The late spring sun was a hammer, beating down on the Wasteland and turning the moist earth into a steam bath. The grass grew so fast you could almost watch it inching upward, but Chen Yuan's eyes weren't on the grass. They were on the mud.
Specifically, the mud surrounding the horse pen.
Black Mountain, the massive stallion, was leaning against the fence again. The wooden posts, driven deep just months ago, were beginning to list under the sheer tonnage of the horse's boredom.
"He's going to push it over," Xu Tie observed, spitting on the ground. "He doesn't respect wood."
"He respects strength," Chen Yuan said, kicking the leaning post. It groaned. "And wood isn't strong enough anymore. We need stone."
Wood was the building material of the village. It was cheap, available, and easy to work. But a ranch housing horses that weighed over a thousand pounds and a calf with the density of a boulder required something more permanent.
"Gather the carts," Chen Yuan ordered. "We're going to the quarry."
---
The "quarry" was a generous term for a rocky outcrop about a mile north of the village, where the hillside sheared off to reveal layers of grey limestone and granite. It was public land, open to any villager willing to break their back.
Chen Yuan arrived with the cart, Zhang Dahu, and his brothers. They brought sledgehammers, iron wedges, and plenty of strong rope.
"We need blocks," Chen Yuan instructed, running his hand over a jagged boulder. "Rectangular if possible. Flat sides. We're not building a wall; we're building a foundation."
"How do we cut them?" Dahu asked, looking at the solid rock face.
"Feathers and wedges," Chen Yuan said, pulling out a set of iron tools from his bag.
The technique was ancient but effective. They drilled a line of holes into the rock face. Into each hole, they placed two curved pieces of iron—the "feathers"—and between them, a wedge.
"Strike true," Chen Yuan told Dahu.
*Dong. Dong. Dong.*
They hammered the wedges in rhythmically, slowly, applying equal pressure. The rock groaned, a sound deep within the earth. Then, with a sharp *crack*, the boulder split cleanly along the grain.
"Magic," one of the younger brothers whispered.
"Physics," Chen Yuan corrected, though he smiled. "Now load them. We need fifty blocks."
---
The construction of the new stable was an event.
Unlike the mud-brick houses of the village, which melted in the rain, Chen Yuan wanted a raised stone foundation. He dug a trench two feet deep, filling it with gravel for drainage.
"Lay the largest stones first," he directed. "Butter them with mortar."
The mortar was a mixture of quicklime (burned from local limestone) and sand. It was caustic, burning their hands, but it set like—well, like stone.
Xu Tie proved his worth as a foreman. With his military engineering background, he ensured the walls were plumb and the corners square. He used a simple plumb line—a weight on a string—to check the verticality of the stones.
"If the wall leans, the roof collapses," Xu Tie grunted, adjusting a heavy block with his shoulder. "And if the roof collapses on the horses, we lose our investment."
The stable design was simple but revolutionary for the region. Instead of one large, open pen where animals fought for space, Chen Yuan built "tie stalls."
"Each horse gets his own room," Chen Yuan explained to a curious Father. "A stone wall between them. No kicking. No biting. They eat in peace, they sleep in peace."
"And the manure?"
"Stone floor with a slight slope," Chen Yuan pointed to the rear. "We wash it out with a bucket of water. It drains into the compost pit. Clean stalls mean healthy hooves."
It took two weeks of backbreaking labor. The workers' hands were raw, their backs aching. But slowly, the walls rose. Grey, rough, and imposing, the stable began to look less like a shed and more like a fortress.
---
The progress on the stable drew attention.
One afternoon, as Chen Yuan was mixing a batch of lime wash to coat the interior walls (white walls reflected light and made it easier to spot parasites), the Village Chief, Old Man Zhang, arrived. He looked worried.
"Chen Yuan," the Chief said, leaning on his cane. "We have a problem."
"Let me guess. The road."
The spring thaw had turned the main village road into a bog. The recent heavy carts hauling grain and stone had churned the mud into a soup that was swallowing cart wheels up to the axle.
"The merchants are complaining," the Chief sighed. "They say if the road isn't fixed, they'll stop coming to Willow Creek. They'll make us haul our goods to the main highway. It will cost us a fortune in porter fees."
"We can't pave the whole road," Chen Yuan said, wiping his hands. "Stone is too expensive. Gravel washes away."
"Then what? Wood planks? They rot in a season."
Chen Yuan thought for a moment. He remembered an old innovation from the American West—the "Corduroy Road" for swamps, or perhaps something simpler for maintenance.
"Get me a log," Chen Yuan said. "A green one. About ten feet long, two feet thick. And a team of horses."
The Chief looked confused but signaled two men to drag a fallen pine log from the forest.
Chen Yuan didn't pave the road. Instead, he built a "Drag."
He took a split log, chained it behind Black Mountain, and weighted it with stones.
"What is this?" the Chief asked.
"A road grader," Chen Yuan said. "Watch."
He rode Black Mountain down the worst stretch of the muddy road. The horse pulled the heavy log behind him. The log didn't just roll; it scraped. It shaved off the high ridges of mud created by the cart wheels and filled in the ruts.
Chen Yuan rode back and forth three times.
Where there had been a treacherous, rutted mess, there was now a smooth, cambered surface. The water drained off to the sides, leaving the center firm.
"The mud is still there," Chen Yuan explained to the astonished Chief, "but the ruts are gone. The road is crowned. You do this once a week after heavy rain, and the road stays passable."
The Chief stamped his foot on the smoothed ground. It held.
"Simple," the Chief breathed. "So simple. Why didn't we think of this?"
"Because we're used to fixing things after they break," Chen Yuan said. "Ranching teaches you to maintain things so they don't break."
He unhitched the log. "The merchants can come tomorrow. The road will be dry."
"You... you've saved the village a lot of silver," the Chief said, looking at Chen Yuan with a new level of respect. "The village will remember this."
"Just make sure they remember to drag the road," Chen Yuan grinned.
---
With the road fixed and the stable walls up, Chen Yuan turned his attention to the Saddle.
Li Cheng was coming next month. The "saddle" Chen Yuan had promised wasn't just a seat; it was a test.
He set up a workshop in the new, dry corner of the stable.
The core of any saddle was the "Tree"—the wooden frame that distributed the rider's weight across the horse's back without pinching the spine.
He selected a piece of dense, seasoned beechwood. He needed it to be strong but flexible.
*System, display saddle tree blueprint.*
**[Displaying: McClellan Military Saddle Tree (Modified).]**
**[Focus: Weight distribution, durability.]**
Chen Yuan began to carve. He didn't have a lathe, so he used a drawknife and a spokeshave, shaving the wood down following the grain. He carved the "bars"—the long rails that sat along the horse's muscles—and joined them to the "pommel" (front) and "cantle" (back).
He steamed the wood over a pot of boiling water to bend it into the correct curves.
"Molding the wood," Xu Tie watched, fascinated. "Like shaping a bow."
"Exactly. If the tree breaks while riding, you fall. If it pinches the horse, he bucks. It has to be perfect."
It took three days to carve the tree. Chen Yuan checked the fit by placing it on Black Mountain's back, checking for gaps.
*Tight at the withers. Sand it down.*
Finally, it fit. The tree sat like a glove, leaving a channel over the spine for airflow.
Next came the rigging.
Chen Yuan didn't have fancy leather for the whole saddle. He used layers of heavy canvas and felt (made from goat hair) to pad the seat. He covered the wooden tree with rawhide—wet strips of cow skin that would shrink tight as they dried, making the wood as hard as iron.
"Stretch it," Chen Yuan told Dahu. "Pull it until your arms shake."
They tacked the rawhide onto the wood frame with small copper tacks. As it dried in the sun, the hide turned bone-white and drum-tight.
"Indestructible," Chen Yuan knocked on the wood. "Now, the leather."
He used his best tanned leather for the "skirts"—the flaps that protected the rider's legs from the rigging. He stamped the leather with the "Willow Moon" brand, the same mark he used on the cattle.
Finally, the hardware. He visited Old Man Zhang, the blacksmith.
"Iron stirrups," Chen Yuan ordered. "Wide tread. Not the tiny Chinese style. I want a platform. If the rider falls, the foot must slip out easily. No trapping the ankle."
The blacksmith forged a pair of wide, heavy stirrups, modeled after Chen Yuan's sketches. They were ugly, utilitarian, but safe.
---
The day the saddle was finished, Chen Yuan took it for a test ride.
He placed the saddle on Black Mountain. He tightened the "girth"—the strap around the belly—using a double-knot system the System had recommended.
He swung up.
The saddle felt different. It was harder than the soft padded seats of the nobles, but it was stable. It held him in place without restricting his movement. It was a working saddle, built for long hours and rough terrain.
He rode out of the stable, past the new stone walls, and into the pasture.
He didn't just walk. He galloped. He jumped a fallen log. He turned sharp corners.
The saddle didn't slip. The horse didn't pin his ears.
"Good," Chen Yuan whispered, patting the pommel. "Very good."
He rode back to the stable. Xu Tie was waiting.
"It looks... plain," Xu Tie critiqued, eyeing the rawhide and canvas.
"It's a tool," Chen Yuan said, dismounting. "But for Li Cheng..."
He took a small pot of red paint he had mixed from cinnabar. He painted a thin, elegant stripe down the center of the seat and along the skirts.
"A touch of the magistrate's colors," Chen Yuan said. "Flattery costs nothing."
He hung the saddle on the new wooden rack inside the stone stable.
"Ready for the wolf," Chen Yuan said.
---
That evening, a cart arrived from the town.
It was a delivery from the "House of Lin."
Chen Yuan tensed. The sabotage attempt was still fresh in his mind.
But the driver was alone. He handed over a small, sealed letter and a heavy wooden crate.
The letter was brief.
*Rancher Chen,*
*Our previous... disagreements... are regrettable. The market is changing. We wish to discuss a new contract for leather supply. We are willing to pay market price.*
*We have sent a gift of goodwill.*
*— Steward Liu.*
Chen Yuan stared at the letter. "Goodwill?" He sniffed the crate. "Open it."
Xu Tie pried the lid off.
Inside was a massive iron plowshare. Not the cheap iron they used, but high-quality steel, polished to a shine. It was worth five taels of silver.
"A bribe?" Xu Tie asked.
"A peace offering," Chen Yuan corrected. "They see the stable. They see the road. They see the Magistrate's son eating our beef. They realize they can't crush us, so now they want to trade."
"Do we trade?"
Chen Yuan looked at the plowshare. They needed it. The old iron plow was worn thin.
"We sell them the lower-grade leather," Chen Yuan decided. "The scraps. The pieces we can't use for boots. But we don't sign a contract. We sell by the load. Cash only."
He wrote a reply.
*Steward Liu,*
*Thank you for the plow. We accept your offer for scrap leather. Price: 20% above market rate. Delivery: When we have surplus.*
*— Chen Yuan.*
He handed the note to the driver.
"Tell him," Chen Yuan said, "that the ranch has long memory. But we also have long pockets."
As the driver left, Chen Yuan looked at the new plowshare leaning against the stone wall of the stable.
"The enemy is polite now," Xu Tie noted.
"Polite enemies are better than fighting ones," Chen Yuan said. "But keep the gate locked anyway."
He walked back to the house. The stone walls of the stable stood solid behind him, glowing faintly in the twilight.
A fortress. Built by hand. Paid for in sweat.
And now, armed with a saddle and a peace treaty, they were ready for whatever the summer brought.