The day after the wolf attack, the Wasteland was a hive of activity.
Chen Yuan stood by the fence line, a coil of rough hemp rope in his hands. He was staring intently at a fence post about ten paces away.
"Keep your wrist stiff," Xu Tie instructed from the side. The soldier was whittling a sharp point onto a bamboo stake, the shavings curling around his boots. "And don't throw with your arm. Throw with your shoulder. It's a snap, not a push."
Chen Yuan took a deep breath, ignoring the biting wind. He held the rope loosely, forming a loop—a honda knot, the System had called it. He swung the loop in a wide circle by his side.
*Timing. Trajectory.*
He snapped his wrist forward.
The loop flew through the air... and landed in a sad tangle three feet short of the post.
"Terrible," Xu Tie said bluntly. "A blind man could throw better."
"The rope is stiff," Chen Yuan grumbled, coiling it back up. "And it's freezing."
"In the north, we roped yaks in blizzards," Xu Tie said, tossing a finished stake onto the pile. "If you miss, you don't eat. If you want to be a 'Cowboy'—that strange word you use—you need to master the tools. Again."
Chen Yuan sighed and reset. He wasn't doing this just for fun. The System had provided the *knowledge* of how to lasso, but his body lacked the *muscle memory*. In this world, where catching a stray calf or a runaway horse could mean the difference between profit and loss, this was a vital skill.
He swung again. This time, he focused on the System's trajectory overlay in his mind—a ghostly line showing the ideal path.
*Snap.*
The loop sailed out and settled cleanly over the top of the fence post.
"Better," Xu Tie grunted. "Now pull it tight before it falls off."
Chen Yuan yanked the rope. The loop constricted around the post.
"Good," Xu Tie stood up, gathering the pile of twenty sharpened stakes. "Now stop playing. We have a graveyard to build."
---
They spent the rest of the morning digging.
The wolves had shown them a weakness. The thorn fence was a deterrent for casual scavengers, but a hungry pack would simply dig under it.
Xu Tie's solution was simple and brutal: *Punji pits.*
They dug shallow trenches just outside the fence line, deepening them into pits. At the bottom of each pit, they drove the sharpened bamboo stakes, angled inward.
"If a wolf digs, he hits the pit," Xu Tie explained, kicking dirt over the loose soil to camouflage the traps. "He impales himself. It saves us the trouble of fighting him."
"Won't the villagers accidentally step in them?" Chen Yuan asked, wiping sweat from his brow despite the cold.
"We mark them," Xu Tie said, driving a tall, white-painted stick into the ground next to each pit. "And we tell the Chief. If anyone is stupid enough to walk into a marked trap in the middle of the night, Darwin's Law applies."
*Darwin's Law?* Chen Yuan smiled at the soldier's accidental use of a concept he had likely never heard of. Xu Tie had been picking up Chen Yuan's strange vocabulary.
By noon, the perimeter of the Wasteland was a fortress. Fire breaks, thorn walls, and hidden spike pits.
As they worked, Chen Yuan noticed movement on the road. A small crowd was gathered near the village entrance.
"What is that?"
"Looks like the morning market," Xu Tie squinted. "But it's not market day."
They walked closer. A cart was parked in the center of the crowd. It wasn't the sleek carriage of Steward Liu, nor the rickety carts of farmers. It was a sturdy, canvas-covered wagon, pulled by two mules.
A man in a thick fur coat and a felt hat was shouting.
"Fresh beef! Tough, old bull meat! Cheap! Bought it from the slaughterhouse in the prefecture! Good for stewing!"
The villagers pressed forward, clutching their coins. Meat was a luxury. Even tough, old bull meat was snapped up quickly in the lean winter months.
Chen Yuan watched the transaction. He saw the gleam in the seller's eye. The meat was likely from an animal that had died of exhaustion or disease, dressed up to look edible.
*Predators in silk, predators in fur,* Chen Yuan thought. *They're all the same.*
"Boss!"
A voice called out from the crowd. The Widow Zhang pushed her way through, clutching a clay jar. She looked flustered.
"Chen Yuan! There you are!"
"Auntie Zhang? What is it?"
"It's the milk," she said, panting. She held up the jar. It was empty. "It's gone. I sold the whole batch to the Li family. Their old mother has a cough that won't stop. She drank the warm milk last night and slept better than she has in weeks."
"That's good," Chen Yuan said. "So, you need more grass?"
"I need more milk," she lowered her voice, leaning in. "The Li family wants to reserve a daily supply. They are offering ten coins a bowl."
Ten coins a bowl. That was an astronomical price for goat milk. The market price was three.
"Did you agree?"
"I told them I'd ask," Widow Zhang said nervously. "The nanny... she gives a lot, but she needs to feed the kids too."
Chen Yuan did the math. Nanny 01 was producing about 1.5 liters a day, thanks to the ryegrass. The kids took a portion, but there was surplus.
"Agree," Chen Yuan said. "But with conditions. They provide the jar. And they pay weekly. You keep eight coins, I take two for the grass."
"Two coins for grass?" The widow's eyes widened. That was still a bargain.
"The grass is special, Auntie. You know that. Feed her well, and she'll keep producing."
"Deal!" The widow scurried off, clutching her empty jar like a treasure.
Chen Yuan watched her go. The "Magic Grass Ranch" brand was building itself.
---
That afternoon, Master Zhao—the cloak broker—arrived.
He came with a cart and two burly porters. His face was red from the cold, and his mood was foul.
"Twenty cloaks. I'm counting them," Zhao barked, jumping down from the cart.
Chen Yuan stood by the gate of the Chen household, the bundle of finished cloaks at his feet.
"Count away," Chen Yuan said. "They are early."
Zhao didn't answer. He grabbed the bundle and untied it. He examined the weave, pulling at the seams, checking for loose threads.
He found nothing. The weave was tight. The coating was even. Wang Shi had done a masterful job.
"Hmph." Zhao signaled the porters. They loaded the cloaks onto the cart.
Zhao reached into his robe and pulled out a heavy pouch. He counted out the coins—two hundred copper—on the dusty ground.
"There. Payment in full."
Chen Yuan knelt and counted the coins. Two hundred. Correct.
"Business is done," Chen Yuan said, sweeping the coins into his own pouch.
"Hold on," Zhao said, his eyes narrowing. He looked around the courtyard. "I saw your fence on the way in. Those stakes. The fire breaks. You're expecting trouble?"
"Wolves," Chen Yuan said. "We're outside the village proper. We have to defend ourselves."
"Wolves are bad this year," Zhao nodded. He paused, looking at Chen Yuan with a shrewd expression. "You know... the town guard is looking for furs. Wolf pelts. They pay three taels of silver for a prime pelt. The officers like them for cloaks."
"Three taels?" Chen Yuan's eyes lit up. That was a massive sum.
"If you catch any," Zhao added. "Don't just kill them and leave them to rot. Skin them. Cure the hide. Bring them to me. I know a man."
"We might have some for you soon," Chen Yuan said. "My cousin is a hunter."
"Good. Do that." Zhao turned to leave, then stopped again. He pointed a finger at Chen Yuan. "And don't forget. Next order comes in two weeks. Twenty more. Don't get lazy just because you're playing farmer."
"I'll be waiting."
As Zhao's cart rattled away, Chen Yuan felt the weight of the coins in his pocket. Two hundred. Plus the milk money coming in. They were finally in the black.
---
That night, the wind howled like a banshee.
Chen Yuan was on watch, huddled in a thick straw cape near the lean-to, a spear made of a sharpened hoe handle resting across his knees. A small brazier glowed red beside him, offering a tiny circle of warmth.
The moon was hidden behind clouds, making the night pitch black.
*Snap.*
The sound was sharp, distinct. Not the wind. Not a branch falling.
Chen Yuan stood up, his heart hammering. He peered into the darkness beyond the firelight.
*Crack. Snap.*
A high-pitched yelp—sudden and agonizing.
"Contact!" Chen Yuan shouted, grabbing a torch and thrusting it into the brazier. It flared up.
He ran to the fence line.
In the flickering light, he saw the silhouette. A large grey wolf was thrashing in the dirt just outside the thorn wall. It had stepped into one of the camouflaged pits. The bamboo stakes had done their work.
The wolf snarled, snapping its jaws, trying to pull its leg free, but the barbed stakes held it fast.
Two other shapes slunk in the darkness nearby, their eyes glowing green, growling low.
"Xu Tie!" Chen Yuan yelled, brandishing the torch.
"I see it!" The soldier burst out of the lean-to, sword in hand. He didn't hesitate. He vaulted over the low section of the thorn fence, landing lightly in the snow outside.
The two uninjured wolves scattered instantly, vanishing into the night. They were smart. They knew when the trap was sprung.
The trapped wolf turned its fury on Xu Tie. It lunged, snapping at his legs, despite the stakes.
Xu Tie moved with a terrifying efficiency. He didn't swing the sword like a brute. He stepped in, deflected the snap with the flat of the blade, and drove the point down—instant, lethal—into the wolf's neck.
The wolf shuddered and went limp.
Silence returned to the Wasteland.
Chen Yuan climbed over the fence, torch held high. He looked at the dead animal. It was huge. Its fur was thick and grey, its teeth yellow and sharp.
"A fine specimen," Xu Tie said, wiping his blade on the snow. "Alpha female, by the size of her. She led the pack last night."
"Three taels," Chen Yuan said, looking at the pelt. "Master Zhao said three taels."
"The pelt is worth money," Xu Tie agreed. "But the meat..."
"Wolf meat is tough and sour," Chen Yuan wrinkled his nose. "We don't eat it. But we can use the bones. And the teeth."
They worked quickly, dragging the carcass inside the fence. The other traps remained undisturbed. The pack had retreated.
"Tomorrow, we skin it," Chen Yuan said, looking at the blood on the snow. "Tonight, we stay vigilant. They might come back for revenge."
---
The next morning, the Wasteland had a grim trophy.
Xu Tie had skinned the wolf with a surgeon's precision. The pelt was stretched on a wooden frame, drying in the cold air. The carcass had been buried deep in the pit, returning to the earth.
"A clean kill," Xu Tie said, admiring the fur. "No holes. This will fetch a good price."
"I'll take it to town tomorrow," Chen Yuan said. He felt a strange mix of pride and revulsion. This was the reality of the frontier. It wasn't just about growing grass; it was about blood and steel.
"Brother! Brother!"
Little Ming came running down the path, his face flushed.
"Little Ming? What is it? Is something wrong at home?"
"No! No!" The boy skidded to a halt, panting. "I... I read the scroll Teacher Liu gave me."
"And?"
"The commentary... it explains the *Analects* in a way I never understood before. It talks about 'Governance by Virtue' and 'Economy by Agriculture'." The boy's eyes were shining. "It says that a wise ruler improves the soil and feeds the people. Yuan... I think I can use this! For the exam next year!"
Chen Yuan looked at his brother, then at the drying wolf pelt, then at the lean-to where the cow lowed softly for her silage.
"Economy by Agriculture," Chen Yuan repeated, smiling. "That sounds exactly like what we're doing."
He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Study hard, Little Ming. Because one day, you're going to write the laws that protect men like us. And I... I'm going to make sure we have enough silver to pay the taxes while you do it."
Little Ming nodded solemnly.
"Come on," Chen Yuan said. "Help me check the traps. And then... we practice your calligraphy."
As they walked back toward the house, the winter sun finally broke through the clouds, casting long shadows behind them.
The wolf was dead. The herd was safe. And the Chen family was still standing.