The secret of the gold nugget settled into the fabric of the Lin household like a deep, still pool beneath a running stream. It was known, but not spoken of. Its presence was felt in a subtle stiffening of spines, a slight easing of the frantic edge in Wang Shi's eyes when she counted the few remaining coppers. It was not a solution, but it was an anchor in a storm. The decision to not use it for the debt had paradoxically made them feel richer, more in control of their own destiny.
Their immediate destiny, however, was measured in the growing girth of Splotch the sow. The 'Animal Breeding Basics' knowledge gave Lin Yan a timeline. Her pregnancy advanced through the humid, thickening days of early summer. She grew placid and enormous, her appetite a quiet, constant demand. The family scoured the land for her. The cover crop, now a flowering jungle, was harvested in systematic swathes, cut with their one sharp scythe and dried on makeshift racks of woven branches to become their first store of hay. Splotch received the greenest, leafiest portions. The pigs' rooting area yielded dandelion crowns and tender roots. They even sparingly used a handful of their precious barley, toasted slightly to make it more digestible.
The Bluestem grass, under the terms of the five-year exclusive contract with the Zhang estate, became the object of intense scrutiny. Every seed head was watched, allowed to mature fully on the stalk before being harvested with painstaking care. The initial patch flourished, and they used some of the saved seed to plant a second, larger plot on another section of land cleared by the goats. This was their future. This was the currency with which they had bought the services of a Duroc boar.
The Debt Bowl, after the ten-copper payment to Steward Feng, held a meager twenty-one coppers. The remaining one hundred and twenty owed to Village Head Li next New Spring was a silent, heavy guest at every meal. The egg sales continued, a trickle of copper that felt agonizingly slow against the monumental sum.
The summer heat arrived not with a gentle warmth, but with a fierce, desiccating intensity. The sun beat down from a bleached-white sky. The village stream shrank to a muddy trickle. The air hung still and thick, humming with insects.
For the Lin family, the heat was a new adversary. The chickens panted in the shade of their coop, their egg production dipping slightly. The goats sought the deepest shade of the woods, bleating plaintively. But the most vulnerable was Splotch. A pregnant sow could easily overheat, with fatal consequences for her and her litter.
Lin Yan, drawing on system knowledge and common sense, instituted emergency measures. They ensured her wallow was always full of cool mud. They draped wet burlap sacks (acquired through trade with Auntie Sun for a dozen eggs) over her shelter to cool the air through evaporation. They moved her water trough into the shade and refilled it with cool water from the deepest part of the well twice a day.
The labor was constant, a sweaty, exhausting fight against the elements. Lin Yan's frail body, now toughened by months of labor, was tested anew. He, along with his father and brothers, moved with a slow, deliberate economy, conserving energy. The women toiled indoors, weaving reed hats and fans, trying to keep the hut's interior bearable.
It was during this withering heat that Imperial Courier Huang returned to Willow Creek, this time with the Tax Assessor in tow. The Assessor was a thin, sharp-faced man named Jin, with eyes that missed nothing and a demeanor as dry as the parched fields. Village Head Li accompanied them, his face a careful mask of cooperation.
They toured the village, their progress marked by a cloud of anxiety. They measured the Zhang family's millet fields, estimated yields, and noted the blighted southern patch with a disapproving cluck from Assessor Jin. They assessed livestock, counting every chicken, every goat, every pig. The tax would be a percentage of the estimated harvest and the value of the animals.
When they arrived at the Lin fence, the family was ready. They stood formally, but not subserviently, by their gate. Lin Yan invited them in.
Assessor Jin's eyes swept over the homestead, his expression unreadable. He saw the lush, flowering cover crop, now partially cut for hay. He saw the sturdy, whitewashed chicken coop with its contented, if hot, birds. He saw the expansive pig pen with the magnificent, pregnant Splotch lounging in her cooled wallow. He saw the two goats in their shaded enclosure. He saw the two distinct, healthy patches of Bluestem grass.
"This land is recorded as one mu, marginal, alkaline," Jin stated, consulting a ledger.
"It is being improved, Honored Assessor," Lin Yan said, his voice respectful but firm. He explained the cover crop cycle, the manure, the soil amendment. He pointed out the Bluestem grass. "An experimental forage, under contract to the Zhang estate to rehabilitate their southern field."
At the mention of the Zhang contract, Jin's eyebrow twitched. He looked at Huang, who gave a slight nod. The connection to the estate added a layer of legitimacy.
Jin made notes. He counted the chickens (thirteen, including the original five now-grown pullets and a new batch of eight chicks hatched from traded eggs and brooded by a diligent hen). He counted the pigs (one sow, pregnant). He counted the goats (two). He assessed the value of the hay already stacked.
His calculations were swift and merciless. When he finished, he announced the figure. "Tax due in autumn, after harvest assessment: twenty-two coppers."
Twenty-two coppers. It was a staggering sum, more than they had in the Debt Bowl. It was based on the potential of their holding, not its current poverty. It was the price of looking successful.
Lin Dashan's face went gray. Lin Yan felt a cold knot form in his stomach despite the heat. They could not argue. To argue was to invite a more detailed, potentially punitive assessment.
Village Head Li spoke, his tone smooth. "The Lin family has shown remarkable industry. Perhaps, Honored Assessor, given the… experimental nature of their crop and the recent contract, a slight allowance…"
Jin cut him off with a sharp look. "The tax is based on visible assets and productive land. The allowance is in the future yield of that contract, which is not yet realized. The tax stands. Twenty-two coppers. Payable by the Autumn Equinox."
They left, leaving behind a silence heavier than the heat. The family stood amidst their thriving green plot, their healthy animals, and felt the jaws of the system closing around them. They had worked to build something, and now the empire demanded its share before they had even tasted the fruit.
The twenty-one coppers in the Debt Bowl were now officially not enough for anything. They were one copper short of the imperial tax, let alone the village debt.
That night, the atmosphere in the hut was funereal. The reed fans stirred the hot, hopeless air. No one spoke of the buried gold. That was for life and death, not for taxes. Using it for this would feel like a surrender of a different kind.
"We need to sell something else," Lin Qiang finally said, his voice hollow. "The hay? We have a good stack."
"The hay is for winter," Wang Shi protested softly. "For the animals. Without it…"
"Without paying the tax, there may be no winter for the animals," Lin Dashan finished, his voice old and tired.
Lin Yan's mind raced, rejecting one desperate idea after another. Sell a goat? It would set back their clearing and milk potential. Sell more eggs than they already were? They were at the limit of what the local market could bear.
Then, he looked at the second, newer patch of Bluestem grass. It was thriving in the heat, its deep roots likely tapping moisture the other plants couldn't reach. It was not yet seeding. But the first patch was. They had a small but growing stock of precious seed, meant for the Zhang estate next year.
"The seed," he said, the words tasting like ash. "We sell a portion of the Bluestem seed. Not to the Zhangs—to someone else. Quickly, before the contract's exclusivity is fully enforced."
It was a breach of spirit, if not yet of law. The contract was for future production. But selling their reserve seed felt like eating their seed corn. It was a decision born of pure survival.
"Who would buy it?" Lin Xiaohui asked.
"Courier Huang," Lin Yan said. "He's interested. He represents the Imperial Horse Pastures. He might pay a premium for a sample, to test it elsewhere. It's a risk for him, but he's seen it grow."
The next morning, Lin Yan sought out Huang, who was preparing to leave Willow Creek. He found him at Auntie Sun's, packing his saddlebags.
"Honorable Courier," Lin Yan began, bowing. "A proposition. You have seen our grass. We have a limited quantity of purified seed from our first harvest. We are obligated to the Zhang estate for future production. But this seed is from before the contract. Would the Imperial Pastures be interested in a small sample, for trial? To see if it performs as well in other soils?"
Huang stopped his packing, his sharp eyes evaluating Lin Yan. He understood the subtext: the family was desperate for immediate cash. He also understood the value of being the first to introduce a potentially superior forage to his superiors. "How much?"
"One pound. Enough for a small test plot."
"And the price?"
"Thirty coppers." It was an outrageous price for grass seed. But it was for imperial trials.
Huang snorted. "Fifteen."
"Twenty-five. It is unique. And you will have the first report on its viability outside our valley."
They haggled in the dusty yard, under the blazing sun. Finally, they settled on eighteen coppers for a tightly packed, wax-cloth pouch containing one pound of the precious Bluestem seed.
Lin Yan returned home with the coins. They were warm from the sun and Huang's hand. He placed them in the Debt Bowl. Thirty-nine coppers. Enough for the tax, with seventeen left over.
It was a victory that felt like a defeat. They had sold a piece of their future to pay a present-day levy. The seed stock for the Zhang contract was now dangerously low. They would have to nurture every remaining plant like a child.
The tax was paid on the day of the Autumn Equinox, to a clerk in Village Head Li's compound. The seventeen-copper remnant looked pathetic in the bottom of the Bowl. The debt to Li remained untouched.
As they walked back, the first cool breeze of approaching autumn whispered through the valley, carrying the scent of drying grass and distant woodsmoke. It was a relief from the heat, but it also heralded the coming cold, the end of the growing season.
When they arrived home, Lin Xiaoshan met them at the gate, his face alight with excitement that momentarily overrode the general gloom. "Splotch! She's making a nest! She's pulling straw into the far corner!"
The quickening. The pig was preparing to farrow. Their entire summer's gamble, their ten-copper investment, the future of their swine herd, was coming to a head.
The family's attention pivoted instantly. The tax was paid, a necessary evil. This was life. This was the return on their effort.
They prepared the farrowing area within Splotch's pen, making it clean, dry, and deeply bedded with soft straw. Lin Yan reviewed the knowledge: signs of labor, how to assist if needed, the importance of the first milk. The 'Pioneer Aura' seemed to concentrate around the pen, a palpable sense of watchful guardianship.
For two days, Splotch grew increasingly restless, arranging and rearranging her nest. Then, on a crisp, clear autumn night under a sky dense with stars, she went into labor.
The family took shifts, watching by the light of a shielded lantern. Lin Yan and Wang Shi were present for the main event. It was a long, tense process. Splotch grunted and strained. Then, with a soft, wet sound, the first piglet slid into the world. It was tiny, slick, and a beautiful, uniform reddish-gold—the Duroc father's legacy.
Splotch, with instinctive competence, broke the sac, cleaned the piglet, and nudged it towards her teats. One after another, they came. Eight in total. Eight healthy, squirming, reddish-gold piglets. No runts. All vigorous.
As the last one was born and began to nurse, a profound exhaustion and elation washed over Lin Yan. He leaned against the pen, watching the sow contentedly grunt to her brood. In the lantern light, the piglets' coats shone like newly minted copper.
Eight piglets. If they could raise them, even selling six and keeping two for breeding… the calculations began in his head, pushing back the despair of the tax and the debt. This was real. This was the cycle turning in their favor.
The system chimed softly, a gentle sound in the quiet night.
[Quest: 'The Cycle Deepens' – PRIMARY OBJECTIVE COMPLETE.]
[Sow 'Splotch' has successfully farrowed a healthy litter of 8 piglets. Sire: Quality Duroc. All piglets viable.]
[Reward: 'Smokehouse Blueprint' knowledge unlocked. 50 System Points.]
[New Sub-Objective: 'Raise the Litter.' Ensure at least 6 piglets survive to weaning age (8 weeks). Reward: 'Basic Butchery & Preservation' knowledge, 30 Points.]
The smokehouse blueprint unfurled in his mind—a simple, efficient design for smoking meat and fish, using cold smoke to preserve without cooking. It was a tool for turning future pork into long-term wealth. The points brought his total to 260/300. The next Tier was almost within reach.
He looked from the nursing piglets to the starry sky, then back to the dim outline of their hut, where a small, buried pouch of gold lay, and a Debt Bowl held seventeen coppers.
They had been withered by heat and taxed to the bone. But in the quiet pen, new life squirmed and suckled, its coat the color of hope and future coin. The circle was unbroken. It was just getting started.
[System Note: Tax crisis weathered via strategic asset liquidation. Core livestock cycle reaches critical milestone. Host's resilience is being forged in the fires of systemic pressure and biological triumph. The foundation, while strained, is proving fertile.]