The arrival of Old Ma's mountain steers shifted the atmosphere at the Westland Ranch.
There were now fifteen head of cattle plus the sheep, and the small test plot of ryegrass was being grazed aggressively. Li Shun watched the herd dynamics closely. Hei Bao had immediately asserted dominance over the new arrivals—the red steers were larger but docile, and the black bull quickly established himself as the lord of the pasture.
But the increase in livestock brought a pragmatic problem: food.
The dried rations they had brought from the prefecture were running low. The fresh vegetables Zhao Yu had sent were long gone. They were living on hardtack and wild greens, and it was taking a toll on their energy.
"We need protein," Li Shun announced on the third morning after Old Ma's departure. He stood by the corral, watching the red steers strip the bark off a pine tree. "We have mouths to feed, and we can't run a ranch on empty stomachs."
Old Zhang looked up from the fire where he was boiling water. "We could hunt, Young Master. There are pheasants in the woods. Maybe a wild boar."
"Hunting takes time we don't have," Li Shun countered. "And we have a herd right here."
He pointed to the red steer Old Ma had brought first—the one with the jagged horn and a temperament that had remained surly despite the lush grass. It was the largest of the mountain breed, a heavy, thick-set animal.
"That one," Li Shun said. "He's aggressive. He's disrupting the herd. He's the first candidate."
Old Zhang dropped his ladle. "Young Master... you want to slaughter the steer? Now?"
"We need to eat," Li Shun said simply. "And I need to know what we are dealing with. Is this mountain breed truly tough? Or is there potential beneath that rough hide?"
He turned to Han Qiang. "Sergeant, can you do it? Quickly and cleanly?"
Han Qiang's hand went to the hilt of his blade. "I have slaughtered horses on the battlefield when there was no other food. A steer is no different. But... the smell of blood. It will agitate the herd."
"We'll do it away from the main pasture," Li Shun decided. "By the stream, downwind. Ming'er, prepare the curing salts and the saws. We're not just killing an animal today; we're processing a commodity."
---
The slaughter was a solemn, efficient affair.
They separated the red steer from the herd, guiding it with Han Qiang on horseback and Li Shun waving a branch. The animal was reluctant, but the promise of fresh grass near the stream lured it into the makeshift holding pen they had constructed by the water.
Han Qiang approached the animal from the side, his movements calm. He didn't want the animal to panic; panic ruined the meat.
"Easy," Han Qiang murmured, stroking the steer's neck.
With a motion almost too fast to see, he drew his blade—a heavy military saber honed to a razor's edge—and struck.
It was over in a heartbeat. The steer slumped to the ground.
"Good work," Li Shun said, stepping forward. He knelt by the carcass, his knife already in hand.
This was the moment of truth. In his old life, Li Shun had watched hours of butchery videos—Scottish butchers breaking down beef, Japanese chefs extracting wagyu cuts. He knew the anatomy in theory. But applying it with his own hands was different.
"Hold the lantern close," he told Li Ming.
He made the first incision, running the knife down the belly.
**[SYSTEM SCANNING...]**
**[TARGET: MOUNTAIN STEER (DECEASED)]**
**[PROCESSING ANALYSIS...]**
**[CARCASS WEIGHT: 680 LBS]**
**[MEAT QUALITY: MODERATE (GRASS-FED)]**
**[MARBLING: LOW (GENETIC LIMITATION + SHORT FEED TIME)]**
**[NOTE: HIDE IS HIGH QUALITY. BONES ARE DENSE.]**
*Low marbling. Expected.*
They hadn't had time to finish the animal properly on the high-energy ryegrass. But Li Shun wasn't looking for premium steak today. He was looking for structure.
He worked methodically, stripping the hide with careful strokes, preserving it for leather. He sawed through the brisket, revealing the internal organs.
"Look at that," Old Zhang muttered, peering over Li Shun's shoulder. "The heart is massive. The lungs are clear. This was a healthy beast."
"And heavy," Han Qiang grunted as he helped hoist the carcass onto a gambrel hung from a sturdy oak branch.
Li Shun began to break down the primal cuts. The chuck, the rib, the loin, the round.
"The muscles are dense," Li Shun noted, pressing his thumb into the round. "Tough fibers. This meat needs time. We'll stew the tough cuts. But the ribeyes... the loins..."
He cut out the *Longissimus dorsi*—the ribeye muscle. It was a dark, rich red. There wasn't much white fat cap, but the grain was fine.
"Save the tenderloin and the ribs," Li Shun ordered. "Do not chop them into pieces. We are going to cook them whole."
"Whole?" Li Ming asked. "But how? They are too big for the pot."
"Not for a pot," Li Shun said, a glint in his eye. "For the fire."
---
That afternoon, the smell of roasting meat drifted over the Westland for the first time.
Li Shun had built a pit. Not a cooking stove, but a pit in the ground, lined with stones and filled with glowing hardwood coals from the cabin fire. Above the pit, he had constructed a simple spit using green saplings that wouldn't burn easily.
He had taken the rib section—a massive rack of beef—and rubbed it with a mixture of coarse salt, crushed wild peppercorns, and garlic he had found growing near the stream. It was a primitive "dry rub."
"The key to tough meat," Li Shun lectured as he turned the spit, "is low and slow. High heat sears the outside, but it makes the inside tough like leather. We want the collagen to break down. We want the fat to render."
He basted the meat with a brush made of pine needles dipped in rendered beef fat (tallow) from the trimmings.
The skin crackled and popped. The fat dripped onto the coals, sending up flares of fragrant smoke.
Han Qiang sat nearby, ostensibly sharpening a tool, but his eyes never left the spinning roast. Old Zhang was openly drooling.
"I have never seen beef cooked like this," Old Zhang confessed. "Usually, we boil the old ox meat for hours in a heavy soup to make it edible. This... this looks like roasting a pig."
"Beef has more character than pork," Li Shun said. "Pork is sweet and simple. Beef is deep. It has iron. It has strength."
After three hours of slow turning, the exterior of the beef was a dark, crusty mahogany. The smell was intoxicating—rich, savory, unlike anything in the dynasty. It didn't smell like the boiled, gamey stews of the common people. It smelled like fire and blood and salt.
Li Shun pulled the spit from the pit. He set the rack of beef on a wooden slab.
"Rest it," he commanded, though his own stomach was growling.
"Rest it?" Han Qiang asked, reaching for his knife.
"If we cut it now, all the juice runs out and the meat is dry. We wait ten minutes. The juices must settle back into the fibers."
The ten minutes felt like ten years. Finally, Li Shun nodded.
"Sergeant, do the honors."
Han Qiang stepped forward. He carved thick slices, the knife sliding through the crust and meeting little resistance. The meat inside was a uniform pink—not bloody, but juicy.
Li Shun took a slice. It steamed in the cool air. He took a bite.
*Chew.*
It was tougher than a modern steak, certainly. It had a resistance, a "chewiness" that spoke of the animal's wild life in the mountains. But the flavor! It was intense, beefy, with a peppery crust that gave way to the natural sweetness of the red meat.
*It needs more fat. It needs more time on the ryegrass. But this is it. This is the baseline.*
He chewed slowly, savoring the taste of his own labor.
"Well?" Li Ming asked, holding his breath.
Li Shun swallowed. He looked at his team.
"It's good," he said. "But it's just the beginning. Eat. We have work to do."
---
They ate like wolves.
Han Qiang devoured three thick slices in minutes, tearing at the meat with his teeth. Old Zhang wept silently, claiming it was the best ox he had ever tasted, though Li Shun suspected it was the memory of hunger and the relief of a full belly.
Even the bones were saved. Li Shun ordered them cracked and boiled into a broth, which would be their breakfast for the next day. Nothing went to waste.
"Tomorrow, we tan the hide," Li Shun said later, sitting by the dying fire, a cup of bone broth in his hand. "I want to make boots. Strong boots for riding."
"And the meat?" Old Zhang asked. "We cannot eat it all before it spoils."
"We smoke the rest," Li Shun decided. "Jerky. Strips of dried meat we can carry in our pockets. Food for the road."
He looked up at the stars.
"This is the model," he said softly. "We raise them. We feed them well. We process them efficiently. We sell the cuts, the hides, the bones. Every part is money."
"Money," Han Qiang said, gnawing on a bone. "But who will buy it? The commoners can't afford beef. The nobles... they look down on it."
Li Shun smiled. "The nobles look down on *tough, boiled meat from dead plow oxen*. They have never seen *this*."
He gestured to the leftover ribs, glistening with fat.
"When we are ready, we won't sell to the common market. We will sell to the ones who crave the exotic. The merchants, the high-end restaurants, the banquets where men compete to show off their wealth. We don't sell beef, Han Qiang. We sell a *delicacy*."
---
Two days later, a visitor arrived.
It was not Steward Wang this time. It was a young man in fine silk robes, riding a spirited white horse. He looked out of place in the rugged Westland, holding a perfumed handkerchief to his nose to block the smell of manure.
Li Shun recognized him from the memories of the original body. It was Chen Liang, the son of a wealthy merchant family in Clearwater and a distant relative of the Zhaos.
"Li Shun," Chen Liang called out from the safety of his horse, not dismounting. "I heard you were playing farmer out here. I had to see it to believe it."
Li Shun wiped his hands on his apron—he had been cleaning the chicken coop. "Cousin Chen. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Pleasure? Hardly," Chen Liang scoffed. "I was passing by on my way to inspect my father's lumber interests. I heard the Zhao family gave you money. I see you've built a... shack."
He looked at the log cabin with disdain.
"It's solid," Li Shun said calmly. "Better than the drafty manor houses in town."
Chen Liang laughed. "You truly are deluded. You know, the town is buzzing. They say you're slaughtering cattle? They say you're defying the ancestors by treating oxen like pigs."
"I treat livestock with respect," Li Shun said. "And I feed my people."
Chen Liang sniffed the air. He frowned. "What is that smell? It smells like... roasting meat."
"We had a harvest," Li Shun said vaguely.
"You killed an ox, didn't you?" Chen Liang's eyes widened. "You killed a working beast? That's—"
"A steer," Li Shun interrupted, his voice hard. "Not a plow ox. A steer raised for meat. There is a difference in the law, Cousin. Magistrate Zhao verified it himself."
Chen Liang looked at Li Shun's confident stance and hesitated. He was a bully, but he was also a merchant's son. He smelled opportunity.
"Is it true what Old Ma said? That your grass grows thick in weeks?"
"Look for yourself," Li Shun pointed to the test plot, now being grazed by the cows. The green was vibrant against the brown hills.
Chen Liang stared. "How?"
"Trade secret," Li Shun said. "But if you're interested in business, Cousin... perhaps we can talk."
Chen Liang's greed overcame his disdain. He dismounted. "Business? What could you possibly offer?"
Li Shun walked to the smokehouse—a small, airtight shed he had built. He emerged with a strip of dried beef jerky.
"Try this."
Chen Liang took it gingerly, sniffing it. "Dried meat?"
"Chew it."
Chen Liang took a bite. He chewed. His eyes widened. The intense beef flavor, concentrated by the drying process and seasoned with the wild pepper, burst in his mouth. It was salty, savory, and addictive.
"This..." Chen Liang swallowed. "This is... intense. Much better than pork jerky."
"It keeps for months," Li Shun said. "It's light. Travelers, soldiers, merchants—they all need food on the road. This is better than hardtack."
He leaned in.
"I can make more. If your father's lumber caravans need travel rations... I can supply them."
Chen Liang looked at the strip of meat, then at Li Shun.
"You're not as stupid as you look, Cousin," he said slowly. "The caravan masters are always complaining about the food rotting. If this keeps... we might have a deal."
Li Shun smiled. "I'll send a batch to your father next week. On the house. If he likes it, we discuss price."
Chen Liang nodded, pocketing the jerky. "Fine. Don't embarrass the family, Li Shun."
He mounted his horse and rode off, but this time, he didn't look back with scorn. He looked back with calculation.
Li Shun watched him go.
*The first domino falls.