The dog days of summer were upon the Westland.
The air was thick and hazy, shimmering with heat rising from the earth. The grass in the pastures, having drunk deeply from the windmill's water, had reached its peak. It stood waist-high, thick stems heavy with seed heads, turning the hills into a sea of gold and green.
For a rancher, this wasn't just scenery. It was fuel.
"Winter is coming."
Li Shun stood at the edge of the main pasture, his hat pulled low. He spoke the words not as a warning, but as a tactical reality. In the Great Liang Dynasty, winters in the northern provinces could be brutal. Snow could bury the fences for weeks. If the herd didn't have enough stored feed, they would starve. And a starving cow lost weight, muscle, and value.
"We have ten mu of standing hay ready to cut," Han Qiang said, surveying the field. "But cutting it by hand with sickles... that will take weeks."
"We don't have weeks," Li Shun said. "The weather is turning. I can feel it in my knees. We need to cut, dry, and bale this grass before the autumn rains set in."
He walked over to the equipment shed—a new addition to the ranch, built from scrap lumber. Inside, lying on a workbench, was his latest invention.
It looked like a monstrous tooth. A long, curved steel blade, four feet in length, fixed to a handle with two grips.
"The Scythe," Li Shun said, picking it up. It was heavier than a sickle, balanced with the weight at the end of the snath (the handle). "Uncle Zhang, take the men to the blacksmith. I need six more of these forged by tonight. I want the specific curve—a 'cradle' scythe. It catches the grass and lays it down in a neat row, rather than scattering it."
Old Zhang peered at the tool. "I have seen these in the northern barbarian lands. They are dangerous. One slip and you take off your own foot."
"Then we teach them not to slip," Li Shun said grimly. "Tell the smith I'll pay double for rush work."
---
The next morning, the Westland echoed with a new sound.
*Swish. Thump. Swish. Thump.*
It was the rhythmic whisper of steel slicing through stems.
The three new workers—Old Scar (the man with the burn mark), One-Ear, and young Wang Da—stood in a line. They were stripped to the waist, their skin glistening with sweat. Han Qiang stood behind them, correcting their posture.
"Don't chop!" Han Qiang barked. "You're not fighting an enemy. You're shaving the earth. Swing from the hips. Let the blade do the work."
Wang Da, the young ex-soldier with the limp, was struggling. His balance was off, and his swings were erratic. He hacked at the grass, leaving jagged stems.
Li Shun walked over. He didn't scold the boy. Instead, he took the scythe from his hands.
"Watch."
Li Shun planted his feet. He twisted his torso, the blade singing through the air. With a single, smooth arc, he cleared a six-foot swathe of grass. The cut stalks fell gently to the side in a neat windrow.
"Momentum," Li Shun said, handing the tool back. "Use your core, not your arms. If you fight the grass, you lose. If you dance with it, you win."
Wang Da nodded, gritting his teeth. He adjusted his grip. He swung again. This time, the cut was cleaner.
"Better," Li Shun nodded. "Keep moving. We need this field down by sunset."
---
The cutting was only half the battle.
Once the grass was down, it had to dry. This process, called "curing," turned the succulent green stalks into nutritious hay. If it was baled too wet, it would rot. If it was left too long, it would lose its nutrients.
Li Shun had the men turning the windrows with wooden rakes every few hours. The sun beat down on them, relentless.
By the third day, the ten-acre field was reduced to rows of dry, sweet-smelling golden stalks.
"Time to bale," Li Shun announced.
In the modern world, this was done with a machine that spat out neat rectangles or cylinders. Here, they had to improvise.
Li Shun had built a simple wooden baler—a box with a plunger. They stuffed the loose hay into the box, compressed it with the plunger, and tied it with rough hemp rope into manageable bundles.
"Stack them tight in the barn," Li Shun ordered. "Leave gaps for air circulation. If we get a hot spot, the whole barn burns down."
The new workers, who had spent their lives marching and fighting, found this labor strangely meditative.
"It's quiet," One-Ear grunted, hefting a bale onto his shoulder. "No screaming. No arrows. Just the smell of grass."
"I like it," Wang Da admitted, wiping hay dust from his face. "My leg hurts less here than it did in the city."
Li Shun overheard them. He smiled to himself.
*They are settling in. Good.*
---
On the fifth day of the harvest, disaster threatened.
Li Shun looked up from his ledger in the cabin. The sky to the west had turned a bruised purple. The wind had shifted, coming in gusty, cold bursts.
"Rain," Han Qiang said, stepping inside. "Heavy. Maybe hail."
"How much hay is still out there?"
"About a third of the field. It's dry enough to bale, but if it gets wet now..."
"It's ruined," Li Shun finished. "Moldy hay kills cattle."
He stood up, slamming his hand on the table.
"Everyone up! We work through the night!"
---
The ranch turned into a frantic operation.
Lanterns were lit, casting flickering yellow light across the darkening field. The threat of the storm created a desperate energy.
Li Shun worked alongside them, his hands raw from the rope. They formed an assembly line. Old Scar and Han Qiang compressed the bales. One-Ear and Wang Da hauled them to the barn. Li Ming and Old Zhang stacked them.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a deep growl that vibrated in their chests.
"Faster!" Li Shun shouted over the wind. "Don't worry about neat ties! Just get it under cover!"
The first fat drops of rain began to fall as they were loading the last wagon. *Plop. Plop.*
"Hurry!" Wang Da yelled, his limp forgotten as he sprinted back to the barn.
They shoved the last bales into the loft just as the heavens opened.
The rain came down in sheets, hammering the tin roof of the barn. Lightning cracked, illuminating the scene in stark white flashes.
Inside the barn, the five men collapsed onto the hay bales, breathing hard. They were soaked, shivering, and covered in grass seeds and dirt.
But they were dry.
And the hay was safe.
Li Shun leaned back against a bale, laughing breathlessly. He looked around at his crew. They looked like drowned rats, but their eyes were bright.
"We did it," Old Zhang wheezed. "Old Zhang thought he was going to die in that field."
"You almost did, you old goat," One-Ear joked, tossing a piece of straw at him.
Han Qiang looked at Li Shun. "We saved the winter feed."
"We did," Li Shun nodded. "And we proved something else."
"What?"
"That this team can handle a crisis." Li Shun stood up and walked to a crate in the corner. He opened it, revealing several jars of rice wine he had been saving.
"Tonight, we celebrate," Li Shun said, passing out jars. "Not just for the hay. But for surviving the first real test of the Westland."
They drank the cheap, burning wine, but it tasted like the finest vintage. They sat in the barn, listening to the rain drum on the roof, swapping stories.
Wang Da talked about his hometown in the south, famous for its silk. One-Ear spoke of his time in the cavalry. Even Han Qiang shared a brief, poignant memory of his first commander.
Li Shun sat quietly, listening. He wasn't just a boss. He was the anchor.
---
The next morning, the sun rose on a washed-clean world.
The storm had passed, leaving behind puddles and a crisp coolness in the air. The leaves on the trees were just starting to turn—a hint of red and gold at the edges.
Li Shun stood outside the barn, looking at the massive stack of hay inside. It was a fortress of feed.
**[SYSTEM ALERT]**
**[WINTER PROVISIONS: HAY (100% STORED)]**
**[LIVESTOCK SAFETY: HIGH]**
**[RANCH LEVEL UP!]**
**[RANCH LEVEL: 3]**
**[NEW UNLOCK: SILO BLUEPRINT (CONCRETE/STONE VARIANT)]**
**[NEW UNLOCK: ADVANCED VETERINARY KIT]**
*Level 3.*
Li Shun felt a subtle shift in his status. The system was recognizing him as more than just a starter.
He walked over to the main pasture. The cows were huddled near the windmill, enjoying the fresh water. Hei Bao stood on a small rise, his black coat gleaming.
Li Shun leaned on the fence, watching the bull.
"We have the food," Li Shun told the bull. "We have the men. Now, we wait for the calves."
Hei Bao chewed his cud, seemingly unimpressed.
Li Shun checked his mental calendar. The cows had been bred in early summer. The gestation period for cattle was roughly nine months.
*Next spring. The first Angus calves will be born.*
He turned back to the cabin. There was still work to do. He needed to winterize the windmill. He needed to repair the roof. He needed to...
"Master Li!" Wang Da's voice called out.
Li Shun turned. The young man was running up the hill, waving a piece of paper.
"Rider came! From the Magistrate's office!"
Li Shun took the paper. It was a formal invitation.
**[To Son-in-Law Li Shun:]**
**[The Mid-Autumn Festival approaches. The Zhao Family requests your presence for the family reunion.]**
**[Note: Bring the 'special meat' if available.]**
Li Shun smiled. Mid-Autumn Festival. The harvest moon.
"It seems," Li Shun said to Wang Da, "that we are going to town."