The soybeans broke through the soil seven days after planting.
Small, unremarkable shoots—thin stems, paired leaves still curled tight. To most villagers, they looked no different from weeds.
To Lin Yan, they were insurance.
Soybeans fed people, but more importantly, they fed the land.
He squatted at the edge of the plot, fingers brushing the soil.
Crop Status: Soybeans
Growth Phase: Early Vegetative
Soil Nitrogen Increase: Ongoing
Rotation Bonus (Next Crop): +20% Yield Potential
Sweet potatoes had given his family food.
Soybeans would give them continuity.
Lin Yan marked the field carefully—sweet potatoes on one side, soybeans on the other, chicken manure composting between. When winter came, he'd rotate again.
Not fast wealth.
Just land that improved instead of collapsing.
That same morning, his father returned from the village hall with a folded document in hand.
His expression was dark.
"They updated the land registry," he said.
Lin Yan took the paper.
It listed the Lin family's three mu—but next to it was a new note:
"Yield to be verified."
Verification meant assessment.
Assessment meant tax recalculation.
Uncle Zhang's handwriting was unmistakable.
"He says it's routine," his father added. "County wants accurate numbers."
Lin Yan nodded slowly.
Routine was a knife used gently.
That afternoon, Lin Yan made his first attempt at hiding surplus.
Not burying it—too risky.
Not selling it all—too visible.
He selected the firmest sweet potatoes, dried them properly, and stored them in clay jars lined with straw. The jars went beneath the raised floor of the house, where airflow was good and moisture low.
He kept records in his head.
How much stored.
How much sold.
How much eaten.
Poor families didn't usually keep records.
That alone was dangerous.
Two days later, rumors spread.
"Lin family's land's been overreported."
"He's hiding grain."
"Sweet potatoes don't grow like that without cheating."
None of it said directly.
Just murmured near wells and market stalls.
That evening, Shen Qinghe arrived with her sleeves rolled up.
"My father says someone's been asking how much you sell," she said quietly. "They didn't ask him directly."
Lin Yan continued sorting soybeans, laying them out to dry. "Paperwork moves faster than people."
She watched him work for a while.
"You're not angry," she said.
"Anger wastes strength," he replied. "They want me loud or careless."
She nodded, then sat down and began helping without being asked.
They worked until the light faded.
No talk of the future.
Just counting, drying, storing.
The next escalation came three days later.
Uncle Zhang arrived with two assistants and a ledger.
"We're here to measure," he said pleasantly.
Lin Yan didn't refuse.
Measurement took time. Rope lengths. Footsteps. Calculations redone twice.
When they finished, Uncle Zhang frowned at the numbers.
"This land shouldn't yield so much," he said mildly.
Lin Yan met his gaze. "It didn't before."
Silence.
One assistant coughed.
Uncle Zhang closed the ledger. "We'll report what we see."
After they left, Lin Yan sat under the eaves, breathing slowly.
This was the pressure point.
If the report said his yield was "abnormal," taxes would rise. If he couldn't pay, land would follow.
That night, Lin Yan adjusted his plan.
Less market selling.
More diversification.
Eggs to neighbors.
Soybeans partially fermented, partially stored.
Spread out value.
Invisible value.
The system panel updated quietly.
Agricultural Strategy Recognized:
Crop Rotation + Diversified Output
Risk Resistance: Minor Increase
It wasn't protection.
But it was acknowledgment.
Later, Shen Qinghe lingered by the door.
"My father says," she began, then stopped.
Lin Yan waited.
"He says you're doing things right," she finished. "Just… earlier than most people dare."
Lin Yan smiled faintly. "Early attracts attention."
She looked at the darkening fields. "Then don't stand alone."
It wasn't a promise.
Just a fact, stated plainly.
In the distance, the soybeans rustled in the night wind.
They didn't grow fast.
They grew steady.
And for now, that was enough.