The yard behind the Chen house had transformed into a battlefield of mud and meat.
Three slaughtered pigs hung from a makeshift wooden frame, their pale skin glistening in the weak morning light. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the sharp, medicinal scent of the spice rub Chen Yuan had prepared.
"Work fast," Chen Yuan commanded. His hands were red up to the elbows, gripping a boning knife. "The weather is turning warm. If we don't get these into the brine and smoker by noon, the meat will spoil."
Cousin Bao stood on a wooden stool, his face pale. He was holding a bucket of coarse salt. "San Lang... there is so much blood. It's... it's terrifying."
"It's food," Chen Yuan said, making a clean cut along the belly. "And food is money. Pour the salt. Heavy on the thick parts, light on the thin. Just like I showed you."
Wang Shi and Liu Shi were busy scrubbing the intestines—valuable casings for sausages that could be sold for a good price to the noodle vendors in town. Nothing was wasted.
Inside the house, the atmosphere was starkly different.
The window to the side room was cracked open, letting in a sliver of fresh air to combat the stuffiness. Little Ming sat at a low table, his back rigid. Opposite him sat Master Qian, looking like a stern hawk in his washed-out robe.
"Write," Master Qian ordered, tapping the table with a fan. "The topic: 'Governance is like cooking a small fish; do not overdo it.' You have the structure. Now, give me the argument."
Ming dipped his brush into the inkstone. His hand trembled slightly. The scratching of the brush against the rough paper was the only sound in the room, a stark contrast to the hacking of knives in the yard.
* * *
By evening, the pigs were dismantled. The hams and bellies were packed in salt, pressed under heavy stones to expel the moisture. The rest was being processed into sausages.
Chen Yuan sat on the steps of the porch, washing his hands in a basin of cold water. The water turned pink, then clear. He looked at his fingers—they were wrinkled and nicked from the work.
"Brother."
Chen Yuan looked up. Ming stood in the doorway, looking exhausted. His eyes were rimmed with red.
"Done for the day?" Chen Yuan asked, tossing him a towel.
"Master Qian says I have improved," Ming said softly, sitting down next to his brother. "But my handwriting is still too 'soft'. He says I write like a farmer, not a scholar."
"Writing like a farmer isn't bad," Chen Yuan said, drying his hands. "It shows you have roots. But for the exam, you must play their game."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped object. "Here."
Ming unwrapped it. It was a piece of dried pork jerky—seasoned with the extra trimmings and spices.
"Eat," Chen Yuan said. "It's brain food."
Ming chewed on the tough meat. "Third Brother... is the ranch doing well? I heard you and Cousin Bao talking about the Lin family."
"We are managing," Chen Yuan said vaguely. He didn't want to burden the boy with the threat of the meat monopoly. "The Lin family is a rock in the river. We just have to flow around them. Focus on your books. You are the spearhead of this family. If you pass, we have a path to the officials. If I fail with the ranch, we still have the farm. We are spreading our risks."
"I won't fail," Ming said, his jaw setting. "I will make them accept me."
"Good. Now go to sleep. Master Qian is a slave driver. You need rest."
* * *
The next three days were a blur of labor.
The first batch of bacon went into the smoker. The sweet smell of apple wood filled the valley, drifting down into the village.
Predictably, the smell attracted attention.
"Chen San Lang! Open up!"
Chen Yuan walked out of the shed to find a group of men at the gate. They weren't villagers. They wore leather vests and had the look of street toughs—hired muscle.
At the front stood a man Chen Yuan recognized. It was the same slick-looking aide who had been with Manager Lin at the Immortal Pavilion.
"I am here on behalf of Manager Lin," the aide said, fanning himself despite the cold. He looked at the mud, the shed, and the smoking house with disdain. "You have been buying pigs in the mountain villages, Chen Yuan. You are bypassing the guild."
"I am buying from farmers," Chen Yuan said calmly. "Just like you do."
"The Lin Family Meat Guild manages all meat distribution in the Prefecture," the aide said, his voice hardening. "You are operating without a license. You are disrupting the market price."
"I am selling processed goods, not fresh meat," Chen Yuan countered. "Bacon is preserved food. It falls under the 'Dry Goods' category, not 'Fresh Meat'. I checked the tax laws."
The aide paused. He hadn't expected a dirty farmer to know the tax codes. It was a common loophole, but usually only merchants knew it.
"Clever words," the aide sneered. "But words don't stop a fire. Or a broken leg."
Xu Tie stepped out from behind a post. He was sharpening a long, curved blade. *Scrape. Scrape.* The sound was menacing. He didn't say anything. He just looked at them.
The thugs shifted nervously. They knew a killer when they saw one.
"We are not here to fight today," the aide stepped back, his confidence wavering. "Manager Lin is generous. He wants to offer you a deal. Sell your bacon to the Lin Family warehouse. We will handle the distribution. We will pay you... thirty coins a catty."
"Thirty coins?" Chen Yuan laughed. "I sell it to the restaurant for forty-five. And the market value is fifty. You want me to give it to you for thirty?"
"We provide security," the aide said. "It would be a shame if your smoker 'accidentally' burned down. Or if your bull got sick."
The threat hung in the air.
"Get out," Chen Yuan said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "If my smoker burns, I will know who did it. And if my bull gets sick... I will hold the Lin family responsible. I have friends in the militia now. And the City Lord's Manor buys my soil. Do you want to explain to the City Lord why his flowers are dying because you harassed his supplier?"
He was bluffing about the City Lord's personal involvement, but the Steward was well-known.
The aide glared at Chen Yuan. He realized this farmer wasn't the soft persimmon he had thought.
"This isn't over," the aide spat. "The market is a shark tank. You think you can swim with the big fish? You'll see."
He turned and left with his thugs.
Chen Yuan let out a breath he had been holding.
"We need to move fast," Chen Yuan said to Xu Tie. "They are going to escalate. We need to sell this batch and get the money secured before they can sabotage us."
"I'll sleep in the smoker shed tonight," Xu Tie said. "With the dogs."
* * *
The next morning, the bacon was ready.
It was beautiful. Dark mahogany on the outside, marbled pink and white on the inside. The smoke had penetrated deep into the meat.
"Load the sleds," Chen Yuan ordered. "We are taking everything to the city. Now."
He didn't go to the Immortal Pavilion first. He went to a different restaurant, "The Jade Garden", a competitor to the Immortal Pavilion.
He walked in with a slab of bacon.
"I want to see your Head Chef."
Fifteen minutes later, Chen Yuan walked out with a deposit of silver. The Jade Garden was thrilled to have a product the Immortal Pavilion had, and they paid forty-eight coins a catty to spite their rival.
He then went to the Immortal Pavilion.
Chef Zhang was furious when he heard Chen Yuan had sold to the Jade Garden. But when Chen Yuan explained the Lin family situation, Chef Zhang's anger turned to calculation.
"The Lin family are leeches," Chef Zhang muttered. "They think they own the city. Fine. I will pay you forty-six coins. And... I will introduce you to a silk merchant. You said you need a scholar's robe for your brother? The silk merchant owes me a favor. I'll get you a discount on the fabric."
"Thank you, Chef."
Chen Yuan sold the entire batch. Three pigs' worth of bacon. The profit was massive. After deducting the cost of the pigs (bought cheaply from the mountains), the salt, the wood, and the transport, he cleared nearly four taels of silver in a single run.
* * *
He returned home late that night.
He walked into the study room. Ming was still up, reading by the dying light of the oil lamp.
"Ming," Chen Yuan said softly.
Ming looked up.
Chen Yuan placed a bolt of fine, blue cloth on the table. "I bought this. And thread. Mother can sew it. It's not silk, but it's high-quality cotton. It looks like scholar's wear."
He then placed a small, lacquered box on the table.
"What is this?" Ming asked.
"Open it."
Ming opened the box. Inside lay a high-quality inkstone. Not the cheap slate they had, but a fine, polished Sheyan inkstone. It was dark, oily, and smooth.
"Third Brother..." Ming gasped. "This must have cost a fortune."
"It's an investment," Chen Yuan said, sitting down. "A scholar needs a good sword. This is yours. Practice your calligraphy on good tools. Feel the difference."
Ming ran his fingers over the smooth stone. Tears welled in his eyes.
"I will pass," Ming swore, his voice shaking. "I will pass, Brother. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't," Chen Yuan smiled. He ruffled the boy's hair. "Now, sleep. Tomorrow is the last week before the exam."
* * *
The final week was a torture of anxiety.
The Lin family didn't attack directly, but they sent runners to watch the house. They were gathering information.
Chen Yuan ignored them. He focused on the ranch.
The mud was drying up slightly, but the "Corduroy road" of logs he had laid in the pasture was working. The sheep and the bull could now walk to the feeding troughs without sinking.
Hei Tan was in high spirits, enjoying the fresh grass that was finally sprouting between the mud patches. Challenger, the gray calf, was growing rapidly. He was already nibbling at the grass, mimicking his mother.
"He's weaning early," Chen Yuan noted. "Good. That means Hope can get pregnant again sooner."
"The bull is ready," Xu Tie said, pointing to Hei Tan. "He's been looking at Hope again."
"Let them be," Chen Yuan grinned. "The more calves, the better."
* * *
Finally, the day of the exam arrived.
The 15th of the Third Month.
It was a cool, drizzly morning. The kind of weather that seeped into the bones.
Chen Yuan, his father, and Xu Tie stood at the gate. Ming stood before them, wearing the newly sewn blue robe. He looked thin, but his spine was straight. He carried a basket with his brushes, ink, and the new inkstone.
"The carriage is ready," Chen Yuan said. "Hei Tan will pull it. We will get you there in style."
"No," Ming shook his head. "I will walk."
"Walk? It's ten miles!"
"A scholar must endure hardship," Ming said, clutching his basket. "Walking clears the mind. And... if I arrive covered in mud, they will see I am a man of the earth. I have nothing to hide."
Chen Yuan looked at his brother. The boy who used to play in the dirt was gone. In his place stood a young man with eyes like steel.
"Then we walk with you," Chen Dazhong said, picking up an umbrella.
"No, Father," Ming said. "Stay. The ranch needs you. Just... wish me luck."
"Good luck!" Chen Lan shouted from the window. "Bring back the first place!"
Ming smiled, turned, and stepped out into the rain. He walked towards the city, his figure shrinking into the mist.
Chen Yuan watched him go.
"He will be fine," Xu Tie said.
"He has to be," Chen Yuan replied. "Because after today... we start planting the summer grass. And that... is a different kind of war."
He turned back to the house.
"Alright! Break is over! We have a ranch to build! Little Stone! Bring the seeds! Bao! Get the plow! The Lin family thinks they can wait us out? Let's show them what 'production' looks like!"
The family scattered to their tasks. The ranch hummed with activity.
And in the distance, the drums of the Prefecture School examination hall began to beat, signaling the start of the test that would decide the Chen family's future.