Two weeks had passed since the first breeding. The Westland was no longer a patch of green in a desert; it was a sea of emerald.
The Optimized Ryegrass, fed by the Spirit Spring water and the unique properties of the system seeds, had grown with terrifying vigor. It stood waist-high, thick and lush, waving in the wind like a verdant ocean. It was a sight that would make any farmer weep with envy, but for Lin Wanshan, it presented a new problem.
"Too much," Lin Wanshan muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's growing faster than they can eat it."
If the grass was left to grow unchecked, it would become woody, go to seed, and lose the tender sweetness that made it a superfood for livestock. It needed to be cut.
"Boss! Look at this!"
Lin Wen stood in the middle of the field, holding a crude scythe. He was grinning, though his face was smeared with dirt and grass stains. Behind him lay a swathe of cut grass, releasing a sweet, intoxicating scent that filled the valley.
"Good," Lin Wanshan nodded, walking over to inspect the cut. "But we need to move faster. We have fifty mu of pasture now, and only three days of clear weather left. If the rains come before we bale this, we lose the sweetness."
Zhao Tiezhu was working in the next field over. The former soldier had taken to manual labor with a frightening intensity. He didn't just cut the grass; he attacked it. *Swish, swish, swish.* His rhythm was mechanical and precise.
"Rest!" Lin Wanshan called out, clapping his hands. "We break for the mid-day meal. The sun is too high to work efficiently."
They gathered under the large awning Lin Wanshan had constructed near the bunkhouse—a simple open-air structure of wood and thatch. Liu Mei brought out large clay pots.
Today was a special day. The ranch had officially survived its first month. To celebrate, and to test a theory, Lin Wanshan had splurged on a side of pork from the market. But he hadn't given it to Liu Mei to stew.
He had built a pit.
A proper, Western-style BBQ pit, lined with stones, with a grate made of iron bars purchased from the blacksmith.
"You are cooking it... on the fire?" Liu Mei asked, watching Lin Wanshan rub a mixture of crushed peppercorn, salt, and wild garlic onto the meat. "Directly? It will burn!"
"It will sear," Lin Wanshan corrected. "It locks in the juices. Just watch."
He placed the meat on the iron grate over the glowing coals of fruit wood he had gathered. *Sizzle.*
The sound was like music. The fat rendered instantly, dripping onto the coals and sending up plumes of fragrant smoke. It wasn't the smell of roasted pig the locals were used to—singed hair and boiled skin. It was the smell of char and spice.
Tiezhu sniffed the air, his stomach growling audibly. "That smell... it makes a man want to fight."
"It makes a man want to eat," Lin Wanshan laughed. He turned the meat. The crust was a dark, caramelized brown.
While the meat cooked, Lin Wanshan pulled out a small wooden flute he had carved. It wasn't a traditional *dizi*. It was a simple, six-hole flute, modeled after a recorder.
He put it to his lips and began to play.
It wasn't a classical melody of the court. It was a simple, rhythmic tune—something reminiscent of a folk song from the American frontier. He started to hum, his voice rough but carrying a strange, nostalgic melody.
*"Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam... where the deer and the antelope play..."*
He translated the lyrics in his head, adapting them to the local dialect.
*"Give me a valley, where the rivers run free, where the sky touches the tops of the trees. No walls to hold us, no masters to please, just the wind and the cattle and me."*
The workers stopped eating their bread. They stared at him. The melody was simple, repetitive, and hauntingly catchy.
"What is that song, Boss?" Lin Wen asked, mesmerized.
"It's a song of the West," Lin Wanshan said, lowering the flute. "A place far away. A place where a man's worth is measured by his sweat, not his birth. A place called... the Range."
"Sing it again," Tiezhu grunted. "It sounds... lonely. But strong."
Lin Wanshan smiled. He played it again, and this time, Tiezhu began to tap his foot in time. Lin Wen clapped along. Even the normally shy Liu Mei swayed slightly.
As the song faded, Lin Wanshan pulled the meat off the pit. He let it rest for a few minutes (a crucial step the system insisted upon), then sliced it with his knife.
The inside was pink and juicy, the fat rendered into gelatinous perfection.
He handed a slice to Tiezhu, then to Lin Wen, Liu Mei, and Old Man Chen.
"Eat."
Tiezhu took a bite. His eyes widened. He chewed slowly, savoring the explosion of flavor—the smoke, the spice, the tender meat.
"This..." Tiezhu swallowed, looking at the piece of meat in his hand with reverence. "This is not food for servants. This is food for warriors."
"It's food for ranchers," Lin Wanshan corrected, biting into his own piece. It wasn't beef, but it was delicious. "And this is how we will sell our beef. We won't just sell meat. We will sell the *experience*."
He gestured to the valley, the green grass, the smoke rising from the pit.
"When people come here, they won't just buy a steak. They will sit by the fire, they will hear the music, they will smell the smoke, and they will feel free. That is what they will pay for."
Old Man Chen, the mason, spoke up for the first time. He was a quiet man, usually focused on his stones. "Young Master, the rich folks in the city... they are tired of silk and poems. They seek novelty. If you can give them this 'West' feeling... they will throw money at you."
"Exactly," Lin Wanshan nodded. "But first, we need the beef. And for that, we need the calves to be born healthy. And we need hay for the winter."
He stood up, his energy renewed. "Alright! Break is over! We need to stack this grass into windrows. If we work fast, we can start baling tomorrow."
"Boss," Tiezhu stood up, wiping his greasy hands on his trousers. "I have a friend. A former soldier, discharged like me. He has no legs, but his arms are strong. He sits in the city begging. Can he work?"
Lin Wanshan looked at Tiezhu. "Can he shell corn? Can he weave ropes? Can he sharpen tools?"
"He can do anything with his hands."
"Then bring him," Lin Wanshan said without hesitation. "Everyone has a place on the ranch."
***
The afternoon passed in a blur of activity. The sweet smell of drying hay filled the valley.
As the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the fields, Lin Wanshan took a walk to check on the bull.
Captain was resting near the stream. He looked immense. His black coat shone in the dying light. He looked at Lin Wanshan and let out a low, contented rumble.
Lin Wanshan leaned against the fence.
*[System Alert: Herd Status Update.]*
* **Bull:** Healthy. Fertility: High.
* **Cows Bred:** 9/10.
* **Cow #10:** Rejected by Bull. (Reason: Undetected infection).
Lin Wanshan frowned. "What?"
He opened the gate and walked over to the last cow, a small, mottled beast standing apart from the herd. She looked fine, but Captain was ignoring her.
He knelt down and ran his hands over her flank. The system highlighted a small, inflamed area near her uterus.
"Mastitis," Lin Wanshan muttered. "Early stage."
He pulled out the **Basic Veterinary Kit** he had unlocked. Inside was a simple salve made of herbs and a hypodermic needle with a mild antibiotic solution—system provided, but appearing to the world as a "secret medicine."
"Easy girl," he whispered.
He treated her. She flinched but didn't kick.
"Don't worry," he told the cow. "You'll get your chance. We don't leave anyone behind."
As he walked back to the bunkhouse, he saw a figure riding up the road. It was a single rider, moving fast.
It wasn't a carriage. It was a messenger in the livery of the Magistrate's office.
Lin Wanshan tensed. "Problem?"
The messenger pulled his horse to a halt.
"Master Lin!" the messenger gasped, out of breath. "The Magistrate... Master Su... he requests your presence immediately!"
"Father-in-law?" Lin Wanshan asked. "Is it the accounts? I have the interest money ready."
"No, sir," the messenger shook his head. "It's the Governor. The Provincial Governor is making an inspection tour of Qinghe County. He arrives in three days. The Magistrate is in a panic. The county is short on tribute gifts. He asks... he asks if you have *anything* to present."
Lin Wanshan stood frozen.
The Governor. A high-ranking official with the power to elevate or destroy a family.
Tiezhu walked up, wiping hay from his shirt. "Trouble?"
"Opportunity," Lin Wanshan corrected, his eyes gleaming in the twilight. "Or disaster."
He turned to the messenger. "Tell Father-in-law not to worry. I have the perfect gift."
"But... Master Lin," the messenger stammered. "The Governor is a man of refined taste. He eats only the finest delicacies. Do you have... rare ginseng? Gold?"
Lin Wanshan smiled, a confident, dangerous smile.
"No," he said. "I have something better. I have the future."
"Tell him to prepare a feast. I'm bringing the meat."
He looked back at the herd. He had planned to wait until the calves were born to start selling, but fate had accelerated his timeline. He would have to kill one of the older cows—the one he had bought specifically for an emergency measure, a cow that had been dry but was now, thanks to the system, perhaps something else.
Actually, no. He couldn't kill a breeding cow.
He looked at the wolf pelt hanging on the line. Then he looked at his pigs.
"Wait," he thought. "The Governor is a powerful man. He eats pork every day. He eats mutton."
He needed a showstopper. He needed *beef*.
But he couldn't kill Captain. And he couldn't kill the pregnant mothers.
He paused. There was one option.
The calf. The scrub calf born a few days ago.
No, it was too small. Veal was not the impression he wanted to make. He wanted the power of the West.
He had to wait for the right moment. Or... he had to improvise.
"Tell Father-in-law," Lin Wanshan said, changing his mind. "I will come to the city tomorrow. I will handle the tribute."
The messenger rode off.
Tiezhu looked at him. "You have a plan?"
"I'm going to buy a specific animal tomorrow," Lin Wanshan said. "And we are going to turn it into a legend. Tiezhu, wake up early. We're going to the slaughterhouse."
The Westland was about to enter the big leagues.