The frost had retreated, leaving behind a soil that was cold and damp, but miraculously alive. The "Return of the Cold" had devastated the apricot blossoms in the valley below, turning the white petals into brown mush, but on the West Mountain, the green shoots in the hot beds remained untouched—shielded by smoke, straw, and sheer human will.
"Today is the day," Lin Chen announced, standing before the nursery frames. "We transplant."
The team stood ready. Dahu and Er-Leng held wide, flat baskets woven from willow branches. Zhao Hu carried a heavy iron rake. Lin Mu, his hands trembling slightly with excitement, held a smaller trowel.
The process was delicate. Lin Chen had explained the concept of "root shock"—the trauma a plant suffers when moved from a safe environment to a hostile one.
"We move them with the soil intact," Lin Chen instructed, kneeling by the frame. He slid his hand under the seedling tray, lifting a clump of earth teeming with the fragile, hairlike roots of the Ryegrass. "Like moving a sleeping baby. Do not wake it up violently."
They worked in a rhythmic chain. Lin Chen and Lin Mu lifted the clumps from the frames, placing them gently into the baskets. Dahu and Er-Leng ferried the baskets to the lower field. Zhao Hu, following Lin Chen's earlier measurements, used the rake to create shallow furrows in the lime-treated soil.
Lin Chen walked to the field. He knelt in the mud, his knees instantly soaking up the cold water. He placed the first clump of Ryegrass into the furrow, pressing the dark earth firmly around its base.
"Spacing," he muttered to himself, checking the system's grid overlay in his mind. "Six inches. Tight enough to outcompete weeds, loose enough to breathe."
It was back-breaking, monotonous work. For hours, the only sounds on the mountain were the rasp of the rake, the squelch of mud, and the heavy breathing of the men.
By noon, they had planted a tenth of an acre. It didn't look like much—a patch of green stubble in a sea of brown mud. But to Lin Chen, it was a declaration of war against the wilderness.
"Water them," Lin Chen ordered, straightening his aching back. "Gentle spray. Do not drown them."
Dahu hauled water from the stream in wooden buckets, while Er-Leng used a gourd ladle to sprinkle the droplets over the transplanted grass. The water glistened on the tiny blades like diamonds.
"It looks... pitiful," Dahu admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Like a baby's haircut."
"Babies grow," Lin Chen said. "And this grass grows fast. Give it two weeks, and it will carpet this slope. By summer, we cut it for hay. By next year, it spreads."
***
The peace of the afternoon was shattered by the sharp clip-clop of horses on the mountain path.
Lin Chen looked up from his ledger, which he had been updating under the shade of a pine tree. Three riders were approaching. They were not merchants. Their clothes were dark blue, bordered with black, and they wore the flat-topped hats of the Yamen runners.
Leading them was a man Lin Chen recognized. Constable Zhang, a man known for his love of "tea money" and his loyalty to whoever paid the most.
Lin Chen stood up, closing the ledger. He adjusted his bamboo hat, lowering his head slightly to obscure his face.
"Business!" Constable Zhang shouted, reining his horse to a stop. He looked around the muddy clearing with an expression of pure disgust. "Is this the place?"
"This is the Lin Ranch," Lin Chen said calmly. "I am Lin Chen."
Constable Zhang dismounted, his boots sinking into the mud. He pinched his nose. "The Magistrate's useless son-in-law. I heard you were crazy. Now I see it."
He walked to the edge of the planted field, his horse following. The horse stepped precariously close to the fresh seedlings.
"Get the beast off the field!" Dahu shouted, stepping forward protectively.
Constable Zhang sneered. "Watch your mouth, peasant. I am here on official business." He pulled out a rolled-up document from his sleeve. "A complaint has been filed by Merchant Wang Da of the county seat. He claims you are selling diseased meat to the Prefecture, endangering the health of the nobility. He also claims you are operating a ranch without proper licensing and stealing mountain resources."
The workers froze. Stealing resources? That was a serious charge in the Empire, where all wild land technically belonged to the Emperor.
"Diseased meat?" Lin Chen asked, his voice steady. "The meat I sold was inspected by the chef of The Immortal Feast. It was healthy."
"That is for the Bureau of Health to decide," Zhang said, his eyes gleaming with greed. "I am here to... inspect. And to shut you down pending investigation. Unless..." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "You can provide a 'surety fee' to expedite the paperwork."
It was a classic shakedown. Wang Da wasn't just trying to ruin Lin Chen's reputation; he was using the law as a bludgeon.
Lin Chen looked at the Constable. He didn't have the money to bribe him. And even if he did, paying a bribe would be an admission of guilt.
"Constable Zhang," Lin Chen said. "You wish to inspect? Go ahead. But step carefully. The field is newly planted."
Zhang laughed. "Planted with what? Weeds?" He deliberately walked into the patch, his heavy boot crushing a dozen seedlings into the mud.
Lin Chen's eye twitched. He felt a spike of anger, but he forced it down. *Patience.*
"Inspect the animals," Lin Chen said, gesturing to the sheds. "They are in the back."
Zhang signaled his two runners. They dismounted and headed towards the sheds, looking like they intended to cause trouble.
"Wait!" Lin Chen stepped in front of the runner leading the horses. "The horses stay here. The sheds are sterile. No strange animals allowed."
"Sterile?" Zhang scoffed. "What nonsense is that?"
"It means clean," Lin Chen said firmly. "You want to see the animals? Walk."
He led them to the shed. The air inside was warm, smelling of silage and clean straw. The sheep looked up, their recently sheared bodies pink and healthy. Hope, the yellow cow, lay chewing her cud, her coat glossy. And in the isolation pen, Tie Shan stood like a grey statue.
Zhang paused when he saw the bull. The massive hump, the heavy muscles, the sheer size of the beast.
"What in the name of the Emperor is that?" Zhang whispered, his hand going to his sword.
"That is Tie Shan," Lin Chen said. "A breeding bull. He is... spirited. I advise you not to poke him."
Zhang swallowed hard. The bull looked like it could snap a man in two. "It looks like a demon."
"It looks healthy," Lin Chen corrected. "Look at the sheep. Do they look diseased? Look at the cow. Is she coughing?"
The runners looked around. They were expecting filth, squalor, and dying animals. Instead, they saw organized pens, clean water troughs, and hay racks. The animals were calm and well-fed—healthier than most village livestock.
"Well?" Zhang asked his men.
"Nothing wrong with them, Head," one runner muttered. "They look... fat."
Zhang frowned. He had expected to find easy fault. He turned back to Lin Chen. "The meat. You used sorcery to make it tender. Wang Da says it's unnatural."
"It is technique," Lin Chen said. He walked to a shelf and picked up the jar of papaya skin scraps he had saved. "This is papaya. It softens meat. It is fruit, not sorcery. Wang Da is jealous because his meat is tough and mine is tender."
He stared Zhang in the eye. "If you shut me down now, on false charges, I will appeal to the Magistrate. I will write to the Prefect. I will tell them that a healthy ranch was destroyed by a corrupt constable acting on behalf of a competitor. Do you want that on your record?"
Zhang stiffened. The mention of the Magistrate—Lin Chen's father-in-law—was a reminder of the complex web of power. Lin Chen might be a 'useless' son-in-law, but he was still family. Caution flickered in Zhang's eyes.
"You think you can threaten me?"
"I am stating facts," Lin Chen said. "I have a contract with The Immortal Feast. If you stop me, you stop their supply. Do you want to anger the Prefecture gentry?"
Zhang hesitated. The risk was growing. He hadn't found any disease. The place was cleaner than his own home.
"Fine," Zhang spat. "The animals seem... adequate. But I still need to check the records. And the license."
"The license application is filed," Lin Chen lied smoothly. He had sent the paperwork weeks ago, though he hadn't received the stamp yet. "Check with the county clerk."
Zhang grunted. He looked around one last time, his eyes landing on the jar of balm Lin Chen had made.
"What is that?"
"Mountain Balm. For aches and pains," Lin Chen said. "Good for riders who sit too long."
He picked up a small empty jar, scooped some balm into it, and held it out. "A gift. For the hard journey."
Zhang took the jar, uncorked it, and smelled it. The strong scent of menthol and herbs cleared his sinuses instantly. He rubbed a bit on his knee, which had been aching from the ride.
"Hmm. Not bad," Zhang muttered. He capped the jar. "Very well. I will report that the animals are healthy. But Wang Da is persistent. Watch your back, Scholar."
"I always do," Lin Chen said.
Zhang waved his men out. As they left, passing the newly planted field, Zhang's horse stumbled again, crushing another patch of grass. Lin Chen winced but didn't say a word.
***
When the officials were gone, the tension in the ranch broke.
"That scum!" Dahu yelled, kicking a fence post. "He crushed the grass! And he wanted a bribe!"
"He didn't get the bribe," Lin Chen said, kneeling by the crushed seedlings. They were ruined—snapped at the stem. "And he left with a report saying we are clean. That is a victory."
He dug into the mud and replaced the crushed seedlings with fresh ones from a spare tray he had kept.
"Brother," Lin Mu said, his voice worried. "Wang Da won't stop. He will try again."
"He will," Lin Chen agreed, standing up and wiping his hands. "But he has shot his best arrow. The 'Health' angle failed. Next, he will try economics. He will try to starve us out."
He looked at the ledger Su Wan had sent. "But we are not starving. We have money. We have a contract. And now..."
He looked at the patch of green in the brown mud.
"Now we have a pasture. Dahu, Er-Leng, finish the planting. I want the lower field green before the sun sets."
They worked until the light failed. When they finally stopped, the transformation was visible. A wide swath of the lower slope was now covered in the dark green of the transplanted Ryegrass. It looked like a scar of life on the face of the dead mountain.
That night, Lin Chen sat by the fire, the ledger open.
*Expenses:*
*Lime: 15 Taels (Paid).*
*Seeds: 3 Taels (Paid).*
*Bribe: 0 Taels (Integrity maintained).*
*Projected Income:*
*The Immortal Feast Contract: Pending.*
He picked up his brush. He wrote a letter.
*To Su Wan,*
*The frost came. The grass survived. The inspectors came. The ranch survived. Enclosed is the report of the Constable, which clears our name. Wang Da attacks with shadows; we build with stone. I am sending a jar of the balm. Use it for your headaches.*
*I remain,*
*Lin Chen.*
He sealed the letter. He felt a strange sense of calm. The ranch was no longer just a plan. It was a living thing. It was vulnerable, yes. It was fragile. But it was fighting back.
"Zhao Hu," Lin Chen said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow, we start training the dogs."
"Dogs? We don't have dogs."
"I know," Lin Chen smiled, looking at the shadows dancing on the wall. "But we will need them. If Wang Da sends men instead of inspectors next time... we will need more than just ropes."
He leaned back. The first step of the pasture was done. The war for the West Mountain had truly begun.