The morning after the festival dawned on a landscape littered with the cheerful debris of celebration—trampled grass, the skeletons of cook-fires, colorful streamers tangled in the fence rails. The Lin family and their hired hands moved through the quiet compound with the weary satisfaction of warriors after a successful campaign. The sense of community was a warm, tangible thing, a quilt of shared laughter and full bellies.
But as the sun climbed, two separate shadows fell across their contentment, each cast from a different direction.
The first came on horseback, in the form of a dust-streaked county courier. He brought a sealed message from Magistrate Gao. Lin Yan broke the wax seal in the yard, his family gathering close.
'To Master Lin Yan, of the Lin Ranch and Barren Vale Reclamation Project,' it began, the script formal and precise. 'Your festival initiative has been noted. It demonstrates desirable local cohesion. However, be advised that reports of your… equestrian and bovine displays have reached the Prefectural Revenue Office. A delegation, led by Assistant Prefectural Secretary Luo, will visit in ten days' time to conduct an 'assessment of productive capacity and taxable asset valuation.' They will inspect both your primary holding and the reclamation site. Ensure full cooperation and presentation of all livestock, infrastructure, and financial records.'
It was not a request. It was an order. And the tone was different from Commander Liang's martial assessment or even Magistrate Gao's political calculations. This was about money. The Revenue Office smelled prosperity, and they were coming to count it, categorize it, and tax it accordingly.
"Ten days," Lin Zhu breathed, already mentally inventorying every nail and plank.
"They'll want to see the books," Wang Shi said, her hand going to the ledger box where she kept the household accounts with meticulous, if simple, entries.
"They'll look at every animal and put a number on it," Lin Tie added, his brow furrowed. "And they'll see the new land not as an experiment, but as future taxable property."
The second shadow was delivered by Zhao He, who had left at dawn to scout the northern hills. He returned as the family was digesting the magistrate's message, his expression even grimmer than usual. He didn't speak, simply gestured for Lin Yan to follow him to the forge, away from the others.
Inside the soot-scented dimness, Zhao He laid out his findings on the anvil. Not arrowheads this time, but practical, chilling evidence: the remains of a snare set for a deer, made with a leather cord not of local tanning; a piece of coarse-woven grey wool caught on a thorn, of a weave common to northern tribal blankets; and most tellingly, a clear set of hoofprints at a high overlook that gave a perfect view of both the home ranch and the entrance to Barren Vale. The shoes were uneven, hastily made, and one was missing a nail.
"Three men," Zhao He stated. "Two horses. They've been watching for at least five days. They're not moving on. They're camped. Assessing." He met Lin Yan's eyes. "They saw the festival. They saw the horses in the arena, the cattle in the pens. They're counting, just like the revenue men. But their ledger is written in steel and blood."
A cold knot tightened in Lin Yan's stomach. The political and predatory threats had not just converged; they had arrived simultaneously, like twin storms.
He called an immediate council of the core family and Zhao He in the main room, the doors shut. He laid out both pieces of parchment—the magistrate's order and Zhao He's physical evidence.
"We face two inspections," Lin Yan said, his voice low and steady. "One wants to tax what we own. The other wants to take it. We must prepare for both, in the same ten days."
The strategy that emerged was one of layered deterrence. For the Revenue Office, the presentation had to be one of modest, orderly prosperity, with nothing that smacked of hidden wealth or resistance. For the watchers in the hills, the presentation had to be one of formidable, ready strength.
"We divide our efforts," Lin Yan decided. "Mother, Zhu, Xiao—you are the face for the revenue delegation. You ensure the ranch is spotless, the records are clear and humble, the animals are healthy but not ostentatiously so. We are a hardworking family ranch, grateful for the magistrate's support, not a burgeoning empire."
"And the watchers?" Lin Tie asked, his hands clenching.
"Zhao He, you and I will handle them. And Big Brother, you will be our visible strength." He laid out the plan. They would not hide their preparations. They would make them blatantly obvious. Zhao He would begin drilling the steadiest of the hired hands from the vale project—Lao Li, his son, and two others—in basic, perimeter defense. Not to make them soldiers, but to make them look like they were part of a disciplined operation. They would practice spear drills (using hay forks and staves) in the open yard, within sight of the hills.
Lin Tie, meanwhile, would take on the role of a constant, visible sentinel. He would be seen making regular, armed patrols of the boundary fences, a long-handled axe or a hunting bow slung over his shoulder. His sheer physical presence was a deterrent.
For the horses, they would show a different side. The yearlings would continue their gentle training near the house. But Granite and the two other mature geldings would be worked in the high pasture, doing fast, demanding exercises—bursts of speed up slopes, quick turns, carrying weighted sacks. The message: our horses are not just pretty; they are fit, powerful, and handled by experts.
Most importantly, they would use their community bond. Lin Yan sent Lin Xiao to the village head with a carefully worded message: due to increased imperial interest in the ranch, and for the safety of all, the Lin family was establishing a regular patrol schedule and would be conducting "defensive drills" over the next week. Any villagers who wished to participate for a small wage were welcome. It was an offer that framed their preparations as a communal benefit, not a private panic.
The response was telling. Five young village men, including the blacksmith Kang's nephew, showed up the next morning. The chance to earn extra coin and learn something from the legendary Zhao He was irresistible. The group of nine men, under Zhao He's terse command, became a visible, if ragtag, security force.
The ranch transformed into a stage set for a dual performance. By day, Wang Shi and the girls whitewashed walls and weeded garden paths with serene diligence. Lin Zhu perfected the alignment of every fence post and cart. The account books were recopied in Wang Shi's neatest hand, showing steady profit but also reinvestment, debt to Merchant Huang, and the high costs of the reclamation project.
Simultaneously, the yard echoed with the rhythmic thud of practice staves and Zhao He's barked commands. Lin Tie's broad silhouette became a constant on the skyline. And from the high pasture, the thunder of hooves and Zhao He's cavalry-style whistle carrying on the wind sent an unmistakable signal to anyone listening.
Lin Yan himself walked a razor's edge. He spent mornings with the revenue team, discussing crop rotations and hay yields with Apprentice Clerk He, who was thrilled at the sudden flurry of "documentation." He spent afternoons with Zhao He, scouting their own perimeter, setting up early-warning trip lines with tin cans further out, and overseeing the training.
The watchers, it seemed, got the message. Two days into the preparations, Zhao He found their camp abandoned. The signs of departure were hasty. They had left behind a broken waterskin and a handful of millet. They had seen the suddenly fortified ranch, the organized men, the fit horses, and had presumably decided the risk outweighed the potential reward. For now.
One threat had receded. The other was arriving in a carriage.
On the morning of the tenth day, Assistant Prefectural Secretary Luo and his delegation descended. There were four of them: Luo, a thin man with watery eyes and a permanent sniff; two junior assessors with measuring tapes and abacuses; and a silent guard. They moved with the bored authority of men who classified the world into columns.
The inspection was mercilessly thorough. They measured buildings. They counted every chicken, assessing their age and potential egg yield. They examined the cattle, their hands poking and prodding, their eyes calculating weight and value. Founder snorted and tossed his head, earning a nervous step back from one assessor. Midnight, the Blackcloud bull, was viewed with particular interest, his unusual colour and build noted in a ledger.
They demanded to see the breeding records, the sales receipts from Huang, the payroll for the vale workers. Wang Shi presented everything without a flicker of anxiety, her calm, matronly presence disarming their officiousness slightly.
Then they demanded to see the "defensive drills" they had heard about. This was the moment of potential disaster.
Lin Yan bowed. "Of course, honoured sirs. It is a humble exercise, to promote fitness and readiness among the men, as the magistrate encourages local initiative for… communal security." He made it sound like a village fitness program.
He nodded to Zhao He. The nine men, dressed in their work clothes but moving with a new, sharp cohesion, assembled. They went through a simple, pre-arranged routine—forming a line, advancing in step, a basic defensive posture with their staves. It was just enough to look organized, not enough to look like a militia. They ended with a unified shout, a sound that echoed off the hills.
Secretary Luo blinked, unimpressed but not alarmed. "Adequate for scaring off foxes, I suppose," he sniffed. Then his gaze fell on the horses being led back from the high pasture—Granite, Mist, and Ridge, their coats damp with sweat, their breathing deep and steady. "These are the animals from the… festival display?"
"They are, sir," Lin Yan said. "We were demonstrating the trainability and stamina of the stock we are developing for the imperial contract."
Luo's eyes gleamed with a different kind of interest. Imperial contracts had prestige, but they also had fixed, often lower, procurement prices. "The estimated value of animals under imperial contract is subject to adjustment based on demonstrable market value," he recited, as if from a manual. "The display suggests a higher level of training, and thus higher value, than standard remounts. This will affect the taxable asset calculation."
It was a squeeze. They were going to tax them based on what they had shown the horses could do.
The inspection of Barren Vale was the final act. The delegation's carriage could only go so far; they finished on foot, their fine robes gathering dust. When they saw the vast, still-mostly-stony valley with its patches of green and the ant-like figures of men working on terraces, Luo's expression turned dismissive. "A wasteland with dreams," he muttered to an assessor, who snickered.
But then Lin Yan led them to First Green Flat. He didn't say a word. He simply let them stand in the middle of the two mu of resilient, green grass and clover, the smell of living earth thick in the air, the sound of water trickling from a seep into a stone-lined pond.
The dismissive smirk faded from Luo's face. He looked from the green at his feet to the barren expanse beyond, then back. The sheer impossibility of it, made manifest, seemed to momentarily short-circuit his bureaucratic mind. He stooped, picked a blade of the hardy canyon grass, examined it.
"This… grew here? From your work?"
"Yes, sir."
He was silent for a long moment. "The project lease states the land is to be returned to the county in improved condition. This… constitutes improvement." He said it like a man conceding a point in a game he didn't fully understand. "The taxable valuation will reflect its current state as… marginal pasture in development. But the potential future value… will be noted for reassessment."
It was the best they could have hoped for. They weren't being penalized for the dream, and the current tax bill would be based on reality, not potential.
The delegation left that afternoon, their carriage laden with ledgers and notes. The family gathered, exhausted.
"They will tax us more," Lin Zhu sighed.
"But they didn't claim the horses for the army, or seize the vale as 'underutilized,'" Zhao He pointed out. "And the wolves in the hills are gone."
"For now," Lin Tie added.
Lin Yan looked out at the ranch, at the vale beyond. They had passed both inspections. They had shown a face of orderly prosperity to the taxmen and a face of bristling readiness to the raiders. They had navigated the narrow pass between two deadly cliffs.
"We bought time," he said finally. "And we learned. We are not just ranchers. We are diplomats. We are generals of dirt and accountants of grass. The world is pressing in. Our job is to make what we are building solid enough, valuable enough, and defensible enough that no matter who looks—whether with a ledger or a hungry eye—they see not a target, but a fortress."
The twin storms had passed, for a season. But the Lin Ranch stood, its roots a little deeper, its walls a little stronger, its heartbeat a steady, stubborn rhythm against the vast, watchful silence of the hills. They had met the wolf at the gate and the delegation's gaze. And they had not flinched.