The road home from Fenghuang was a journey through a changed landscape. Not the hills and valleys—those remained, steadfast and familiar—but the internal geography of the Lin Ranch company. The brittle tension of the outward trip had melted away, replaced by a weary, quiet satisfaction that was its own kind of fuel. They had faced the arena of stone and sky and had not been found wanting.
Lin Yan, riding Mist, felt the difference in his own body. The rigid posture of performance had softened into the natural, easy seat of a man comfortable in the saddle. He watched Zhao He ahead, a silhouette of grim contentment on Granite, and his brother Lin Zhu driving the cart with a new, unshakable confidence. They carried no trophy, no scroll of contract. They carried something better: the unspoken respect in Captain Feng's eyes, the memory of their horses moving with unbreakable efficiency while fancier breeds faltered.
It was late afternoon when Willow Creek's familiar smudge of grey and green appeared in the distance. News, it seemed, travelled faster than carts. As they neared the village, figures emerged from doorways. There were no cheers—this was not that kind of story—but there were nods, raised hands in silent acknowledgment. Old Chen was conspicuously absent from his usual post by the well.
When they turned up the path to their own land, the entire family spilled out of the hut. The questions in their eyes were bright and urgent.
Lin Dahu reached them first, his hand going immediately to Mist's sweat-damp neck, a horseman's instinctive check for fatigue. "Well?"
"We ran," Lin Yan said, dismounting, his legs stiff. "We finished. They looked. They said they'd decide in a month." He delivered the facts plain, but the smile he couldn't quite suppress told the rest of the story.
Wang Shi exhaled a breath she seemed to have held for days. Lin Tie clapped Lin Zhu on the back so hard he stumbled. Lin Xiao danced around Granite, chattering questions about the city, the other horses, the officers.
That evening, the hut was filled with the overlapping sounds of their story. Lin Zhu, with a carpenter's eye, described the grand buildings and the intricate pens. Lin Yan spoke of the tests, the ford, the look on the Liu estate trainer's face. Zhao He, pressed by Lin Xiao, offered a single, laconic assessment: "Our horses worked. Theirs posed."
It was a feast of narrative, if not of food. The simple meal tasted better than any banquet in Fenghuang.
But as the excitement settled, a new reality took root: the wait. A month. Thirty days of not knowing if their leap toward the imperial sun would result in a soaring contract or a crushing fall back to earth. The ranch, however, had no patience for suspense. Life demanded action.
The very next morning, the rhythm reasserted itself with gentle tyranny. The cattle needed tending. Legacy, now a sturdy, romping calf with his father's breadth and his mother's sleek coat, demanded his share of attention and feed. The sheep needed moving to a fresh browse. The chickens clucked for their grain. The newly seeded winter greens in the protected plots needed weeding.
The trial had been a magnificent distraction, but the foundation of the Lin Ranch was, and always would be, daily, unglamorous care.
Lin Yan threw himself into the work, finding solace in its tangibility. He used the 80 points earned from the trial's completion to purchase 'Advanced Equine Genetics & Breeding Strategy.' If they were to become serious horse breeders, imperial contract or not, they needed to plan beyond Granite and the four mares. The knowledge gave him a framework: which mare to breed to the stallion first based on complementary traits, how to track bloodlines, the importance of introducing new genetics every few generations to avoid weakness.
He discussed it with Zhao He as they mended a section of fence on the high pasture. "Mist is the calmest. Her foal would be for reliability. Sumac is the strongest. Hers would be for power. We breed both this spring. See what we get."
Zhao He grunted in approval, splicing a length of rope with deft fingers. "Breeding is a long game. The empire wants horses now. Our foals won't be ready for three, four years."
"Then we sell the promise," Lin Yan said, leaning on his shovel. "And we prove we can produce what we promise. The trial showed we can train and present. The foals will show we can create."
It was a strategy built on layers of credibility. Training, husbandry, and finally, breeding.
A week after their return, the first ripple of consequence from the trial reached them. A rider in the livery of the prefectural magistrate's office arrived, not with a contract, but with a summons. Undersecretary Wen required a detailed written report on their "soil amendment and pasture management techniques," as part of the broader "demonstration plot" documentation. It was bureaucratic, but it was also a signal: they were being taken seriously enough to be studied.
Lin Yan spent two days composing the report. He wrote plainly, avoiding system terminology, framing their methods as observed wisdom and careful experimentation. He described the compost heap, the rotational grazing, the use of specific herbs for animal health, the seeding of the hardy grass. He included rough yield comparisons before and after. It was their story, translated into the dry language of agricultural improvement.
Sending the report felt like releasing another kite into that great wind Old Chen had warned of.
The wait was also a time of social realignment in Willow Creek. The village head paid a visit, his manner now distinctly consultative. He spoke of "village prestige" and wondered if the Lin family might share some of their "methods" with others, perhaps starting with the communal grazing land.
It was a delicate situation. Sharing too much could dilute their advantage. Sharing nothing would breed resentment. Lin Yan proposed a compromise: in the spring, they would hold a single day of demonstration on their land, showing the basics of compost-making and pasture rotation. Not the specifics of the grass seed or the herbal supplements, but enough to improve general village yields. It was a move that cost them little and bought significant goodwill.
Old Chen remained in his fortress of silence, but his son, Chen Fu, was seen in deep conversation with the blacksmith Kang more than once. The nature of their plotting was unclear, but it underscored Zhao He's constant vigilance. The ranch's perimeter checks became a nightly ritual, a quiet reminder that their rising light cast longer shadows.
Amidst the planning and the waiting, a moment of pure, uncomplicated joy arrived. A letter came from the Zhang household, carried by a beaming servant. Lin Xiaolian had given birth to a healthy son. The news was a warm hearth in the cooling autumn. Wang Shi wept, then immediately began packing a basket of gifts: the softest wool from their sheep, a tiny blanket embroidered with the same grass-and-flower pattern, and a dozen of the ranch's most perfect eggs.
"A new branch on the family tree," Lin Dahu said, his voice thick with emotion. It was a success that had nothing to do with imperial trials or silver. It was the success of life, of continuity. It grounded them.
As the month wore on, the focus turned inward. With the imperial decision looming, Lin Yan initiated projects that would strengthen the ranch regardless of the outcome. Using their savings, they purchased two more young, hardy heifers to add to their cattle breeding program. They repaired and expanded the irrigation channel from the creek, securing their water rights with small, legal payments to the village council. Lin Zhu, inspired by the prefectural capital's architecture, designed a new, larger chicken coop with improved nesting boxes and ventilation, which increased egg production noticeably.
The system noted this steady, foundational progress.
[Steady Development Phase Activated.]
[Infrastructure: Expanded. Security: Improved. Herd/Breeding Stock: Increased.]
[Social Capital: Village standing improved. Family network strengthened.]
[Points Awarded for Consistent, Multi-Faceted Growth: +60.]
Lin Yan saved the points. He had a growing sense they might soon need a significant investment.
On the twenty-eighth day of the wait, a different kind of visitor arrived. He was a merchant, but not like Huang. This man, introduced as Master Kuo, dealt in specialized goods—spices, dyes, and exotic animals. He had heard of the "tough mountain horses" that had impressed the garrison officers.
"I supply trading caravans that cross the White Desert," Kuo explained, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. "Their needs are similar to the army's: endurance, sure-footedness, low maintenance. I am not the empire. I pay in silver on delivery, no waiting, no paperwork taller than a man. I need five such horses by next autumn. Can you provide?"
It was a tangible offer. A safety net. A market that existed outside the fickle grace of the imperial court. Lin Yan didn't say yes immediately. He bargained, securing a strong price per horse and a deposit that would finance their winter feed. He promised three horses, not five, with an option for two more. It was a commitment they could keep without overextending.
After Kuo left, Lin Yan looked at his father. "The empire may or may not call. The desert, it seems, already has."
Lin Dahu nodded. "This is good. This is real. It means our work has value in the world, not just in the palace."
The final days of the month were the hardest. The waiting became a physical presence, a silent guest at every meal, in every field. They jumped at the sound of hooves on the path. Lin Yan found himself checking the western road a dozen times a day.
Then, on the afternoon of the thirty-second day, the expected rider appeared. He wore the colours of the Imperial Courier Service, a swifter, more prestigious branch than the county clerks. His horse was lathered. He carried a sealed tube of lacquered bamboo.
All work ceased. The family gathered in the yard, a silent semicircle.
The courier dismounted, his expression professionally blank. "For the Head of the Lin Ranch, regarding the Prefectural Breeding Evaluation."
Lin Dahu, after a glance at Lin Yan, stepped forward. "I am Lin Dahu."
The courier handed him the tube, accepted a cup of water, remounted, and was gone almost before they could process his presence.
With trembling hands, Lin Dahu broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of fine, cream-coloured paper. He squinted at the characters. After a moment, he handed it silently to Lin Yan, who had the clearest reading.
Lin Yan's eyes scanned the formal lines. He read it once. Then again, his breath catching.
"Well?" Wang Shi whispered, her hand gripping Lin Xiao's shoulder.
Lin Yan looked up, the weight of the wait finally lifting, but not in the way any of them had fully imagined.
"The Imperial Procurement Board," he read, his voice clear but laced with awe, "acknowledges the demonstrated quality and suitability of the equine stock presented by the Lin Ranch. Noting the operational scale, a full regional procurement contract is not awarded at this time."
A collective deflation, sharp as a puncture, hit them all.
"However," Lin Yan continued, the word hanging like a hook, "the Board hereby issues a Limited Development Contract. The Lin Ranch is commissioned to produce and deliver, within two years, a total of ten trained remounts of the standard demonstrated, for evaluation and integration into the Northern Garrison's scout auxiliary. Payment will be at eighty percent of the full procurement rate upon satisfactory delivery. Furthermore, the ranch is designated a Priority Observation Site for the development of hardy cavalry stock in mountainous terrain. This grants certain tax considerations and… prioritization in future procurement discussions."
He lowered the paper. Silence.
It wasn't the soaring, full-throated victory of a major contract. It was a foot in the door. A test of their ability to produce at a small scale. A promise of more, contingent on perfect execution. It was, in essence, exactly what they were ready for.
Lin Tie was the first to speak. "Ten horses. In two years. We have Granite, four mares. If we breed all four this spring and next… we can do that."
"Eighty percent of the full rate is still more silver than we've ever seen," Lin Zhu calculated, his mind already racing.
Zhao He's smile was a thin, sharp line. "A 'Priority Observation Site.' That means inspectors. But it also means they cannot easily interfere. It is a shield as much as a leash."
Lin Yan looked at the paper, then at his family, at the ranch they had built from mud and hope. The empire had not embraced them. It had pointed at them and said, "Prove it again. On a deadline."
He felt no disappointment, only a fierce, rising certainty. They had weathered the wait. They had their answer. It was not an ending, but a starting gun.
"Alright," Lin Yan said, folding the paper with deliberate care. "We have our orders. Ten horses. Two years." He looked toward the pasture, where Granite stood like a statue of dusky gold in the setting sun. "Let's get to work."