The success of the horse breeding program was a quiet, living fact. The three weanlings thrived, their potential evident in every clean line and alert gaze. The ranch's reputation, burnished by Commander Liang's visit, began to attract a new kind of attention. It was no longer just officials and merchants who knew the name Lin Ranch; other breeders, smallholders from neighbouring valleys, began to make pilgrimages to Willow Creek, hoping to glean wisdom, trade stock, or simply see the operation that had earned an imperial nod.
Amidst this growing acclaim, Lin Yan's focus began to drift, like a compass needle finding a new pole. The horses were the future, the high-stakes gamble. The cattle were the present, the steady, ruminating bedrock of their wealth. And it was to the cattle that his system-guided ambition now turned.
He spent evenings after supper poring over the 'Animal Breeding Principles' module, specifically the sections on beef production. The mountain stock that had produced Founder and the others was excellent for hardiness, for draft power, for maternal traits. But for meat—rich, tender, marbled meat that could command a premium in the prefectural capital or even beyond—a different genetic blueprint was needed.
The system held tantalizing categories: 'Angus-type' for unmatched marbling and flavour; 'Brahman-type' for heat tolerance; 'Wagyu' for legendary, buttery fat. The last was a distant, exorbitant dream. But the first… the 'Angus-type' was listed as 'Blackcloud Beef' in the system's translation. The description spoke of a solid black animal, efficient at converting grass to tender, well-marbled meat. The seed stock cost was high, but not impossible.
"We need to diversify our cattle line," he announced at the next family council. They now held these councils in the main room of the hut, which felt less like a shelter and more like a war room, maps and breeding charts spread on the table. "Founder's calves will be strong and healthy. But for true wealth, for a product that can make the name 'Lin Ranch' mean something on a nobleman's table, we need to introduce a beef specialist."
Lin Zhu, ever practical, frowned. "New bloodlines are expensive. And risky. How do we know this 'Blackcloud' will thrive here? Our grass, our climate…"
"We start small," Lin Yan said, laying out his plan. "We use the next payment from Merchant Huang for the three foals. We don't buy a herd. We buy a single pregnant heifer, of the highest quality we can afford. If she thrives, if her calf is everything the lore promises, then we have our foundation. We breed her next calf to a son of Founder, blending hardiness with meat quality. It's a five-year plan, at least."
It was a strategy of patience and precision. It appealed to Lin Dahu's deep understanding of slow, generational improvement. "A seed," he mused. "You plant a single, perfect seed."
The opportunity to buy such a seed came from an unexpected quarter. A letter arrived from Scholar Zhang, Lin Xiaolian's father-in-law. His networks of bookish colleagues extended into surprising areas, including the archives of the Imperial Agricultural Bureau. He wrote that he had come across a record of a small, failed experiment from a decade prior: an attempt to introduce a breed of solid black, beef-type cattle from the foggy highlands of the far west into the central prefectures. The experiment had been abandoned, but a few descendants of those original imports were rumoured to be in the hands of a retiring imperial stockman living in obscurity in Southern Ridge Prefecture.
It was a lead. Thin, but tangible. And it aligned perfectly with the system's 'Blackcloud' description.
Lin Yan and Zhao He prepared for a journey. This was not a trip to the familiar county town or even the prefectural capital. This was a week-long trek into a different agricultural zone. They took two of their hardiest mountain horses—Mist for Lin Yan and a steady gelding they'd named Ridge for Zhao He. They carried silver, samples of their hay and grass seed as trade goods, and a letter of introduction from Scholar Zhang.
The journey was a education in the scale of the Great Yan Dynasty. They moved from the rugged, close-folded hills of home into broader, richer valleys where estates with tile-roofed manor houses dominated the landscape. They saw cattle in numbers they'd never imagined—herds of fifty, a hundred head, grazing on vast, open pastures. It was both inspiring and daunting.
They found the retired stockman, Old Liao, living in a modest cottage on the edge of one such estate. He was a wiry man with hands that were still strong, his eyes clouded by age but sharp with intelligence. He received Zhang's letter with a grunt of surprise.
"Zhang the scholar… I remember his father. Always asking questions." He looked Lin Yan and Zhao He up and down, assessing them not as customers, but as stockmen. "You're a long way from the mountains. Why come for my old, failed project?"
"We hear they were not a failure of the animal, but of the method," Lin Yan said respectfully. "That they needed specific conditions. We have high, cool pastures. And we are patient."
Old Liao's eyes narrowed. He led them to a small, well-tended paddock behind his cottage. And there they were.
Three cows and a young bull. They were indeed solid black, a deep, glossy hue like a raven's wing. They were compact, blocky, deep-chested, with short legs and astonishingly thick, muscular hindquarters. Even at rest, they looked like they were carved from dark wood. One of the cows was clearly heavily pregnant.
"The original imports," Liao said, a hint of pride breaking through his gruffness. "Tough. Quiet. They don't roam much; they'd rather eat and lie down. Convert grass to meat like alchemists turning lead to gold. But they got sick in the lowland heat. Didn't like the rich feed here. Got fat and foundered. The bureau gave up. I kept these." He patted the fence. "For sentiment."
Lin Yan's system knowledge hummed in approval. The conformation was textbook. This was the 'Blackcloud' strain.
The negotiation was long. Old Liao didn't need silver; he needed assurance. He grilled them on their pasture management, their winter strategies, their philosophy on breeding. Zhao He's terse, knowledgeable answers about hardiness and forage did more to convince him than any offer of coin. In the end, a deal was struck. They would take the pregnant cow, due in a month. They would pay in a combination of silver, a future share of her first female calf, and a promise to send Old Liao yearly reports on her progress. It was a breeder's agreement, based on legacy, not just commerce.
They named the cow "Shadow." The journey home with a precious, pregnant animal was an exercise in supreme care. They moved slowly, resting often, ensuring Shadow had the best grazing and clean water. She was a placid, undemanding traveler, living up to her reputation.
Her arrival at the Lin Ranch caused a sensation. The black cow was like a creature from a myth among their familiar browns and chestnuts. Founder, from his pasture, let out a bellow of profound interest. Shadow ignored him, heading straight for the rich grass with single-minded focus.
They integrated her carefully, giving her a paddock to herself to acclimate. A month later, she delivered a bull calf without fuss. He was the colour of a moonless midnight, sturdy and vigorous from his first breath. They named him "Midnight."
The first hint of the 'Blackcloud' promise was revealed not in meat, but in milk. Shadow produced a richer, creamier milk than any of their other cows. Wang Shi, experimenting, made a small batch of cheese. It was unlike anything they had ever tasted—complex, nutty, and incredibly rich.
"It's the grass," Lin Yan said, understanding dawning. "It's converting the essence of our grass into something… more."
It was the principle made manifest. Quality in, quality out.
The arrival of Shadow and Midnight coincided with another development. Magistrate Gao himself, the County Magistrate, announced a visit. This was unprecedented. The local lord was coming to see the 'Priority Observation Site' that had attracted prefectural and even garrison attention.
The ranch prepared not with anxiety, but with the quiet confidence of professionals. The day of the visit was clear. Magistrate Gao arrived in a modest carriage, his entourage small. He was a middle-aged man with a shrewd, tired face, a career bureaucrat who had likely never expected a place like Willow Creek to warrant his direct attention.
Commander Liang's report had forced his hand.
The tour was a condensed version of the inspector's visit, but with a different emphasis. Gao cared less about training methods and more about economics, yields, and community impact. Lin Yan explained their breeding programs—both equine and now bovine—as engines for sustainable wealth. He showed him the pipeline, the forge, the improved pastures.
"You employ villagers?" Gao asked, noting Lao Li and his son at work.
"We do. And we trade with the blacksmith, the carpenter. Our cart business supports Kang's smithy. A healthy ranch makes for a healthier village tax base." Lin Yan framed it in terms the magistrate would understand: revenue and stability.
Gao was particularly interested in Shadow and Midnight. "This black strain… it is new?"
"New to this region. An experiment in quality. If it succeeds, it could be a specialty product for the county, something that brings outside silver in."
The magistrate nodded slowly. He understood niche markets. Before leaving, he made an offer that was also a test. "The county administers some vacant grazing land in the next valley. It is poor, rocky. But if your methods can improve it as you have improved this slope… the county might lease it to you on favourable terms, for a period of ten years. With the requirement that you employ a certain number of county men in its development."
It was an offer of expansion, wrapped in bureaucratic responsibility. It was a chance to scale their model, but it would also tie them more closely to the county apparatus. A deeper partnership with the local power structure.
Lin Yan didn't accept immediately. He asked for time to survey the land. Gao agreed.
After the magistrate's carriage rattled away, the family gathered, the weight of the new possibilities settling upon them.
"More land," Lin Tie said, the prospect of vast, empty space speaking to his soul.
"More responsibility," Lin Zhu added. "And more eyes on us."
"A chance to prove our methods on a bigger stage," Lin Yan concluded. "And to secure our future beyond a few steep slopes."
That night, as he recorded Midnight's weight gain in the stable ledger, Lin Yan felt the ranch's boundaries expanding in his mind. It was no longer just about the hut, the pasture, the family. It was about a black cow from a failed imperial experiment, about empty valleys offered by a calculating magistrate, about a reputation that now stretched from the northern garrison to the scholarly networks of his brother-in-law.
The Lin Ranch was becoming a nexus. A point where grass, genetics, ambition, and imperial need intersected. The foundation they had laid with chickens and grit was now supporting something far larger, more complex, and more promising. They had planted a seed of an idea. Now, they were watching a forest begin to grow around them, its canopy stretching toward a future they were only beginning to dare imagine.