The sack of fertilizer pellets was light over his shoulder, but it felt like the weight of the future. Lin Yan walked the now-familiar path to Yellow Creek Town alone this time, leaving Lin Tie's protective bulk behind to guard their burgeoning green hope. In his pouch, the silver fen and nineteen copper coins clinked with a forlorn, insufficient sound. The morning mist clung to the valleys, but his mind was cold and clear. He was not going to beg. He was going to demonstrate.
Master Huang received him in a small, tidy side room of his house that served as an office. Ledgers lined a shelf. The air smelled of ink and dried tea. Huang did not look up from a shipping manifest immediately, letting the silence stretch. A test.
Lin Yan waited, then placed the sack gently on the floor by his feet. The soft thump drew Huang's eyes.
"Back so soon? The eggs are not due for three more days." Huang's tone was flat.
"I am not here about the eggs, Master Huang. I am here about the method behind them. And about the corvée." Lin Yan reached into his pouch and laid the silver coin and the pile of copper coins on the edge of Huang's desk. "We have one fen and nineteen coppers. We need eleven more coppers to make the full three fen for the commutation. The official is at our village head's house today."
Huang leaned back, steepling his fingers. "And you expect me to give you the difference? Because of a bag of… what is that, millet?"
"Soil amendment," Lin Yan said. He knelt, untied the sack, and scooped a handful of the dark, uniform pellets. He placed them on a clean scrap of paper on the desk. "Concentrated chicken manure, processed to eliminate odor and pathogens, maximizing nutrient availability. This is what is turning our barren slope green in days, not seasons."
Huang's skepticism didn't waver, but a flicker of professional interest crossed his face. He poked a pellet with a ink-stained finger. "Processed how?"
"A proprietary method involving fermentation and mineral balancing," Lin Yan said, using the system's terms with borrowed confidence. "The same principle of health we apply to the hens. We don't just take from the land; we feed a cycle. The hens eat a fortified diet, their waste is transformed into this, this improves the soil, the soil grows superior grass, the grass will feed quality livestock. Each step adds value and stability." He was selling the system itself—the closed loop, the efficiency, the modernity of it.
"A pretty cycle," Huang acknowledged. "But cycles don't pay imperial clerks. Silver does. Why should I invest more in your… experiment?"
"Because you are not investing in an experiment. You are investing in a supply monopoly," Lin Yan said, his voice dropping, leaning forward slightly. "You've seen the eggs. You know their quality is unmatched. That is the first fruit. Imagine being the sole provisioner of beef with similar qualities to households that care about such things. Or of draft oxen that are stronger, healthier. The prefectural courier station alone would pay a premium for such animals. This," he pointed to the pellets, "is the key to that pasture. And we need our strongest labor, my brother, to build it. Without him, the cycle breaks. With him, and with this final push, we deliver not just eggs, but the foundation of everything after."
He let the proposition hang. He wasn't asking for a gift. He was offering Huang first refusal on the entire output of a new kind of farm.
Huang was silent for a long minute, his eyes shifting from the pellets to the coins to Lin Yan's intent face. He was a man who evaluated risk for a living. The egg contract had been low-risk, high-reward. This was higher risk. But the potential reward… a unique supply line was a merchant's dream.
"The grass," Huang said finally. "You say it's growing. Show me."
"It is a half-day's walk," Lin Yan said, his heart leaping. "But you would see it with your own eyes. A green field where there was only rock and dust a week ago."
Huang stood abruptly. "Then we go. Now. My mule cart is faster than your feet. If your 'green field' is as you say, we will talk. If it is a patch of moss, our egg contract stands, and you find your silver elsewhere."
The ride in Huang's rattling mule cart was the most tense journey of Lin Yan's life. The merchant asked sharp, practical questions about seeding rates, water needs, and winter hardiness. Lin Yan answered using his system-gained knowledge, framing it as observed farming lore and trial and error. Huang listened, grunting occasionally.
As they neared Willow Creek, Lin Yan saw his family working—Lin Tie and Lin Dahu hauling water to the slope, the women weeding the vegetable patch, Lin Xiao diligently patrolling the chicken run. They froze as the cart rolled up, their faces masks of shock and dread at the sight of the merchant.
Without a word, Lin Yan led Huang past the hut, past the coop, to the base of the slope.
And there it was.
The one-mu plot was no longer a faint green fuzz. In the strong midday sun, it was a vivid, undeniable carpet of emerald. The hardy grass, boosted by the system's secret vitality and the family's frantic care, stood a full finger's breadth high, thick and lush, a shocking jewel against the dun-colored barrenness surrounding it. A breeze swept across the hillside, and the tiny blades rippled like water.
Master Huang stopped dead. All his merchant's composure evaporated. He walked forward slowly, knelt, and ran his hand over the grass. He pulled a few blades, examined the roots—thick and white and healthy, already binding the poor soil. He looked up the slope, then back at the Lin family's modest plot, the clean coop, the busy hens. He saw the cycle, not as a theory, but as a living process beginning right here.
He stood, brushing dirt from his hands. He looked at Lin Yan, then at Lin Dahu, who had approached warily.
"You did this," Huang stated. It wasn't a question.
"The family did," Lin Yan corrected softly.
Huang nodded. He walked back to his cart in silence, the family holding its breath. He opened a small, iron-banded chest bolted to the cart bed. He counted out eleven copper coins. He walked back and placed them in Lin Dahu's hand, closing the older man's fingers over them.
"That makes thirty coppers. Three silver fen." His voice was businesslike again, but with a new undercurrent. "Take it to your village head. Today." He then turned to Lin Yan. "The egg contract stands. And I will take that bag of your 'amendment.' As a sample. When this pasture is established and you have your first calf—or even your first cutting of hay—you bring it to me. I will have first right of purchase, at a fair price to be negotiated. This is our new agreement."
It was everything. Commutation secured. Partnership extended. Validation absolute.
Lin Dahu, overcome, bowed deeply. "Master Huang… we will not forget this."
"See that you don't," Huang said, but his tone wasn't harsh. It was the voice of a man who'd just placed a bet on a long shot and seen the horse take a strong lead. He loaded the sack of pellets onto his cart. "Now, hurry. The clerk's patience is thinner than this young grass."
The family watched the cart rumble away. For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind in the new grass. Then, a collective, shuddering exhale.
Lin Dahu looked at the coins in his hand, then at the green plot, then at his second son. His eyes were bright with something that hadn't been there for years—pride, fierce and unadulterated. He clasped Lin Yan's shoulder, his grip like iron. "Go. Take Tie. Pay the man. Bring back his freedom."
Lin Yan and Lin Tie practically ran to Old Chen's compound. The corvée official, a weaselly man in a slightly threadbare county tunic, was sipping tea in the main room, a ledger open before him. Old Chen sat opposite, his expression unreadable.
"We are here to commute the labor levy for Lin Tie of the Lin household," Lin Yan announced, his voice ringing in the stuffy room.
The official looked up, annoyed at the interruption. "The rate is three fen."
Wordlessly, Lin Yan placed the three silver coins on the ledger. The official picked one up, bit it, nodded. He made a mark in his book. "Lin Tie. Commuted. Next."
It was done. So simple. So final.
Old Chen's eyes were on the silver, then on Lin Yan's face. He said nothing, but the message was clear: You found a way outside of me. It was a seismic shift in the village's tiny power structure.
That evening, the Lin family did not have a feast—they had no extra food for that. But they had a ceremony. They all stood around the green plot as the sun set, setting the grass aflame in gold and orange. Lin Dahu, his voice thick, spoke to the ancestors and the earth, thanking them for the blessing of growth and the preservation of their son.
Lin Yan stood a little apart, the system screen glowing with quiet triumph.
[Crisis Averted: Corvée Levy Commuted.]
[Strategic Partnership Formed: Merchant Huang (Yellow Creek Town). Reliability established.]
[Mission Progress: 38/50 Eggs. Days Remaining: 18.]
[Project 'Green Foundations': Successful Proof of Concept. Expansion recommended.]
[Family Cohesion and Prestige: Greatly increased. Village Status: Changed.]
[Points Awarded for Resolving Existential Threat via Innovation and Negotiation: +30.]
Total Points: 50.
He had half a hundred points. And he knew exactly what he needed next. Not just more grass seed. The foundation was laid. The pasture was born. The next step in the cycle was waiting.
He looked at his family, their faces illuminated by the dying sun and their own hard-won hope. They had paid their dues, to both their neighbor and their empire. They had bought their time with sweat, eggs, and a handful of miraculous green blades.
Now, they could finally start to build.