Summer announced itself not with celebration, but with pressure.
The air thickened first. Mornings lost their bite. By midday, the land breathed heat back into the sky, as if reluctant to release it. Even the river moved slower, its surface dull and heavy, reflecting sunlight without sparkle.
Lin Yan adjusted schedules before anyone complained.
Work began earlier. Rest came at noon. Animals were watered twice. Shade cloth was stretched between posts along the higher pasture. Nothing dramatic—just dozens of small decisions that, together, bent the season slightly in their favor.
Preparation was the only way to argue with summer.
The first sign of strain came from labor.
Not rebellion—fatigue.
Three workers asked for leave within two days. Another miscounted feed. A steward snapped at a merchant and apologized too late.
Gu Han reported it without commentary.
Lin Yan listened, fingers resting on the table's edge.
"We're reaching our current limit," Gu Han said finally. "Not of land. Of people."
Lin Yan nodded. "I know."
Xu Wen's offer echoed faintly in his thoughts—not tempting, but relevant. Scale demanded structure. Structure demanded trust. Trust demanded time.
And time was the one resource summer devoured.
Lin Yan called a meeting.
Not of elders. Not of stewards.
Of households.
They gathered beneath the long awning by the storehouse, faces flushed, fans waving slowly. Children lingered at the edges, chasing each other until shushed.
Lin Yan stood where all could see him.
"We've grown," he said simply. "Enough that the old ways are bending."
Murmurs followed—not disagreement, but recognition.
"So we'll adjust," Lin Yan continued. "Together."
He outlined changes.
Rotational labor pools—so no household carried the burden alone.
Shared cooling sheds for animals.
Emergency grain access codified in writing, not favor.
And—most importantly—apprenticeships.
"Anyone over fourteen who wants steady work will be trained," Lin Yan said. "Paid fairly. Protected by rules."
A man called out, "What about our fields?"
"You'll still tend them," Lin Yan replied. "But no one starves because they helped the whole."
Silence settled.
Then a woman spoke. "If we join… do we have a say?"
Lin Yan met her eyes. "Yes. And responsibility."
That sealed it.
People didn't want charity.
They wanted inclusion.
By the end of the week, fourteen apprentices had begun.
They learned to measure feed properly. To spot illness early. To record entries cleanly. To listen before acting.
Gu Han watched them train.
"You're building redundancy," he said.
"I'm building continuity," Lin Yan replied.
Pressure from outside resumed—subtler now.
Merchants offered higher prices—for exclusive deals.
A county clerk hinted at "streamlining oversight."
A minor official requested a tour—unannounced.
Lin Yan received them all politely.
He showed them the pastures. The ledgers. The road.
Nothing hidden. Nothing exaggerated.
Transparency, again, as armor.
The clerk left empty-handed but thoughtful.
The official left impressed—and cautious.
Xu Wen did not send word.
That worried Gu Han more than threats.
At home, changes rippled too.
Lin Yan's eldest brother began overseeing apprentice schedules. His second brother handled grain intake with meticulous care. His father, once distant from management, now sat in on planning discussions, offering quiet corrections born of decades working unforgiving soil.
One night, as cicadas screamed outside, his father spoke.
"You've stopped reacting," he said.
Lin Yan looked up from the ledger. "To what?"
"To fear," his father replied. "You used to move against it. Now you move ahead of it."
Lin Yan considered that.
"I'm still afraid," he said.
His father nodded. "Good. Means you'll keep watching."
The heat peaked a week later.
One ox collapsed.
Not dead—but close.
They moved fast. Shade. Water. Salt. Lin Yan stayed until dusk, hands steady, voice calm.
The animal lived.
That night, word spread faster than any rumor.
"He doesn't leave when things go wrong."
Reputation was built not on success—
But on presence during failure.
The system panel appeared at dawn.
[Operational Capacity Expanded]
[Workforce Stability +15%]
[Threshold Approaching: Structural Upgrade Available]
Lin Yan dismissed it slowly.
Upgrades came with costs.
And summer was not done collecting.
He stepped outside.
The sun climbed, relentless.
But the village moved with it now—adjusted, aligned.
Before the heat could break them—
They had already bent.