The silence after Clerk Gao's departure was heavier than the winter snowpack. The words "imperial contract" seemed to hang in the thawing air, shimmering with a terrifying allure. Lin Yan, his father, and Zhao He stood in the muddy yard, their breaths puffing white in the late afternoon chill, all eyes drawn to the small, wobbly-legged miracle that was Legacy. The calf was no longer just a symbol of their success; he felt like a down payment on a future too vast to comprehend.
Lin Dahu was the first to speak, his voice a low rumble. "The Emperor's horses." He shook his head slowly, as if trying to fit the concept into the world he knew—a world of millet patches and chicken coops. "We raise cattle. We grow grass. Horses… that is a different sky."
"It is the same earth," Zhao He countered quietly, his flint-colored eyes fixed on the distant, snow-dusted peaks of the Azure Hills. "And the same principles. Good bone, good heart, good pasture. But the purpose is different. A cow gives meat, leather, more cows. A horse… gives speed. Gives war. Gives the Emperor's will legs." He turned his gaze to Lin Yan. "It is a tighter leash. And a longer reach."
They moved inside, the weight of the discussion needing the containment of the hut's walls. The family gathered, the usual evening routines forgotten. Lin Yan laid out the offer as Clerk Gao had presented it: a potential long-term breeding contract to supply remounts for the Imperial Army. Not a guarantee, but an invitation to apply—a foot in a door that led to the halls of power and peril.
The reactions were a spectrum of awe and anxiety. Lin Tie saw the sheer scale of labor. "Horses need more space. Stronger fences. Different handling. We would need more men."
Lin Zhu saw the infrastructure. "We'd need a proper smithy, not just a partnership with Kang. We'd need to learn to make shoes, proper tack. A breeding barn, not just a shelter."
Wang Shi saw the risk. "If we fail the Emperor, it is not just a lost sale. It is disgrace. Could mean the land, everything…"
Lin Xiao, of course, saw only the glory. "We'd have herds of horses! We could ride like the wind!"
Lin Yan listened to them all, his mind organizing their fears and observations into a list of problems to be solved. This was his skill: translating overwhelming dreams into manageable steps. "It is not a decision for today," he said, calming the rising buzz. "The application is 'rigorous.' Clerk Gao's word. That means we have time to prepare, to learn, to see if it is even possible. We do not chase the contract. We build a ranch worthy of the contract. If the day comes, we will be ready. If not, we still have a better ranch."
This pragmatic approach settled them. They were not being asked to leap a canyon; they were being asked to build a bridge, one careful plank at a time.
The first plank was knowledge. That night, Lin Yan accessed the system. He had 125 points after Legacy's birth. He bypassed the tempting cattle-related upgrades and went straight to a section he'd rarely visited: Equestrian Development. The costs were sobering.
['Equine Conformation & Bloodline Analysis' – 80 Points.]
['Basic Equine Nutrition & Pasture Management' – 60 Points.]
['Fundamentals of Hoof Care & Farriery' – 75 Points.]
['Imperial Cavalry Mount Standards & Requirements' – 100 Points.]
He purchased the first two, depleting his points but flooding his mind with essential foundations. He now understood the difference between a draught horse's barrel and a cavalry mount's girth, why certain leg angles lent endurance, and how the metabolism of a horse differed radically from a cow. He learned that the rich, lush grass perfect for fattening cattle could be too rich for horses, risking founder—a painful hoof disease.
The next morning, he shared the core of this knowledge with Zhao He as they inspected the pastures. The ex-cavalryman listened intently, nodding at some points, clarifying others with hard-won practical experience.
"The high meadows," Zhao He said, pointing to the azure folds of the hills. "That is the key. The grass there is shorter, tougher, sweeter. It builds bone and wind, not just fat. It is where you would run a young horse, to let its legs harden and its lungs expand. Your lowland pasture here is for recovery, for broodmares in foal, for wintering. But the heart of a good cavalry mount is forged up there."
A plan began to form, not just about horses, but about the holistic use of their land. A vertical ranch: cattle on the lower, richer slopes; sheep on the brushy edges; and horses summering in the high, clean air of the alpine meadows. It was an integrated vision, each species complementing the other.
The second plank was proving their capability. The imperial application would require evidence of successful animal husbandry. Legacy was their first, best exhibit. Lin Yan instituted a meticulous record-keeping system. He measured the calf's growth weekly. He noted Ember's milk production and recovery. He documented Founder's temperament and the health of the entire herd. These were not just chores; they were data points for their credibility.
The third plank was the most immediate: acquiring foundational stock. They couldn't apply to breed imperial horses with only one scarred rescue gelding. They needed breeding-quality mares, and a stallion of provable bloodline. The cost was astronomical.
"Merchant Huang," Lin Zhu suggested during their next planning session. "He backed the bull. He sees further than most. This is a longer game, but the stakes are higher."
They prepared their proposal with the care of generals planning a campaign. A few days later, Lin Yan and Lin Zhu returned to Yellow Creek. In Merchant Huang's office, amid the smell of ink and tea, Lin Yan laid out not a request, but a blueprint.
"The imperial stablemaster is seeking reliable breeding partners," he began, and saw Huang's eyes sharpen instantly. "The opportunity is there, but the bar is high. We have the land—lowland pasture and, crucially, high alpine meadows ideal for developing equine bone and wind. We have the management methods, proven by our cattle and our winter calf. We have," he gestured to Zhao He, who had accompanied them, a silent, authoritative presence, "expertise in cavalry needs and equine training."
He then presented their audacious ask. "We need to acquire foundation stock. Three or four quality mares of solid, hardy bloodlines—mountain or steppe breeds. And a young stallion with potential. We propose you finance seventy percent of the acquisition. In return, you own forty percent of the entire equine division of Lin Ranch—foals, breeding rights, future sales. And you are the exclusive marketing agent for any horses we produce, taking a commission on top of your share."
It was a huge slice of a potentially huge pie. Huang steepled his fingers, his gaze distant, calculating. He was no longer looking at a vendor of eggs and hay; he was evaluating a partner in a military-industrial enterprise.
"The imperial contract is not guaranteed," Huang stated.
"No," Lin Yan agreed. "But a ranch capable of applying for one is valuable in itself. The demand for quality horses among provincial officials, wealthy merchants, and courier services is high and unmet. Even without the imperial seal, we fill a void. With it… we become a source of imperial necessity."
Huang was silent for a long time. Then he stood and walked to a locked cabinet. He pulled out a map of the prefecture, then another of the northern frontiers. "I know a man. A breeder near the border. His stock is mixed—some hardy local mountain pony, some captured steppe blood from beyond the Wall. They are not pretty, but they are tough as nails and have incredible endurance. The Empire might turn up its nose at their looks, but a smart cavalry officer values heart and lung over a shiny coat." He looked at Zhao He. "You would know."
Zhao He gave a single, firm nod. "I know the type. They can live on air and outmarch a fancy southern breed any day. They are what you want for a long campaign."
A week later, a small caravan arrived at the Lin Ranch. Merchant Huang had moved with startling speed. With him was a grizzled man named Batu, from the borderlands, leading four shaggy mares and a young, watchful stallion.
The horses were unlike anything in Willow Creek. They stood only about fourteen hands high, compact and muscular, with thick necks, strong, short backs, and intelligent, wary eyes. Their coats were a variety of dun, roan, and mouse-grey, thick for winter. They moved with a quick, economical grace, their hooves sounding firm on the ground. They were not elegant, but they radiated a rugged, unbreakable vitality.
Batu spoke through Huang. "They eat anything. They never get sick. They remember every path they walk. The stallion, he is smart. Not mean, but he will test you."
Zhao He approached the stallion slowly, not looking directly into its eyes, letting the animal sniff his outstretched hand. The horse—a dusty dun with a dark dorsal stripe—snorted, then allowed the touch. "Good," Zhao He murmured. "No fear, just caution." He named the stallion "Granite."
The mares were named for their traits: "Mist" for her grey coat, "Sumac" for her reddish-dun hue, "Whisper" for her quiet demeanor, and "Rime" for her frost-white speckles.
Introducing the horses to their new home was a delicate operation. They were kept separate from the cattle at first, in a newly fenced section of the main pasture. Flint, their rescue gelding, was fascinated, calling out to them. The cattle were indifferent. Founder watched the new arrivals with a bull's proprietary suspicion but seemed to understand they were not competitors.
The dynamic of the ranch changed overnight. The slower, cud-chewing rhythm of the cattle was now punctuated by the quicker, more alert movements of the horses. Zhao He took the lead, with Lin Yan and Lin Xiao as his eager apprentices. They began the long process of acclimating the horses, teaching them to accept halters, to be groomed, to associate the humans with safety and care.
Lin Yan's new knowledge was constantly tested and validated. He adjusted their feed, introducing more fibrous hay and less rich grain. He checked their hooves daily. He learned to read their body language—the flick of an ear, the set of a tail, the tension around the eyes.
The work was exhausting, doubling their daily labor. But there was a new electricity in the air. This was no longer just about sustenance; it was about ambition, about touching a sphere of power they had only ever seen as a distant, crushing force.
One evening, as Lin Yan oiled a new set of leather leads Lin Zhu had made, his father sat beside him. "I never thought to see horses like these on our land," Lin Dahu said quietly. "When the tax collector came, I saw only the weight of the Emperor's hand. Now… I see a chance to shake it." He placed a calloused hand on his son's shoulder. "Do not let the scale of it crush you, Yan'er. We are still just farmers. We grow things. Now we just grow… bigger things."
Lin Yan nodded, the truth of it settling him. The application for the imperial contract was a mountain on the horizon. But today's task was to muck out the new horse shelter, check Granite's feet, and record Legacy's weight gain. The dream was measured in silver and imperial seals. But the reality, the only thing that could ever make the dream real, was measured in hay forks, careful hands, and the trust in a wary horse's eye. They had taken the first, monumental step onto a new path. The bridge was under construction.