The path to the wasteland was not really a path at all—just a memory of where feet had occasionally trod. Lin Yan followed his father, stepping carefully over frost-crisped weeds and scattered stones. The morning air held a clarity that seemed to magnify every sound: the crunch of their footsteps, the distant cry of a crow, the faint, perpetual rush of the stream ahead.
Lin Tieshan walked without speaking, his gaze fixed on the ground as if reading its history in the stones. He carried a worn hemp sack over one shoulder—empty now, but ready to be filled with whatever might be useful. Rocks. Samples of soil. Hope, perhaps.
After a quarter hour, they reached the boundary.
The wasteland began abruptly where the village's last cultivated plot ended. One moment, there was the neat, if sparse, geometry of a harvested millet field; the next, chaos. Stones of every size lay tumbled across the slope, some half-buried, others thrusting from the earth like broken teeth. What grass grew here was sparse and yellowed, clinging in stubborn patches between the rocks.
"Well?" his father said, stopping. "This is what you see?"
Lin Yan didn't answer immediately. He walked forward, his boots sinking slightly into soil that felt more like dust than earth. He crouched, scooping up a handful. It was pale, gritty, and when he rubbed it between his fingers, it fell apart without clumping.
[SOIL ANALYSIS: SANDY LOAM, HIGHLY ERODED, ORGANIC MATTER <1%, pH 5.8 - STRONGLY ACIDIC]
[NOTES: POOR WATER RETENTION, LOW NUTRIENT AVAILABILITY, HIGH DRAINAGE]
[RECOMMENDATION: ORGANIC AMENDMENT REQUIRED BEFORE SIGNIFICANT VEGETATION CAN BE ESTABLISHED]
The system's assessment was blunt, but it confirmed what his eyes told him. This was dead land. Or nearly so.
"It's poor," Lin Yan admitted, standing. "But it's not cursed."
His father made a noncommittal sound. "My grandfather said the same. He broke two plows and his spirit trying to farm this stretch."
"I'm not suggesting we plow it." Lin Yan pointed toward the stream that cut through the center of the wasteland. "The water is the key. And the stones aren't the enemy—they're material."
He began walking along the stream bank, his father following silently. The water was clear and cold, flowing steadily over a bed of smooth pebbles. Willow saplings clung to the banks, their roots exposed and tangled. Further upstream, the land flattened slightly into a broad, bowl-shaped depression.
Lin Yan stopped. "Here."
"Here what?"
"If we lease the land, we start with this." He gestured to the depression—about five mu, roughly an acre. "The stream bends here, so water is accessible. The ground is flatter. And look." He knelt again, this time parting the tough native grass. Beneath it, the soil was darker, damper. "The willows mean the soil here holds moisture better. If we clear the stones and use them to build a low terrace along the stream bank, we could prevent runoff and create a stable pasture."
Lin Tieshan's eyes narrowed as he studied the area. He was a man who understood contours, who knew water's whims and soil's grudges. "You've been thinking about this."
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Since I realized our family is one bad harvest from becoming beggars." The words were harsh, but true.
His father didn't flinch. "And this grass you talk about. Where does it come from? Magic seeds?"
"No magic." Lin Yan stood, brushing dirt from his hands. "There's grass on the southern mountain slope—the kind the deer seek out. It's tougher, deeper-rooted. If we gather seed heads in the autumn and spread them here, some will take. And there are other varieties… leguminous plants that can be found in the forest edges. They fix nitrogen—they enrich the soil naturally."
He used the modern term without thinking, but his father seemed to grasp the meaning from context. "Enrich how?"
"They take something from the air and put it in the soil. Makes other plants grow better."
Lin Tieshan was silent for a long time, his gaze sweeping the wasteland. The morning sun had climbed higher, warming the air slightly. In the distance, they could see the village—smoke rising, the faint sounds of life continuing.
"Five mu," his father said finally. "The lease would be… five copper coins per mu per year. Twenty-five coins. Plus the magistrate's fee—another ten coins. Thirty-five copper coins. For a year."
It was a fortune to them. More than half their remaining cash.
"We have twenty copper coins left after buying salt last week," Lin Yan said quietly. "I know."
"Then how?"
"We don't pay the magistrate's fee."
His father stared at him. "The law requires—"
"The law requires registration for cultivation. For grazing land that's considered wasteland, there's a loophole—a temporary grazing permit. It's cheaper, and it doesn't require the three-year improvement clause. Old Zhang mentioned it once. He looked into it after his ox died."
The memory surfaced clearly—Chen Yang's memory, of Old Zhang complaining bitterly about officials and regulations while mending a fence last spring.
Lin Tieshan's expression shifted from skepticism to calculation. "A grazing permit. For goats or sheep."
"Or a single calf. It's ten copper coins for the first year, renewable."
"Still ten coins we don't have."
Lin Yan took a deep breath. This was the next step. The dangerous one. "We borrow."
"From who? Old Zhang is poorer than we are. The Wang family won't lend to us—not after last year's debt."
"Not money." Lin Yan met his father's eyes. "Labor. We offer to clear stones from Old Zhang's field in exchange for the loan. He's been wanting to expand his vegetable plot but can't handle the stones alone. We do the work, he lends us the ten coins. We pay him back after the first grazing season—with interest in labor or a share of whatever we produce."
The plan unfolded as he spoke, piece by piece. It was risky. It depended on Old Zhang's cooperation, on the weather, on a hundred variables. But it was a plan built on exchange rather than charity, on sweat rather than silver.
His father turned away, looking back toward the village. His shoulders were tense. "You've thought this through."
"I've had time. Lying in bed. Thinking."
"And if it fails? We lose ten coins and a month of labor for nothing."
"If we do nothing, we lose everything anyway." Lin Yan's voice was quiet but firm. "The tax collector comes in six weeks. We don't have enough grain to pay. We'll have to borrow at the spring loan rate—fifty percent interest. That debt will bury us. This…" He gestured to the wasteland. "This is a chance. A small one. But a chance."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of water and cold stone. Somewhere downstream, a kingfisher dove with a flash of blue.
Lin Tieshan closed his eyes. For a moment, he looked every one of his fifty-two years—weary, worn thin by decades of losing battles against weather, taxes, and fate.
Then he opened them, and something had settled in his gaze. A decision.
"We'll speak to Old Zhang after noon," he said. "But first, show me exactly where you would put the fence. Where the grass would start. Where the animal would shelter."
Hope—sharp and sudden—flared in Lin Yan's chest. He nodded, turning back to the land.
For the next hour, they walked the five-mu plot in detail. Lin Yan pointed out where natural contours could be enhanced to control water flow. Where the largest stones could be gathered for a windbreak. Where the first grass seeds might be concentrated.
His father asked sharp, practical questions: "What about wolves?" "Where's the nearest fuel for a night fire if you're watching the animal?" "How will you get the calf here if it's weak?"
Lin Yan answered as best he could, blending Chen Yang's knowledge of the local terrain with his own modern understanding of animal husbandry. They weren't solutions, yet—they were frameworks. Possibilities.
As they were about to leave, Lin Yan's foot caught on something half-buried. He stumbled, then knelt to dig it out.
It was a piece of worked stone—smooth, flat, about the size of his palm. One edge was chipped, but it was clearly shaped by human hands. A piece of an old foundation, perhaps. Or a grinding stone lost generations ago.
He brushed the dirt from it. The stone was cool and heavy in his hand.
"Leave it," his father said. "Just another rock."
But Lin Yan slipped it into his pocket. A token. A reminder that this land had sustained life once, however long ago. It could again.
They walked back to the village in silence, but it was a different silence than before. Not the silence of despair, but of shared purpose.
Before they reached their gate, his father stopped. "Your mother… she believes in you. More than she's believed in anything since Wen showed his cleverness."
Lin Yan waited.
"Don't make her faith a fool's errand," Lin Tieshan said quietly. Then he clapped a heavy hand on his son's shoulder—a brief, solid contact that carried the weight of generations—and walked ahead.
Back home, the midday meal was waiting. The smell of chicken broth still lingered, though now it was watered down with more vegetables and grain, stretched to last. The family gathered, and as they ate, Lin Yan felt their eyes on him. Questions hung unasked in the air.
It was Lin Wen who finally broke the quiet. "Did you see it? The wasteland?"
"We saw it," Lin Yan said.
"And?"
He met his younger brother's intense gaze. "It's poor land. But it has water. And potential."
"Potential," Lin Wen repeated, as if tasting the word. Then he nodded slowly. "I read once that the greatest forests grow from the poorest soil—because they must fight harder to live."
Mother Lin, who had been listening quietly, set down her bowl. "Your father has decided?"
All eyes turned to Lin Tieshan. He took his time finishing his mouthful, then said, "After eating, Yan'er and I will visit Old Zhang."
A collective breath seemed to be released around the table. Not celebration—not yet. But permission. A door cracking open.
The meal ended quickly after that. As Lin Yan helped clear the bowls, his second brother, Lin Lu, approached him.
"If this happens," Lin Lu said in a low voice, "if we lease the land… the labor to clear stones. It will take all of us. For days."
"I know."
"The spring planting—"
"Will be delayed. But if we have even one animal by summer, the manure alone could double our yield on our existing field. Maybe more."
Lin Lu's eyes—shrewd, practical—studied him. "You're gambling our planting season on a calf that might die."
"I'm trading a small risk for a chance at a real future." Lin Yan held his gaze. "What we're doing now… it's not living, Second Brother. It's just not dying yet. There's a difference."
For a moment, Lin Lu looked as if he might argue. Then his shoulders slumped slightly. "Just… be sure. That's all."
He walked away, leaving Lin Yan alone by the wash basin.
In his pocket, the stone felt heavy. He pulled it out, turning it over in his hand. In the sunlight, he could see faint striations in the rock—layers of sediment pressed together over eons, then shaped by some forgotten hand.
Potential.
The system chose that moment to update:
[LAND SURVEY COMPLETE]
[PLOT IDENTIFIED: 5 MU, STREAM-ADJACENT, SOUTH-FACING SLOPE]
[NEXT OBJECTIVE: NEGOTIATE LEASE/LABOR EXCHANGE WITH VILLAGER ZHANG SHUN]
[TIME REMAINING FOR LIVESTOCK ACQUISITION: 28 DAYS]
[NOTES: VILLAGE SOCIAL CAPITAL INCREASING, FAMILY CONSENSUS FORMING]
Twenty-eight days.
He slipped the stone back into his pocket.
First, Old Zhang.
Then, the beginning.