The first stone was placed before sunrise.
Lin Yan did not announce it.
He simply showed up with a shovel on his shoulder and boots already muddy from the walk down the slope. Shen Mu was there before him, sleeves rolled, testing the soil with the end of his staff. Lin Qiang arrived next, carrying a bundle of rope and pegs. Gu Han followed last, calm as ever, leading two oxen hitched to a cart stacked with timber.
No drum.
No speech.
Just work.
By the time the sun crested the ridge, a few villagers had stopped pretending not to watch.
They leaned on hoes. Paused mid-wash. Stood with bowls forgotten in their hands.
"He's really doing it," someone murmured.
Lin Yan drove the first peg into the earth where the road would begin—just wide enough for a cart, angled slightly uphill to shed rain. He tied a rope to it, stretched it forward, and fixed the next peg.
Straight.
Deliberate.
Unyielding.
"This section needs stone first," Shen Mu said, crouching. "Water runs here after storms."
Lin Yan nodded. "We'll layer it."
Gu Han unloaded the timber without comment, stacking it neatly. Lin Qiang began measuring distances, calling out numbers. The oxen stood patiently, tails flicking.
The road took shape not as a thing imagined—but as a thing claimed.
The first volunteer arrived before noon.
A thin man named Wei Zhen, known for fixing roofs when others wouldn't. He set down his basket of tools and scratched his head.
"You paying?" Wei Zhen asked.
"Yes," Lin Yan said simply.
Wei Zhen nodded. "Then I'll help."
No contract.
Just dirt under nails and trust paid daily.
By afternoon, five more joined.
By dusk, twelve.
Not all stayed long—some worked an hour, some the full day—but the road grew regardless.
Hu Sheng did not come.
But his eyes did.
From the edge of his barley field, he watched as timber frames were set into the ground to brace the road's sides. He saw stone laid where carts would bite hardest. He saw labor organized without shouting.
He saw something worse than ambition.
He saw competence.
The accident happened on the third day.
It was small.
And because it was small, it mattered.
A stone slipped.
Not a large one—just enough to twist Wei Zhen's ankle when he stepped wrong. He went down with a sharp cry, tools scattering.
Work froze.
Lin Yan was there instantly.
He knelt, checked the ankle, tested movement.
"Not broken," he said. "But you're done today."
Wei Zhen winced. "I can still—"
"No," Lin Yan said, firm but calm. "Sit."
Gu Han brought water. Lin Qiang fetched cloth. Shen Mu adjusted the stone, securing it properly before anyone else moved.
A few villagers watched closely.
This was the moment.
Lin Yan turned to Wei Zhen. "You're paid for the full day."
Wei Zhen blinked. "But I—"
"You showed up," Lin Yan said. "The ground failed, not you."
He handed over the coins.
Not many.
But counted carefully.
The watching eyes changed.
Not trust yet.
But attention.
That night, a rumor spread faster than any merchant.
"He paid anyway."
"He stopped work for one man."
"He didn't argue."
By morning, the worksite was crowded.
Some came to help.
Some came to judge.
Some came hoping to catch him failing.
Lin Yan welcomed all of it.
Hu Sheng arrived on the fifth day.
Not alone.
Xu Wen was with him.
They stood together on the unfinished stretch, careful not to step onto the work itself.
Xu Wen smiled first. "Impressive."
Lin Yan wiped his hands and inclined his head. "You're early."
"Opportunity doesn't wait," Xu Wen replied. "Nor does competition."
Hu Sheng crossed his arms. "You're building on shared land."
"With village approval," Lin Yan said evenly.
Hu Sheng scoffed. "Approval can be… revisited."
Xu Wen raised a hand gently. "No need for tension."
He looked at the road again. "You're reinforcing the base. Smart. But expensive."
"Only once," Lin Yan replied.
Xu Wen chuckled. "Nothing is only once."
"Then you understand maintenance fees," Lin Yan said.
Xu Wen's smile thinned.
"You plan to charge us."
"I plan to protect what feeds us," Lin Yan corrected. "If that includes charging you, so be it."
Hu Sheng stepped forward. "You're isolating yourself."
Lin Yan met his gaze. "I'm defining terms."
Silence fell.
Xu Wen broke it.
"Very well," he said lightly. "Let's speak plainly."
He gestured to the road. "If we use this route, what do you want?"
Lin Yan didn't look at the road.
He looked at Xu Wen.
"Records," Lin Yan said. "Every cart. Every load. Every passage."
Xu Wen laughed outright. "You want to tax us like an official?"
"I want transparency," Lin Yan replied. "Officials tax. I account."
Xu Wen's eyes sharpened.
"And if we refuse?"
Lin Yan shrugged. "Then you go around."
"And if going around costs us more?" Xu Wen pressed.
Lin Yan smiled faintly. "Then you'll come back."
Xu Wen studied him for a long moment.
Hu Sheng shifted, uneasy.
Finally, Xu Wen nodded.
"We'll talk again," he said. "After the road is finished."
They left.
Hu Sheng lingered a heartbeat longer.
"This won't end quietly," Hu Sheng said.
Lin Yan replied calmly. "Few things worth building do."
The system panel appeared that night, brighter, steadier.
[Infrastructure Project Progress: 42%]
[Community Participation Increasing]
[Hidden Effect: Authority Through Labor +5%]
Lin Yan closed it.
He didn't need to see numbers to feel it.
By the end of the week, the road was unmistakable.
Not grand.
But solid.
Children ran along its edges. Old men tested it with cautious steps. Carts paused at its mouth, unsure whether to enter.
It was no longer just dirt.
It was a question asked of everyone who saw it.
Who maintains this?
Who answers when it breaks?
Who decides who passes?
Lin Yan stood at its start as dusk settled, hands sore, shoulders aching.
For the first time since waking in this world, he felt something close to certainty.
Not safety.
Not peace.
But footing.
And sometimes, that was enough to carry a man forward.