Morning arrived quietly.
A pale light crept through the paper window, outlining the wooden beams overhead. Lin Yan woke before anyone else, his body aching but no longer screaming in protest. Hunger was still there, lingering like a shadow, but it no longer felt like it would hollow him out from the inside.
That alone felt like progress.
He sat up slowly, feet touching the cold earthen floor. For a moment, dizziness threatened to return, but he breathed through it, steady and controlled.
Better than yesterday, he judged.
Outside, the rooster from a neighboring household crowed hoarsely, its call uneven and tired. Somewhere farther away, a dog barked once and fell silent.
This was the rhythm of the village—muted, restrained, conserving energy just like its people.
Lin Yan pulled on his worn cloth shoes and stepped outside.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of ash and damp soil. His mother was already awake, crouched near the stove, coaxing a small flame to life with practiced patience.
She looked up when she heard him.
"Yan'er," she said, startled. "Why are you up so early?"
"I couldn't sleep," Lin Yan replied honestly. "I wanted to walk a little."
Her brows knit together. "Your body—"
"I'll stay nearby."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Don't go far."
"I won't."
Lin Yan stepped into the yard.
The Lin family's courtyard was small, enclosed by a low, uneven mud wall. A broken wooden rack leaned against one side, once used for drying grain. Now it stood empty.
He took a slow circuit of the yard, feeling the ground beneath his feet, the morning air filling his lungs.
Then, with a thought, he opened the system panel.
[Ranch Development System]
[Livestock: None]
Below it, a small icon pulsed faintly.
[Domestic Chicken x3 (Healthy)]
Status: Unreleased
Lin Yan stopped walking.
Three chickens.
They were not cattle. Not horses. Not anything impressive.
But right now, they might as well have been treasure.
"Release," he thought.
There was no flash of light.
No sudden noise.
Instead, behind the half-collapsed woodshed at the edge of the courtyard, something appeared—as if it had always been there and was only now noticed.
A soft rustling.
A low, confused cluck.
Lin Yan turned.
Three chickens stood there.
Two hens and one rooster.
Their feathers were clean, fuller than any village chicken he had seen so far. Their eyes were bright, alert, and their bodies moved with a quiet vitality that immediately set them apart.
The rooster lifted its head and let out a cautious crow.
It wasn't loud.
But it was strong.
Lin Yan's heart tightened.
This… this was real.
He approached slowly, careful not to startle them.
The chickens shifted, wings fluttering slightly, but they didn't panic. They eyed him with mild suspicion, heads tilting as if judging him in return.
"Good," Lin Yan murmured. "You're calm."
He crouched, studying them carefully.
No visible injuries.
Feet clean.
Feathers glossy.
These weren't magical beasts—but they were healthy.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
His mother froze at the sight.
"Yan'er…" she whispered. "Where did these come from?"
Lin Yan stood.
"I traded for them," he said smoothly.
She stared. "With what?"
"I helped someone," he replied. "They paid me with chickens."
It wasn't entirely a lie.
She hesitated, then sighed. "You scared me. I thought someone had wandered in."
Her gaze softened as she looked at the chickens more closely.
"They look… good," she admitted. "Healthier than most."
"They are," Lin Yan said.
She crouched beside him, reaching out tentatively. One of the hens took a step back, then pecked at the ground instead.
"They'll need a coop," she said automatically, already thinking ahead.
"I know."
By the time the rest of the family woke, word had spread.
Lin Dahu was the first to see them.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
"Where did those come from?" he demanded.
"Yan'er's chickens," their mother said.
Lin Erniu leaned over the wall, eyes wide. "They're fat."
"They're not fat," Lin Dahu snapped. "They're… normal."
That alone made them unusual.
Chickens in this village were scrawny things, more bone than meat, kept alive through stubbornness more than care.
Their father arrived last.
He didn't speak at first.
He walked over, examined the chickens carefully, then looked at Lin Yan.
"You're sure you didn't borrow these?" Lin Shouzheng asked quietly.
"I'm sure," Lin Yan replied.
A long pause followed.
Then Lin Shouzheng nodded once. "Alright."
That was it.
No interrogation.
No accusation.
That nod was trust.
They built the coop together.
It wasn't much—old planks, some woven straw, a few nails saved from a broken door—but it stood firm enough to shelter the chickens from wind and rain.
Lin Yan worked slowly, handing tools, holding boards steady. His brothers did the heavier labor, glancing at him occasionally as if reassessing something they hadn't noticed before.
By noon, the coop was finished.
The chickens explored their new space cautiously, clucking softly.
"Three chickens," Lin Erniu muttered. "They won't change much."
Lin Yan smiled faintly. "Not today."
That afternoon, Lin Yan rested again.
When he woke, the sun was low.
He stepped outside just in time to hear an excited shout.
"Egg!"
His youngest brother came running, holding something in both hands like a priceless treasure.
A single egg.
Small, but intact.
Their mother gasped.
"So soon?"
Lin Yan felt something warm spread through his chest.
The system panel flickered.
[Livestock Output Detected]
Fresh Egg x1
It wasn't food yet.
But it was proof.
That night, they cooked the egg carefully, dividing it into small portions so everyone could taste it.
It was barely a bite each.
But it tasted like hope.
As Lin Yan lay down to sleep, listening to the quiet clucking outside, he knew this was only the beginning.
Three chickens today.
Tomorrow—more land.
One day—cattle, horses, a life that stretched wide and open like the plains he would one day ride across.
For now, though, this was enough.
The first chicken had crossed the threshold.
And the future had followed quietly behind it.