The stonecrop, a cluster of jade-green beads clinging to life in a dish by the window, became a silent witness to the deepening winter. Its presence was a paradox—a symbol of tenacity in a season of dormancy, a reminder from Mei Xiang that resilience could take many forms. Lin Yan found himself studying it during the long, dim afternoons, its fleshy leaves storing moisture against the dry, indoor heat. He wondered if its ability to thrive on barren rock held some secret for their own alkaline soil. The system offered no insight, leaving the stonecrop as a simple, stubborn mystery.
Willow the goat's recovery was complete but left her thinner, her milk production reduced to a scant cup a day. This loss, though minor in volume, was a significant blow to the family's nutrition and the supplemental feed for the piglets. The children's daily share of milk ceased, a small hardship accepted without complaint but noted in the grim set of Wang Shi's mouth.
The eight weaner piglets, now independent of Splotch, were housed in a partitioned section of the main pen. Their appetite was the dominant force of the household. They consumed silage, hay, and kitchen scraps with a voracity that was both impressive and terrifying. The calculations were constant: the silage pit was X deep, the haystack Y high, the piglets ate Z per day. The numbers were not in their favor for a long winter.
A new, sharp cold descended, a dry, penetrating chill that made the previous frosts seem gentle. It was the kind of cold that stole breath and made bones ache. The morning after it settled in, Lin Yan found two of the younger pullets dead in the coop, frozen despite the insulation and their huddling. They had been the smallest of the original hatch, perhaps inherently weaker. Their loss was a economic setback and a personal sting.
He conducted a post-mortem in the frigid yard, not with tools, but with observation. No sign of disease. Just the cold. The 'Pioneer Aura' had its limits. Nature's indifference was absolute.
They plucked and cleaned the birds, too small to be worth much as meat but added to the pot for a rare, strong broth. Nothing was wasted. The feathers were saved for future pillow stuffing. The event was mourned silently, a reminder of their fragile margin.
The next day, Lin Yan made a decision. He spent 30 of his 240 points from the Shop on the Enhanced Livestock Supplement (Poultry/Swine). A small, clay jar materialized in the storage buffer. It contained a fine, grayish powder smelling of crushed bone, seaweed, and minerals. He added a pinch to the chickens' water and a larger dose to the pigs' mash. It was an investment in resilience, in hardening their remaining animals against the cold's deprivations.
[Points Total: 210/300.]
The supplement's effects weren't magical, but within days the remaining chickens seemed brighter, their combs a healthier red despite the cold. The piglets' coats took on a denser, glossier sheen. It was a small return, but in winter, small returns were everything.
The sulfur compost pile continued its slow, cold-fire work beneath its thatched blanket. Lin Yan would sometimes brush away the snow and lay his hand on it, feeling a faint, reassuring warmth emanating from within. It was a living thing, a patient revolution working unseen.
Midwinter brought the first serious threat of frostbite. Lin Xiaoshan, whose frailty had been somewhat mitigated by hard work but not erased, came in from feeding the goats with fingertips white and numb. Panic seized Wang Shi. She thrust his hands into a bowl of cool, then gradually warm, water—rubbing them with snow could damage the tissue, old wisdom said. She sent Lin Yan running to Mei Xiang.
Mei Xiang, practical as ever, provided a paste of rendered goose fat and a powdered, warming herb. "Massage it in. Keep him inside. If the black comes, there's nothing to be done."
For two days, Xiaoshan sat miserably by the hearth, his hands wrapped in rags soaked in the pungent fat. The family took over his chores. Lin Yan watched his little brother's face, pale with pain and fear, and felt a surge of protective fury—not at anyone, but at the circumstance, at the poverty that made a case of chilled fingers a potential catastrophe.
On the third day, the color returned, pink and painful. The tips of two fingers on his left hand remained swollen and tender, but they were saved. The crisis passed, leaving a deep-seated fear. They were one severe illness or injury away from ruin.
It was this fear that finally made Lin Yan broach the subject they had all avoided since autumn. He gathered the family after the evening meal, the fire casting dancing shadows on their intent faces.
"The debt," he said quietly. "One hundred and twenty coppers by New Spring. We have twenty-nine in the bowl. The pigs… we cannot sell them as weaners in deep winter for a good price. To fatten them to proper weight for the spring market, we need to feed them through this cold. We are cutting our stores too close."
"What is your thought, son?" Lin Dashan asked, his voice weary.
"We sell one piglet now. Not for the best price, but for an immediate infusion of coin. We use that coin not for the debt, but to buy grain. To get us and the animals through the worst of winter without starving. We keep the other seven. Four we can fatten for spring sale, three we keep for breeding—sows and a boar from our own line."
It was a retreat, a sacrifice of one unit of future wealth to preserve the whole. Selling a piglet now, when buyers were few and feed was scarce, might only bring fifteen coppers. But fifteen coppers could buy a sack of barley, which could stretch their feed for weeks.
Lin Qiang, the numbers-man, nodded slowly. "It is the correct military tactic. Sacrifice a scout to preserve the army."
The decision was made. The next day, Lin Yan and Lin Gang took the smallest of the piglets, Spark, to the prefectural town. The market was sparse, the few farmers there looking to sell, not buy. They finally found a butcher who supplied a garrison of frontier troops. He was interested in fresh pork, even from a small pig. He eyed Spark critically.
"Skinny. But healthy-looking. Ten coppers."
It was a low blow. Lin Yan bargained fiercely, pointing out the quality of the coat, the clear eyes, the Duroc lineage evident in its reddish tint. He got the man up to fourteen coppers and a promise to consider future, fatter hogs in spring.
Fourteen coppers. They used twelve to buy a sack of coarse barley mixed with millet. They returned home with two coppers and grain.
The grain was a tangible relief. It meant the remaining pigs, the chickens, and the family itself had a buffer. They would still be hungry, but not starving.
That night, as they added the two new coppers to the Bowl (thirty-one total), a somber mood settled. Spark was gone. They had eaten their seed corn, again.
But as Lin Yan lay awake, listening to the wind howl, he realized something. They had made a choice. A hard, calculated, strategic choice. They were not just reacting; they were managing. It was a small step up the ladder of agency.
A few days later, a visitor arrived through the blowing snow. It was Qiao Yuelan, the traveling herbalist's apprentice. She rode a tough, shaggy pony, leading a second laden with packs. Her face was wind-chapped, her eyes tired but alert.
Lin Yan, shocked, ushered her into the relative warmth of the hut. She accepted a cup of hot water gratefully.
"I was caught by the early snows north of here," she explained, her voice crisp. "My master wintering in the prefectural city. I remembered your place. I hoped to trade for shelter, a night or two. I have medicines, some salt, a little tea."
It was an opportunity. Shelter they had. Salt and tea were luxuries they hadn't tasted in months.
"You are welcome," Wang Shi said immediately, her hospitality instinct overriding their poverty. "We have little, but it is dry."
Qiao Yuelan stayed for three days. She paid for her stay by treating Xiaoshan's frostbitten fingers with a more sophisticated salve that brought down the swelling, and by examining Willow the goat, pronouncing her recovered but needing a specific bitter herb to fully cleanse her system—an herb she had in her pack. She gave it freely.
In the evenings, by the fire, she talked. She spoke of the northern prefectures, of the Imperial Horse Pastures where the herds were indeed thin after the hard winter. She spoke of the politics of herb and horse trading, of the delicate balance between the great families and the imperial bureaucrats. She was sharp, observant, and carried a quiet sadness Lin Yan couldn't place.
On her last morning, as she prepared to leave for the prefectural city to join her master, she took Lin Yan aside. "Your grass. The Bluestem. The transplants at the Zhang estate… some have died. But many live. It is a talking point. If it greens strongly in spring, you will have more attention. Some will be envious. Steward Feng is a practical man, but his first loyalty is to his master's purse. Be careful."
It was a warning from someone who moved in wider circles. Then she handed him another small packet. "Seeds. Buckwheat. It grows fast, in poor soil, and tolerates cold. The flowers feed bees. The grain is nutritious. It's not a staple, but it's a reliable filler. A… hedge."
Buckwheat. Another tool. Another thread of resilience.
"Thank you," Lin Yan said, meaning it for more than the seeds.
She nodded, mounted her pony. "I will return in the spring. I expect to see your lavender blooming." A faint, almost smile touched her lips before she turned and rode into the silver-gray day.
Her visit was like a stone dropped into the still pond of their winter isolation. The ripples were information, connection, a glimpse of the world beyond their fence. It reminded them they were part of something larger, for better or worse.
The deepest cold began to relent, incrementally. The days grew a sliver longer. One afternoon, Lin Yan checked the stonecrop. Amidst its jade beads, a single, tiny, star-shaped pink bud had formed. It was preparing to flower. In the dead of winter, this impossible plant was defying the season.
He made a decision. He would not just keep it in a dish. When the thaw came, he would plant it at the base of their strongest fence post, right at the gate. A sentinel of resilience. A covenant with the land: We, too, will find a way to bloom where we are planted.
The winter had bitten them. It had taken chickens, threatened a child's fingers, forced them to sell a piglet cheap. But it had not broken them. They had adapted, bargained, learned. The sulfur compost dreamed beneath the snow. The stonecrop prepared its brave, tiny flower. And in the pen, seven golden piglets grew, their coats thick, their eyes bright, waiting for the spring that would turn their potential into coin, and their coin into a future.
[System Note: Winter attrition experienced. Strategic asset liquidation performed to ensure core survival. External contact (Qiao Yuelan) provides market intelligence and new biological assets (Buckwheat). Host's decision-making demonstrates increasing sophistication under pressure.]
[New Quest: 'The First Thaw.' Prepare fields and initiate spring planting plan. Success hinges on health of remaining livestock and viability of stored seeds.]
[Points Total: 210/300. Steady.]