The snow did not stop. It fell for three consecutive days, burying the world in a suffocating silence of white. The path to the village was gone, swallowed by drifts that reached the knees. The world had shrunk to the size of the hilltop clearing, a lonely island in a sea of frost.
Inside the animal shed, the air was thick and warm, smelling of fermented grass and the dusty scent of hay. The atmosphere had changed. It was no longer a place of desperate survival; it was a sanctuary.
Lin Chen stood in the corner of the shed, holding a curved needle and a length of rough twine. He wasn't mending clothes. He was mending a tool.
In his hands, he held a wide-brimmed hat woven from green bamboo strips. It was similar to the traditional *douli* worn by farmers, but Lin Chen had modified it. He had flattened the top and widened the brim significantly, creating a shape that cast a shadow over the entire face and neck.
"It looks like a mushroom," Zhao Hu commented from the doorway, where he was chopping firewood. The soldier's breath puffed out in white clouds. "A giant, ugly mushroom."
"It's not for looks," Lin Chen said, tying the finishing knot. He placed it on his head. The wide brim blocked the harsh glare of the snow, which had been giving him headaches all morning. "It's for function. When the sun hits the snow, it blinds you. And in the summer, it keeps the rain off. It shades the neck."
He adjusted the string under his chin. "I call it a 'Rancher Hat'. Or maybe... a Cowboy Hat." The word felt strange on his tongue, a remnant of a world that didn't exist here.
"Cowboy?" Lin Mu asked, looking up from the book he was reading while sitting on a pile of straw. He was wrapped in the thick robe Su Wan had sent, looking much more like a scholar and less like a refugee. "A boy who herds cows?"
"A man who lives on the plains," Lin Chen corrected, picking up his lasso. "A man who rides, who tends the herd, and who answers to no one but the sky. It's a spirit, Mu'er. A spirit of freedom."
He walked outside, the crunch of his boots breaking the silence. He was determined to practice his throwing every day, regardless of the weather.
"Old Grey!" Lin Chen called out.
The donkey, who had been dozing in the lean-to shelter, opened one eye. He had learned that his name usually preceded work. He let out a long, suffering hee-haw.
"We're not working today, you stubborn mule," Lin Chen laughed, walking over to him. "Today, we learn to carry a rider."
Zhao Hu dropped his axe, intrigued. "You're going to ride the donkey? You? A scholar?"
"I am a rancher," Lin Chen corrected. "And a rancher needs to be taller than his herd."
He approached Old Grey slowly. He didn't just jump on; he applied the system's knowledge of animal psychology. He pressed on the donkey's shoulder to ask him to step over. He rubbed the base of his ears. Then, using a fallen log as a mounting block, he swung his leg over the donkey's back.
Old Grey froze. His ears flattened.
"Easy," Lin Chen murmured, keeping his hands low on the mane. He didn't have a saddle yet, so he used a thick folded blanket. "Just stand."
He applied gentle pressure with his legs.
Old Grey took a step. Then another. It was a wobbly, shambling gait, nothing like the gallop of a warhorse. But for Lin Chen, sitting atop the animal, the perspective shifted. He was no longer looking up at the world from the mud; he was looking down. He could see over the fence. He could see the path winding down the mountain.
"Ha!" Lin Chen urged the donkey into a slightly faster walk, guiding him with the rope reins.
Zhao Hu watched, his arms crossed. "You look ridiculous. A grown man on a donkey, wearing a mushroom hat."
"But I'm not walking," Lin Chen shot back, grinning. "And my feet are dry."
***
The peace of the snowbound ranch was broken two days later.
The sun had come out, melting the top layer of snow, turning the path into a slushy mess. Lin Chen was inside the shed, checking on "Hope." The yellow cow was standing completely square now. The limp was still there when she first woke up, a stiffness in the joint, but after a few minutes of movement, she walked with a steady, rolling gait.
"You're a good girl," Lin Chen whispered, feeding her a mash of bran mixed with the precious sugar water Su Wan had sent. "You're going to give us a fine calf next year."
Suddenly, the sharp bark of a dog echoed from the path below. The sheep in the pen startled, bunching together.
Lin Chen frowned. They didn't have a dog yet.
He stepped out of the shed, adjusting his bamboo hat. Down the slope, two figures were trudging up through the slush. They weren't villagers. Villagers walked with a stoop, carrying baskets. These men walked with their chests out, hands resting on their hips.
As they got closer, Lin Chen recognized them. They were lackeys of the Wang family—Wang Da's hired muscle. One was short and stocky, nicknamed "The Rock." The other was tall and thin, nicknamed "The Pole."
They stopped at the gate—which was now a sturdy, spiked wooden barrier Zhao Hu had built.
"Open up!" The Rock shouted, kicking the gate. "Business!"
Zhao Hu emerged from the woodpile, wiping his hands on a rag. He didn't say a word. He just walked to the gate and stared at them through the gaps in the logs. His size was usually enough to make people reconsider.
"We're here for Master Wang," The Pole said, undeterred, though he took a step back from Zhao Hu's shadow. "He's buying livestock. All of them. The military quota needs to be filled. We're buying every sheep, goat, and cow in the village."
Lin Chen walked forward, standing behind Zhao Hu. "And the price?"
"Two taels for a goat. Three for a sheep. Five for a cow," The Pole announced, pulling out a ledger. "Market price."
Lin Chen laughed. It was a dry, cold sound. "Market price? In the village, a fat sheep sells for five taels before the New Year. You are offering three?"
"It's winter," The Rock grunted. "The animals are starving. They are losing weight every day. By spring, they'll be dead. Three taels is a mercy. Old Man Zhang sold his goats for two taels yesterday."
"Old Man Zhang's goats were skinny," Lin Chen said. "Mine are not."
"They are sheep," The Pole sneered. "They eat grass. There is no grass under three feet of snow. Don't try to cheat us, Scholar. We know you have no hay. You're probably feeding them dried leaves. Sell now, or watch them starve and get nothing."
"I have feed," Lin Chen stated calmly. "And I am not selling."
The Rock spat on the ground. "You think you're special? Wang Da controls the meat trade in this county. If you don't sell to him, no butcher in town will touch your animals. You'll be stuck with rotting corpses."
"Then let them rot," Lin Chen said, his voice dropping an octave. "But they won't be sold to you."
The Pole narrowed his eyes. He looked past Lin Chen, into the open shed door. He saw the animals. His jaw dropped slightly.
"Look... look at that sheep," he muttered to The Rock. "It's... fat."
The Rock looked. Big Ears, the ram, was standing near the trough, his wool thick and puffy, his belly round. He looked like he had just eaten a feast. Next to him, the donkey looked sleek, and the yellow cow was munching calmly on hay.
"How...?" The Pole blinked. "Where did you get hay? The harvest was months ago."
"Magic," Lin Chen deadpanned. "Now leave. You are disturbing the digestion of my livestock."
"You can't refuse!" The Rock shouted, getting angry. He shoved the gate. It didn't budge. "This is a government quota!"
"The government pays six taels for a sheep," Lin Chen corrected sharply. "Wang Da pockets the difference. I am not a fool, and I am not a victim. Tell your master: if he wants my meat, he pays the market price, plus the transport fee. Otherwise, get off my land."
The Rock reached for the gate latch, intending to force his way in.
"Touch that latch, and you pull back a stump," Zhao Hu said. His voice was low, like a growl. He rested his hand on the axe handle leaning against the post.
The Rock looked at Zhao Hu. He saw the scar. He saw the calluses on the soldier's hands. He hesitated.
"Fine," The Pole said, grabbing The Rock's arm. He realized this wasn't a desperate farmer they could bully. "Keep your stupid sheep. But don't come crying to the market when you have no one to sell to. Wang Da has signed exclusive agreements with every restaurant in the county seat."
They turned and trudged back down the hill, muttering curses.
Lin Chen watched them go. The "exclusive agreement" was a problem. A big one.
"They are trying to starve us out," Lin Mu said, coming to stand beside his brother. He looked worried. "If we can't sell, what do we do?"
Lin Chen adjusted his bamboo hat, the wide brim shading his eyes. "They think small, Mu'er. They think of the county seat. They think of the village."
He looked out at the vast, snow-covered mountains stretching to the horizon.
"Wang Da looks at the butcher's block. I look at the horizon," Lin Chen said. "If the local restaurants are closed to us, we find new markets. The Prefecture City. The Army. Or..."
He looked at the "sour grass" pit. He looked at the healthy animals.
"Or we create a market they cannot ignore."
***
That evening, Lin Chen called a meeting in the hut.
The air was serious. The confrontation had solidified the reality of their situation. They were not just fighting nature; they were fighting a monopoly.
"We need a horse," Lin Chen said, stirring the fire.
"A horse costs twenty taels," Zhao Hu said. "We have twelve left after buying the cow and tools."
"I don't need a warhorse," Lin Chen said. "I need a packhorse. Something sturdy. We also need to start thinking about the spring. Wang Da will try to block our supply lines. He might try to buy up all the hay in the spring before we can get it."
He pulled out a piece of charcoal and began sketching on the floorboards.
"Look. This is our land. This is the village. Right now, we are isolated. We need to integrate."
"How?"
"Jobs," Lin Chen said. "We are just three men. We cannot defend the ranch and work the fields and guard the animals. We need hands. Poor families in the village. Sons who have no land. We hire them."
"We have no money to hire men," Lin Mu pointed out.
"We pay them in food," Lin Chen said, tapping the silage pit. "And we pay them in 'shares'. We promise them a cut of the profit next winter. It's a risk, but it builds loyalty. We turn the ranch into a community. If Wang Da sends bullies, he isn't just fighting us; he's fighting the families who depend on us."
He looked at Zhao Hu. "Can you train men? Not to be soldiers, but to be... guards. Ranch hands."
Zhao Hu rubbed his chin. "I can train them to hold a stick and not run away. But where do we find them?"
"The village," Lin Chen said. "Tomorrow, I will go down. Not to sell. To talk. There are families with too many mouths and not enough rice. I will offer them a trade. Labor for security."
He stood up, stretching his back. The heat from the brazier warmed his face.
"And the horse?" Lin Mu asked.
Lin Chen smiled. "For the horse, we wait. But..." He looked at Old Grey, who was currently poking his head through the window, sniffing for treats. "We start with what we have. Tomorrow, I ride the donkey into the village. Let them see the 'Crazy Scholar' isn't freezing. Let them see the hat."
He took off the bamboo hat and placed it on the table. It looked rough, primitive, but it had a distinct silhouette.
"They laughed at my weeds. They laughed at my sick sheep. They laughed at my trash pit," Lin Chen said softly. "Let them laugh at the hat, too. Because while they are laughing, we are building."
**[System Update: Ranch Defense Level - Low.]**
**[Economic Threat Detected: Local Monopoly.]**
**[New Mission: Establish a Workforce. Recruit 2 Villagers.]**
**[Reward: Basic Veterinary Kit (Herbal).]**
Lin Chen looked at the system screen. He felt the weight of the path ahead. It was a slow climb, a steep mountain. But he had his boots on, and for the first time, he had a direction.
"Zhao Hu," Lin Chen said.
"Yeah?"
"Teach me how to ride properly. I nearly fell off when Old Grey sneezed today."
Zhao Hu burst out laughing. "Fine. But if you fall in the mud, I'm leaving you there."