The first cutting of hay from the one-mu test plot was a sacrament. The hardy grass, now knee-high and thick-stemmed, had matured under the fierce summer sun. The entire family wielded sickles, their blades whispering through the stalks, laying down fragrant rows of green-gold. The scent—clean, sweet, and profoundly hopeful—filled the Lin compound. It was the smell of security, of winter feed, of a promise kept.
Lin Yan worked alongside Lin Tie, his muscles burning with a pleasant, familiar ache. Each swing of the sickle was a countdown. In two days, they would meet Merchant Huang with their six weeks of saved copper and the report on the pasture. The hairpin remained wrapped in its blue cloth, a silent, gleaming participant in their council.
That evening, they measured the yield. The dried hay, tied into neat bundles, filled one entire side of the new, larger shed Lin Zhu had built next to the cattle shelter. It was more than enough to sustain a bull calf through its first winter with them.
"It's real," Wang Shi said, her voice hushed as she ran her hands over a bale. "It grew from nothing."
"It grew from work," Lin Dahu corrected, but his eyes shone with the same wonder.
The day of the meeting arrived. Lin Yan and Lin Dahu walked to Yellow Creek, their steps firm. Lin Yan carried a leather pouch heavy with coins—ninety copper, saved scrupulously from the egg sales, minus only what was needed for the family's bare sustenance. Lin Dahu carried a single, perfect bundle of their hay.
Master Huang received them in his office. He wasted no time. "The report."
Lin Yan placed the bundle of hay on his desk. It was sun-bleached on the outside, but Huang broke it open. Inside, the hay was a deep green, leafier and more fragrant than any wild grass. He brought a piece to his nose, then crumbled it, examining the stem.
"Three mu of this?" Huang asked, his voice flat.
"Three mu, cut once. It will recover for a late autumn grazing and another cutting next year. The roots have doubled the depth in six weeks. The soil is holding moisture it never did before."
Huang nodded. He looked at the pouch of coins Lin Yan placed next to the hay. Then he looked at Lin Dahu. "And the hairpin?"
"We have it," Lin Dahu said. "But we hope our word, and this hay, are pledge enough."
A long silence stretched. Huang leaned back, steepling his fingers. "The breeder I know is in Northern Ridge Prefecture. He specializes in sturdy mountain stock—animals that can thrive on rough pasture, with good bone and a calm temperament. Not the biggest, but hardy. A young bull of that line, just weaned, would cost… one tael and eight fen of silver."
Lin Yan's heart sank. One tael, eight fen. That was one hundred and eighty copper coins. They had ninety. They were halfway there, even with Huang's help.
"We have ninety copper," Lin Yan said. "Half."
"I will advance the other ninety," Huang said, his eyes sharp. "But not as a simple loan. As an investment. I buy a half-share in this bull. When you sell his offspring, or when you sell him for stud in a few years, I take half the profit. And I retain first right of purchase on any hay or other produce from your land at a five-percent discount from market rate."
It was a steep price. It meant Huang would own a piece of their foundation sire, forever taking a cut of the herd it would create. But it was also a partnership that tied his fortune to theirs. He wouldn't let them fail if he owned half the bull.
Lin Dahu looked at Lin Yan, the weight of the decision in his eyes. This was the moment. Security and a shackle, or freedom and potential failure.
Lin Yan thought of the system's mission: 'The Herd's Foundation.' It demanded acquisition and successful integration. Without Huang's silver, acquisition was impossible. "We accept," he said. "On one condition. The bull remains on our land, under our care. You have a half-share in his value and his get, but we make the husbandry decisions."
Huang almost smiled. "A sensible condition. I am a merchant, not a herdsman. Done." He reached into his desk and produced a contract, already drawn up. He had anticipated this. He filled in the numbers, and both Lin Dahu and Lin Yan pressed their thumbprints into the red ink beside his seal.
The next morning, before dawn, Lin Yan, Lin Tie, and Lin Zhu set out for Northern Ridge Prefecture in Merchant Huang's large, sturdy ox-cart. The journey took two days. The breeder, a taciturn man named Gao with forearms like knotted rope, lived in a high valley where wiry, shaggy cattle grazed on steep slopes. He led them to a pen where several bull calves, still with their baby softness but already showing the blocky shape of their breed, stood with their dams.
"That one," Gao said, pointing to a calf with a coat the color of dark roast chestnut, a wide forehead, and calm, curious eyes. It was already larger than its peers, but moved with a steady, confident gait. "Strong mother. Good eater. Not skittish."
Lin Yan approached the pen slowly. He focused, and the system's new bovine knowledge provided a silent assessment: Correct leg structure. Deep chest for lung capacity. Wide pelvis for ease of calving. Temperament appears steady. This was the one.
The transaction with Gao was swift, the silver changing hands. They loaded the bewildered calf into the cart, bedding it down with some of their own precious hay so it would smell something familiar on the long journey home. Lin Yan named him "Founder" then and there.
The return trip was an exercise in patience and care. They stopped frequently to water the calf, to let it rest. At night, they camped by the roadside. Lin Tie stood watch, not just for bandits, but for the calf's safety. Lin Yan slept near the cart, listening to Founder's soft, snuffling breaths. Under a vast canopy of stars unfamiliar to his old world, he felt a connection to every drover and herdsman who had ever moved living wealth across a distance. He hummed their growing song, and the calf's ears swivelled towards the sound.
They arrived home at midday on the third day. The entire village seemed to be drawn to the commotion. A bull calf, purchased from a distant prefecture, arriving in a merchant's cart—it was an event. Old Chen stood at the edge of the crowd, his face unreadable.
The family had prepared. The three-mu pasture was lush and waiting. The shelter was bedded with fresh straw. A sturdy pen within the pasture would allow Founder to acclimate without risking a break for the woods.
As Lin Yan led the wide-eyed calf down the cart ramp and towards the green grass, a profound hush fell over the watching villagers. This was no scrawny chicken. This was capital. This was a statement written in muscle and hide.
Founder hesitated at the edge of the pasture, his nose twitching. Then, as if recognizing the scent of the hay he'd traveled with, he took a step forward, then another. He lowered his head and took his first mouthful of Lin Ranch grass.
The sound of his tearing the grass, the sight of his sturdy body on their land, was a victory more tangible than any silver coin.
[Mission Progress: 'The Herd's Foundation.' Bovine livestock acquired.]
[Asset: Bull Calf – 'Founder.' Breed: Mountain Stock. Quality: Good. Health: Excellent.]
[Integration Phase Begun: 30-day adjustment period. Ensure health, bonding, and acclimation to pasture.]
[Points Awarded for Major Milestone: +50.]
[New Family Skill: Long-Distance Livestock Transport – Basic.]
Total Points: 150.
The crowd slowly dispersed, murmuring. Old Chen lingered last. He walked up to the fence, not looking at Lin Dahu, but at Founder. "A fine animal," he conceded, his voice grudging. "Cost a pretty penny, I'd wager. Debt is a heavy yoke for a young bull to wear."
"The yoke is shared, Uncle Chen," Lin Yan said, coming to stand beside his father. "And the burden is lighter on good grass."
Old Chen met his gaze, nodded once, a sharp, acknowledging jerk of his chin, and walked away. The dynamic had shifted irrevocably. They were no longer just debtors; they were rivals, and now, equals in a certain kind of ambition.
That night, the family ate around the hearth, the presence of the sleeping calf in the pasture just outside feeling like a new member at the table. The conversation was of fences, of winter feed calculations, of which local heifers might be suitable mates in a few years.
Lin Yan sat back, listening. The system screen glowed with quiet satisfaction, but his real reward was the light in his father's eyes, the proud set of Lin Tie's shoulders, the excited chatter of Lin Xiao planning his duties as a "cattle hand."
They had paid a high price for their foundation—half of its future. But as he looked at his family, united and purposeful, and at the dark shape of Founder under the moonlit pasture, he knew the price was worth it. They had bought more than a bull. They had bought a future, one mouthful of green grass at a time.
The ranch now had a heartbeat, slow and steady, grazing in the dark. The egg mission was a memory. The herd had begun.