The success of the ryegrass brought a feverish energy to the Westland.
For three days, the small team worked like men possessed. They cleared brush, hauled stones, and turned the earth. The five mu test plot was now a lush carpet of green, thick enough to make Old Zhang cross himself every time he walked past it.
But on the fourth morning, the weather turned.
The blue sky was replaced by a canopy of gray clouds rolling in from the north. The wind picked up, cutting through their clothes like a knife. The temperature dropped sharply, signaling that the gentle breath of early spring was giving way to a final, stubborn gasp of winter.
Li Shun stood outside the lean-to, watching the clouds darken. The wind rattled the branches of the lean-to roof.
"This isn't going to hold," he muttered.
The lean-to was fine for a few nights, but a proper storm would wash them out—or worse, make them sick. The cows needed better shelter too. The mixed herd was hardy, but stress from cold and wind would slow their weight gain. And for a rancher, weight was money.
He turned to look at the hills to the west. They were densely wooded with pine and oak.
"Change of plans," Li Shun announced as the team gathered for a breakfast of porridge. "No more clearing pasture today. We need shelter."
"We could build a mud-brick house," Old Zhang suggested, wrapping his coat tighter around himself. "Good for insulation. But it takes time to dry."
"We don't have time," Li Shun said, shaking his head. "That storm looks like it will break by tonight. We need something faster."
He picked up a stick and drew a shape in the dirt. It was a simple rectangle, but the sides were drawn as thick logs, stacked on top of each other.
"Uncle Zhang, in the north, have you ever seen the hunters' huts? The ones made of stacked timber?"
Old Zhang frowned. "I've heard of them. Rough work. Usually for savages or deep-mountain hunters. Not... not for a gentleman's house."
"Good," Li Shun said with a grin. "Because I'm not a gentleman today. I'm a rancher. And this is a log cabin."
Han Qiang leaned over, studying the drawing. "Interlocking corners? Like a fortress wall laid on its side?"
"Exactly," Li Shun said. "We cut the trees. We notch the ends. We stack them. No mortar, no waiting for bricks to dry. We put a roof on it, seal the gaps with mud and moss, and we sleep inside tonight."
Han Qiang stood up, his eyes gleaming. "A defensive structure that doubles as a home. Strong. Solid. I like it."
"Sergeant Han," Li Shun said, "you're in charge of the cutting. Pick the straightest pines. Ming'er and I will strip the branches and haul them. Uncle Zhang, start digging the foundation trench and gathering mud for chinking."
---
The forest echoed with the rhythm of steel against wood.
Han Qiang wielded the axe with the same disciplined ferocity he had once used with a sword. Tree after tree fell, crashing to the forest floor with thunderous booms.
Li Shun worked alongside them, his muscles screaming in protest, but he pushed through. He stripped the bark off the logs—a tedious job, but necessary. Bark held moisture and insects; bare wood lasted longer.
By midday, they had a stack of heavy pine logs near the clearing. The storm clouds were lower now, darker, and the wind was howling through the valley.
"Faster!" Li Shun shouted over the wind.
They laid the first logs. Han Qiang used the axe to carve saddle notches into the ends—triangular cuts that allowed the logs to lock together at the corners.
*Thud.*
The first layer was laid. Then the second.
As the walls rose, a sense of solidity began to form. Unlike the flimsy feel of a tent or a wood-framed shed, these walls were thick. They were fortress walls.
Li Ming hauled buckets of clay and water from the stream, mixing them with dry grass to create a rough mortar. Li Shun and Old Zhang used wooden paddles to jam the mixture into the gaps between the logs.
"It's ugly," Old Zhang grumbled, looking at the grey mud oozing between the golden logs. "It looks like a beast's den."
"It's warm," Li Shun countered. "That's all that matters."
They worked through the afternoon, stopping only for quick bites of bread. The walls rose above head height. For the roof, Li Shun made a decision.
"We don't have time to find long rafters for a peaked roof," he shouted. "We do a shed roof. One side high, one side low. Slope it for the rain."
It was purely utilitarian. It lacked the elegance of the swept eaves of a Chinese courtyard house, but it was fast. They laid smaller logs across the top, covered them with planks from the broken market carts, and then layered pine branches and waterproofed canvas over the top.
As the first drops of rain began to fall—fat, cold splashes on their faces—they hoisted the rough-hewn door into place. It was made of thick planks braced with crossbeams, heavy enough to stop a boar charge.
"Get the animals in!" Li Shun ordered.
They herded the cows and the sheep into the smaller attached lean-to they had built as a byre. It was attached to the main cabin, sharing a wall for warmth. Hei Bao, however, had his own sturdy pen built into a rock face nearby, covered with a rock overhang.
Finally, as the sky opened up and the rain turned into a deluge, the four men slipped inside the cabin and barred the door.
---
Silence.
Or rather, the muffled sound of rain hitting the roof and wind tearing at the trees outside.
Inside, it was dim, lit only by the small stone fireplace Li Shun had hastily constructed in the corner using rocks from the clearing. The smoke curled up into a simple chimney made of stacked stones and clay, drafting surprisingly well.
The air was cool but not cold. The thick log walls cut the wind completely.
Old Zhang slumped against the wall, his chest heaving. "We... we made it."
Li Ming sat on the floor, hugging his knees, shivering but smiling. "It's so quiet. I can't hear the wind."
Han Qiang walked the perimeter of the small room—barely fifteen feet square. He ran his hand along the rough wood of the wall. He pushed against it. It didn't budge.
"Strong," Han Qiang noted. "A crossbow bolt wouldn't penetrate this. An axe would take hours to break through."
"It's a bunker," Li Shun said, feeding wood into the fire. "A place to survive. But eventually, it will be a home."
He looked around the room. It was rough, dirty, and smelled of pine resin and unwashed men. But looking at it, a wave of pride washed over him that he had never felt filing a report in an office.
*I built this. With my own hands.*
Suddenly, a low, distressed moan cut through the sound of the rain.
"Moooooo..."
Li Shun froze. That sound came from the attached byre.
"That's not a happy sound," Han Qiang said, his hand going to his knife.
Li Shun grabbed a lantern and rushed to the connecting door. He unbolted it and stepped into the animal pen.
The cows were huddled together, eyes wide. The rain hammered on the roof. But in the corner, one of the cows—the older mottled cow Li Ming had named 'Flower'—was lying down, her head stretched out, breathing heavily.
She let out another groan, a sound of deep pain.
Li Shun rushed to her side. He knelt in the straw, placing a hand on her flank. She flinched, her skin twitching.
**[SYSTEM SCANNING...]**
**[TARGET: FLOWER (COW #4)]**
**[STATUS: CRITICAL]**
**[DIAGNOSIS: ACUTE BOVINE TYMPANY (BLOAT)]**
**[CAUSE: SUDDEN DIETARY CHANGE (TOO MUCH RICH CLOVER/GRASS INTAKE) + STRESS]**
**[GAS BUILDUP: SEVERE]**
**[OUTLOOK: FATAL IF NOT TREATED IMMEDIATELY. STOMACH RUPTURE IMMINENT.]**
*Bloat.*
Li Shun cursed himself. He had been so excited about the lush ryegrass that he had let the cows graze on it too long, too fast. The rich protein and rapid fermentation in the gut had created a foam of gas that the cow couldn't burp out.
"Uncle Zhang! I need the salt! And a length of hollow reed from the stream, now!"
Li Shun stood up, his mind racing. In modern times, this was handled with a trocar—a surgical puncture tool. Here, he had nothing but a knife and primitive tools.
"Brother, what's wrong?" Li Ming asked, appearing at the door, his face pale.
"She's bloated. Gas. Her stomach is about to burst," Li Shun said, stripping off his outer robe. "We have to release the pressure."
Han Qiang stepped in, his face calm in the emergency. "How?"
"I have to stick a tube down her throat to let the gas out. Or... if that fails, I have to stab her side."
"Stab her?" Old Zhang gasped, horrified. "Young Master, that will kill her! And killing a cow is—"
"If I don't, she dies anyway, and we lose the meat and the calf she might be carrying," Li Shun snapped, his voice hard. "Help me hold her head."
Han Qiang didn't hesitate. He moved like lightning, straddling the cow's neck, using his immense strength to hold her head steady.
"Hold tight!" Han Qiang grunted as the animal thrashed.
Li Shun took the hollow reed Li Ming brought. He soaked it in oil.
"I'm sorry, girl," he whispered. He pried her mouth open and carefully guided the reed down her esophagus.
He felt resistance. The foam was blocking the passage.
"Come on... come on..."
He wiggled the tube, trying to break the foam.
*SQUELCH.*
A foul smell erupted from the end of the reed. A hiss of escaping gas.
The cow's body shuddered, then slowly began to relax. The bloated left side of her stomach began to deflate visibly.
"She's venting," Li Shun breathed, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Ming'er, mix the salt with water. We need to flush her system."
For the next hour, they worked by lantern light in the storm-battered byre. Li Shun massaged the cow's rumen to help the gas escape, and fed her the saltwater mixture to stabilize her electrolytes.
Finally, Flower let out a long, wet burp, shook her head, and looked at Li Shun with clear eyes.
**[SYSTEM ALERT]**
**[CRISIS AVERTED]**
**[TARGET: FLOWER]**
**[STATUS: STABLE]**
**[HERD TRUST LEVEL INCREASED]**
Li Shun sat back on the hay, exhausted. His hands were covered in saliva and muck.
"Well," Han Qiang said, wiping his hands on a rag. "That was excitement I could have done without."
"You saved her," Old Zhang said, staring at Li Shun with wide eyes. "You... you treated a cow like a person. And it worked."
"She's an investment," Li Shun said, though his hand gently stroked the cow's flank. "And a member of the ranch."
---
The storm raged through the night, but inside the cabin, the mood was warm.
They had survived the first real crisis. The cabin held strong against the gale. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the log walls.
After a meal of hot broth and dried meat, Li Shun sat near the fire. He picked up a piece of scrap leather he had bought at the market. He had been thinking about the long days on horseback ahead.
Using a bone awl and some thick thread, he began to cut and stitch. He cut the leather into a wide, curved shape.
"What is that?" Li Ming asked, watching sleepily.
"Saddlebags," Li Shun said. "And a proper gun holster... or rather, a crossbow holster."
He was designing a saddle that would allow a rider to sit deep and secure, unlike the flat pads currently used in the dynasty. He drew sketches in the ash of the hearth—a high cantle, a deep seat, a horn for dallying the lasso.
"We need to be mobile," Li Shun murmured. "When the herd grows, we can't chase them on foot. We need to ride. And we need to ride like the wind."
He looked up at the heavy door, barring the storm outside.
"Tomorrow, the rain stops. We build the corral stronger. We plant more grass. And I'm going to break those two horses properly."
He glanced at Han Qiang.
"Sergeant, have you ever ridden a horse that wanted to buck?"
Han Qiang grinned, a flash of white teeth in the firelight. "I rode a camel that bit me once. A horse seems easy in comparison."
"Good. Because we're going to need a cavalry.