The goat died three times before dawn.
The first death came just past midnight. Her breathing grew shallow, then stopped entirely for ten heartbeats that stretched into eternity in the lamplight. Lin Yan was on his feet, hands hovering, unsure whether to shake her or let her go—when a great shudder went through her body and she drew a ragged, wet breath back into her lungs.
The second death came an hour later. Her eyes rolled back, showing whites, and her legs stiffened. Lin Yan poured a trickle of warm broth between her lips, massaging her throat until she swallowed reflexively. Life returned, grudgingly.
The third death was the quietest. She simply stopped breathing, her side still, her warmth beginning to leach away into the cold stable air. This time, Lin Yan did not wait. He wrapped his arms around her barrel chest and rocked her gently, rhythmically, as if coaxing a stubborn pump.
"Not yet," he whispered, his breath fogging in the lamplight. "You haven't even seen the grass yet."
Whether it was the words, the motion, or sheer stubbornness, her chest fluttered. Then she breathed again, a deep, sighing breath that sounded like surrender to life rather than release from it.
After that, she lived.
The snow had stopped by first light. A pale sun broke through the clouds, casting long blue shadows across the white-blanketed village. Old Zhang appeared at the stable door as Lin Yan was mixing another handful of soaked grain.
"Still with us?" the old man asked, his voice gruff.
"Still with us," Lin Yan confirmed, his own voice raw with exhaustion.
Old Zhang knelt beside the goat, checking the splint, feeling her ears and nose. "Cold, but not deadly cold. The leg's swelling, but the bindings aren't too tight. You did alright."
High praise.
"She needs a name," Old Zhang said unexpectedly.
"A name?"
"A thing with a name is harder to lose. My father taught me that." The old man's eyes were distant. "Named our ox 'Mountain.' When he died, it felt like the mountain itself had crumbled."
Lin Yan looked at the goat. Her coat was a mix of brown and grey, patched with white like spilled flour. One ear had a distinctive notch at the tip—an old injury or mark of ownership from a previous life.
"Xue," he said finally. "Snow."
Old Zhang considered it, then nodded. "Xue. Survived the snow. Fitting."
He stood, brushing straw from his trousers. "Your family will be worried. Go. I'll watch her awhile."
Lin Yan hesitated. "The broth… the grain…"
"I have both. Go."
The walk home was through a transformed world. The snow reflected the weak sunlight, too bright for tired eyes. Children were already out, building crude snow figures, their laughter sharp and fleeting in the cold air. Lin Yan saw the way villagers looked at him now—not with pity or dismissal, but with curiosity. The story of the goat had spread. Of course it had.
At home, the family was gathered around the morning fire, a pot of thin gruel steaming. All eyes turned to him as he entered.
"The goat?" his father asked without preamble.
"Alive. For now."
A collective exhale. Lin Wen looked up from his book, his eyes bright. "What's she like?"
"Broken. But fighting."
Mother Lin ladled a bowl of gruel and handed it to him. The warmth seeped through the clay into his frozen hands. "Old Zhang is feeding her?"
"For now. But she's our responsibility."
Lin Fu set his bowl down with a soft clink. "A responsibility we can't afford. Grain we soak for a goat is grain not in our bellies."
"It's a handful a day," Lin Yan said. "And if she lives, she gives milk. And manure. And hope."
"Hope doesn't fill tax quotas," Lin Fu shot back, but his heart wasn't in it. The argument was ritual, not conviction.
Lin Tieshan spoke quietly. "The goat is here. The decision is made. Now we make it work." He looked at Lin Yan. "You'll need a shelter on the wasteland before she can be moved. And the permit must be finalized."
"The snow will delay the inspector further," Lin Lu said, ever practical. "Which gives us time to build a shelter, if we can get materials."
"Materials cost coin," Lin Fu said.
"Not if we use what's there." Lin Yan finished his gruel, the warmth spreading through him. "The stones we've cleared from Old Zhang's field. We've already stacked them. With his permission, we could use some to build a low wall for a shelter. Roof it with branches and thatch."
"Old Zhang's stones," Lin Lu mused. "He might agree. Especially if we build it so it could serve as a field shelter for him later too."
A plan, however fragile, began to form.
After the meal, Lin Yan returned to Old Zhang's stable. Xue was standing—or trying to. She had managed to get her three good legs under her, the splinted leg held awkwardly off the ground. Her ears pricked forward as he entered.
Old Zhang was feeding her a handful of fresh hay, scarce in winter. "She stood on her own. That's a good sign."
Lin Yan crouched beside her, running a hand along her neck. Her coat was coarse but clean where the snow had been brushed away. "We need to build a shelter on the wasteland. Before she can be moved."
Old Zhang nodded slowly. "The stones."
"Would you permit us to use some? We'd build it strong. Something that could serve your field later if needed."
The old man was silent for a long moment. Then: "You're not just building a goat shed, are you?"
"No."
"You're building the first thing. The proof." Old Zhang sighed, a sound like wind through dry grass. "Take what you need from the west end of the stack. But you replace anything you use once your own land is cleared."
"We will."
"And you build it right. Not a rushed job. A thing that lasts."
"We will," Lin Yan repeated.
That afternoon, with the sun doing little to melt the snow, the Lin men—plus Zhao Erniu—returned to the stone wall they'd built. They selected flat, stackable stones from the western end, loading them onto a crude sled Lin Lu fashioned from branches and rope. The work was slow, the stones cold and slippery with frost.
As they worked, villagers passed by on the path. Some offered curt nods. One—an older woman whose son had died in a mining accident years ago—brought a small basket of dried apple slices. "For the goat," she said, not meeting their eyes. "Apples help the milk come."
It was the first unsolicited gift. A tiny breach in the wall of village indifference.
By late afternoon, they had transported enough stones to the wasteland site to begin a foundation. The chosen spot was near the stream, sheltered by a natural rise, with southern exposure. Lin Tieshan laid out the lines with a stick in the snow—a rectangle just large enough for a goat and maybe, someday, a calf.
They began stacking stones dry, without mortar, fitting them together like a puzzle. It was slow, meticulous work. The stones had to be chosen for shape, turned, tested. Lin Yan's hands, hardened though they were, grew raw again from the cold and friction.
Zhao Erniu worked tirelessly, his thin frame belying a wiry strength. He had an eye for stone-fitting, sensing which rock would settle best against another. Once, when Lin Yan struggled with a particularly awkward piece, the boy was there beside him, helping to shift it into place without being asked.
As the sun dipped toward the mountains, casting the snowy landscape in shades of pink and gold, the first course of the wall was complete—a low, solid rectangle marking a claim on the land more tangible than any permit.
Lin Tieshan stood back, surveying their work. "A good start," he said, and it was high praise indeed.
That evening, Lin Yan returned to Old Zhang's stable to find Xue standing steadily, nibbling at a bundle of hay. She turned her head toward him and bleated—a soft, questioning sound.
"She knows you," Old Zhang said from the doorway. "Animals know who cares for them."
Lin Yan fed her another handful of soaked grain, then sat with his back against the stable wall, watching her. The oil lamp cast a warm glow over her flanks, over the careful splint, over the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
The system updated quietly:
[LIVESTOCK STATUS: XUE (GOAT) - STABLE, RECOVERING]
[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY INCREASED TO 65%]
[SHELTER CONSTRUCTION INITIATED: 15% COMPLETE]
[VILLAGE REPUTATION: SHIFTING TOWARD 'PERSEVERANT']
[NEW OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE SHELTER BEFORE INSPECTOR'S VISIT]
Lin Yan closed his eyes. The smell of hay and animal filled his lungs. The ache in his body was deep, bone-deep, but it was a good ache. An earned ache.
He thought of the stone wall rising from the snow. Of the grass seed waiting in sacks. Of the goat standing on three legs, refusing to die.
They were building something. Stone by stone. Breath by breath.
It wasn't much.
But it was theirs.
And it was growing.
Outside, the winter night settled over Dust Creek Village, cold and clear and full of stars. In the stable, a goat named Xue breathed steadily, and a young man named Lin Yan kept watch, and a world that had once seemed immutable began, ever so slightly, to bend.