The night the rope was cut, Lin Yan smelled it before he saw it.
Not blood.
Fear.
Animals carried it differently than people—a sharp, sour tang that clung to the air long after sound faded. Lin Yan froze at the edge of the yard, basket still hooked over his arm, every sense sharpening at once.
The sheep were restless.
Too restless.
He stepped closer to the shed and stopped.
The rope was on the ground.
Cleanly sliced.
Not chewed. Not frayed.
Cut.
Lin Yan crouched and picked it up between two fingers. The fibers were neat, almost respectful. Whoever had done it knew what they were doing. This wasn't a child's mischief or a drunk's wandering hands.
This was intent.
Behind him, Lin Erniu sucked in a sharp breath.
"They tried to take them," Erniu whispered.
"Tried," Lin Yan agreed.
The sheep huddled together at the far end of the enclosure, eyes wide, bodies tense. One of them limped slightly, favoring a hind leg—not injured badly, but enough to slow it down.
Enough to make it easy.
Lin Yan closed his eyes briefly.
This was the moment he had been waiting for without wanting to reach.
When quiet success became visible enough to invite hands.
He did not shout.
He did not wake the village.
He did not run to Zhao Mingyuan's door.
Instead, he retied the sheep carefully with a thicker rope, checked their legs, and calmed them with slow movements and a low voice. Only once they settled did he straighten.
"Erniu," he said, "stay here."
Erniu clenched his fists. "I should go with you."
"No," Lin Yan replied. "Someone needs to guard what they didn't manage to steal."
Erniu understood.
Lin Yan stepped out into the night.
The village at night was a different place.
Paths blurred into one another. Shadows swallowed familiar corners. The air carried whispers that daylight burned away.
Lin Yan did not move quickly.
He walked the way someone with nothing to hide walked—steady, unhurried, visible.
He followed the logic, not tracks.
Who would try to take sheep?
Not the poorest—they'd sell them immediately and be caught.
Not the richest—they wouldn't risk it.
Someone in between.
Someone who believed they were being clever.
Someone who had watched.
He stopped outside Liu San's house.
The gate was ajar.
That was enough.
Lin Yan did not enter.
He cleared his throat.
"San-ge," he called, voice calm. "I'm looking for my rope."
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Liu San emerged slowly, eyes wary, hands empty.
"What rope?" he asked.
"The one cut behind my shed," Lin Yan replied evenly.
Liu San's jaw tightened.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Lin Yan nodded.
"I believe you," he said.
That caught Liu San off guard.
"Then why are you here?"
"Because someone who didn't know sheep wouldn't cut the rope so cleanly," Lin Yan said. "And someone who didn't watch wouldn't know when to come."
Liu San said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Lin Yan spoke again.
"I'm not here to accuse."
Liu San scoffed. "Sounds like it."
"I'm here to warn," Lin Yan replied.
"About what?"
"That whoever does this again," Lin Yan said softly, "won't get a second conversation."
Liu San laughed, sharp and brittle. "Is that a threat?"
"No," Lin Yan said. "It's a boundary."
Their eyes met.
Liu San looked away first.
"Get off my doorstep," he muttered.
Lin Yan turned and left.
He did not look back.
The next morning, the village buzzed—not loudly, but with that particular hum that meant something had happened.
No one mentioned sheep.
But everyone knew.
Lin Yan fed the animals as usual.
He repaired the shed more visibly this time, hammer strikes ringing clearly in the air. He replaced the rope with iron chain—not strong enough to look expensive, but impossible to cut quietly.
That mattered.
By midday, Zhao Mingyuan arrived.
"I heard," he said simply.
"Yes," Lin Yan replied.
"You didn't report it."
"No."
Zhao Mingyuan studied the chain. "Why?"
"Because reporting creates sides," Lin Yan said. "I prefer lines."
The village head sighed.
"You're forcing my hand."
"No," Lin Yan said gently. "I'm showing you where it already is."
Zhao Mingyuan rubbed his temples.
"Do you know who did it?"
"I know who didn't," Lin Yan replied.
That was enough.
Zhao Mingyuan nodded slowly.
"I'll make an announcement," he said. "About livestock protection. General."
"Thank you," Lin Yan said.
That evening, Zhao Mingyuan stood at the well and spoke.
"Anyone harming another household's animals," he declared, "will answer to me."
No names.
No accusations.
But the message spread.
The retaliation did not come immediately.
It came sideways.
A fence collapsed overnight.
Not Lin Yan's.
Wang Hu's.
Sheep tracks were found nearby.
Wang Hu arrived furious.
"Your animals did this!" he shouted.
Lin Yan walked the fence calmly.
"These tracks are fresh," he said. "My sheep were tied all night."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Yes," Lin Yan replied. "Because if I wanted your fence down, I'd do it in daylight."
Wang Hu stared at him.
Then deflated.
"…You're right."
Lin Yan helped repair the fence.
Word spread.
Quietly.
The sabotage lost momentum.
That night, Lin Yan gathered his family.
"We're changing how we do things," he said.
Lin Shouzheng frowned. "More hiding?"
"No," Lin Yan replied. "More structure."
He laid it out plainly.
The sheep would no longer stay behind the house.
They would graze farther.
Sleep higher.
Out of reach.
Lin Erniu's eyes widened. "You mean the upper hills?"
"Yes."
"That's dangerous," his mother whispered.
"So is staying," Lin Yan replied.
The decision was made.
Two days later, Lin Yan moved the sheep before dawn.
He did not go alone.
Wang Hu came.
So did Old Sun.
No words were spoken.
They walked together up the slope, ropes loose, animals calm.
At the crest, Lin Yan stopped.
"This is far enough," he said.
The grass here was rougher.
Wilder.
Unclaimed.
They built a simple night pen from fallen branches and stone. Nothing permanent. Nothing taxable.
As they worked, Old Sun chuckled.
"Never thought I'd see the hills used like this again."
"Again?" Lin Yan asked.
Old Sun nodded. "My grandfather did this. Before records grew teeth."
That stayed with Lin Yan.
When they returned, the village watched.
Not with hostility.
With something closer to acceptance.
The sheep were no longer a secret.
They were no longer nearby.
They were elsewhere.
That mattered.
That night, the system panel updated.
[Operational Shift: Upland Grazing Established]
[Security Risk: Reduced]
[Community Perception: Stabilizing]
Lin Yan sat on the threshold of his house, tired to the bone.
Erniu sat beside him.
"You didn't fight," Erniu said. "But it feels like you won."
Lin Yan shook his head.
"No," he said. "I survived contact."
That was the difference.
Above them, the hills swallowed the sound of sheep bells.
Below them, the village slept.
And somewhere in between, a line had been drawn—not in dirt this time, but in understanding.