The ten silver taels of the imperial grant arrived not as a heavy bag of coin, but as a crisp, official draft from the Provincial Treasury, redeemable at the prefectural magistrate's office. It was a piece of paper that represented more wealth than the Lin family had ever touched. They treated it with a reverence bordering on fear. Lin Dashan insisted on accompanying Lin Yan and Lin Gang to the city to convert it, not trusting the fragile paper on the journey alone.
The conversion was a bureaucratic ritual in a hall of echoing stone. The clerk, upon seeing the draft stamped with the Agricultural Bureau's seal and the notation "Pilot Demonstration Farm—Lin," treated them with a brisk, impersonal respect that was entirely new. They walked out with a cloth bag containing ten heavy, beautiful silver ingots, each marked with the imperial mint's seal. The weight in Lin Yan's hand was the weight of expectation.
Their first purchase was not celebratory. It was strategic: iron. They bought ingots of raw pig iron from the city smithy, along with a commitment from the smith to coach Lin Qiang in basic forging techniques over several visits. The goal was not to make a swordsmith, but to enable on-site repair and the creation of simple, crucial tools—better hinges, stronger ploughshares, custom fittings for the planned breeding barn. Self-reliance was moving to a new level.
The rest of the silver was carefully allocated in the ledger, now a proper book of bound paper: materials for the barn, a reserve for hired labor during peak seasons, funds for the symposium journey, and a small, separate column titled "Research & Seed Acquisition."
Returning home with their purchases felt like returning from a different world. The silver was hidden, but its presence electrified the homestead. The grant was not a reward; it was a lever. And they had to use it correctly.
The symposium invitation was the sharp edge of that lever. Two months to prepare. Lin Yan's knowledge was practical, born of dirt and desperation, not lecture halls. The thought of standing before officials and learned landowners made his stomach clench.
Qiao Yuelan became his anchor. "They do not want poetry," she said firmly, laying out sheets of precious paper on the new table in her cottage. "They want results they can replicate. You will not speak of 'biomimicry' or 'systems.' You will tell a story. The story of a barren mu. Show them the before." She nodded to Lin Qiang, who had a surprising talent for sketching. "Qiang will draw it—the pale soil, the single, sickly chick."
Lin Qiang set to work, his lines clear and evocative. He drew the progression: the wicker fence, the compost pile, the pigs rooting, the check dams, the stonecrop, the Bluestem grass, the fattening steers, the smokehouse. A visual narrative of transformation.
"Then," Yuelan continued, "you show them the outcomes. Not in bushels per mu, but in value. The smoked ham that caught a Deputy Minister's attention. The honey that sells for a silver tael a pot. The hay that rehabilitates blighted fields. You link each outcome back to a simple, repeatable technique." She looked at him. "You are not a scholar. You are a practitioner. That is your strength. Your authority comes from your calluses, not a library."
Her strategy was brilliant. It played to his truth. Together, they crafted a presentation. She helped him structure it: Problem, Principle, Practice, Proof. She drilled him on his delivery, teaching him to pause, to point to the drawings, to speak to the farmers in the room, not just the officials.
"You will be nervous," she said one evening after a particularly stumbling practice. "Use it. Let them see this matters to you. Passion is persuasive where polish fails."
During this intense preparation, the farm's daily rhythm continued, now augmented by their new resources. Construction began on the breeding barn, a solid timber-frame structure larger than their hut, with separate stalls for farrowing sows, a secure pen for the boar, Anchor, and a milking station for Butter. It was tangible progress, paid for by imperial silver, and it drew fascinated, complex gazes from the village.
Village Head Li came to inspect. He walked around the half-built barn, his face a mask. "The Empire invests heavily in your… experiments," he remarked, his tone neutral.
"The Empire invests in solutions that might work elsewhere," Lin Yan replied, keeping his voice respectful. "We are merely the test plot."
"A test plot that grows buildings as well as grass," Li said, and there was no missing the edge in his voice. The balance of power had shifted uncomfortably. Li's authority was traditional, rooted in land ownership and debt. Lin Yan's was now becoming technical, backed by distant, bureaucratic power. It was an unstable mix.
The 'Symposium' Quest glowed in Lin Yan's interface, a constant, low-grade source of anxiety. He threw himself into farm work to quell it, applying the new 'Basic Sensory Evaluation' skill to judge the quality of their curing hams and the richness of the hay. It was a tangible skill that reaffirmed his practical expertise.
A week before their departure, the third potential network node presented itself, though not in the way they expected. A young woman, perhaps sixteen, arrived at their gate at dusk. She was painfully thin, dressed in ragged clothes, and her eyes held a desperate determination. She introduced herself as Zhen, from a hamlet a day's walk south. Her family's small plot had been swallowed by a landslide after deforestation on the hill above. They were destitute.
"I heard… I heard you take in strays," she said, her voice trembling but clear. "Animals. That you make broken land whole. I… I have nothing to pay. But I can work. I learn fast. My family… they have nothing to give you but my hands."
She wasn't a landholder like Bao. She was human capital, and she was offering herself. This was a different kind of node—not a peer, but a protégé. The system's hint about a "network of three or more sustainable, cooperating farms" didn't explicitly exclude people.
Lin Yan and Yuelan exchanged a look. They needed more hands, especially with the expanding operations and their impending absence. But taking in a stranger was a risk.
Yuelan stepped forward. "Can you read numbers? Or plants?"
Zhen shook her head, shamefaced. "No, mistress. But I can watch. I can lift. I do not eat much."
It was Wang Shi who made the decision. She came out, took in the girl's hollow cheeks and proud, desperate eyes, and clicked her tongue. "Everyone eats enough here. Come in. You will work for your food and a place to sleep. We will see about the rest."
Zhen became their first hired hand, though her pay was food, shelter, and a future promise of a share in goods. She was assigned to help Wang Shi and Xiaohui with the herb garden, the chickens, and the endless chores. She was quiet, ferociously observant, and her gratitude was a palpable force. She was also a living reminder of the fragility they had so recently escaped.
The day of departure for the provincial capital arrived. Lin Yan and Qiao Yuelan packed their few good clothes, the rolled-up drawings, samples of Bluestem grass and stonecrop (potted), a small pot of honey, and a wrapped slice of their finest smoked bacon. They traveled in Old Man Chen's ox-cart, driven by his grandson Feng, who was to wait for them in the city. The journey took three days, a voyage into a world of increasing scale and noise.
The provincial capital was a revelation—a crush of humanity, towering city walls, bustling markets, and the overwhelming stink of too many people and animals in one place. They found modest lodgings in an inn frequented by minor officials and country gentry. The symposium was held in a grand hall attached to the Governor's complex.
Entering the hall was the most intimidating moment of Lin Yan's life. There were perhaps fifty men there—landowners in silk robes, officials in stiff hats, a few scholarly types with long fingernails. He and Yuelan, in their simple but clean hemp clothes, stood out starkly. He felt every eye on them, curious, dismissive, skeptical.
Their turn came in the afternoon. As Lin Yan walked to the low dais, his legs felt like water. He saw Deputy Minister Zhao seated at the front, his expression inscrutable. He unrolled Lin Qiang's drawings, hanging them on a provided frame. His mouth was dry.
Then he saw Yuelan, standing at the side of the room, her gaze steady on him. She gave a single, nearly imperceptible nod.
He took a breath, and began not with a greeting, but by holding up the pot of stonecrop. "This," his voice sounded too loud in the quiet hall, "is a weed. It grows on rocks. A year ago, I planted it to hold the dirt on my field so the rain wouldn't wash it away." He pointed to the first drawing. "This was my field."
He told the story. Simply. He spoke of the sulfur compost, not as chemistry, but as "feeding the soil's hunger." He described the check dams as "teaching the water to walk, not run." He presented the Bluestem grass as a "plant that likes poor company." He linked the healthy grass to the healthy steer, and the healthy steer to the unique flavor of the ham. He held up the small honey pot. "The weed that held the earth also fed the bees, and this was the result."
He did not talk of yields per mu. He talked of value chains and resilience. He concluded by acknowledging Bao of Red Clay Valley, their first formal partner. "The principles are simple. They are not mine. They are the land's. We just learned to listen."
When he finished, there was silence. Then, a spatter of applause, growing stronger. It was not thunderous, but it was genuine. Several landowners leaned forward, questions in their eyes.
Deputy Minister Zhao stood. "A practical philosophy from a practical man. The Empire is not built on poetry, but on grain and meat. What Lin Yan demonstrates is that we have undervalued the intelligence of the land itself." He announced that the Pilot Demonstration Farm grant would be renewed annually, contingent on continued reporting, and that the Bureau would facilitate connections for other interested landowners.
It was a triumph. In the reception that followed, Lin Yan was surrounded. A landowner from the dry western plains asked about drought-tolerant grasses. Another, whose fields were waterlogged, asked about the drainage principles of the check dams. Lin Yan answered from experience, Yuelan often supplementing with botanical specifics. They were a team.
That evening, exhausted but elated, they ate a simple meal in the inn. The sense of shared victory was a warm glow between them.
"You were magnificent," Yuelan said, her usual reserve softened.
"I had a good teacher," he replied. And in the candlelight, the unspoken things in his heart felt closer to the surface than ever before.
The system notification came as they prepared for sleep.
[Quest: 'The Symposium' – COMPLETE.]
[Presentation delivered successfully, influencing provincial-level policy and attracting potential new network nodes.]
[Reward: Tier 4 System Shop – UNLOCKED. 'Public Speaking & Rhetoric' skill unlocked. 100 Points. Knowledge Diffusion Bonus: +10 points.]
[Total Points: 393. New Tier Available.]
[Tier 4 Shop Categories: 'Ecosystem Engineering,' 'Advanced Husbandry,' 'Social Infrastructure.']
The new categories were staggering. Ecosystem Engineering hinted at influencing whole watersheds. Advanced Husbandry suggested genetic management beyond traits. Social Infrastructure—this spoke to the network, to managing people, to building cooperative structures.
But for now, exhausted, he simply absorbed the 'Public Speaking & Rhetoric' skill—a newfound understanding of how to structure an argument, to read an audience. It was a tool for the wider world they were now stepping into.
The journey home was contemplative. They had stood on a stage and not fallen. They had allies and enemies. They had a girl named Zhen waiting to learn, and a village head simmering with resentment. They had silver, a brand, and a system eager for them to build not just a farm, but a microcosm of a better way.
As the cart crested the final hill and Willow Creek lay spread below them, Lin Yan looked at Yuelan. "It's a bigger world than I thought."
"And you have a bigger place in it than you imagined," she said. Then, softly, "We do."
The roots they had planted—in the soil, in their community, in their fragile, growing partnership—had held firm against the strange, intimidating winds of the capital. They had returned not just as successful farmers, but as actors on a provincial stage. The foundation was solid. Now, they had to build upon it in full view of the world, where every success would draw light, and every stumble would cast a long shadow.
[System Note: Provincial reputation established. Tier 4 capabilities unlocked, enabling macro-level management of land and human networks. Host has transitioned from local innovator to regional figure. The foundation must now bear the weight of expectation and imitation.]