The art of weaving, Chen Yuan discovered, was not in the hands, but in the patience.
For three days, the "Ranch" (if one could call a mud pit and a lean-to by such a grand name) operated less like a cattle operation and more like a sweatshop.
The process was tedious. First, the cattail leaves had to be harvested from the creek bank—long, green straps that sliced at unprotected skin like paper cuts. Then, they had to be dried in the sun until they turned a pale, flexible tan, but not so dry that they cracked when bent. Finally, they had to be split into uniform widths.
"Split," Xu Tie grunted, his large, scarred hands fumbling with a leaf. He held the leaf taut, trying to run a blunt bone needle down the center to split it.
*Rrrrip.*
The leaf tore unevenly, ruining the section.
"Useless," the soldier muttered, tossing the shred into the pile of waste. "I can strip a man's skin in one piece, but a leaf defeats me."
"Skin doesn't have veins that twist," Chen Yuan said, not looking up from his own work. His fingers moved with a rhythm now, a steady, repetitive motion learned from hours of failure. Over, under, twist. Over, under, twist. "You have to feel the grain. Don't force it."
"I am forcing nothing. The leaf is mocking me."
Chen Yuan smiled tiredly. They were sitting on upturned logs near the lean-to, the air thick with the scent of drying reeds and the damp earth. A pile of finished rain cloaks—rough, poncho-like garments woven tight enough to shed water—lay on a mat between them.
They were ugly. There was no denying it. They lacked the smooth finish of bamboo hats or the rustic charm of straw raincoats. They looked like what they were: dried swamp weeds tied together with desperation.
But Chen Yuan had tested them. He had held one under the water pump by the village well for a full minute. The water had beaded and rolled off like mercury. The interior had remained bone dry.
"Ten," Chen Yuan counted, tying off the last knot on the current cloak. "Ten is enough for a start. We have enough leaves for maybe five more."
"Ten cloaks," Xu Tie said, stretching his cramped fingers. "If we sell them for ten coppers each—a hundred coins. Less than the price of a single book."
"It's a start," Chen Yuan repeated the mantra. "And it buys us rice. Or needles. Or a night of peace in the house."
He stood up, his joints popping. The sun was high. He needed to get to the village.
---
The Chen family courtyard was quiet when he returned, but the silence was heavy—the kind that settled over a house when words had been exhausted and only worry remained.
Chen Yuan carried the bundle of rain cloaks into the main room. His mother, Liu Shi, was mending a pair of trousers by the window. His grandmother was napping on the kang. But Wang Shi was nowhere to be seen.
"You're back," Mother said, her voice low. She glanced at the bundle. "More weeds?"
"Rain cloaks," Chen Yuan corrected gently. "I'm taking them to town tomorrow."
"Town?" Mother looked up, her needle pausing. "Tomorrow is the market day in the next county. Your father and brothers are going to try to sell the extra vegetables. If you go to town, you'll miss the cart."
"I have to go to Qinghe Town," Chen Yuan said. "The labor market is there. The construction sites. These... people in the village won't buy them. They use straw. But in town, the workers need cheap, light gear."
He hesitated, sensing her anxiety. "Mother, where is Eldest Sister-in-law?"
"Where do you think?" Mother sighed, biting off a thread. "She's in the kitchen, counting the grain. Again. The interest payment is due in four days, Yuan. We are short. Very short."
Chen Yuan felt the blood drain from his face. "How short?"
"We need five hundred copper coins to pay the interest and have enough left for the tax pre-payment," Mother whispered, glancing at the sleeping grandmother. "We have... two hundred. The vegetables your father is taking tomorrow... if they sell well, maybe we get another fifty. We are still missing half."
Two hundred coins. Even if he sold the rain cloaks for a high price, he would make barely a hundred. It wasn't enough.
The gap was a chasm.
"I'll find a way," Chen Yuan said, though his voice lacked its usual steel. "I have a plan."
"Your plans..." Mother started, then shook her head. "No. I won't scold you. You work hard. Harder than anyone. But the walls are closing in, my son."
"I know."
He left the bundle in the corner and went to find Wang Shi. He found her in the kitchen, indeed counting grain, scooping millet from a jar into a smaller bowl, weighing it in her hand.
"Sister-in-law."
She didn't look up. "What."
"I have some finished goods. I'm taking them to town tomorrow. I'll bring back silver."
Wang Shi laughed, a short, dry sound. She finally looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed. "Silver? From weeds? Yuan, stop dreaming. We need to sell the goat."
"What?"
"The goat," she said bluntly. "That useless animal you brought home. I heard the merchant in the next village is buying meat stock. If we sell her now, before she gets too thin, we might get three hundred coins. Combined with what we have... we can pay the interest."
"No," Chen Yuan said firmly. "We are not selling the goat. She's pregnant. She's an investment."
"Investment!" Wang Shi slammed the scoop down. Grains scattered across the table. "We are starving! We are about to lose the land! And you talk of investment? That goat eats more than Little Bao! Sell it, Yuan. Or I will tell Father to sell it."
"She's my goat," Chen Yuan stepped closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over the table. "I bought her. I signed the paper. And I say she is not for sale."
"Then you pay the debt," Wang Shi hissed. "You find five hundred coins in four days, or so help me, I will open that gate myself and let her run back to the widow."
She turned her back on him, resuming her counting with trembling hands.
Chen Yuan stared at her rigid spine. He wanted to yell, to argue, to explain that the goat was the seed from which a forest would grow. But how could he explain a future that hadn't happened yet to a woman who couldn't see past tomorrow's porridge?
He turned and walked out.
---
That night, the house felt like a tomb. No one spoke during dinner. Even the children seemed to sense the tension, eating their watery congee in silence.
Chen Yuan went to bed early, but he didn't sleep. He lay on the kang, staring at the ceiling beams, calculating.
*Five hundred coins.*
He had 10 rain cloaks. He had the goat. He had the grass. He had the debt to the Widow Zhang.
*Think. Think like a merchant, not a farmer.*
Farmers sold what they grew. Merchants sold what others needed. What did the town need?
Laborers needed rain gear. But maybe... maybe there was something else.
He thought of the *Thousand Rhymes* book he had seen in the shop. He thought of Steward Liu's sneer. He thought of the soldiers on the border, mentioned by Xu Tie.
*Soldiers need tents. They need waterproof bags.*
If he couldn't sell to the common folk, could he sell to the military? Or the labor gangs?
He sat up. He needed to make a bigger impression tomorrow. He couldn't just stand in the market like a beggar.
He reached under his pillow and pulled out the small, jagged shard of silver he had saved. It was his emergency fund.
*I need to spend money to make money,* he thought. *I need to look like a merchant, not a peasant.*
---
Morning came grey and damp, threatening rain.
Perfect weather for selling rain gear.
Chen Yuan dressed in his cleanest set of clothes—still patched and faded, but whole. He tucked the silver shard into his belt pouch. He packed the ten rain cloaks into a large bundle, wrapping them in a piece of oiled cloth to keep them pristine.
He left the house before the family woke, meeting Xu Tie at the village gate.
"You look serious," the soldier noted. He was walking better now, though he still favored his left side. "Did the woman try to kill you in your sleep?"
"She wants to sell the goat," Chen Yuan said grimly. "I have four days."
"Then we sell these cloaks for a prince's ransom," Xu Tie said. "Let's go."
They walked to the main road and joined a stream of villagers heading to Qinghe Town. This time, Chen Yuan didn't walk with the farmers. He walked with a purpose, his back straight, his bundle held high.
**[System Alert: Weather Forecast.]**
**[Current Conditions: Overcast. High probability of precipitation (85%) within 6 hours. Condition: Light Rain.]**
*Good,* Chen Yuan thought. *Rain is my advertising.*
---
The town was bustling.
The entrance fee took two more coins. Chen Yuan grit his teeth at the expense. He was spending his last reserves just to get inside.
They headed straight for the labor market—a dusty square near the city walls where workers gathered early in the morning, waiting to be hired for construction,搬运 (moving), or dock work.
Groups of men stood in clusters, smoking cheap pipes, their clothes patched and dirty. Many wore straw hats or bamboo hats, but these were old, fraying, and heavy.
Chen Yuan found a spot near a stone pillar. He unrolled his bundle.
The reaction was immediate... and underwhelming.
"What is that?" a dockworker scoffed, spitting on the ground. "Dried weeds? You selling fodder?"
"It's a rain cloak," Chen Yuan said loudly, shaking one out. It unfolded into a wide, rectangular poncho with a hood. "Lighter than straw. Waterproof. And it doesn't rot."
"Waterproof?" The man laughed. "Cattail leaves leak. Everyone knows that."
"Not the way I weave them," Chen Yuan said. He grabbed a bucket of water from a nearby trough. "Watch."
He draped the cloak over a wooden crate. Then, before the crowd could react, he dumped the entire bucket of water over it.
Gasps.
The water cascaded off the woven surface, sliding away like oil on metal. The crate beneath remained dry.
Chen Yuan shook the cloak. Not a drop remained on the surface. It was dry to the touch instantly.
"Impervious to heavy rain," Chen Yuan announced. "Lightweight. You can roll it up and put it in your pocket. It doesn't scratch your neck like bamboo."
The crowd murmured. The demonstration was effective. But still, the wallets stayed closed.
"How much?" a foreman asked, stepping forward. He was a burly man with a shaved head.
"Twenty copper coins," Chen Yuan said. He had priced it higher than he intended, banking on the shock value.
"Twenty?" The foreman scoffed. "A straw hat costs five. A bamboo hat costs ten. You want double for swamp grass?"
"A bamboo hat breaks if you drop it," Chen Yuan countered. "This? You can step on it. You can roll on it. And when the heavy rains come next month, you'll be the only one working while the others hide under the eaves. How much is a day's work worth to you? Thirty coins? Forty? This cloak pays for itself in one rainstorm."
The foreman narrowed his eyes. He was a practical man. He looked at the sky, darkening with clouds.
"Give me two," the foreman said. "But for fifteen each."
Chen Yuan hesitated. Fifteen was a cut. But a sale was a sale.
"Eighteen," Chen Yuan countered. "And I throw in a free repair if it ever unravels."
"Deal." The foreman tossed three strings of six coins each onto the ground. "Wrap them up."
The first sale.
The ice was broken.
Other workers stepped forward. "I'll take one."
"Me too."
But as the coins began to clink into Chen Yuan's hand, a shadow fell over the stall.
"You have a permit to sell here, villager?"
Chen Yuan looked up. A city guard, clad in leather armor, stood with a hand on his club. Beside him was a man in a grey robe—a street broker.
"No manufactured goods without a guild stamp," the broker sneered. "These look like village trash. Are you flooding our market with unregulated goods?"
Chen Yuan's heart sank. The town guilds. They protected their own, extorting fees from outsiders.
"I made these myself," Chen Yuan said. "From wild reeds. They aren't manufactured goods, they're gathered goods."
"Gathered, woven, same thing," the broker said. "Pay the stall fee. Fifty coins. Or pack up and leave."
Fifty coins? He had only sold three cloaks so far, earning fifty-four coins. The fee would wipe out his profit.
Xu Tie stepped forward, his eyes cold. "Fifty coins? That's robbery. We're just selling to the workers."
"Step back, country bumpkin," the guard warned, tapping his club. "Or you'll spend the night in the cell."
Chen Yuan put a hand on Xu Tie's chest, stopping him. A fight here would mean arrest. Failure to pay the debt. Ruin.
*Think. Negotiate.*
"I am not a merchant," Chen Yuan said, changing his tone. He bowed slightly to the broker. "I am a maker. I am not selling these for profit. I am selling them to pay a debt."
"Everyone has a debt," the broker said boredly.
"I am a supplier," Chen Yuan improvised. "I don't want a stall. I want to sell to *you*."
The broker blinked. "To me?"
"The cloaks," Chen Yuan said. "Take them. All of them. I have ten left. Sell them to the labor gangs. You have the network. I just have the product."
The broker looked at the cloaks, then at the bucket demonstration Chen Yuan had left sitting there. He saw the quality. He saw the potential profit.
"Hmph. Consignment?" The broker sniffed. "I'll give you ten coins a piece for the lot. I handle the selling. You disappear."
Ten coins. Half his asking price.
"Twelve," Chen Yuan said.
"Eleven. Take it or leave it."
"Done."
The broker counted out 110 copper coins—nearly a tael of silver in value, though paid in copper. He swept the remaining cloaks into his own sack.
"Now go. And don't let me catch you selling without a badge again."
Chen Yuan pocketed the money. It wasn't the windfall he hoped for, but combined with what he had... he had about 180 coins total.
Still short. Still desperate.
As they walked away from the market, the sky finally opened. Rain began to fall—a light, drizzling mist that soaked into the bone.
They passed the town notice board. A fresh poster was pinned to the top, the red ink of the government seal stark against the paper.
**NOTICE OF DRAFT**
**By order of the Magistrate of Qinghe, in preparation for the autumn census and road repair...**
**50 laborers required for quarry work at Stone Hill. Wages: 30 copper coins per day. Food provided. Duration: 10 days.**
**Apply at the Magistrate's Office before sundown.**
Chen Yuan stopped. He stared at the poster.
30 coins a day. For ten days. That was 300 coins.
*Hard labor. Breaking rocks. Back-breaking, hand-bleeding work.*
But it was money. Guaranteed money. Paid by the government.
"Quarry work," Xu Tie said, reading over his shoulder. "Hard labor. For peasants."
"It's money," Chen Yuan said. "300 coins."
"You can't do quarry work," Xu Tie said, looking at Chen Yuan's thin frame. "You'll collapse in two days. And who will watch the goat? Who will water the grass?"
"I can do it," Chen Yuan said, though the thought of it made his shoulders ache. "I have to. It's the only way to bridge the gap."
"No," Xu Tie said. His voice was firm.
"Brother, I don't have a choice. The interest is due in four days. I have 180 coins. I need 300 more."
"You don't have the time," Xu Tie pointed out. "The job is for ten days. The payment is at the end. You need the money *now*."
Chen Yuan slumped against the wall. He was right. The timeline didn't match.
*Is this it?* he thought. *Do I have to go back and tell Wang Shi to sell the goat?*
He looked at the rain falling, turning the streets to mud. He looked at the townspeople hurrying past, wrapped in their heavy, leaking straw capes.
He saw a man running, his bamboo hat flapping in the wind, his clothes getting soaked.
Then he saw a man wearing one of Chen Yuan's cloaks—the foreman who had bought two. The man was striding confidently, the rain beading off his shoulders. He looked dry. He looked efficient.
And he was talking to another foreman.
"Where did you get that?" the other foreman asked, shouting over the rain.
"Village kid. Back at the labor market. Best thing I ever bought. Look at this! Dry as a bone!"
Chen Yuan watched them. The broker was already setting up a new stall across the street, shouting: "Waterproof Cattail Cloaks! Light and Strong! 30 coins each! Get them while they last!"
*He's selling them for 30,* Chen Yuan realized. *He doubled the price.*
He felt a flash of anger, but then... a cold realization.
*I didn't sell a product. I sold a prototype.*
The market was there. The demand was real. The broker had just validated it.
And Chen Yuan had just run out of stock.
"I need more leaves," Chen Yuan said suddenly. "I need to go back."
"We have no more leaves," Xu Tie said. "We stripped the creek bank."
"Then we find another creek," Chen Yuan said, his mind racing. "Or... we find another way."
He looked at Xu Tie. The soldier was standing straighter, his eyes sharp despite the rain.
"You said you were a soldier," Chen Yuan said. "Can you... supervise?"
"Supervise what?"
"I'm going back to the village. I'm going to get the women."
"The women?"
"Wang Shi. Zhao Shi. Mei. Lan. Grandmother." Chen Yuan grabbed Xu Tie's arm. "They have nothing to do but worry. I'm going to give them work. We're going to weave. All of us. Day and night. We have three days."
"You're going to turn your house into a workshop?"
"If we make fifty cloaks... even at 10 coins a piece to the broker... that's 500 coins. We pay the debt. We save the goat."
"You'll kill them with exhaustion," Xu Tie said, but his eyes were calculating the math.
"They'll be exhausted," Chen Yuan agreed. "But they'll be safe. We'll be safe."
He turned and started running toward the city gate, the mud splashing up to his knees.
"Come on, Cousin! We have a ranch to save!"