The days grew shorter, and the wind carried a bite that promised snow. The hills, once a blanket of wild browns and greens, were turning the color of rust and iron.
Lin Chen stood by the stream, watching the water rush over the stones. In his hand, he held a single stalk of the ryegrass he had planted. It was still thin, struggling against the poor soil, but it was alive.
"It's not enough," he muttered.
The eight animals in the shed were consuming forage at an alarming rate. The hillside had plenty of dry grass, but it was low in nutrition. Without high-quality feed, the sheep wouldn't gain the fat they needed to survive the deep winter. They would wither, and his investment would die.
"Brother!" Lin Mu came running down the path, his face flushed. "The cart is ready. Zhao Hu says the axle is fixed."
Today was a critical day. Lin Chen wasn't going to the market to buy; he was going to the fields to scavenge.
In the farming cycle, after the harvest, the fields were littered with stalks—corn stalks, sweet potato vines, and peanut stems. To the local farmers, this was waste to be burned or plowed under. To Lin Chen, it was potential energy.
"Let's go," Lin Chen said, tossing the grass blade into the wind.
They walked to the village, pulling the old, creaking cart. The grey donkey, now named "Old Grey" by Lin Mu, pulled the load with a surprising amount of spirit. The ginger paste and rest had done wonders; the donkey's coat had regained a slight sheen, and its bite was less malicious, though it still tried to nip Lin Chen's sleeve whenever he wasn't looking.
The village fields were busy. Farmers were burning piles of dry corn stalks, sending plumes of white smoke into the grey sky.
"Stop!" Lin Chen called out to an old farmer who was about to light a massive pile of dried sweet potato vines. "Uncle! Don't burn those!"
The farmer, a weathered man named Uncle Wu, paused, his torch in hand. "Eh? Young Master Lin? Why shouldn't I burn them? They take up space. I need to clear the field for next spring."
"I'll take them," Lin Chen said, pointing to the cart. "I'll clear your field for free. Just let me have the vines."
Uncle Wu scratched his head. "You want this trash? It's dry and tough. Even the cows won't eat it unless they're starving."
"I have a use for it," Lin Chen said. He didn't explain. Explaining fermentation and silage to a traditional farmer without proof would only make him look crazier than he already did.
"Suit yourself," Uncle Wu shrugged. "Save me the labor of burning it. Take it all."
For the next three days, Lin Chen, Lin Mu, and Zhao Hu became scavengers. They moved from field to field, gathering what others discarded. The cart groaned under the weight of corn stalks, bean vines, and potato stems. Their hands were cut by the dry leaves, their backs ached from the bundling.
"Are we building a nest for giants?" Zhao Hu asked on the second evening, throwing a heavy bundle of corn stalks onto the pile near the hut. The mound was now taller than the house. "This is dry wood. It burns well, but it won't fatten a sheep."
"It's not going to be dry for long," Lin Chen said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Mu'er, bring the hatchet. We need to chop this into inches."
"Chop it?" Lin Mu looked at the mountain of vegetation. "All of it?"
"All of it," Lin Chen confirmed. "The shorter the piece, the better it packs."
They worked under the light of a kerosene lantern. *Chop. Chop. Chop.* The rhythm was monotonous. Zhao Hu grumbled about the madness of scholars, but he wielded the heavy cleaver with efficiency, turning the pile of stalks into a confetti of roughage.
***
The next morning, the real work began.
Lin Chen selected a spot near the animal shed, on a slope where water wouldn't pool. He marked out a rectangle in the earth.
"We dig," Lin Chen said, picking up a shovel.
"Now we're digging graves for the grass?" Zhao Hu asked, leaning on his spear. "I thought you were a rancher, not a mole."
"A silage pit," Lin Chen corrected. "We are going to turn this dry waste into green, juicy feed. The pit keeps the air out. The moisture and the natural sugars will ferment it. It will be sweet, sour, and soft. The animals will fight to eat it."
Zhao Hu looked skeptical. "Ferment grass? It will rot."
"There is a difference between rot and fermentation," Lin Chen said, driving the shovel into the earth. "Rot needs air. Fermentation needs an airtight seal. Trust me."
The soil was hard, compacted by years of neglect. Digging the pit was backbreaking labor. By noon, they had only dug three feet deep. Lin Chen's blisters had burst, and his raw skin stung against the wooden handle of the shovel.
"Let me," Zhao Hu finally said, seeing Lin Chen grimace in pain. He took the shovel. "You measure. You're good at measuring."
They dug until the pit was six feet deep and ten feet wide. It was a muddy scar in the hillside.
"Now, we fill it," Lin Chen ordered.
They layered the chopped stalks and vines into the pit. Lin Chen instructed them to sprinkle a mixture of salt and wheat bran—expensive additives, but necessary for the fermentation process—between every few layers.
"Trample it!" Lin Chen jumped into the pit, stomping on the loose vegetation with his boots. "Pack it down tight! Every inch of air must be squeezed out!"
Lin Mu jumped in, laughing as he slipped and slid on the dry stalks. Even Zhao Hu, unable to resist the energy, jumped in. The three of them danced a strange, muddy jig in the pit, packing the fodder down until it was hard as a rock.
When the pit was full, Lin Chen covered it with a layer of dry straw, then mud, then more straw. Finally, they covered the top with a tarp made of oiled cloth, weighing it down with heavy rocks.
"It looks like a burial mound," Lin Mu panted, sitting on top of the finished pit.
"It is a treasure chest," Lin Chen corrected, patting the earth. "In three weeks, we open it. If it smells sweet and sharp, we have saved the herd."
***
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the valley, the sound of hoofbeats echoed from the main road.
A rider in livery crested the hill. He wore the blue and grey uniform of the County Magistrate's household.
Lin Chen straightened up, dusting off his robe. He recognized the rider—it was Steward Wang, one of the lower stewards from the Su manor.
Steward Wang dismounted, looking around the "ranch" with a barely concealed sneer. He saw the piles of manure, the uneven fence, and the burial mound of grass.
"Lin... *Gongzi*," Steward Wang said, his tone detached. "I was sent by the Madam."
"What is it?" Lin Chen asked calmly.
"Madam Liu heard that you were gathering trash from the fields and living in a hut with animals," Steward Wang said, pulling a small pouch from his saddlebag. "She was... embarrassed. She sent this."
He tossed the pouch. It clinked.
"It is five taels of silver," Steward Wang said. "She says... *'Buy some coal. Don't let the Lin family bloodline freeze to death in the wilderness. And do not return until you have some dignity.'*"
It was charity. Cold, hard charity designed to remind him of his incompetence.
Lin Chen caught the pouch. It was heavy. Five taels was a lot of money—enough to buy coal, food, and even a few decent tools. It was a lifeline.
But the words stung. The steward's eyes swept over Lin Mu, who was covered in mud, and Zhao Hu, who looked like a wild bandit.
"Is that all?" Lin Chen asked, his voice steady.
"That is all," Steward Wang mounted his horse. "Oh, and the Second Young Master's wife is pregnant. The household is celebrating. You are not expected to return for the banquet, of course."
The news hit Lin Mu hard. His former home was celebrating, while his brother was being offered scraps.
The steward rode off, leaving a cloud of dust.
Lin Chen tightened his grip on the silver pouch. He could feel the eyes of Lin Mu and Zhao Hu on him.
"Well," Lin Chen said, breaking the silence. He tossed the pouch to Lin Mu. "That was lucky."
"Brother..." Lin Mu looked ready to cry. "They mock us."
"They gave us money," Lin Chen said pragmatically. "Pride doesn't buy coal. This does. Zhao Hu, tomorrow, take a tael of this and go to the town. Buy coal, buy nails, and buy a saw. A good one."
"You're using their charity money?" Zhao Hu asked, surprised.
"I'm using *investment capital*," Lin Chen corrected with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "They think they are feeding a beggar. I am buying the tools to build a palace. Let them laugh in the city. We have work to do."
He turned back to the silage pit. The sun had set, and the temperature was dropping rapidly.
"Come on," Lin Chen said, putting an arm around Lin Mu's shoulders. "Let's go check the sheep. And tonight... I'll tell you about the story of the Cowboy. A man who lives on the plains, sleeps under the stars, and answers to no King or Magistrate."
"There are such men?" Lin Mu asked, sniffing back his tears.
"In my dreams, there are," Lin Chen said softly. "And soon, right here on this mountain, there will be."
He looked up at the first star appearing in the twilight sky.
*System, status.*
**[Silage Pit: Sealed. Fermentation initiated. Estimated completion: 21 days.]**
**[Ranch Level: Lv 1 (Laughingstock)]**
**[Current Funds: 17 Taels (Including charity).]**
"Let them celebrate their banquet," Lin Chen thought. "We are building a legacy."