The victory of bringing the Iron-Hoof bulls down from the High Basin was short-lived, replaced by the grueling reality of domestication. A wild bull in a corral is not a "pet"; it is a three-quarter-ton engine of muscle and resentment waiting for a lapse in concentration.
Lin Yan stood atop the fence of the reinforced corral, watching the Alpha Bull—now named 'King Granite'—pace the perimeter. The salt-lick had bought a tenuous peace, but the beast's eyes remained wild.
"He won't take the yoke for a plow," Qin Zhan said, leaning against a post. The soldier's eyes were bloodshot from the night watch. "And he won't let a man near his flank without trying to turn him into a wall-painting."
"He doesn't need to be a plow-ox," Lin Yan replied, tossing a handful of high-protein alfalfa into the center of the pen. "He needs to be a sire. But before that, he needs to learn the 'Weight of the Man.' San! Are you ready?"
Lin San stepped forward, his face set in a mask of determined terror. After the "Rodeo" at the village festival, he had become the ranch's unofficial 'Test Rider.' Under Qin Zhan's tutelage, he had spent hours practicing his grip and his 'fall-logic.'
"If I die, Yan'er, make sure Mother doesn't find out I was scared," San joked weakly.
"You won't die," Lin Yan said, though his hand tightened on the railing. "The sand in the arena is three feet deep. Just remember: don't fight the bull's strength. Follow his rhythm."
The training session was brutal. It wasn't the polished performance of a festival; it was a gritty, dusty struggle. Lin San lasted only four seconds before King Granite sent him flying into the timber walls. He got up, spat out a mouthful of dirt, and climbed back on.
By the third 'mount,' the bull stopped bucking. He stood still, huffing great clouds of steam, his legs trembling with a mix of confusion and exhaustion. Lin San sat atop him, his hands buried in the thick, coarse mane.
"The king has a rider," Qin Zhan whispered, a rare grin breaking through his scarred face.
The Silk of Stone Creek
While the men wrestled with the bulls, the Big House had become a sanctuary of industry. The "Silk Wool" from the mountain sheep had been processed, carded, and spun into a thread so fine it looked like captured moonlight.
Lin Yue and Lin Hua had spent the last week weaving a single shawl. It was a sample piece, intended to test the market for their "Premium Ranch" brand.
A knock at the gate interrupted their work. It was not a villager, but a merchant in a modest yet expensive carriage. He introduced himself as Manager Su of the Exquisite Clouds Pavilion in the provincial capital.
"I heard a rumor," Su said, his eyes scanning the ranch with professional greed. "They say a family of herders is producing wool that rivals the tribute-silk of the South. I thought it was a peasant's exaggeration. Then I saw the shawl your brother sold to the County Tea House."
Lin Yue brought out their latest piece. She didn't hurry; she laid it across a dark wooden table so the light from the south-facing windows caught the sheen.
Manager Su reached out, his fingers trembling as they touched the fabric. It was warm like wool but smooth like silk, with a natural elasticity that shouldn't exist.
"This... this is not from common sheep," Su breathed.
"They are 'Silk Sheep,' sir," Lin Yue said, using the name Lin Yan had coined. "They eat the mountain alfalfa and drink the mineral springs. Their wool is the gift of the high pastures."
"I want ten bolts," Su said immediately. "I will pay three silver taels per bolt. Upfront."
Lin Yue looked at her sister. Three silver taels was more than their father used to earn in a year of backbreaking labor. But she remembered Lin Yan's lesson on 'Slow Burn' value.
"We only have three bolts ready, Manager Su," Lin Yue said calmly. "And the price is five taels. We do not sell in bulk; we sell to those who appreciate the 'Lin Family' mark."
The merchant stared at the young village girl. He saw the same stubborn, calculating fire in her eyes that he had heard about in her brother. He sighed, reached into his robe, and pulled out a heavy purse. "Five taels. But I want the first right to the next shearing."
The Silver Ghost's Choice
As the sun dipped behind the Black Pine forest, Lin Yan returned to the high pasture. He didn't go for the sheep or the bulls. He went for the Silver Ghost.
The stallion was waiting by the salt-lick. His silver coat was groomed, the mountain burrs removed by Lin Yan's own hands over the past weeks. For the first time, Lin Yan brought something new: a saddle.
It wasn't a heavy, metal-studded war saddle. It was a 'Western-style' design he had sketched for the village tanner—light, made of supple leather, with a high horn and a deep seat for long hours in the mountains.
"Steady, Ghost," Lin Yan whispered.
The stallion snorted, his eyes fixed on the leather object. To a wild horse, a saddle is a predator's grip. Lin Yan didn't rush. He let the horse smell the leather, let him feel the weight of the stirrups against his ribs.
Slowly, Lin Yan lifted the saddle onto the silver back. The Ghost shifted, his muscles rippling, but he didn't bolt. The weeks of salt and song had built a bridge of trust that no rope could ever mimic.
Lin Yan tightened the cinch. He waited for the explosion. It didn't come. The stallion stood like a statue of mercury, his ears pricked forward.
Lin Yan put his foot in the stirrup. With a smooth, practiced motion, he swung into the seat.
For a heartbeat, the world was silent. Then, the Silver Ghost let out a piercing whinny and exploded into a gallop. But he wasn't bucking. He was running.
They flew across the alpine meadow, the wind tearing at Lin Yan's hair. This wasn't the jerky, laboring gait of a draft horse. It was the rhythm of a storm. They moved as one—the modern soul and the ancient blood.
> [Taming Progress: 100%. Bond Established: 'Soul Bound'.]
> Title Gained: 'The Silver Rider'.
> Attribute: All horses within the Lin Ranch now gain a +10% 'Obedience' buff.
>
When they finally slowed to a trot back at the camp, Lin Yan's face was flushed with a joy he hadn't felt in either life. He patted the stallion's damp neck.
"We have the bulls, Ghost. We have the wool. And now... we have the wind."
The Shadow in the Trees
As Lin Yan rode back toward the Big House, he saw Qin Zhan standing by the treeline, his eyes fixed on the mountain pass.
"What is it?" Lin Yan asked, dismounting.
"A scout," Qin Zhan said, his voice cold. "Not the Landlord's. These were 'Iron-Rat' bandits from the northern waste. They've seen the bulls. They've smelled the prosperity."
Lin Yan looked at his thriving ranch—the rising walls, the sisters laughing over their silk-wool, the brothers training in the dust. The "Slow Burn" had brought wealth, but wealth in a lawless world was just bait.
"Let them come," Lin Yan said, his hand resting on the Silver Ghost's mane. "We aren't just farmers anymore. We're a ranch. And a rancher knows how to protect his own."