Two weeks had passed since the birth of the lamb.
The change in the animal was nothing short of startling. While village lambs were typically spindly and slow to find their footing, this one—a sturdy little ram with a black patch over one eye—was already bounding across the hillside with the energy of a rabbit.
"He eats like his mother," Xu Tie observed, leaning on his staff. "And he runs like he has a demon chasing him."
Chen Yuan watched the lamb dart between the grazing sheep, his heart swelling with pride. The System-optimized Ryegrass was doing its job, transferring nutrients that accelerated growth without compromising bone density.
"He's going to be a fine breeding ram," Chen Yuan said. "We won't castrate him. We need his genes."
"Speaking of genes," Xu Tie pointed his chin toward the cow, Hope. "Look at her."
Chen Yuan turned. The cow was lying down, chewing her cud. Though still lean, her coat had begun to shine. The patchy scabs of mange were healing, replaced by short, velvety fur. And on her shoulder, the small swelling—the Brahman hump—was now a visible bump, distinguishing her from the flat-backed local cattle.
She looked up and let out a low moo, demanding her morning handful of salt.
"She's got a temper," Xu Tie chuckled.
"She knows her worth," Chen Yuan replied.
* * *
But the ranch was growing, and growth required fuel.
The demand from the Benevolent Hall for 'Spirit Soil' had increased. The Shopkeeper's latest letter requested another hundred bags. It was a profitable order, but it presented a logistical bottleneck: raw materials.
Chen Yuan stood in the backyard, looking at the sheep pen. The three sheep and one cow produced a significant amount of manure, but not enough for a hundred bags of fertilizer.
"We need more," Chen Yuan muttered.
He walked out to the front gate. The village path was muddy from the previous night's rain.
A group of children were playing nearby. One of them, a naughty boy named Er Gou, was chasing a stray dog, throwing mud pies.
"Er Gou!" Chen Yuan called out.
The boy froze, thinking he was in trouble. "I-I didn't do anything, Brother San Lang!"
"Do you want to earn some copper coins?"
Er Gou's eyes widened. "Really?"
Chen Yuan pointed to the village communal area, where the village's few draft animals and stray chickens roamed. "Go gather the animal droppings. Cow dung, horse dung, chicken manure. Bring it to the back of my yard. I'll pay one copper coin for two full baskets."
The children stared at him.
"You're paying for... poop?" Er Gou asked, dumbfounded.
"I'm paying for *clean* poop," Chen Yuan corrected. "No rocks, no mud. Just the dung. Go."
The children scattered like a flock of startled sparrows.
Within an hour, a line of children had formed behind the Chen house. They carried baskets of varying sizes, reeking of the barnyard.
Wang Shi stood at the kitchen door, holding her nose. "San Lang! Have you lost your mind? The yard smells like a latrine! And you're giving them money? Money is hard enough to come by!"
"Sister-in-law," Chen Yuan said calmly, weighing a basket of horse dung. "This basket will become three bags of fertilizer. Three bags sell for over a hundred coins in town. I am spending one coin to make a hundred. Is that a loss?"
Wang Shi paused, her calculation skills—honed by years of penny-pinching—kicking in. "One... to a hundred?"
"Go check the tea leaves in the kitchen," Chen Yuan teased. "We might have a merchant in the family soon."
Wang Shi's face relaxed into a greedy smile. "Well... if the children are willing to work. Er Gou! Don't you dare bring me rocks! Pick the clean ones!"
She actually went out to supervise the children, ensuring no one cheated her brother-in-law out of his copper.
Chen Yuan smiled. Incentives moved the world.
* * *
By noon, the backyard was piled high with raw manure.
Chen Yuan paid out nearly fifty copper coins to the village children—a small fortune to them. The news that the 'Crazy Chen Boy' was buying dung spread through Willow Village like wildfire. Adults shook their heads, but the children celebrated, buying candy and fried dough from the peddlers.
With the raw materials secured, Chen Yuan donned a face mask he had made from cloth and began the mixing process.
Little Stone helped him carry water and soil. They worked in a rhythmic flow: mix, turn, bag.
"Boss," Little Stone asked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Why does the Shopkeeper want so much dirt? Can't he just dig it up?"
"Because this dirt is alive, Little Stone," Chen Yuan said, patting a pile. "It has tiny bugs—invisible to the eye—that help plants eat. The soil in the mountains is tired. It's asleep. This... this is an alarm clock."
Little Stone looked confused but nodded. "Whatever it is, it buys meat buns. That's good enough for me."
* * *
In the afternoon, Chen Yuan cleaned himself up. He had another important task today.
He changed into a set of clean, patched robes and walked towards the village school.
The school was a simple building, originally a storage shed donated by a wealthy landlord years ago. Inside, a dozen boys of varying ages sat on the floor, reciting texts in a drone.
At the front sat Old Man Zhao, the village teacher. He was a failed scholar who had passed the county exam but never the prefectural one. He was strict, smelled of old books, and demanded absolute respect.
Chen Yuan stood at the door, listening. In the corner, Little Ming sat with his back straight, his voice clear and loud above the others.
"The Master said: Is it not pleasant to learn with a constant perseverance and application?"
Chen Yuan felt a surge of emotion. In his past life, he had abandoned education early for work. Seeing his little brother, this poor farm boy, reciting the Analects with such focus... it meant the world.
The class broke for a rest. Little Ming ran out, his face lighting up when he saw Chen Yuan.
"Third Brother! You came!"
"I brought you something," Chen Yuan said, pulling a wrapped paper package from his robe. Inside were three pieces of candied hawthorn and a fresh inkstick. "The ink is better than the one you have. Don't let the others break it."
"Thank you, Third Brother!" Little Ming clutched the gift like treasure.
"Ming!" Old Man Zhao's voice called from inside. "Come here."
Little Ming paled slightly. "I... I have to go."
"Go on," Chen Yuan encouraged.
Chen Yuan followed him to the doorway. He bowed to the teacher. "Greetings, Teacher Zhao."
Old Man Zhao looked up, adjusting his spectacles. He recognized Chen Yuan—the boy who bought the sick cow.
"Chen Yuan," the teacher said dryly. "What brings you here? Ming is a good student, but his family... lacks discipline."
"What do you mean, Teacher?" Chen Yuan asked, keeping his temper in check.
"He is distracted," the teacher sighed. "He talks about 'cows' and 'grass' and 'money'. A scholar's mind should be on the classics, not on copper coins. If you want him to pass the exams, you must shield him from the vulgarity of the marketplace."
Chen Yuan's heart tightened. *Distraction?*
He stepped inside. "Teacher Zhao, may I speak freely?"
The teacher raised an eyebrow but nodded.
"Ming is not distracted by greed," Chen Yuan said, his voice steady. "He is motivated by duty. He sees his family struggling. He wants to succeed to save us. That is not vulgarity; that is filial piety. Is filial piety not the root of all virtue?"
Old Man Zhao paused. He looked at Little Ming, who stood with his head bowed, blushing.
"Furthermore," Chen Yuan continued, reaching into his pouch. "I am here to pay his tuition for the next six months. In advance."
He placed two small ingots of silver—one tael—on the teacher's desk.
The silver gleamed in the dim light.
The teacher's eyes flickered. One tael was a significant sum for a village teacher.
"You have money?" the teacher asked, surprised.
"I am earning it," Chen Yuan said. "And I will earn more. All I ask is that you teach him well. If he needs books, buy them. If he needs paper, give it. I will reimburse you. I want him to go to the County Academy next year. And then... to the Imperial Exams."
Old Man Zhao picked up the silver. He weighed it in his hand. The cold, hard reality of the money softened his attitude.
"You have ambition," the teacher said, looking at Chen Yuan with new respect. "Very well. Since the family values his education... I will give him extra attention. He has the aptitude. He just needs guidance."
"Thank you, Teacher."
* * *
As they walked home, Little Ming looked up at Chen Yuan with shining eyes.
"Third Brother... one tael? That's a lot of money."
"It's an investment," Chen Yuan said, patting his brother's shoulder. "In the future, when you become a high official, you can buy me a big house in the capital."
"I will!" Little Ming promised solemnly. "I will buy you a ranch bigger than the whole county!"
"Deal."
When they arrived home, the sun was setting.
Chen Yuan found his father, Chen Dazhong, sitting by the gate, smoking.
"How was the school?" Chen Dazhong asked.
"Good. Paid the tuition. The teacher will focus on him now."
Chen Dazhong nodded, knocking his pipe against his shoe. "San Lang. The neighbors are talking. They say you're throwing money around—buying dung, paying tuition, hiring boys. They say... you are haughty."
"Let them talk, Father," Chen Yuan sat on a stool next to him. "They talk because they are idle. We work because we are hungry."
He looked at the pile of fertilizer bags in the yard, ready for transport.
"Tomorrow, we take these to town," Chen Yuan said. "After that, I'm going to the cattle market again. Not to buy... but to look. I want to see if there are any other 'Hope's out there."
Chen Dazhong looked at his son. The boy was thin, his skin tanned from the sun, but his eyes were bright and deep.
"You work too hard," the father said softly.
"It doesn't feel like work, Father," Chen Yuan smiled. "It feels like building."
He looked towards the East Hill, where the silhouette of the cow could be seen against the twilight sky.
"One day, Father, that hill will be covered in cattle. And our Ming... he will be sitting in a government office, writing laws. And we... we will just sit here, drink tea, and watch the sunset."
Chen Dazhong chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Dreamer."
But he didn't contradict him. For the first time in years, the heavy burden on the old man's shoulders felt a little lighter.