The rhythm of a farmer's life was dictated by the sun, but the pace was set by the crops.
For the next three days, Chen Yuan lived a double life. When the first rooster crowed, he was in the family's millet field, his back bent, hoeing weeds that seemed to regrow the moment he turned his back. The sun beat down on his neck, turning his skin from pale to bronze to a painful red. His hands, which had softened slightly during his fever, hardened into leather once more, the blisters from the fencing work bursting and callusing over.
By late afternoon, when the sun hung low and the air turned golden, he would wash up at the well, grab a quick bite of cold leftovers, and trek to the Wasteland.
There, a different kind of war awaited.
"It's not working."
Xu Tie sat on a rock near the lean-to, stripping the bark from a willow branch with his knife. He looked healthier than he had a week ago—the color had returned to his face, and he no longer winced when he breathed—but his expression was dour.
Chen Yuan knelt in the mud, holding a handful of dark, damp earth. He had just planted the third batch of wild ryegrass seeds in a small test plot near the creek.
"What's not working?" Chen Yuan asked, though he already knew. He could feel it in the soil.
"The seeds. They're wild. Weak." Xu Tie gestured to the first plot they had planted two days ago. "Look at them. The birds ate half. The rest are washed away or buried too deep. You're wasting your time playing in the dirt, Cousin."
Chen Yuan looked at the patch. It was true. A few green shoots had emerged, spindly and pale, but most of the seeds were gone. The Wasteland was hostile—too wet in some spots, too dry in others, and teeming with insects and birds that found the seeds to be an easy meal.
*System, what is the germination rate of this batch?*
**[Current Germination Rate: 12%. Cause: Low seed viability, inconsistent soil moisture, high predation. Recommendation: Implement seed priming (soaking) and protection measures. Suggest utilizing livestock manure for soil amendment.]**
Manure.
Of course. In modern farming, fertilizer was a given. Here, the family used every scrap of manure from their own latrine and the neighbor's animals on the precious millet fields. There was none left for a patch of wasteland.
"We need fertilizer," Chen Yuan muttered, standing up and wiping his hands on his trousers. "And we need better seeds. These wild ones are fighting a losing battle."
"We have no money for fertilizer," Xu Tie pointed out. "And we have no animals to provide it. Except the goat."
Chen Yuan looked at Nanny 01. She was tethered to a post near the lean-to, chewing on a bundle of thorny branches Chen Yuan had cut for her. She looked back at him with those strange, rectangular pupils.
"How much does she produce?"
"In milk? Not enough for a human. In... the other thing?" Xu Tie smirked. "Enough to make a small pile. But it's not enough for a whole pasture."
"No," Chen Yuan agreed. "But it's a start. And... I have an idea."
He walked over to the goat. He had been observing her closely over the last few days. The System had given him data, but observation told him more. She was bored. She was restless. And she was hungry.
The thorny branches were keeping her alive, but she wasn't thriving. Her coat was dull, and she was constantly pulling at her tether, trying to reach the patches of green clover just out of reach.
"We need to rotate her," Chen Yuan said. "Move her around. Let her fertilize different spots while she eats."
"And who watches her while we move her?" Xu Tie asked. "I can't chase a goat across the swamp all day."
"I'll do it," Chen Yuan said. "In the mornings, before the fields. And in the evenings. I'll move her pen. We can make a mobile tether."
He pointed to a long, heavy rope he had found washed up by the riverbank. "We tie one end to a stake in the ground, the other to her collar. We move the stake every day. She eats the weeds, she drops the manure, and the land improves. Slowly."
"A clever tactic," Xu Tie admitted. "Scorched earth in reverse. You use the enemy's resources to build your fortress."
"Something like that."
But first, he needed to solve the seed problem. The wild seeds were too weak. He needed something hardier. Or... he needed to cheat.
*System, can you optimize these seeds?*
**[Negative. Host lacks the necessary Bio-Engineering Module. However, Host can manually select the best specimens from the wild population and utilize 'Seed Priming' techniques available in the knowledge base. Soaking seeds in water with wood ash extract can harden the seed coat and accelerate germination.]**
Wood ash. That was easy enough. The family hearth was full of it.
"I need to go back," Chen Yuan said, brushing the dirt off. "I need ash. And I need to check on Little Ming."
"How is the little scholar?" Xu Tie asked. He had taken a liking to the boy, who often brought him water in the evenings.
"He's frustrated," Chen Yuan said with a sigh. "Teacher Liu says he has memorized everything the village school has to offer. He needs new books. But..."
"But books cost silver."
"Yes. And right now, we have copper. And barely enough of that."
---
The walk back to the village was short, but it gave Chen Yuan time to think.
The economic noose was tightening. The interest payment to Steward Liu was due in just over two weeks. The lease on the land was paid, but the debt to the Widow Zhang loomed like a storm cloud. And now Little Ming needed books.
It felt like trying to fill a leaking bucket with a teaspoon.
He entered the house just as the sun was setting. The courtyard was quiet, save for the sound of chopping from the kitchen. Wang Shi and Zhao Shi were preparing dinner. They didn't look up as he passed. The cold war was still in effect.
He found Little Ming in the corner of the main room, sitting on his heels, staring at a slate tablet. A piece of chalk lay broken on the floor next to him. The boy looked close to tears.
"Little Ming?"
The boy jumped, wiping his eyes quickly. "Third Brother. I didn't hear you come in."
"What's wrong? Is it the characters?"
"No." Little Ming shook his head. "I know the characters. Teacher Liu tested me today. I wrote them all perfectly. But..." He hesitated, his small hands clenching into fists. "He asked me to compose a couplet. A simple one, about the spring rain."
"And?"
"I couldn't." The boy's voice cracked. "I know the words, but I don't know how to put them together beautifully. I don't know the patterns. The rhymes. The allusions. The other boys... the ones whose fathers are merchants or officials... they know poems I've never heard of. They laugh at my country rhymes."
Chen Yuan felt a pang of anger on his brother's behalf, followed quickly by a wave of helplessness. This was the class divide in action. It wasn't just intelligence; it was culture. It was exposure. Little Ming was trying to compete in a race wearing straw sandals while the others wore silk boots.
"Did Teacher Liu say what you needed?"
"A *Primer of the Thousand rhymes*," Little Ming whispered. "Or the *Book of Songs*. He said if I could study the old poems, I would understand the rhythm."
*The Book of Songs*. A classic. Essential for any scholar. And expensive.
"How much?" Chen Yuan asked, though he feared the answer.
"A used copy... Teacher Liu said he saw one in the town bookshop for three hundred coins. A new one is... much more."
Three hundred coins. The amount of the Family Fund they had just spent on the goat and the land.
Chen Yuan knelt down, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. The boy was thin, frail almost. But his eyes burned with a desperate ambition.
"Little Ming, listen to me. Three hundred coins is a mountain, but we can climb it. Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon."
"But the exam—"
"The exam is years away. You have time. But you have to trust me. I'm building something. It looks like a pile of mud and a stubborn goat right now, but it will grow. And when it does, I will buy you every book in that shop."
Little Ming looked at him, his lower lip trembling. "I believe you, Third Brother. But... what if you can't?"
"I can," Chen Yuan said fiercely. "Because I have to. Now, help me gather some wood ash. I have an experiment to run."
---
The next morning, before dawn, Chen Yuan was back at the Wasteland.
He carried a clay pot filled with a slurry of water and wood ash. Inside the pot, the wild ryegrass seeds he had collected were soaking.
**[Process Initiated: Seed Priming. Estimated time: 12 hours. Projected germination increase: 30%.]**
He had also brought a small spade.
"Morning, Cousin," Xu Tie greeted him. He was standing by the goat, who was butting her head against his hip, demanding food. "She's restless."
"Good. We're going for a walk."
Chen Yuan hammered a long wooden stake deep into the ground about fifty paces from the lean-to, in an area overgrown with thistles and tough reed grass. He attached the long rope to the stake, and the other end to the goat's collar.
"Go," he said, releasing her.
Nanny 01 didn't need to be told twice. She trotted forward, sniffing the air. She stopped at a patch of coarse grass, took a bite, made a face, and moved on. She tried the thistles. Her lips moved deftly, stripping the leaves while avoiding the worst of the thorns.
"She eats the thorns," Xu Tie observed with surprise. "I didn't think anything ate thistles."
"Goats are browsers, not grazers like cows," Chen Yuan explained, watching her closely. "They prefer roughage. Brush. Leaves. It's why they're perfect for clearing this land."
As the goat ate, Chen Yuan got to work. He didn't plant the seeds today. Today, he prepared the ground. He dug small, shallow trenches in the damper soil near the creek, creating raised beds.
"This is irrigation?" Xu Tie asked, watching him dig.
"Drainage," Chen Yuan corrected. "The soil is too wet deep down. The roots will rot. By raising the beds, the water drains away, but the roots can reach it. We create a micro-environment."
It was back-breaking work. Digging in heavy, wet clay with a spade was like trying to sculpt with lead. By the time the sun was fully up, Chen Yuan had prepared three beds, each about ten feet long. He was drenched in sweat and mud.
"I have to go to the fields," he panted, leaning on his spade. "I'll check the seeds tonight. If they've soaked long enough, we plant them tomorrow."
"I'll keep an eye on the water levels," Xu Tie offered. "And I'll move the goat to the east corner this afternoon. I saw some fresh clover there."
"Thank you."
Chen Yuan gathered his tools. As he turned to leave, he paused. "Xu Tie... about Little Ming."
"The books?"
"Yes. I need to find a way to make money faster. The ranch... it's a long-term plan. But we need cash now. Do you know any... quick ways? In the army, did soldiers do side jobs?"
Xu Tie looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Mercenaries take bounties. Guards take bribes. But you? You're a farmer with a spade. The only quick way for you to make money is to sell that goat back to the butcher, and then you lose your investment."
"Then I need to find something else to sell." Chen Yuan looked around the Wasteland. The thorns, the reeds, the mud. Nothing seemed valuable.
But then, his eyes caught something.
Near the edge of the creek, where the willow trees dipped their branches into the water, grew a dense patch of tall, reedy plants with distinctive brown cigar-shaped seed heads.
*Cattails.*
**[Species Identified: Typha latifolia (Common Cattail). Uses: Edible shoots (spring), pollen (flour supplement), weaving material (leaves/stalks), tinder (seed heads), wound dressing (pith). Market Value: Low (common).]**
Low market value. But... useful.
"Weaving," Chen Yuan muttered.
"What?" Xu Tie asked.
"Nothing. Just thinking."
---
The day in the fields passed slowly. The millet was growing well, but the weeds were relentless. Chen Shan worked silently beside Chen Yuan, his usual stoic silence feeling heavier today.
"Father is worried," Chen Shan said suddenly, breaking the rhythm of their hoes. "The interest payment."
"I know," Chen Yuan said, hacking at a thistle.
"Steward Liu sent a message. He wants the payment in silver, not grain. He says the price of grain is fluctuating too much."
Chen Yuan froze. "Silver? But we don't have silver. We have copper."
"Exactly. To pay in silver, we have to exchange our copper in town. The money changers take a cut. It means we need ten percent more copper than we thought."
Ten percent more. It was a classic predatory tactic. Force the peasant to pay in a currency they don't have, skim the profit on the exchange.
"We'll make it," Chen Yuan said, though his heart sank. "We have to."
That evening, instead of going straight to the Wasteland, Chen Yuan made a detour. He went to the house of Old Woman Qian, the village matron and the oldest living person in Willow Creek. She was half-blind and toothless, but her hands were still nimble, and she wove the best baskets in the village.
He found her sitting on her porch, weaving a bamboo trap for fish.
"Grandmother Qian," he greeted her respectfully, bowing.
"Who is it? Chen Dazhong's boy?" She squinted at him with milky eyes. "The one who married a goat?"
"The one who *bought* a goat, Grandmother. I have a question."
"Ask. My advice is free. My baskets cost money."
"I saw cattails by the river. Can they be woven? Like bamboo?"
The old woman cackled. "Cattails? Coarse stuff. Rough. But yes, you can weave them. My grandmother used to weave sleeping mats from the leaves. Rain mats, too. Keeps the water out better than bamboo, if you weave it tight. But it rots faster."
"Mats," Chen Yuan repeated. "Rain mats."
"We use bamboo now because it lasts longer. Cattail mats... only the poorest use them. Or the soldiers, on campaign. Light, easy to carry, and you can sleep on wet ground."
Soldiers. Light. Rain mats.
"Grandmother Qian, if I brought you the leaves, could you teach me to weave them?"
The old woman stopped her work, her blind eyes seeming to look right through him. "You? A man? Weaving?"
"I have a roof to build. A shelter to waterproof. And I have no money for bamboo."
She grunted. "It's women's work. But... times are hard. A man who learns women's work to save his family... is still a man. Come. Sit. I will show you the twist."
For the next hour, Chen Yuan sat on the porch of the old woman's house, his large, calloused hands fumbling with the long, green leaves of the cattail reeds. The technique was simple in concept—over, under, twist, pull—but difficult in execution. His fingers were too stiff, too used to the handle of a hoe.
"You are clumsy," Grandmother Qian chided, slapping his hand. "Gentle! You pull too hard, you tear the leaf. Then the water comes in."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder. Or your goat will sleep in the rain."
By the time he left, his fingers were raw and his pride was bruised, but he carried with him a small, ugly square of woven cattail. It wasn't much, but he understood the technique.
---
Night had fallen by the time Chen Yuan returned to the Wasteland. Xu Tie had a small fire going.
"The goat is settled," the soldier reported. "And I checked your soaking seeds. They look... swollen."
Chen Yuan knelt by the clay pot. The water had turned dark with the ash, and the seeds had indeed swollen, their hard outer shells slightly cracked.
"Good," Chen Yuan said. "Tomorrow, we plant."
He sat by the fire, pulling out the cattail leaves he had gathered on his way back. He began to weave, his movements awkward but determined.
"What are you doing?" Xu Tie asked, watching him with amusement. "Making a hat?"
"A roof," Chen Yuan grunted, his tongue poking out in concentration. "For the shelter. The leaves you put up... they leak. We need a layer of waterproofing. If we weave these tight, lay them over the branches, and pack mud on top... it will be dry."
"Willow leaves leak. Cattail holds water." Xu Tie nodded slowly. "It is a good idea. Light, too. If we need to move the shelter, we can roll them up."
"Exactly."
They sat in silence for a while, the soldier cleaning his knife, the farmer weaving reeds. The fire crackled, sending sparks up toward the stars.
"Chen Yuan," Xu Tie said suddenly.
"Yes?"
"That boy. Little Ming. He reminds me of my younger brother."
Chen Yuan looked up. Xu Tie never talked about his past, his family.
"He wanted to be a scholar, too," Xu Tie continued, his voice low. "But my family had no land. No goat. I joined the army to pay for his tuition."
"What happened to him?"
"He passed the county exam. The magistrate took a liking to him. Gave him a job in the records office." Xu Tie's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Then the magistrate was purged. My brother... he was part of the purge. He died in prison. For a mistake in a ledger."
The words hung heavy in the air. The cruelty of the world, the fragility of success.
"That won't happen to Little Ming," Chen Yuan said firmly. "I won't let it."
"You can't stop the rain, Yuan. You can only build a roof."
"Then I'll build the strongest roof in the Great Qian Dynasty," Chen Yuan vowed, pulling the cattail leaf tight. "With my own hands."
He held up his work. It was a lopsided rectangle, full of gaps and loose ends. It was ugly.
But it was a start.
"Tomorrow," Chen Yuan said, tossing the mat onto the pile of supplies. "Tomorrow we plant the seeds. And then... we figure out how to turn this swamp into silver."
Xu Tie looked at the goat, then at the muddy fields, then at the young man who refused to break.
"Silver," the soldier echoed. "I prefer steel. But silver buys steel. Let's get to work."