The third day after the sheep purchase began with the sound of rain.
It wasn't a heavy storm, just a steady, drizzling mist that coated the roofs of Willow Village in a layer of damp gray. For the farmers, this was a blessing—the millet crops needed the moisture. For Chen Yuan, it was a mixed bag.
He stared at his hands as he dressed. The blisters from yesterday's hoeing had ruptured during the night, leaving raw, red patches on his palms. Every time he flexed his fingers, a sharp sting shot up his wrist.
*My body isn't used to this,* he thought, grimacing. In his past life, his hands had only known the smooth plastic of a mouse and the heat of a coffee mug. Now, they were tools of labor, and they were rebelling.
A light knock came at the door.
"San Lang, are you awake?" It was his eldest sister, Chen Mei. Her voice was soft, muffled by the wooden door.
"Yes, come in."
The door creaked open. Chen Mei entered, carrying a small clay jar. She was sixteen, with a gentle face that was often shadowed by fatigue. Today, however, she looked a bit brighter. Behind her poked the head of Little Ming, clutching his book bag.
"Sister made medicine," Little Ming announced. "It smells terrible!"
Chen Mei smiled faintly, sitting on the edge of the *kang*. "It's an herbal paste. Mother asked me to bring it. She said your hands look like they've been chewed by a wild dog."
She dipped her fingers into the jar. The paste was green and sticky, smelling of crushed mint and some earthy root.
"Hold still."
Chen Yuan held out his hands. As she applied the cool paste, he felt an immediate soothing sensation.
"Thank you, Sister," Chen Yuan said sincerely. "You shouldn't waste good medicine on me."
"It's not a waste," Chen Mei replied, carefully wrapping a strip of clean cloth around his palm. "Mother says if your hands rot, who will carry the family to wealth?" She said it lightly, but Chen Yuan heard the underlying worry.
"Third Brother," Little Ming interjected, crawling onto the bed. "The schoolmaster gave us a new poem today. But I don't understand it."
"Recite it," Chen Yuan said, testing the mobility of his bandaged hand.
Little Ming straightened his back and recited in a sing-song voice, *"The grain is heavy on the stalk, the farmer's sweat drips to the soil. Who knows the food on the plate, every grain is hard work."*
"A classic," Chen Yuan nodded. He ruffled the boy's hair. "It means that everything we eat comes from suffering. If you want to be an official, you must remember the suffering of the people. That way, you won't become a corrupt leech."
Little Ming nodded solemnly, as if he had received a great wisdom. "I will remember! I will buy Mother the softest buns in the city!"
"Go on, get to school," Chen Yuan smiled. "Don't let the rain stop you."
After they left, Chen Yuan sat alone for a moment. The house was quiet. The men were out checking the field drains. This was his chance.
He needed seeds.
The System had provided the *blueprint* for Ryegrass, but it hadn't magically filled his pockets with seeds. He had to physically acquire them. In this world, buying high-quality forage seeds was expensive, and they were sold only in the county town's specialized pharmacies or grain houses. He didn't have the silver.
*System,* he thought. *Is there an alternative source?*
**[Analyzing Local Flora...]**
**[Target: East Hill Wasteland.]**
**[Detection: Wild variants of Ryegrass and Fescue present in the northern rocky ridge. Density: Low.]**
**[System Suggestion: Host can manually collect wild seeds. System 'Genetic Optimization' can improve viability and yield during the planting process.]**
Chen Yuan let out a breath. *Manual collection.* That meant hours of combing through rocks and thorns to find enough seeds for even a small plot. But it was free.
He grabbed a woven bamboo basket and a sickle from the kitchen. His mother, Liu Shi, was busy mending clothes by the window.
"I'm going to the hill to check the fence," he lied smoothly.
Liu Shi looked at his bandaged hands. "In the rain?"
"Sheep get sick in damp air, Mother. I need to make sure their bedding is dry."
"Be careful. Don't catch a cold." She handed him a bamboo hat. "Take the oilcloth cloak."
"Thank you, Mother."
* * *
The East Hill looked desolate in the drizzle. The ground was muddy, and the thorns glistened with droplets of water.
Chen Yuan trudged to the northern ridge, where the soil was poorer and the rocks jutted out like bones. Here, the grass grew sparse and tough.
He knelt in the mud, ignoring the damp seeping into his pants.
*System, highlight targets.*
In his vision, faint golden halos appeared around specific tufts of grass. These were the wild Ryegrass survivors—hardy plants that had weathered the harsh climate.
He began to pick.
It was tedious work. He had to pinch the seed heads gently, stripping the tiny, rice-grain-sized seeds into his basket. An hour passed. His back ached. His bandaged hands throbbed despite the herbal paste.
*Progress: 0.1% of required seed stock.*
He looked at the pitiful layer of seeds at the bottom of the basket. It wasn't enough. At this rate, it would take him a month just to gather enough for the small patch they cleared yesterday.
"Farming is truly a test of patience," he muttered to himself.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the bushes nearby.
Chen Yuan froze. He gripped his sickle.
A wild dog? A wolf?
The bush parted. A small, ragged figure emerged—a child, maybe seven or eight years old. It was a boy, dressed in a sackcloth shirt that was too big for him, his face smeared with dirt. He held a stick and was poking at the ground.
Chen Yuan relaxed. "Who are you?"
The boy jumped, startled. He looked at Chen Yuan with wide, fearful eyes. He didn't speak. He just clutched his stick tighter, ready to run.
"I won't hurt you," Chen Yuan said, softening his voice. He held up his hands. "I'm just picking grass."
The boy looked at the basket, then back at Chen Yuan. He slowly lowered his stick. He pointed a grubby finger at the basket.
"Grass?" the boy squeaked.
"Yes. For the sheep," Chen Yuan said. He recognized the boy now. It was 'Little Stone,' the son of the village widow, Auntie Li. They were the poorest family in Willow Village, even poorer than the Chens.
"Why?" Little Stone asked, tilting his head. "Weeds are for... throwing away."
"Not this weed," Chen Yuan smiled. He picked a seed head and showed it. "This is food. Good food. If I plant it, the sheep get fat."
Little Stone blinked, not fully understanding.
Chen Yuan looked at the boy, then at the vast stretch of wasteland. An idea formed.
"Little Stone," Chen Yuan called out.
The boy flinched.
"Do you want to earn a copper coin?"
The boy's eyes widened. A copper coin was a fortune to a child his age. He nodded vigorously.
"I need seeds. See this grass?" Chen Yuan pointed to the golden-highlighted tufts nearby (though he knew the boy couldn't see the highlight). "You pick the seeds from these specific plants. Don't mix them with the thorny ones. Fill a basket for me, and I will give you two copper coins."
"T-two?" Little Stone stammered.
"Two. But you must be careful. Only the fat seeds."
Little Stone threw down his stick and immediately scrambled to the nearest patch. He began picking with a speed and dexterity that surprised Chen Yuan. Poor children in the village were used to foraging.
Chen Yuan watched him for a moment, ensuring he got the right grass. Little Stone was a quick learner.
"Good," Chen Yuan praised. "I'll be over there clearing the rocks. Work until the basket is full."
For the next two hours, the hillside was filled with the sounds of labor. The rain picked up, soaking through their cloaks, but neither stopped. Chen Yuan moved rocks and uprooted thorns, while Little Stone scurried around like a squirrel gathering nuts.
By noon, Little Stone ran over, beaming. He held up a basket nearly overflowing with grass seeds.
"Full! Brother, full!"
Chen Yuan inspected it. There were a few impurities, but 90% were the correct species. It was enough to cover the area they cleared yesterday.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two copper coins—the last of his immediate pocket change.
"Good job," Chen Yuan handed them over.
Little Stone took them as if they were gold. He bit one to test it, then grinned so wide his eyes disappeared.
"Go home now, before your mother worries," Chen Yuan said.
Little Stone bowed awkwardly—a move he likely learned from seeing scholars—and ran off down the hill, clutching the coins.
Chen Yuan watched him go. He felt a strange warmth in his chest. This was what it was about. Not just making money for himself, but creating value. Even a few coins for a poor boy meant meat for his family's dinner.
* * *
Back in the courtyard of the Chen home, Chen Yuan set up a makeshift processing station.
He spread the seeds out on a bamboo mat under the eaves of the shed. He used a flat wooden board to gently crush the seed heads, separating the chaff from the grain.
"What is all this?"
Chen Hu walked into the yard, carrying a hoe. He was covered in mud.
"Seeds for the pasture," Chen Yuan said, not looking up.
Chen Hu walked over, squinting. "Grass seeds? You paid for grass seeds? We can just throw hay!"
"These are special," Chen Yuan said. He focused his mind. *System, initiate Optimization.*
**[Optimization Initiating...]**
**[Cost: None (First batch free).]**
**[Processing...]**
A faint, invisible ripple seemed to pass over the seeds. They didn't grow or glow magically, but their texture seemed to shift slightly, becoming glossier.
"Special?" Chen Hu scoffed. "They look like the weeds I pull out of the wheat field."
"Brother," Chen Yuan stood up, wiping his forehead. "Do you trust me?"
Chen Hu looked at the seeds, then at the sheep pen.
"I trust you. But the neighbors are laughing at us. They say the Chen family has lost their minds. Eldest Brother is stressed. He keeps hearing the whispers at the well."
"Let them whisper," Chen Yuan said calmly. He walked over to the cleared plot of land at the side of the house where he planned to start the nursery before moving to the hill. "When autumn comes, and our sheep are double the size of theirs, the whispers will turn to envy."
He knelt and began to dig small furrows in the damp earth.
"Help me plant these, Second Brother. Just this once."
Chen Hu sighed, a long, suffering sound. He dropped his hoe against the wall. "Fine. But if this fails, you owe me a jar of wine."
"Deal."
The two brothers worked in the rain, planting tiny seeds of Ryegrass and Fescue.
**[Planting Complete.]**
**[Area: 0.1 Mu.]**
**[System Notification: Germination time reduced by 20% due to optimal weather and genetic optimization. Estimated sprout time: 5 days.]**
Chen Yuan stared at the patch of muddy earth. To anyone else, it was just dirt. To him, it was the first page of a new history.
"San Lang," Chen Hu asked as they packed up the tools. "That veteran... Xu Tie. You mentioned hiring him. Were you serious?"
Chen Yuan paused. "Yes. Why?"
Chen Hu lowered his voice. "I heard he got into a fight at the tavern in town last night. Some local thugs from the Lin family were mocking his leg. He didn't hit them, but he stared them down until they left. The Lin family... they run the meat market in town. If you plan to sell sheep..."
Chen Yuan's eyes narrowed. The Lin family. Local bullies controlling the meat supply. That was a hurdle he would have to face eventually.
"Good to know," Chen Yuan said. "Thanks for the info, Second Brother."
As they walked inside for dinner, Chen Yuan made a mental note.
*The path isn't just about farming. It's about power. First the grass, then the sheep, then the soldiers, then the market.*
He looked at his bandaged hands. They were dirty again, stained with mud.
But they felt stronger.