The victory at the Yamen sent ripples through Stone Roll Village faster than the winter wind. When Li Wei rode Red Wind back through the village streets, leading the unchained King, the atmosphere had changed.
Gone were the sneers and the mocking laughter. In their place was a wary silence. The villagers watched from their doorways, eyes wide. They didn't see a peasant boy anymore; they saw a young wolf who had just bitten the Village Head and gotten away with it.
Li Wei ignored the stares. He focused on the rhythm of the horse beneath him.
Back at the Barren Slope, he dismounted and handed the lead rope to Zhao Feng.
"Take the King to the shed. Give him extra silage. He performed well today."
"What about you, Boss?" Zhao Feng asked, patting the bull's flank.
"I have a saddle to build," Li Wei said, eyes glinting. "And a favor to cash in."
***
The next morning, Li Wei didn't go to the slope. He went to the smithy.
Old Liu, the blacksmith who had been his first breeding customer, was hammering a glowing strip of iron. The rhythmic *clanging* echoed through the cold air.
"Li Wei!" Old Liu wiped his sooty face, grinning when he saw the young man. "I heard the news. You made the Magistrate blink. Impressive."
"I had a good product to sell," Li Wei said. He placed a heavy bag on the anvil. It clinked with the sound of silver. "Old Liu, I need your skill."
"For what? Weapons? I thought you were done fighting."
"Not weapons," Li Wei pulled a rolled-up piece of bark from his sleeve. On it was a detailed sketch—a geometric design of wood, iron, and leather. "I need a frame. A saddle tree."
Old Liu picked up the sketch. He squinted. "This... this isn't a standard cavalry saddle. The pommel is high. The cantle is deep. Where are the horns for the baggage?"
"It's for herding," Li Wei explained. "I need stability. I need to be able to rope a cow from the back of a horse without being pulled off. I need to ride for twelve hours without my legs giving out."
He pointed to the design. "The wooden bars here—called the 'tree'—need to be strong. They distribute the weight of the rider so the horse doesn't get sores. I need you to weld the iron brackets to hold it together. Can you do it?"
Old Liu studied the blueprint. He was a craftsman; he appreciated innovation, even if he didn't fully understand it.
"The iron work is easy," Old Liu grunted. "But the wood? You need bentwood. Hickory or oak. Steamed and bent."
"I brought the wood," Li Wei pointed to the cart outside, loaded with dense oak branches he had selected from the forest. "I have the leather from the wolf pelt and some cowhide I traded for. I just need the metal parts and your forge to heat the wood."
Old Liu looked at the money, then at the ambitious design. He pushed the money back. "Keep your coin. The breeding fee for my cow was fair. Do this: teach my boy how you made that 'silage' feed. I have a horse that looks like a skeleton. If your feed works, we call it even."
"Deal."
They spent the entire day in the smithy. The air was hot and filled with the smell of singed hide and smoldering oak.
Li Wei worked with a focus that surprised Old Liu. He wasn't just supervising; he was planing the wood, soaking the leather, and stitching the seats. He introduced the concept of *rigging*—a system of straps and rings that allowed the saddle to be secured tightly without choking the horse.
By sunset, the saddle sat on the anvil.
It was ugly. Rough. The leather was uneven, and the stitching was crude compared to the fine work of the capital.
But it was solid. It had a high fork in the front, a deep seat, and a distinct horn—a wooden post protruding from the front pommel.
"What is that for?" Old Liu asked, tapping the horn. "A handle?"
"A dallying post," Li Wei said, coiling a rope. "When I catch a cow, I wrap the rope around this. The horse takes the weight, not my arms."
He hefted the saddle. It was heavier than a normal saddle, but balanced.
"Let's test it."
***
The next morning, the Barren Slope was busy.
Li Wei had hired two new workers. They were village youths—orphans or sons of families with too many mouths to feed. One was named 'Little Shitou' (Little Stone), a wiry boy of fifteen with quick hands. The other was 'Da Niu' (Big Ox), a slow, strong boy of seventeen.
They couldn't afford wages. Li Wei paid them in food—the hearty silage stew and cornbread—and a promise of one tael of silver a month once the ranch turned a profit.
"Listen up," Li Wei addressed them. They stood shivering in the cold, looking at the strange equipment. "You aren't farmers anymore. You aren't servants. You are *hands*."
He pointed to the slope. "We have fifty *mu*. Most of it is rock and thorn. By spring, it needs to be pasture. That means we work."
He turned to Zhao Feng. "Zhao Feng, you're the foreman. Teach them how to swing an axe without cutting their toes. I need to check the perimeter."
Li Wei grabbed the new saddle and walked to the corral. Red Wind watched him approach. She had been working hard, and she was finally fit, her muscles defined under her chestnut coat.
He threw the saddle onto her back. She flinched at the weight—heavier than the blanket—but didn't buck.
He tightened the cinch. *One loop, two loops.* The saddle settled firmly on her ribs.
He mounted.
The difference was instant. Before, he had to constantly grip with his thighs to stay balanced. Now, the saddle held him. He felt secure, rooted to the horse. He could stand up in the stirrups without holding the mane.
He tapped her flanks. "Walk."
They moved out. The ride was smooth. The saddle distributed his weight perfectly, allowing Red Wind to move freely.
He rode the perimeter of the Barren Slope. The rock wall they had built was holding, but the northern section was still weak. The thorns there were thick, a haven for wild boars and wolves.
He stopped at the northern ridge. The wind howled through a gap in the rocks.
"This is a choke point," he muttered. "If we don't close this, predators will get in."
He looked at the ground. In the mud, he saw tracks.
Wolf tracks. Fresh. And they were heading *out*, not in.
They had been here last night.
Li Wei's blood ran cold. The wolf he had killed was a loner. But these tracks... there were four distinct sets. A pack.
The King was safe in the shed. But the silage pit was exposed. And if they got desperate enough...
"Red Wind, run."
He spurred the mare. She leaped forward, galloping across the frost-hard ground.
He crested the hill and looked down at the ranch. Smoke was rising from the stew pot Zhao Feng had set up. Shitou and Da Niu were chopping wood.
Everything looked peaceful.
But then he saw it. At the edge of the cleared area, near the Brachiaria patch.
A grey shadow moved between the thorns.
A wolf. It wasn't attacking. It was watching. It was studying the new fence. Studying the workers.
It was a scout.
Li Wei dismounted at the shed. He grabbed his staff and the rope.
"Zhao Feng!" he shouted.
Zhao Feng dropped his axe, hand going to his cleaver. "What is it?"
"Wolves. A pack. They're scouting us."
Zhao Feng's eyes hardened. "How many?"
"Four, maybe more. They're testing us."
Li Wei looked at the two young workers. They looked terrified.
"Boys," Li Wei said, his voice loud and steady. "Don't panic. Wolves are cowards. They attack the weak. We are not weak."
He pointed to the fire pit. "Stoke the fire. Make it big. Da Niu, get the pots of water boiling. Shitou, grab the torches."
"Zhao Feng, get the King and bring him near the house. If they rush us, we use the bull as a shield."
"What about the cows?" Zhao Feng asked, referring to the few village cows that had been brought for breeding.
"Bring them in. Tonight, nothing sleeps outside."
The sun began to set, turning the sky a bloody red. The temperature dropped sharply.
The Barren Slope, usually quiet and desolate, was now a fortress of light. A massive bonfire roared in the center. The smell of stew and burning pine filled the air.
Li Wei sat on a log, the saddle resting on a stand beside him. He was oiling the leather, calm and methodical.
Inside the shed, the King lowed, sensing the tension.
"They're coming," Li Wei whispered to Zhao Feng.
"I know," Zhao Feng replied, sitting on the other side of the fire, his cleaver gleaming. "I can smell them."
From the darkness of the thorns, a pair of yellow eyes appeared. Then another. Then another.
The pack had arrived.
And they weren't leaving hungry.