The twenty-fifth day arrived without ceremony.
No thunder. No auspicious clouds.
Just early morning mist clinging low to the fields.
Lin Yan rose before dawn, grabbed his hoe, and walked to the eastern plot alone. The sweet potato vines sprawled thick and green, far healthier than any crop his family had ever grown on that land.
He knelt and dug carefully.
The hoe struck something solid.
Lin Yan brushed away the soil with trembling hands.
A thick, golden-brown sweet potato emerged—smooth-skinned, heavy, larger than his forearm.
He froze.
Then he dug the next hill.
And the next.
Each plant held three to five tubers, none of them small.
Lin Yan sat back on his heels, chest rising and falling.
This wasn't just "better yield."
This was shockingly good.
Harvest Complete: Sweet Potato (1st Cycle)
Total Yield: 1,380 jin
Quality: Upper-Medium
System Bonus Applied: +10%
One mu.
Over a thousand jin.
In Qingshui Village, a good harvest of millet on decent land barely reached half that.
Lin Yan closed his eyes briefly.
Food meant survival.
Surplus meant leverage.
Beginner Task Completed
Improve family food situation
Reward Granted:
Chicken Coop (Basic)
Livestock: 5 Chicks
A new panel unfolded in his vision.
A small wooden coop appeared at the edge of the system land, simple but sturdy. Five yellow chicks peeped softly inside.
Eggs.
Meat.
Manure.
A self-sustaining loop had begun.
When Lin Yan returned home with a basket full of sweet potatoes, his mother stared as if she were dreaming.
"So many…?" she whispered.
His father, leaning on a crutch, reached out and weighed one in his hand. His eyes reddened.
"We won't starve this winter," he said hoarsely.
That afternoon, Lin Yan made his first deliberate economic decision.
He kept 800 jin for family consumption and seed storage.
The remaining 580 jin—he carried to the village market.
Qingshui's market was nothing more than a widened dirt road, stalls set up every five days. Grain prices were posted on a wooden board managed by—unsurprisingly—Uncle Zhang.
Lin Yan scanned it.
Millet: 18 copper coins per jin
Wheat: 22 copper coins per jin
Sweet potato: 6 copper coins per jin
Cheap—but stable.
Sweet potatoes were "poor people's food." Officials didn't tax them heavily. Merchants didn't speculate on them.
Which made them safe.
A traveling merchant from the county town stopped at Lin Yan's stall, lifting a sweet potato and inspecting it.
"Good quality," he said. "Six coins."
"Seven," Lin Yan replied calmly.
The merchant laughed. "Boy, everyone's selling at six."
Lin Yan met his gaze. "Mine store longer. Less rot."
The merchant hesitated—then nodded.
"Fine. Seven."
The deal drew attention.
People gathered. Some whispered.
By the time Lin Yan packed up, he had earned over four strings of copper coins—more cash than his family had seen in years.
That evening, Uncle Zhang arrived.
Not loudly. Not angrily.
Just… smiling.
"Yan'er," he said, hands clasped behind his back. "I heard you had a good harvest."
Lin Yan poured tea and waited.
"The village records show your family still owes last year's grain tax," Uncle Zhang continued. "The yamen is tightening inspections. If I don't report it…"
A pause.
"…my position becomes difficult."
A threat wrapped in politeness.
Lin Yan nodded. "I understand."
He took out two strings of copper coins and placed them on the table.
"I'd like to pay part of the debt now."
Uncle Zhang's eyes flickered.
Silver was rare. Cash was king.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "I'll mark it down."
As he stood to leave, he added casually, "Good land attracts attention. Be careful."
After he left, Lin Yan exhaled slowly.
Village politics were simple—and ugly.
That night, Shen Qinghe came by again.
She helped Lin Yan's mother sort sweet potatoes by size, hands red from the cold. No one spoke for a while.
Finally, she said quietly, "Uncle Zhang came to our place earlier."
Lin Yan looked up.
"He asked my father how your crops were."
A beat.
"My father told him the truth."
Lin Yan nodded. "Thank you."
She shook her head. "I didn't do anything."
She paused, then added, "Life's hard. People notice when someone starts doing better."
Their eyes met again—not hopeful, not romantic.
Just tired.
But steady.
Lin Yan understood.
If he wanted to protect his family, he needed more than good harvests.
He needed roots.
Reputation. Allies. Economic weight.
And maybe—one day—someone who could stand beside him, not because of wealth, but because they'd endured the same soil and seasons.
Outside, the chicks peeped softly in the coop.
The cycle had begun.