The white dust of the quicklime settled over the lower field like a ghostly snow. It clung to Lin Chen's eyelashes, stung the back of his throat, and coated his rough hemp clothes in a powdery film.
"Cough! Cough!" Dahu waved his hand in front of his face, creating a small cloud of white dust. "Boss, is this really necessary? It tastes like we're eating rocks."
"It's not for eating, it's for the earth," Lin Chen said, his voice raspy. He adjusted the cloth mask tied over his nose and mouth—a precaution the system had advised when handling caustic lime. "The soil here is sour. The lime makes it sweet. It balances the humors of the land, just like medicine does for a body."
He swung the woven basket attached to his chest, scattering the white powder in an even arc across the dark, wet mud. Behind him, Er-Leng followed with a rake, mixing the lime into the topsoil.
It was tedious, dirty work. But with every pass, Lin Chen felt a thrill of anticipation. This wasn't just dirt anymore; it was a chemistry set. He was engineering the perfect environment for the Ryegrass and Alfalfa.
"Enough for today," Lin Chen called out as the sun began to dip behind the western ridge. "Wash your hands and faces thoroughly. Do not rub your eyes. The lime will burn."
They trooped down to the stream. The water was bone-chillingly cold, running swift and clear from the melting snow. Lin Chen scrubbed his hands, watching the white cloud wash away downstream.
"Boss," Er-Leng said, shivering as he splashed water on his neck. "The villagers... they were watching us again today. They think we're crazy. They say we are whitewashing the mud like a rich man's wall."
"Let them talk," Lin Chen replied, wringing out his hands. "When the grass grows taller than their knees, they will understand. Until then, let them think we are fools. Fools are left alone."
***
The next morning, the air held a crisp, metallic chill. It was the kind of cold that didn't bite immediately but seeped in slowly, numbing the fingers.
Lin Chen walked straight to the hot beds. The oiled paper frames were covered in a layer of dew. He knelt, wiping the moisture away with his sleeve.
Inside, the air was humid and warm, smelling faintly of ammonia from the decomposing manure below.
And there, pushing through the dark, loamy soil, were thousands of tiny, hairlike threads of green.
"Mu'er!" Lin Chen called out, unable to suppress his excitement.
Lin Mu came running from the hut, a book in hand. "Brother?"
"Look."
Lin Mu peered into the frame. His eyes widened. "It's... grass? So soon? It's only been five days!"
"Ryegrass is a fighter," Lin Chen said, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "It germinates fast. This is just the start. In two weeks, we transplant. By summer, this whole slope will be green."
He stood up, looking at the expanse of the ranch. The mud was still brown and bleak, but in his mind's eye, he could already see the transformation. The system highlighted the areas ready for planting.
**[Hot Bed Status: Optimal.]**
**[Germination Rate: 92%.]**
**[Action Required: Hardening off seedlings before transplant.]**
"Hardening off," Lin Chen muttered. "We have to get them used to the cold wind before we put them outside."
"Brother," Lin Mu said, looking towards the path. "Someone is coming."
A rider was coming up the mountain. But it wasn't a villager or a merchant. The horse was a sleek, black stallion, the kind ridden by officials or wealthy nobles. The rider was cloaked in heavy brocade.
Lin Chen tensed. He signaled Zhao Hu, who was chopping wood nearby. Zhao Hu rested his hand on the axe handle, stepping closer.
The rider dismounted at the gate. He was young, perhaps in his twenties, with a sharp, arrogant face. He removed his hood.
It was Zhou Li. The Second Son-in-Law of the Su family. The scholar who had passed the county exams.
Lin Chen's heart sank slightly. Family drama was the last thing he needed right now.
"Brother Lin," Zhou Li said, his voice carrying a tone of forced politeness. He looked around the clearing, his lip curling slightly at the mud and the piles of manure. "I see the rumors are true. You have... taken up farming."
"Brother Zhou," Lin Chen returned the greeting, keeping his face neutral. "What brings you to this remote mountain? Surely the poetry circles of the county seat are more entertaining than pig manure."
Zhou Li twitched at the mention of manure. "I am here on family business. Father... Father is worried. The New Year passed, and you did not return. The servants say you are living in squalor with vagrants." He glanced at Zhao Hu and the workers.
"I am living on my land," Lin Chen corrected. "And I am building. Tell Father I am well."
"That is not all," Zhou Li said, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "Wang Da... he is spreading rumors in the city. He says you cheated the Prefecture restaurant. He says the meat you sold was diseased. He is trying to get the Health Bureau to investigate your 'ranch'."
Lin Chen's eyes narrowed. Wang Da. The snake was still striking.
"On what grounds?"
"He claims the tenderness of the meat was due to drugs or sorcery," Zhou Li scoffed. "Ridiculous, of course. But in the capital, rumors stick. Father wants you to lay low. Come back to the manor for a few weeks until it blows over. He has secured a position for you as a copyist in the Archives. It is low pay, but it is clean."
Lin Chen looked at his brother-in-law. Zhou Li wasn't being malicious; he was being practical. In his eyes, Lin Chen was a drowning man, and this was a rope.
"I appreciate Father's kindness," Lin Chen said, his voice firm. "But I cannot leave."
"You cannot leave?" Zhou Li asked, incredulous. "Look at you! You are covered in dirt. Your hands are calloused. Is this the life for a scholar? Is this the life for the Magistrate's son-in-law?"
"It is the life I choose," Lin Chen said. He pointed to the hot beds. "Zhou Li, you are a scholar. You study the classics. I study the earth. In those frames, I have grass that will change this county. I have a bull that will sire a line of cattle unlike anything the Empire has seen. I cannot walk away from that to copy scrolls in a dark room."
Zhou Li stared at him, baffled. "You are deluded. Grass? Cattle? You risk the family's reputation for... weeds?"
"They are not weeds," Lin Chen said. "And Wang Da's rumors? Let him bring the Health Bureau. I welcome them. My animals are healthier than his. My meat is cleaner than his. If he wants a fight, he will find that this 'squalor' is a fortress."
Zhou Li sighed, shaking his head. "You are stubborn. Just like the old stories say. Fine. I will tell Father you are... 'dedicated to your studies of agriculture'."
He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a small, wrapped package. "Su Wan asked me to bring this. She did not say why."
He handed the package to Lin Mu, then turned to his horse. "Do not let the wolves eat you, Brother Lin."
With a flick of his reins, Zhou Li rode off, disappearing down the path as quickly as he had come.
Lin Chen looked at the package. He opened it.
Inside were two items: A new, high-quality inkstone, and a small, leather-bound ledger.
"A ledger?" Lin Mu asked.
"A message," Lin Chen said, understanding instantly. Su Wan was an accountant's daughter. A ledger meant one thing: *Show me the numbers. Prove you are not a fool.*
He gripped the book. It was a challenge. She wasn't saving him; she was asking him to prove he could save himself.
***
That night, the weather turned.
The temperature plummeted drastically. The wind, which had been soft and moist, turned sharp and dry. The "Return of the Cold"—a late frost that often destroyed spring buds—swept down from the peaks.
Lin Chen was woken by the sound of the wind howling through the eaves. He sat up, a knot of anxiety in his stomach. The seedlings.
He rushed out of the hut, pulling his robe tight. The ground was crunching under his feet—ice.
"The beds!" he shouted.
He ran to the nursery. The oiled paper frames were rattling violently. Frost was forming on the edges.
"Zhao Hu! Dahu! Get the straw!"
The men stumbled out of the bunkhouse, groggy but alert.
"We need to cover them!" Lin Chen yelled over the wind. "The frost will kill the shoots!"
They worked frantically in the dark. They grabbed armfuls of dry straw from the stack and threw it over the paper frames, creating a thick, insulating blanket. Lin Chen then ordered them to light small, smoky fires of damp wood and green branches upwind of the beds.
"Smudge pots!" Lin Chen coughed, his eyes watering from the acrid smoke. "The smoke creates a layer. It traps the heat from the ground. It prevents the frost from settling!"
It was an old orchard trick, knowledge from his previous life. The smoke billowed across the clearing, hanging low in the cold air, shrouding the ranch in a grey haze.
They stayed up all night. Dahu and Er-Leng took turns feeding the smudge fires. Lin Chen paced, checking the temperature against the system readings.
**[Ambient Temperature: -2°C.]**
**[Surface Temperature (Protected): 4°C.]**
**[Status: Frost Averted.]**
By dawn, the wind had died down, and the sun rose weakly. The smoke cleared.
Lin Chen carefully pulled back the straw and lifted the oiled paper frame.
Warm, humid air puffed out. The tiny green shoots were standing upright, glistening with condensation, unharmed by the frozen world outside.
They had survived.
Lin Chen let out a breath he felt he had been holding for hours. His knees felt weak. He slumped against the wooden frame.
"Boss," Dahu said, his face covered in soot, his eyes bloodshot. "They made it."
"They did," Lin Chen said, patting the rough wood. "Because we fought for them."
He looked at the men. They were exhausted, dirty, and smelled of smoke. But they were standing tall.
"This is ranching," Lin Chen said softly. "The weather tries to kill you. The neighbors try to kill you. The market tries to kill you. But you fight. Every day, every night."
He stood up. "Go get some sleep. We plant tomorrow."
***
Later that day, Lin Chen sat in the hut, the new ledger Su Wan had sent open on the table. The inkstone was smooth and black.
He dipped the brush, grinding the ink with a deliberate motion. He began to write.
*Assets:*
*1 Bull (Tie Shan) - Value: 50 Taels (Potential).*
*1 Cow (Hope) - Pregnant.*
*15 Sheep - Healthy.*
*1 Pasture (Germinated) - Value: Infinite.*
He closed the book. It was a simple record, but it was a start. He looked out the window at the brown hills, imagining them covered in the green of the Ryegrass, dotted with the sleek grey hides of Brahman-cross cattle.
Wang Da could bring his rumors. Zhou Li could bring his pity. The frost could bring its bite.
Lin Chen had roots now. And roots were hard to kill.