The Imperial Prefectural Capital, Fenghuang, was a city of walls within walls. The outer ramparts of tamped earth held a chaotic, stinking tapestry of common life—markets, workshops, crowded tenements. Passing through the massive inner gate into the administrative and military quarter was like stepping into a different world. The streets were wider, paved with flat stone. The buildings were of fired brick and carved timber, their roofs adorned with guardian beasts. The air smelled of incense, dust, and the distant, metallic scent of the garrison barracks.
The Lin Ranch delegation felt like beetles on a fine brocade rug. Lin Zhu guided their two humble carts with nervous precision, avoiding the sleek carriages and mounted guards that clattered past. Zhao He, riding Granite, moved with the ingrained, unimpressed posture of a man who had seen grander things crumble. Lin Yan, astride Mist, tried to absorb it all while keeping his own spine straight, his face a mask of calm competence he did not feel.
They were directed to the "Field of Martial Inspection," a vast, hardened dirt parade ground on the city's western edge, backed by storage granaries and the long, low barracks of the permanent garrison. Tents and temporary pens had been erected along one side, flying the banners of a dozen different breeding operations. Lin Yan saw the Liu estate's banner—a soaring crane—and the Wang family's—a stylized coin. Their enclosures were large, their handlers numerous and dressed in matching livery. Their horses were tall, their coats groomed to a mirror shine, their movements aristocratic and controlled.
In stark contrast, the space allotted to "Lin Ranch" was a small, bare patch at the far end, near the manure piles. It was a deliberate placement, a statement of their presumed standing. Word had clearly spread about the "mountain peasants with the shaggy ponies."
They set to work without complaint. Lin Zhu and Lin Yan unloaded their gear, setting up a simple, tidy picket line for the horses, laying out grooming tools and feed with exacting neatness. Zhao He took the horses for a long, quiet walk to let them acclimate to the crowds, the flags, the unfamiliar smells of hundreds of other animals.
The evaluators arrived mid-morning, a solemn procession led by Undersecretary Wen. With him were three men in the practical uniforms of cavalry officers from the Northern Garrison, their faces weathered, their eyes missing nothing. One, a Captain Feng with a scar bisecting his eyebrow, seemed to be in charge.
The evaluation began with the conformation and soundness inspection. Each breeder brought their best animals forward one by one to be trotted in hand before the officers, who would then examine them up close, feeling legs, looking at teeth, assessing every angle.
The Liu estate presented a magnificent bay gelding, sixteen hands high, with a neck arched like a bow and a floating, extravagant trot that drew murmurs of admiration from the small crowd of officials and other breeders. The Wang family showed a sleek black mare with legs that seemed too long for her body, moving with a nervous, prancing energy.
Then it was their turn. Lin Yan led Granite forward. The dun stallion, at just over fourteen hands, looked almost squat next to the other horses. His neck was thick, his back short, his hooves large and round. He didn't prance; he walked with a deliberate, ground-covering stride, his head low, his eyes taking in the officers with calm assessment.
He trotted out on command. His movement was not floating; it was powerful, efficient, like a piston driving into the earth. There was no wasted motion. Captain Feng's eyes, which had glazed over slightly during the pretty displays, sharpened.
"Hold him," Feng commanded. He approached, not with the genteel pats of the other evaluators, but with the rough, knowing hands of a man who had lived in the saddle. He ran his hands down Granite's legs, squeezing tendons, feeling for heat or swelling. He peered at his hooves, noting the clean, balanced shoes Lin Zhu had made. He looked into his mouth, grunting at the wear on his teeth.
"Age?"
"Five years," Lin Yan answered.
"Been ridden hard?"
"Trained consistently. Not abused."
Feng glanced at the stallion's calm eye, then at the muscling over his withers and hindquarters. "Built for pulling, not dancing," he muttered, but it wasn't a criticism. It was an observation. He gave a curt nod. "Next."
Mist and Sumac underwent similar scrutiny. The officers paid particular attention to their feet and legs, the foundation of a campaign mount. They noted the mares' deep girths (for lung capacity) and the strong, sloping shoulders that would absorb the impact of long miles.
The first part of the trial concluded with no fanfare. No scores were announced. But Lin Yan saw Captain Feng in quiet conversation with Undersecretary Wen, his gaze drifting more than once toward their humble picket line.
The afternoon brought the obedience and handling test. It was a series of practical challenges set up in a smaller, marked arena: leading through a narrow, flapping curtain; loading onto a mock wooden transport ramp; standing quietly for a "veterinary inspection" that involved strange instruments and sudden noises; and finally, a mounted test where the rider had to guide the horse through a pattern of cones, over a low log, and stop precisely on a marked stone.
The Liu estate's bay gelding balked at the flapping curtain, requiring two handlers to coax him through. The Wang mare shied violently at the clang of a dropped bucket during the "inspection," nearly unseating her rider.
When it was their turn, Zhao He handled Granite for the ground work. The stallion eyed the flapping curtain, his ears forward. At a subtle pressure from Zhao He's lead rope, he walked through without breaking stride. He mounted the creaking ramp with only a moment's hesitation. He stood like a stone for the inspection, his only reaction to the noise a slight twitch of his skin. Lin Yan rode Mist through the cone pattern. The grey mare responded to the lightest shift of his weight, her turns precise, her walk-to-canter transitions smooth. She stepped over the log as if it were a twig and halted with her front hoof perfectly centered on the stone.
There were no cheers. But the silence from the other breeders was different now—less dismissive, more watchful.
The final test, the stamina trial, was scheduled for the next morning. It was a fifteen-li loop (about five miles) that wound out of the city gates, over a stretch of rocky hill path, across a shallow, stony ford, and back. Horses would start at intervals, ridden by their own handlers. Time mattered, but so did condition at the finish. A lathered, blown horse that finished fast was worse than a steady one that finished strong.
That night, in their cramped tent, the three men reviewed their strategy. "Granite goes first," Zhao He decided. "He sets the standard. Strong, steady pace. Not a gallop. A working trot that eats distance. Mist follows, a little quicker, show her responsiveness. Sumac last, solid and reliable."
They fed the horses a careful supper, checked every hoof and strap, and tried to sleep.
Dawn came grey and cool, perfect for hard riding. The starting line was at the city's west gate. A small crowd of officials and other breeders had gathered. Captain Feng and his officers were there, mounted on their own serviceable geldings, ready to observe.
Granite, with Zhao He a statue in the saddle, was the third to start. At the signal, Zhao He didn't spur or shout. He simply leaned forward slightly, and Granite surged into his powerful, distance-devouring trot. Within moments, they had overtaken the second horse, a taller but less efficient animal already struggling on the upgrade. They vanished onto the hill path.
Lin Yan watched, his stomach tight. He mounted Mist. When his turn came, he let the mare find her rhythm. She was lighter, quicker than Granite. She flowed over the rough ground, her shod feet sure on the stones. The ford was the only tricky part; the water was higher than expected, rushing noisily over rocks. Mist hesitated for only a heartbeat at the unfamiliar sensation, then plunged in, picking her way across with intelligent care.
As he cleared the ford and turned for the final stretch back to the gate, he saw a sight that made his breath catch. Ahead, moving like a force of nature, was Granite. And ahead of him, struggling, its rider sawing at the reins, was the Liu estate's magnificent bay gelding. The tall horse was slick with sweat, its head high, its gait choppy and spent. On the final incline, Granite, his breath steaming but even, his trot unchanged, pulled steadily alongside and then past the bigger animal without a glance.
Lin Yan urged Mist into a collected canter. She responded eagerly, passing the exhausted bay just before the gate. He pulled her up smoothly inside the finish area, her sides heaving but her eye still bright. A moment later, Sumac, ridden by a proud but nervous Lin Zhu, came in at a steady, unflustered trot.
The officers were already clustered around Granite. Captain Feng was running a hand over the stallion's neck and shoulder. The coat was damp, but there was no white lather of exhaustion. The horse's breathing was deep and regular. He nudged at Feng's sleeve, looking for a treat.
Feng looked at Zhao He. "You held him back."
"He has another fifteen li in him today, sir," Zhao He replied evenly. "No need to spend it all on a test."
Feng said nothing. He walked over to the Liu estate's gelding, which was now being walked by two handlers, its head drooping, its legs trembling. He made a noncommittal sound.
The evaluations were complete. There was no ceremony, no ribbon. Undersecretary Wen simply informed each breeder that they would receive official notification of the procurement board's decisions within the month.
Packing up to leave, Lin Yan felt a profound exhaustion, but it was clean, the fatigue of a race well-run. They had done everything they could. As they led their horses back through the stone streets, they passed the Liu estate's encampment. The handlers were loading their tired, despondent-looking animals. The head trainer, a man in fine silks now stained with sweat, looked at Granite with an expression of pure, bewildered resentment.
Outside the city gates, on the open road back to their hills, Zhao He finally allowed himself a small, grim smile. "They looked at our horses and saw what they were not. The officers looked and saw what they are."
Lin Yan looked back at Fenghuang, its walls shrinking in the distance. They had entered the arena of stone and imperial judgment as a curiosity. They had left as contenders. They had not won a contract yet. But they had won something perhaps more valuable: the respect of men who knew the difference between a showpiece and a partner, between pretty motion and enduring power.
The ranch awaited, a green haven in the hills. They rode toward it not as hopeful dreamers, but as proven craftsmen, their anvil-tempered steel quietly awaiting the Empire's verdict.