The journey to Yellow Creek Town felt different this time. The weight Lin Yan carried wasn't the delicate burden of eggs, but the crushing pressure of an idea. By his side, Lin Zhu walked in thoughtful silence, his carpenter's mind likely turning over angles and joints of the impossible proposal they were about to make. The nine remaining copper coins felt pathetically light in Lin Yan's pouch. They weren't capital; they were a prop, a symbol of meager credibility.
The town swallowed them with its same cacophony of struggle and commerce. Lin Yan bypassed the main market this time. With Lin Zhu's knowledge from his apprenticeship days, they navigated the narrower lanes to a quieter quarter where the houses had proper gates and tiled roofs. This was where the stewards, the factors, and the well-off artisans lived.
"There," Lin Zhu murmured, nodding toward a modest but well-kept gate with a plum tree blossoming over the wall. "Master Huang. He's a provisioner for several wealthy households and the prefectural courier station. He buys in bulk. My old master did joinery work for his storehouse."
It was their best lead. Lin Yan took a steadying breath and knocked.
A young servant answered, eyeing their coarse hemp tunics with mild disdain. Lin Yan spoke before he could be dismissed. "We are from Willow Creek Village. We have a matter of future supply regarding specialty livestock forage to discuss with Master Huang. It concerns a new method of land restoration."
The words were chosen carefully: 'future supply,' 'specialty,' 'new method.' They suggested potential profit and innovation, not current begging. The servant's disdain shifted to confusion, then a flicker of curiosity. "Wait here."
Master Huang emerged a few minutes later, a stout man with shrewd eyes and ink-stained fingers. He looked them up and down. "You're the egg-sellers. My steward, Li, praised your product. Clean. But you speak of livestock forage? You look like you can barely forage for yourselves."
It was a brutal assessment, but not unkind, merely factual. Lin Yan bowed. "Master Huang. The eggs are a beginning. From healthy hens. Health comes from diet and environment. We are applying the same principles to land. We have a one-mu test plot on a barren slope where we are growing a deep-rooted, nutritious grass strain. In thirty days, we will have proof of concept. In sixty, we will have pasture that can support premium grazing stock."
Lin Zhu stepped in, his voice more practical. "Our land is poor, but our method works. We've already transformed our poultry yield. With the right support, we can scale. We aim to raise cattle—the kind that produce tender, marbled beef, or hardy oxen for superior draft power. The kind you could sell to your clients at the courier station or to the manor houses."
Master Huang crossed his arms, listening. He was a businessman; he understood risk and potential. "A pretty story. What do you want from me?"
"An advance," Lin Yan said, the word hanging in the air. "Against our first future sale of grass-hay, or the first calf raised on that pasture. We need three silver fen to commute the corvée labor levy for my brother. Without him, our progress halts. With him, we deliver on this promise."
There it was. Madness, laid bare.
Master Huang was silent for a long moment, then he laughed, a short, sharp bark. "You want me to pay your imperial labor tax on a promise of grass? Boy, do you know how many 'new methods' I hear of in a year? Ten. Do you know how many pan out? None."
"Our eggs are real," Lin Yan pressed, his voice steady despite his hammering heart. "The method is sound. We are not asking for charity, but for an investment in a future supply chain you control. Be the first to have access to what we produce."
"First access to grass," Huang said dryly. He studied them again. The earnestness in Lin Yan's eyes, the quiet competence in Lin Zhu's posture. The eggs had been good. His steward had remarked on it. "Three silver fen is not nothing. But… it is also not a fortune to me. Tell you what. I will give you one silver fen. Not as an advance on grass. As a pre-payment for eggs. You will deliver to my kitchen thirty of your 'medicinal' eggs per week, for ten weeks, at a fixed price of three copper coins per egg. I get a reliable, quality supply. You get your silver to halve your problem. And you prove your reliability. If, in ten weeks, you have this miraculous pasture to show me, we will talk about cattle."
It was a counteroffer. Brutal but fair. It locked them into a grueling production schedule—thirty eggs a week was an enormous output for five hens—but it provided immediate, crucial capital and, more importantly, a formal commercial relationship.
Lin Yan's mind raced. One silver fen was ten copper coins. Combined with their nine, that was nineteen. They needed thirty. They were still eleven short. But it was a lifeline.
"We accept," Lin Yan said, without consulting Lin Zhu. The decision had to be swift and confident. "Thank you, Master Huang. The first delivery will be in four days."
Huang nodded, a glint of respect in his eyes for the quick decision. "See that it is." He went inside and returned with a single, small, beautiful silver coin, stamped with the seal of the Great Yan Dynasty. Lin Yan accepted it as if it were a live coal.
Back on the road to Willow Creek, the brothers processed the deal. "Thirty eggs a week…" Lin Zhu breathed. "The hens will need to lay like… like machines."
"They will," Lin Yan said, his jaw set. "We'll make them. We have one fen. We need eleven more copper coins in seven days. We have four days until the first egg delivery. We use that time to make the slope prove its worth."
For the next three days, the Lin family became a single organism focused on egg production and land nurturing. The hens were pampered like emperors. Their diet was a perfect mix of cracked wheat, insect paste, minced wild garlic, and dandelion greens. The coop was cleaned twice daily. Lin Yan used his last 12 system points to buy another week of Vitality Boost.
The eggs came. Slowly, steadily. 20… 24… 28… The mission counter climbed, but Lin Yan's focus was on the weekly quota. They collected and stored every perfect egg.
Simultaneously, they tended the seeded slope. They watered it with precious creek water carried in buckets. Lin Yan had Lin Xiao sing to the plot every evening—"our growing song," the boy called it. It became a family ritual, a superstitious hope made melody.
On the morning of the fourth day, a miracle occurred.
Lin Xiao, on his dawn patrol, let out a shriek that brought the whole family running. He was kneeling on the edge of the test plot, pointing.
There, breaking through the crust of amended earth, were hundreds of tiny, fragile spears of green. A faint, verdant fuzz coated the once-barren brown. The system grass was sprouting. Five days, just as projected.
[Project: 'Green Foundations' – Stage 1 Complete!]
[1 Mu of 'Poor' soil now supports 'Hardy Forage Grass (Seedling Stage).']
[Visual Proof of Concept established. Family Morale significantly boosted.]
[Points Awarded for Successful Land Regeneration: +20.]
Total Points: 20.
The sight of that green haze, trembling in the morning dew, was more powerful than any words. Wang Shi wept silently. Lin Dahu knelt and touched a blade as if it were silk. It was hope, made visible.
That same morning, they carefully packed thirty flawless eggs. Lin Yan and Lin Tie made the delivery to Master Huang's kitchen entrance. The steward, Li, inspected them, nodded crisply, and handed over the agreed nine copper coins for the week's supply. The transaction was smooth, professional. They were vendors now.
They returned with the coins, the green promise on the slope, and a flock of hens that had somehow produced thirty eggs in four days. They had 19 coins towards the corvée commutation. They needed 11 more in three days.
That evening, as they celebrated the green shoots with a slightly less watery gruel, Old Chen paid his own visit. He came alone, his face unreadable. He didn't mention the interest payment. His eyes went straight to the distant slope, where the faint green smear was just visible in the twilight.
"I see you've been busy," he said, his voice neutral. "Sowing weeds on stone."
"It is a new grass, Uncle Chen," Lin Dahu said, a new defensiveness in his tone. "For grazing."
"Grazing," Old Chen repeated. He paused. "The corvée official will be at my house tomorrow to finalize the roster. He will take the commutation silver then. After that, it's too late." His gaze swept over their compound—the solid coop, the busy hens, the industrious family. "It is a pity to see a strong back like Lin Tie's wasted on road gravel when it could be improving land here. Perhaps… a loan could be arranged. For the remaining silver. Secured against this… plot of yours."
There it was. He couldn't stop their progress, so he sought to own it. He wanted a lien on their land, the very earth that was just beginning to breathe.
The family froze. The air turned to ice.
Lin Yan felt a cold fury settle in his gut. This was the true face of their obstacle: not just poverty, but a system designed to keep them in it, orchestrated by those who profited from their desperation.
Before his father could speak, Lin Yan stepped forward. "Thank you for your offer, Uncle Chen. We are exploring our options. We will know by tomorrow."
Old Chen's eyes narrowed at the non-answer. He gave a slow nod. "See that you do. The official waits for no man."
After he left, the family huddled in desperate council. They had 19 coins. They needed 11. They had three days of egg production before the deadline, maybe 8-10 more coins if they sold locally at a discount. They'd be short. Dangerously short.
"We could sell one of the new hens," Lin Xiao suggested, his voice small.
"No," Lin Yan said. The hens were their golden geese. Selling one would kill their weekly quota for Huang.
As night fell, Lin Yan sat on the stump by the now-green plot, staring at the silver coin and the pile of copper. The system screen glowed.
Points: 20.
Mission: 32/50 Eggs.
Deadline: Corvée Commutation – 3 days. Silver needed: 0.11 tael.
He had 20 points. The system store offered many things, but not silver coins. He scanned desperately. Then he saw it, under the Livestock tab, in a corner he'd ignored: Byproducts.
[Item: Concentrated Chicken Manure Pellets (Fertilizer Grade). 1 Bag (covers 1/4 Mu). Cost: 15 Points.]
[Description: Odorless, nutrient-dense, fast-acting soil amendment. Significantly boosts initial growth of grasses and legumes.]
It wasn't silver. But it was value. It was proof of advanced method. Master Huang was interested in new methods. Could he sell it? Not just the pellets, but the idea—the closed loop, the efficiency.
It was a wild gamble. But the green shoots at his feet were proof he could make things grow where others saw only stone.
He bought the bag. It appeared, a neat hemp sack, smelling faintly earthy. He opened it. The pellets were uniform, dark, and clean.
At first light, he would go back to Yellow Creek Town. He would take the pellets, the silver fen, and the nineteen copper coins. He would show Master Huang the grass, and he would sell him on the next step: not just buying eggs, but investing in the system that produced them, and the pasture that would follow.
He had nothing to lose but a future of serfdom. And he had a single, fragile acre of green promise to fight with.