The morning began with impatience.
Not from people—but from the horse.
It stamped once beneath the elm tree, breath puffing softly in the cool air. The lease had been renewed for another ten days, and the carter had left it overnight again, trusting Lin Yan's arrangements more than the roadside sheds.
Lin Yan noticed immediately.
Animals always showed their moods first.
"You're restless," Lin Yan said quietly, looping the rope through his hand. "That means you're ready for work."
He didn't saddle the horse.
Instead, he led it to the edge of the pasture where the ground was firm and free of stones. Several villagers had already gathered at a distance, pretending not to watch.
Pretending poorly.
Lin Yan walked a slow circle, letting the horse follow his pace. When it rushed, he stopped. When it hesitated, he waited. No shouting. No whipping.
Minutes passed.
Then something subtle changed.
The horse began matching him.
Step for step.
Old Chen leaned on his staff nearby, eyes sharp. "You're teaching it to watch you."
"I'm teaching it to trust space," Lin Yan replied. "Speed comes later."
A young villager scoffed quietly. "Horses are for riding, not strolling."
Lin Yan didn't look at him. "People who rush horses end up walking."
That silenced a few chuckles.
By midday, the horse no longer pulled at the rope. Its ears flicked toward Lin Yan's voice instinctively. When he stopped, it stopped.
No tricks.
Just habits.
After releasing the horse, Lin Yan went to check the cattle.
The young bull—no longer small enough to call a calf—lowered its head briefly as Lin Yan approached, then resumed grazing. Its muscles moved cleanly beneath the hide, strength stored rather than wasted.
Good temperament.
Lin Yan made a note in his mind.
That afternoon, trouble came again—but quieter this time.
A group of younger men approached the pasture fence, eyes fixed on the bull.
"That one would be good for contest," one said.
"Strong neck," another added. "Would draw crowds."
Lin Yan turned to face them.
"Contest?" he asked.
"Bull fighting," the first man said quickly. "Not killing. Just testing strength."
Lin Yan studied them carefully.
They weren't cruel. Just curious. Restless.
"Not yet," Lin Yan said.
"Why?" someone pressed.
"Because strength without control becomes waste," Lin Yan replied. "And blood ruins grass."
They exchanged glances.
"But one day," Lin Yan continued, "there will be contests."
That caught their attention.
"Rules first," he added. "Trained handlers. No sharp tools. No injuries that affect breeding."
Old Chen raised an eyebrow. "You're planning festivals now?"
"No," Lin Yan said. "I'm planning restraint."
The men left, half-excited, half-unsatisfied.
Seeds planted carefully lasted longer.
That evening, the family gathered for dinner.
Pork again—but less than before.
Not because of lack.
Because no one needed more.
His mother had learned how much flavor fat carried. His brothers had learned that full didn't mean stuffed.
The youngest brother ate quietly, then pulled out his bamboo slips.
"Third Brother," he said, "I wrote without mistakes today."
Lin Yan checked.
One character was crooked.
He didn't point it out.
"Good," he said. "Tomorrow, write it again."
The boy smiled anyway.
Later, as the sun dipped low, Lin Yan walked the pasture with his leather hat pulled low, hands clasped behind his back. The villagers didn't interrupt him anymore.
They waited.
The system interface appeared softly.
[Horse Affinity: Beginner]
[Livestock Temperament: Optimized]
[Cultural Activity Path: Unlocked]
Lin Yan focused on the last line.
Culture wasn't entertainment.
It was order given form.
As night settled, the horse lay down beneath the elm instead of pacing. The bull stood calmly at the center of the pasture, chewing slowly. Piglets slept in a loose pile, breathing evenly.
No noise.
No urgency.
Old Chen joined him once more. "You're changing how people look at animals."
"No," Lin Yan replied. "I'm changing how people look at time."
Old Chen nodded. "Same thing."
Lin Yan tipped his hat slightly and looked over the land.
Grass thickened.
Habits settled.
Soon, contests would come. Horses would race. Bulls would test strength. People would cheer.
But not yet.
First, they would learn to wait.
And waiting, Lin Yan knew, was the hardest skill of all.