chen Yuan said, looking at Hui Hui and Hu trotting alongside the sled. "But we need more. We need influence. We need to not just be merchants, but... protected merchants."
He thought of the City Lord's Manor. The Steward. The flowers.
"And we need to not rely on just one market," Chen Yuan said aloud. "The bacon is good. But the cows... the cows are the real gold. Hope is pregnant. If she gives birth in spring, we have a calf. If the calf has the hump... we have proof. And proof brings investors."
* * *
When they returned to the hill, the sun was setting.
Little Stone ran out to meet them. "Boss! Boss! You're back!"
"Did anything happen?" Chen Yuan asked, seeing the boy's excited face.
"The ice! On the river! It cracked!"
Chen Yuan looked towards the river valley. Sure enough, the solid sheet of white was fracturing. The sound of groaning ice echoed faintly in the distance.
"The thaw is starting," Chen Yuan said, exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Spring is coming."
He went straight to the animal shed.
Hope was standing up, shifting her weight from one hoof to the other. She looked uncomfortable.
Chen Yuan's heart skipped a beat. *System.*
**[Subject: Hope.]**
**[Status: Early Labor Signs.]**
**[Note: Subject is restless due to barometric pressure change (Spring Storm approaching).]**
"Early labor?" Chen Yuan whispered. *No, not yet. It's too early.*
He rushed inside. "Little Stone! Get the fresh bean cake! Xu Tie, check the straw bedding!"
The winter was ending, but the danger was just beginning. The change of seasons was the most lethal time for livestock. The cold weakened them, and the sudden warmth brought disease.
He stayed in the shed that night, watching Hope.
She lay down and got up repeatedly. She wasn't pushing yet, just uncomfortable.
"It's the pressure," Xu Tie said, sitting by the door. "My leg hurts too. A storm is coming. A big one. The spring rain."
"Rain is good for the grass," Chen Yuan said, his eyes fixed on the cow. "But bad for a newborn calf."
He looked at the calendar on the wall. The estimated due date was still a month away.
"If she births now... the calf will be weak," Chen Yuan muttered.
He closed his eyes, accessing the system store. There was no magic potion. There was only knowledge.
*System, how to delay labor or ensure safety?*
**[Recommendation: Reduce stress. Keep environment dry and warm. Ensure Calcium intake to prevent milk fever.]**
"Eggshells," Chen Yuan said. "Little Stone! Bring the bag of crushed eggshells! Mix it with warm water!"
He spent the night mixing a calcium slurry and coaxing Hope to drink it. He rubbed her belly gently, humming the country songs he remembered, trying to soothe the beast.
Around midnight, the wind howled. The rain began. *Splat. Splat.* Cold, freezing rain that hissed against the roof tiles.
Hope let out a low, painful moo.
Chen Yuan stood up.
"Xu Tie."
"I'm here."
"Boil water. Get the towels. We might be delivering a calf tonight."
He looked at his hands—callused, scarred, dirty. They were no longer the hands of an office worker. They were the hands of a rancher.
"Come on, Hope," he whispered, kneeling in the straw. "Don't give up on me now. We're so close."
The rain battered the shed. The wind screamed. But inside, under the dim lantern light, the battle for the first calf of the Great Dynasty Ranch was about to begin.