The eight piglets were not just livestock; they were a revolution. Their arrival transformed the atmosphere of the Lin homestead from one of grim endurance to a buzzing, cautious euphoria. For the first three days, the family moved in a hushed, worshipful orbit around the farrowing pen. Wang Shi, who had delivered all her own children, treated Splotch with the deference of a fellow mother, bringing her special mashes of warm barley and chopped greens. Lin Xiaoshan was tasked with the sacred duty of watching for any piglet that strayed or got trapped, his small hands gently guiding the squirming red-gold bodies back to the warmth of their mother's side.
They were all healthy, all vigorous. But as the initial awe subsided, the stark arithmetic of their existence settled in. Eight more mouths. Splotch's milk was rich, but it would only last so long. In a few weeks, the piglets would begin to sample solid food, and their appetites, collectively, would be a force of nature. Their current stores of cover crop hay were for winter. Their grain was a shrinking reserve. The foraging grounds were beginning to thin with the approaching autumn.
"They are eight shades of gold," Lin Dashan observed one morning, his calloused hand resting on the fence as he watched the pile of sleeping piglets. "But gold must be fed to grow."
The 'Basic Butchery & Preservation' knowledge from the system was a future promise, contingent on raising the litter. The immediate need was feed. The Smokehouse Blueprint was a dream of winter wealth. The present was a hungry, squealing reality.
Lin Yan spent a long afternoon walking the perimeter of their land, the system's 'Pioneer Aura' a faint, reassuring hum at the edge of his perception. His eyes, now trained to see potential rather than just plants, scanned the margins. The second patch of Bluestem grass, sown later, was lush but not yet seeding. The first patch, after the sale to Courier Huang, was sparse, its best seed heads gone. Their contract with the Zhang estate demanded a substantial quantity of seed by next planting season. They were behind.
He paused at the edge of the woodland the pigs and goats had been clearing. The animals had done good work. The underbrush was gone, the soil turned. But it was raw, rough. It would take a season of weathering and maybe a planting of turnips or hardy rye to become proper pasture. Time they didn't have.
The solution, as it often did, came from an unexpected synergy. While checking on the goats, Lin Yan noticed Willow, the nanny, was producing a small but steady trickle of milk. They had been so focused on the pigs they'd neglected this asset. Goat's milk was rich, nutritious. Could it be used to supplement the piglets' weaning?
That evening, he proposed an experiment to the family. "We start milking Willow regularly. We use some for ourselves—a cup a day for the children, for strength. The rest, we mix with a little cooked grain and mashed greens. We offer it to the piglets in a shallow dish in a week or so, to get them used to it. It will stretch Splotch's milk and give them a strong start."
It was a small idea, but it utilized an underused resource. Lin Xiaohui, with her gentle hands, took on the milking duty. The first few attempts were comical, resulting in more milk on the ground than in the pail, but she quickly learned. The children, Tie Zhu and Xiao Lian, received their small daily cup with solemn reverence, drinking it slowly as if it were imperial nectar.
The piglets grew with startling speed. Their red-gold coats shone. They were curious, tumbling over each other in play. The family began to differentiate them: the largest, boldest male was 'Rust.' The smallest, but fastest, female was 'Ember.' They were given names, which made the eventual reality of their purpose—all but two destined for sale or slaughter—more poignant, but also more professional. They were not pets; they were units of production in a cherished enterprise.
The seventeen coppers in the Debt Bowl were a silent accusation. The autumn equinox had passed, the tax was paid, but New Spring, and the one hundred and twenty copper debt, was a season closer. The egg money was a trickle. They needed a larger infusion, and soon.
It was Steward Feng who provided the opportunity, and the pressure. A messenger from the Zhang estate arrived, not with a request, but with a summons. Lin Yan and his father were to attend the steward at their convenience—a polite fiction meaning immediately.
They went, dressed in their cleanest, most mended clothes. Steward Feng received them in the same side yard. He did not offer tea.
"The grass," he said without preamble. "Courier Huang has written from the Northern Prefecture. The trial seeds you sold him have germinated well. The Imperial Pasture Master is… interested. This accelerates our timeline."
Lin Yan's heart sank. "Honored Steward, our contract was for next year's seeding—"
"The world does not wait for contracts," Feng interrupted, though his voice was not unkind, merely businesslike. "Opportunity is a horse that passes once. The estate wishes to plant a larger test plot this autumn, before the frost, to have established seedlings going into winter. We need five pounds of your Bluestem grass seed. Now."
Five pounds. It was an enormous amount. They might have two pounds total, if they scraped every seed head from both patches, crippling their own future production and their ability to meet the original contract.
"We… do not have that quantity," Lin Dashan said, his voice strained. "The seed is slow to produce. We sold some… for the tax."
Feng's lips tightened. He knew about the tax; he had likely calculated it. "This is disappointing. The estate entered this contract in good faith. A failure to deliver could be seen as a breach."
The threat was clear. They could lose the contract, and the protection of the Zhang name that came with it. They could also face a penalty.
"If we may," Lin Yan spoke up, his mind racing. "We do not have five pounds of seed. But we have the grass itself. Mature, healthy plants. What if, instead of seed, we provided… slips? Root divisions? We can carefully dig up sections of the mature grass, with roots and soil attached. They can be transplanted now, this autumn. They will establish over winter and be ready to spread in spring. It is a faster way to cover ground than seed, if more labor-intensive."
It was a gamble. Transplanting grasses was possible, but delicate. It would also devastate their own patches, setting them back years.
Feng considered this, his fingers tapping on the wooden table. "Root divisions. The yield would be immediate ground cover, but less seed next year."
"For the estate, ground cover to heal the field is the immediate goal, is it not?" Lin Yan pressed. "The seed can come later, from the established plants. We would provide the labor to dig and transplant. One hundred strong divisions. Enough to start a quarter-acre plot."
It was offering their own flesh and blood—literally, the roots of their discovery—to keep the contract alive.
Feng stared at him, then gave a slow, approving nod. The boy was clever, and willing to sacrifice. "One hundred and fifty divisions. Delivered within ten days. The contract stands, and… for this extra effort, the estate will waive the 'first pick' of your sow's litter. You keep all eight piglets."
It was a significant concession. The pick of the litter could have been their best future breeding stock. Now, they would retain it all.
They agreed. The walk home was filled with tense calculation. One hundred and fifty divisions. It meant tearing up nearly all of their prized Bluestem grass. But it bought them time, goodwill, and full rights to the piglets.
The next ten days were a period of brutal, precise horticulture. The entire family, even the children, joined in. Using sharpened sticks and careful hands, they dug around the base of the healthiest Bluestem grass plants, lifting clumps of soil intertwined with thick, white roots. Each clump was then carefully divided into smaller 'slips' containing several grass stems and a knot of roots. These were wrapped in damp moss and cloth, placed in baskets.
It was heartbreaking work. Their beautiful, bluish-green patches were reduced to a scarred, muddy field. But they counted out one hundred and fifty viable slips. They delivered them to the Zhang estate's southern field, where under the supervision of a skeptical estate gardener, they planted each slip in prepared rows. The work was back-breaking, but they did it perfectly.
When it was done, Steward Feng inspected the rows of wilted-looking but intact grass slips. "They look like dead reeds," the gardener muttered.
"They are dormant, not dead," Lin Yan said, though he prayed it was true. "The roots will hold through the winter. In spring, they will green."
Feng dismissed them with a wave, but as they left, he said, "The contract is satisfied. For now. Tend to your own fields."
They returned to a homestead that felt strangely barren without the signature bluish grass. But they had their piglets, all eight, and they had their contract.
That night, as a cold autumn rain began to patter on the thatch, a system notification appeared.
[Hidden Milestone: 'Strategic Sacrifice & Negotiation.' Host has traded immediate vegetative wealth for long-term contractual security and genetic equity.]
[Reward: 'Plant Propagation (Division)' skill enhanced. 20 System Points.]
[Points Total: 280/300.]
So close. The system was rewarding the cunning, the long game.
The rain continued for two days, a steady, soaking drizzle that replenished the stream and settled the transplanted grass slips. When the clouds cleared, the world was washed clean and crisp. And in the Lin's ravaged grass patch, a miracle: green shoots. Not from the transplanted slips miles away, but from the severed roots they had left in the ground. The Bluestem grass, resilient and tenacious, was already regenerating.
Lin Yan stood in the mud, watching the first brave green spears break the soil, and laughed aloud—a short, sharp sound of pure relief and wonder. The grass was not defeated. It was fighting back, just like they were.
The piglets, now three weeks old, were beginning to nibble at the mash of goat's milk and grain. They were thriving. The eight shades of gold were becoming eight solid promises. The Debt Bowl was still empty but for seventeen coppers. The larger debt loomed.
But as he looked from the regenerating grass to the bustling pigpen, to the goats browsing at the edge of the recovering woodland, Lin Yan felt a new kind of strength. They had nothing in coin. But they had life in abundance—life they had fought for, bargained for, and sacrificed for. Life that was already beginning to replenish itself.
The foundation was no longer just wood and earth. It was a living system, resilient, capable of regrowth. They had given the Zhang estate a piece of their flesh, and their land was already knitting itself back together. The circle was not just unbroken; it was expanding, one green shoot, one golden piglet at a time.
[System Note: Biological resilience demonstrated. Contractual crisis averted via innovative botanic solution. Host's understanding of asset management deepens—living assets can regenerate if the roots are preserved. 20 points to next Tier unlock.]