The peace that followed Li Cheng's visit was a tangible thing. It hung in the air like the scent of rain after a drought. The ranch, usually a fortress of vigilance, seemed to breathe easier. The workers didn't jump at every rustle in the brush; Wang Shi stopped counting the rice grains twice before cooking.
But nature, unlike politics, did not care about peace treaties. Nature cared only about cycles.
And the cycle of spring was turning into the cycle of summer.
"Graaugh!"
The sound ripped through the morning calm, deep and guttural, vibrating in Chen Yuan's chest. He dropped his breakfast bun and sprinted for the corral.
"That's not a wolf!" Xu Tie shouted, grabbing his sword anyway.
They burst through the gate. In the center of the paddock, Little Iron was pawing the earth, tossing his massive head. He wasn't a calf anymore—not really. At eight months old, he stood as tall as a yearling, his neck thickening into a crest of muscle.
He was bellowing at the fence line.
Specifically, at the neighboring pasture where Hope and the goats were grazing.
"He's feeling his oats," Chen Yuan said, catching his breath.
"Oats?" Xu Tie frowned. "We haven't fed him oats today."
"It's an expression," Chen Yuan sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "He's going through puberty. His testosterone is spiking. He smells the cows, and he wants... well."
He gestured to the fence Little Iron had just smashed with a heavy hoof. A post leaned precariously.
"He's trying to break out to get to the females. If he gets in there with Hope or the goats now, he could hurt them. He's too heavy. And he's too young."
Little Iron let out another earth-shaking bellow, sounding more like a dragon than a cow.
**[System Alert: Subject 'Little Iron' (Bull).]**
**[Status: Sexual Maturity onset.]**
**[Behavior: Aggressive expansion of territory.]**
**[Recommendation: Separation from female herd immediately. Implement 'Bachelor Pad' protocol.]**
"We need to move him," Chen Yuan ordered. "Now. Before he brings the whole fence down."
---
Moving a thousand pounds of frustrated bovine testosterone was not a one-man job.
Chen Yuan recruited Zhang Dahu and his brothers. They fashioned a makeshift chute using the portable hurdles they used for the sheep.
"Easy, boy," Chen Yuan murmured, holding a bucket of sweet mash—the "candy" of the bovine world. "Look what I have."
Little Iron snorted, eyeing the bucket. His nostrils flared. He wanted the mash, but he also wanted the cows. The two desires warred in his dark eyes.
"Come on," Chen Yuan stepped back. "Follow the food."
Little Iron took a step. Then another.
Dahu and the brothers quickly closed the gate behind him, funneling him into the lane.
"Run!" Chen Yuan shouted.
He sprinted up the hill, leading the bull with the bucket. Little Iron followed, his heavy hooves thundering against the sod.
They reached the upper valley—the same spot where they had held the New Year's picnic. It was a lush, grassy bowl surrounded by steep ridges and dense forest. There was a small, sturdy shed there, originally built for storing hay.
Chen Yuan led Little Iron through the gate of the natural bowl and dumped the mash into a trough.
"Eat," Chen Yuan panted. "And cool your head."
He scrambled out the gate and locked it.
Little Iron realized he was trapped. He bellowed once, a sound of profound frustration, before turning to the trough. The mash was too good to ignore. He began to eat, his mood shifting from rage to gluttony.
"He's isolated," Chen Yuan told the workers, who were catching their breath on the ridge. "This will be his bachelor pad. No females. Just grass, grain, and solitude. We let him grow for another four months. Let his frame fill out."
"And then?" Dahu asked.
"And then," Chen Yuan smiled, "he goes to work."
---
The afternoon brought a different kind of visitor.
The sound of a horse approaching the main gate was common now. But this horse wasn't galloping; it was walking with the measured, official pace of a government messenger.
Chen Yuan met the rider at the gate. It was the same courier who had brought the exam results months ago.
"Chen Yuan?" the man asked, though he knew the answer.
"Here."
"By order of the Prefecture Magistrate, Li Zheng."
The courier reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a long, rectangular object wrapped in red cloth. He handed it down with both hands, a gesture of respect.
"This is the 'Seal of Supplier'. It is to be hung at your gate. It signifies that this establishment is under the direct protection of the Magistrate's office. Any interference with your trade, any theft of your goods, or any harassment of your workers is to be considered a crime against the Magistrate's household."
Chen Yuan took the plaque. It was heavy, made of lacquered wood, with the characters **'Magistrate's Purveyor'** painted in gold leaf.
"Hang it high," the courier said. "And... the Magistrate sends his personal regards. The beef last week was exceptional."
He turned his horse and rode away.
Chen Yuan stood holding the plaque. It felt heavier than gold.
"Well," Xu Tie said, walking up. "That's it."
"That's it," Chen Yuan agreed.
"House of Lin?"
"Toothless."
They walked to the gate. Chen Yuan nailed the plaque to the top beam, right above the fading couplets from the New Year.
The red wood gleamed in the afternoon sun. It was a shield made of words and lacquer.
The villagers walking by on the road stopped to stare. They bowed slightly as they passed, not out of fear of Chen Yuan, but out of respect for the power he now represented.
---
Steward Liu arrived the next morning.
He didn't bring thugs. He didn't bring a lawyer. He brought a carriage laden with gifts—silk cloth, jars of high-quality tea, and a set of fine porcelain.
He stopped at the gate. He saw the plaque.
For a long moment, he just stared at it. The wind rustled his hair, exposing the grey at his temples.
"Chen Yuan," he called out. His voice was not loud or arrogant. It was... tired.
Chen Yuan walked out. He didn't bow. He didn't smirk. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back.
"Steward Liu."
"The road is muddy," Liu said, gesturing to his carriage. "I brought... supplies. For the ranch."
"We have supplies," Chen Yuan said.
"Please," Liu said. The word seemed to cost him physically. "Let us speak."
Chen Yuan gestured to the stone bench outside the gate.
They sat. The morning birds sang in the trees.
"The House of Lin... wishes to normalize relations," Liu said, staring at the ground. "We are merchants. We deal in profit. Emotions... are bad for business."
"You tried to poison my water," Chen Yuan said calmly. "You sent men to steal my horse. You tried to bankrupt my family."
"Desperate measures," Liu admitted. "Misguided. We... underestimated you, Chen Yuan. We thought you were a farmer with a lucky cow. We did not see the ranch. We did not see the... ambition."
He looked at the plaque.
"The Magistrate's seal is a rare thing. You have made powerful friends. The House of Lin does not fight powerful friends. We join them."
"What do you want, Liu?"
"The leather contract. The scraps. The hides you don't use. We have a tannery in the prefecture. We can pay... fifteen percent above market rate."
"Twenty," Chen Yuan said.
"Eighteen."
"Twenty. And you transport the goods yourself. I don't deliver."
Liu hesitated. Then he nodded. "Twenty. Agreed."
He stood up. He bowed—a shallow, stiff bow, but a bow nonetheless.
"May the Willow Creek Ranch prosper."
"It will," Chen Yuan said.
Liu turned and climbed back into his carriage. As it drove away, Chen Yuan saw the man's shoulders slump, just slightly.
The siege was over. Not with a battle, but with a transaction.
---
That evening, the family gathered in the main room. The letter from Little Ming had arrived with the afternoon mail.
Ming's handwriting was becoming more fluid, more confident.
*Brother,*
*The money arrived safely. I have purchased the commentaries on the Spring and Autumn Annals. They are... dense. But illuminating.*
*You mentioned Li Cheng visited. I saw him yesterday, in the Academy archives. He was wearing riding clothes—dusty boots, a leather belt. He looked... different. Less like a peacock, more like a soldier.*
*He saw me. He nodded. He said, "Your brother makes a good saddle. My back doesn't hurt anymore."*
*This small nod... it matters. The other students saw it. They know I have connections outside the school. The bullying has stopped. The whispers have changed from 'peasant' to 'connection'.*
*The Magistrate's seal... it protects the ranch, but it also protects me. I understand now. We are not just a family. We are a faction.*
*Study hard. I will return for the harvest festival.*
*— Ming.*
Chen Yuan folded the letter.
"He's learning," he told Wang Shi. "He's playing the game."
"He's safe," she said, her voice full of relief. "That's what matters."
---
Later that night, Chen Yuan walked the perimeter one last time.
He stopped at the upper pasture. He whistled softly.
From the darkness of the bowl, a low, rumbling sound came back. Not a bellow of rage, but a contented chew. Little Iron was settling in.
He walked back to the gate. He touched the Magistrate's plaque. It was cool to the touch.
*A faction,* he thought. *That's what we are.*
A year ago, they were peasants digging in the mud, drowning in debt.
Now, they were suppliers to the Magistrate. They had a scholar in the Academy. They had a bull that acted like a king. And they had the respect of the village.
But Chen Yuan knew better than to get comfortable.
"Factions rise and fall," he murmured to General, who was sleeping by the post. "We need roots. Deep roots."
He looked at the Wasteland. It was green, fertile, and theirs.
"Tomorrow," he decided. "We start the milking barn. We need to store the winter feed better. And we need to buy more cows. Little Iron needs a harem."
He patted the sleeping dog.
"Rest up, General. The work is just beginning."
He went inside, the night settling over the ranch like a warm blanket.
The howling of wolves was distant now, echoing in the deep mountains.
They no longer dared come near the fence.