The leather hat stayed.
Not because it looked impressive—but because it worked.
By midmorning, the sun was already biting, and Lin Yan found himself adjusting the brim out of instinct while checking the pasture. The villagers noticed. They always noticed small changes first.
"That hat," someone whispered, "looks like something from the western borderlands."
Lin Yan heard it and didn't correct them.
Reputation, like grass, grew best when left alone.
That day, his second brother returned from town with news.
"Someone asked about buying calves," he said quietly.
Lin Yan stopped walking. "Who?"
"A butcher's agent. He saw our calf last market day."
Lin Yan shook his head. "Not for sale."
His brother hesitated. "The price wasn't bad."
"I know," Lin Yan replied. "That's why it's dangerous."
Selling early was tempting. It always was.
That afternoon, Lin Yan gathered the family—not the village, just them.
"We're not chasing silver," he said. "We're building capacity."
The eldest brother nodded slowly. "If we sell now, we're still small farmers."
"If we wait," Lin Yan continued, "we become ranchers."
No one argued.
Later, he took his five-year-old brother to the shade near the fence. The boy clutched a bamboo slip and brush, feet swinging idly.
"Read," Lin Yan said.
The boy stumbled through the characters, slow but determined.
Lin Yan corrected him patiently.
"Third Brother," the boy asked suddenly, "what's the imperial exam?"
Lin Yan paused.
"It's a path," he said carefully. "A long one. Hard. But clean."
"Like grass?" the boy asked.
Lin Yan smiled. "Yes. Like grass."
Nearby, the piglets had grown noticeably. Their squeals were louder now, more confident.
A villager came by to ask about feed ratios.
Another asked about rotating grazing areas.
Lin Yan answered all of them—briefly, clearly.
Not generously. Not stingily.
That evening, Old Chen joined him by the fence again.
"You know what they're calling you now?" the old man asked.
Lin Yan didn't ask.
"The Hat Rancher."
Lin Yan laughed softly. "That's better than landlord."
Old Chen grunted in agreement.
As the sun dipped low, Lin Yan looked over the land.
Grass rippled. Animals moved calmly. People worked without rushing.
The system interface appeared one final time that day.
[Long-Term Path Detected]
[Next Phase: Breeding & Training]
Lin Yan closed his eyes briefly.
Breeding meant patience.
Training meant time.
He adjusted the leather hat and stood.
The future no longer felt distant.
It had shape now.
And it was growing—slowly, steadily—right under his feet.