Spring did not come to the Azure Hills with a gentle sigh, but with a noisy, messy, triumphant roar. The snows retreated, surrendering to a legion of rivulets that chattered through every gully and ditch. The earth, frozen for so long, awoke as a sea of thick, clinging mud. For the Lin Ranch, the thaw was not a pastoral idyll; it was a declaration of war against muck, meltwater, and the urgent, screaming needs of growing things.
The cattle, sensing the green beneath the slush, grew restless in their winter confinement. Legacy was a bouncing, chestnut-colored cannonball of curiosity, testing his legs on the slippery ground, much to Ember's constant, low-voiced worry. The new horses—Granite, Mist, Sumac, Whisper, and Rime—handled the mud with disdain, their sturdy hooves punching through the slop where the cattle's broader feet would sink. They seemed energized by the lengthening light, trotting along the fence lines with their tails held high.
And the grass… the grass returned. Not the timid shoots of autumn, but a fierce, vibrant surge of green that seemed to rise visibly each day. The battered pasture from the hailstorm vanished under a lush new carpet. The hardy system strain, its roots deep and strengthened by winter, exploded with a vitality that made Lin Yan's heart sing. It was the land's answer to their care.
But with the surge of life came a surge of work so profound it made the winter's careful maintenance feel like a holiday. Every hand was needed, every moment accounted for.
The most immediate new demand was the horseshoes. As the ground firmed from mud to soft earth, Zhao He gathered Lin Yan, Lin Zhu, and a fiercely attentive Lin Xiao for a lesson.
"A horse's hoof is like a fingernail," Zhao He said, lifting one of Whisper's feet. The mare stood patiently, already learning to trust these rituals. "It grows. On the soft ground of summer, or in the sandy wastes, it might wear down naturally. Here, with our rocks and our soon-to-be-hard trails, and with the work we will ask of them, it will crack, split, wear unevenly. That means lameness. And a lame horse is a useless horse." He looked at each of them. "We learn to shoe. Not just to put on shoes, but to trim the hoof, to balance it, to make it right."
It was a craft. An art. Lin Zhu's eyes lit up with the challenge of a new kind of precision metalwork. For Lin Yan, it was another layer of the husbandry puzzle—the point where animal biology met human engineering.
They needed a forge. The partnership with Blacksmith Kang was for tools and cart parts; they couldn't rely on him for the constant, specialized work of farriery. Using the last of the silver from the cart sales and some of their carefully hoarded egg-and-hay income, they commissioned Kang to help them build a small, simple forge and bellows in a corner of the main workshop shed. The fire, once lit, became a new, perpetual heartbeat on the ranch—the ringing of hammer on anvil shaping not just tools, but their very future.
Zhao He was a stern, patient teacher. Under his watchful eye, Lin Zhu learned to shape the simple, flat bar stock into curved shoes, to punch nail holes with exact alignment. Lin Yan learned the anatomy of the hoof—the wall, the sole, the frog, the sensitive laminae. He learned to use the cruel-looking nippers and rasp, to trim away excess growth without drawing blood, to shape the hoof to sit perfectly flush against the metal shoe.
Their first patient was Flint, the gelding. He was calmest, and his hooves, though healthier, were a testament to past neglect—uneven, with cracks and flares. Lin Yan held the hoof between his knees, the smell of horse and horn filling his senses. His first rasp strokes were hesitant.
"Confidence," Zhao He grunted. "The horse feels your doubt. It makes him tense. Be firm. Be sure. You are helping him."
Lin Yan took a breath, steadied his hand, and rasped. A curl of grey horn peeled away. Flint sighed, relaxing. It was working. The shoe, heated in the forge and cooled briefly, was held against the trimmed hoof. The scent of burning horn—acrid and peculiar—filled the air as the hot metal seated itself, smoking. Then, quickly, Lin Yan nailed it on, the blunt-ended nails driven at just the right angle to emerge high on the hoof wall, where they would be clinched over. One hoof, then another. Flint stood quietly throughout, ears flicking, but otherwise calm. When he was let go, he took a few tentative steps on the new shoes, the clink-clink on the stone yard a foreign sound. Then he shook himself, as if shrugging into a new suit of armor, and trotted off.
[New Skill Developed: Basic Farriery. Practical application of husbandry knowledge.]
[Infrastructure Improved: On-site forge & farrier station established.]
[Animal Welfare: Equine hoof health secured, preventing future lameness.]
[Points Awarded for Skill Acquisition and Infrastructure: +40.]
It was a small, gritty victory. But it meant independence. It meant they could care for their most valuable assets on their own terms.
The forge fire did more than shoe horses. It welded the family and their new members together in a new way. Lin Xiao, deemed too young for the hammer and nails, became the official fire-tender, learning the delicate art of managing coal and air to produce the right heat. Lin Tie's strength was essential for holding the larger, more restless horses during their first shoeings. Wang Shi adapted her herbal knowledge, creating a poultice of pine tar, beeswax, and lavender to pack into cleaned hooves as a protective dressing.
One afternoon, as Lin Yan was shaping a shoe for Granite, the stallion watching him with a dark, intelligent eye from the cross-ties, Old Chen appeared at the open shed door. He'd come less often since the calf's birth and the horses' arrival, his visits now marked by a watchful, almost reluctant curiosity.
He didn't speak for a while, just observed the scene: the glow of the forge, the ring of hammer on anvil, the organized industry of it all. His eyes lingered on the newly shod horses in the adjacent paddock, moving with sure-footed confidence.
"You are building a village within a village," Chen said at last, his voice not accusatory, but stating a fact.
Lin Yan finished a last tap on the shoe, let it cool. "We are building what the land and the animals need, Uncle Chen."
"Horseshoes," Chen mused. "Next it will be saddles. Then what? Armor?" There was a hint of his old mocking tone, but it was faded, replaced by something closer to awe. "The imperial clerk was back. Asking about your 'progress.' Not just him. A man from the prefectural magistrate's office was in the village yesterday, asking about land use, water rights on the upper slopes." He looked directly at Lin Yan. "You have flown a kite, boy. Now you must hold the string in a great wind. The higher it goes, the harder the wind will pull."
It was the first genuine, unsolicited advice the old man had ever offered. A warning. The attention they had courted was now descending upon them, and it came with agendas far beyond Old Chen's petty jealousies.
The truth of his words hit home days later. A party of three riders arrived, not from the county, but from the direction of the prefectural capital. They were led by a man in the fine, dark robes of a senior clerk or a minor official from a powerful household. His guards wore better leather armor than the county militia. They dismounted with an air of casual authority.
"I am Undersecretary Wen, of the Prefect's Office of Agricultural and Military Supply," the man announced, his voice cultured and devoid of warmth. "We are surveying all potential horse-breeding operations in the jurisdiction in light of the new imperial procurement initiatives. This is the 'Lin Ranch?'"
Lin Dahu and Lin Yan bowed. "It is, honored Undersecretary."
Wen's eyes swept the compound. They took in the forge, the horses, the healthy cattle, the burgeoning pasture. They missed nothing. "Your operation is… modest. But diversifying. The report from County Clerk Gao was intriguing. You have high-altitude pasture?"
"Yes, sir. In the Azure Hills."
"Show me."
They led him to the edge of the property, pointing out the route to the alpine meadows, now just turning green at the highest edges. Wen said nothing, just scanned the topography with a strategist's eye.
"Access?"
"A narrow trail. Suitable for herds on the hoof, not for carts."
"Water?"
"Snowmelt springs. Clean and reliable."
"And your stock?" Wen turned back, his gaze landing on Granite and the mares. "Mixed blood. Mountain and steppe. Short. Not the favored conformation for imperial parade units."
Lin Yan's stomach tightened. This was the scrutiny they had feared. Before he could speak, Zhao He, who had been standing silently nearby, took one measured step forward. He did not bow.
"The parade ground is not the battlefield, honored Secretary," Zhao He said, his gravelly voice cutting the air. "For long patrols, for carrying a rider over rocky passes, for surviving on forage where grain trains cannot go, these 'short' horses will outlast, outmarch, and outlive any pretty southern breed. The Northern Garrison knows this. Or it should."
Wen's eyes narrowed, assessing Zhao He, recognizing the bearing of a veteran. "You speak from experience?"
"I do."
"And you think the Imperial Stablemaster, who favors the tall breeds of the Central Plains, can be persuaded?"
"I think," Zhao He said, "that a commander who has run out of horses cares more about stamina than stature."
A flicker of something—perhaps respect, perhaps annoyance—crossed Wen's face. He turned back to Lin Yan. "The application process requires detailed records: breeding logs, health histories, land surveys, production capacity projections. It requires a demonstration of capability. A trial, if you will. This summer, the prefectural office will be hosting a military procurement trial. Breeding operations may bring stock to be evaluated by officers from the Northern Garrison. It is… an opportunity to be noticed. Or to be found wanting." He handed Lin Yan a sealed scroll. "The requirements and dates are within. Consider carefully if you wish to step onto this stage."
With that, Undersecretary Wen and his guards remounted and left, leaving behind a silence thick with implication.
The family gathered around the unopened scroll. The "trial" was not a distant application; it was an imminent, public test. They would be measured against other, likely larger, more established breeders.
Lin Dahu looked weary. "We are farmers who just learned to shoe a horse. We cannot compete with great estates."
"We are not competing with great estates," Lin Yan said, unfurling the scroll, his eyes scanning the dense, official language. "We are offering something different. What Zhao He said. They want remounts, not showpieces. We have the horses that can do the real work. And we have the land that can forge them." He looked up, a fierce light in his eyes. "This trial isn't a threat. It's a chance. We have until late summer. We have Granite and the mares. We have the high pastures. We have our methods. We will show them what 'hardy' truly means."
The forge fire, banked for the moment, seemed to glow in agreement. They had built the anvil, learned the hammer. Now, they would have to forge their own reputation in the white-hot glare of imperial scrutiny. The mud of spring was just the starting ground. The real climb was about to begin.