The first crisp breath of autumn found the Lin Ranch standing at a fulcrum point between seasons. The frantic, sun-drenched energy of summer growth had banked into a golden, purposeful maturity. The air carried the scent of drying grass, ripe apples from their small orchard, and the distant, woodsmoke tang of the first curing fires in the vale.
It was time for the count.
Not the anxious tally of eggs or the desperate measurement of grain stores, but the deliberate, prosperous accounting of what they had built. The imperial contract's deadline, once a distant, terrifying cliff, was now a visible landmark on the horizon, eighteen months away. They had three yearlings. They needed seven more grown horses. The math was simple; the reality was complex.
Lin Yan called for a full muster. It was a military term Zhao He used, and it fit. Every living asset of the Lin Ranch was to be presented, assessed, and recorded.
The day began at dawn in the main pasture. The cattle were driven into the large holding pen by the water pond. Lin Yan, with a wax tablet and stylus, stood with his father and Lin Zhu. Wang Shi and the girls watched from the fence, ready with notched tally sticks.
"Founder," Lin Yan called out, and the great chestnut bull ambled forward, his presence still commanding. "Age: four years. Status: Proven herd sire. Primary asset: Genetic foundation. Value: High." He was not for sale, not at any price. He was the cornerstone.
One by one, they went through the herd. Maple and Breeze, the first heifers, now mature cows each with a calf at foot—their value was in production and maternal lines. Ember, the first mother of their hybrid line, heavy with Founder's second calf—her value was incalculable as the dam of Legacy. And Legacy himself, now a impressive yearling bull, a blend of his parents' best traits—their first home-grown success story.
Then came the Blackclouds. Shadow, the glossy black matriarch, stood with a serene dignity. "Blackcloud foundation cow. Producing high-quality milk and offspring. Genetic keystone." Her son, Midnight, was next. The young black bull was a sculpture of potential muscle. "Primary Blackcloud sire. Future genetic direction for meat quality." His value was in the promise he carried, a promise that would be tested in the spring when his first crossbred calves arrived.
The sheep were counted—their small flock had grown to twenty, including five spring lambs. Their wool, now suspected to be the valuable "Stone-Wool," was bundled separately, a sample already on its way to Scholar Zhang's colleague.
Then came the chickens, a thriving flock of thirty now, the original "medicinal" layers and their offspring providing a steady stream of eggs and meat.
Finally, the heart of their imperial promise: the horses. They were brought into the training arena, one by one.
Granite, the dun stallion, was a picture of rugged nobility. "Foundation sire. Proven toughness, intelligence, and trainability. The template." He was their flagship, their argument to the empire.
The mares: Mist, Sumac, Whisper, Rime. Each assessed for health, conformation, and temperament. Each pregnant again, their bellies rounding with the next generation—the future four of their contract ten.
Then the yearlings. Dawn, the smoky-grey filly, moved with a floating grace that hinted at her dam's sensitivity and her sire's power. "Potential for advanced training. Scout or officer's mount." Summit, the buckskin colt, was all steady strength and willingness. "Ideal patrol remount. Reliability." Ember, the deep-bay filly, was the powerhouse, her movement strong and direct. "Draft cross potential or heavy cavalry."
Three down. Seven to come from the pregnant mares. The numbers lined up. But numbers didn't account for sickness, for accident, for the unpredictable will of a foaling mare.
As the sun climbed, they moved the operation to Barren Vale. The crew there—now sixteen strong and led by a capable foreman promoted from their ranks—had assembled. The count here was different. It was a count of land reclaimed, of water captured, of fertility generated.
They walked the green flats, now a respectable thirty mu. Lin Yan estimated the hay yield per mu, factoring in the pioneering stage of the grass. It was not yet a profitable enterprise, but it was a proven one. The terraces on the lower slopes were counted—twelve of them, each holding a thin skin of precious soil and newly seeded grass. The wecks in the riverbed—twenty-three functional ones now, creating a chain of slow-water ponds that glinted in the sun. The compost windrows—eight massive, steaming piles of black gold in the making.
"Assets: land under reclamation, approximately four hundred mu," Lin Yan dictated to Lin Zhu, who was taking formal notes. "Improvements: irrigation and soil-building infrastructure. Production: first hay harvest yielded sixty bales. Projected value: increasing annually."
It was a different kind of wealth. Slower, more fundamental. The wealth of options, of future capacity.
Returning to the home ranch in the afternoon, the family gathered in the main room, the tally sticks and wax tablets laid out on the table. The sheer volume of it, when compiled, was staggering. Two years ago, their entire asset list would have fit on one hand: one hut, three chickens, a barren plot.
Now, it required pages.
Lin Dahu ran a calloused finger down Lin Zhu's neat columns. "We have… a herd. A real herd. Not just animals, but lines." His voice was thick with awe.
"We have a second property," Lin Zhu added. "With its own crew, its own production."
"We have a reputation," Wang Shi said softly. "That is not on the list, but it is an asset. It brings us Zhang's letters, Huang's partnerships, the magistrate's grants."
"And we have a target on our backs," Lin Tie reminded them, his pragmatism a necessary counterweight. "The count tells our enemies what we are worth stealing."
Lin Yan looked at the lists, the numbers, the names. Dawn, Summit, Ember. Founder, Shadow, Midnight. First Green Flat. The Forge. The Pipeline. It was no longer a collection of things. It was a system. A living, breathing engine that converted labour, knowledge, and care into tangible, multiplying value.
The system in his mind, which had been quiet during the physical count, now glowed with a summary.
[Comprehensive Asset Audit Complete.]
[Status: Lin Ranch – Established & Expanding.]
[Primary Production: Equine (Imperial Contract), Bovine (Dual-Purpose), Ovine (Specialty Wool), Poultry.]
[Land Management: Intensive Home Ranch (Improved), Extensive Reclamation Project (Ongoing).]
[Infrastructure: Advanced (Forge, Stable, Irrigation, Housing).]
[Human Capital: Family Core (Skilled), Hired Labour (Trained), Community Ties (Strong).]
[Threat Assessment: Moderate (Economic Competition, Rural Banditry).]
[Recommendation: Consolidate gains. Focus on quality over quantity for next production cycle. Deepen community integration for security.]
The recommendation echoed his own thoughts. They were at a plateau. A prosperous, incredible plateau they had fought to reach. The next step wasn't another frantic scramble upward; it was to fortify this ground, to deepen their expertise, to make the quality of what they produced so exceptional that it defined the Lin Ranch brand.
"The contract is our focus," Lin Yan said, tracing the line on the horse tally. "These seven foals next spring must be perfect. Their training must be flawless. We deliver ten outstanding horses, not ten adequate ones. That is our ticket to the next level—a full imperial supplier contract."
He pointed to the cattle list. "And here, we experiment. Midnight's calves. We document everything—growth rate, feed conversion, temperament, meat quality. We are not just raising cattle; we are conducting the most important trial of our lives. If the 'Blackcloud cross' works, we create a new standard. Something Merchant Huang can sell in the capital for ten times the price of common beef."
He looked around at his family, their faces illuminated by the late sun streaming through the window. "The count is good. It tells us we are strong. Now we must decide what kind of strong we want to be. We can be broadly strong—more animals, more land. Or we can be deeply strong—the best animals, the most respected land." He paused. "I say we choose depth."
One by one, they nodded. The pioneer scramble was in their blood, but the wisdom of the craftsman was taking root. They had quantity. Now they would pursue quality.
That evening, after a supper made from their own bounty, Lin Yan walked out to the broodmare pasture. The four mares stood together, their silhouettes dark against the twilight. In their bodies rested the next chapter of their story. Beyond the fence, in the darkening vale, the first lights of the crew's barracks winked like grounded stars.
He had arrived in this world with nothing, not even a healthy body. Now, he stood at the center of a web of life and labour that stretched across hills and valleys. The count was more than numbers. It was a measure of how far they had come, and a map of the fertile, challenging country that lay ahead. They were no longer counting seeds. They were surveying a kingdom they had built, and planning the architecture of its future.