Pressure did not always arrive as force.
Sometimes it came as encouragement.
Lin Yan learned this the week after Xu Wen's visit, when people began agreeing with him a little too easily.
It started small.
A man he barely knew stopped him on the village path and said, "You're right to raise better animals. Everyone sees it."
Another nodded vigorously. "If only more people did things properly like you."
Compliments stacked like stones.
Not heavy enough to crush.
But heavy enough to slow.
Lin Yan listened.
He smiled.
He did not respond.
The first real push came from Old Sun.
The old man climbed the hill one afternoon with a basket of dried beans and an uneasy expression. Stone watched him approach but did not stand. Ash lifted his head, judged, and lay back down.
Old Sun took that as permission.
"You're doing well," he said, setting the basket down. "Better than any of us thought."
Lin Yan accepted the basket. "Thank you."
Old Sun shifted. "You know… people trust you."
"Yes," Lin Yan said.
"They'd like to bring more animals," Old Sun continued carefully. "You have space."
"I have limits," Lin Yan replied.
"But if you don't take them," Old Sun pressed, "someone else will. And they won't be as careful."
Lin Yan looked at him.
"That's not my responsibility," he said gently.
Old Sun sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."
Lin Yan waited.
"They say you're holding back," Old Sun added. "Keeping advantage to yourself."
Lin Yan smiled faintly.
"That means I'm doing something right," he said.
Old Sun stared at him, then laughed weakly. "You're a hard man to persuade."
"I'm not," Lin Yan replied. "I'm just slow."
The merchants tried next.
Not Xu Wen.
Someone cheaper.
A man named Zhang Qu, whose robe was brighter than his smile and whose cart creaked from poor maintenance. He arrived alone, without dogs or guards, confidence wrapped in bravado.
"I hear you refused futures," Zhang Qu said, climbing down. "That was unwise."
Lin Yan gestured toward the pens. "You're free to leave."
Zhang Qu laughed. "You misunderstand. I'm here to help."
Lin Yan raised an eyebrow.
"I can offer higher prices," Zhang Qu continued. "But you must sell exclusively."
"And then?" Lin Yan asked.
"And then you grow faster," Zhang Qu said. "You deserve it."
Lin Yan shook his head. "You're late."
Zhang Qu frowned. "Late?"
"You're offering speed after I learned stability," Lin Yan replied. "That's a bad trade."
Zhang Qu scoffed. "Stability doesn't feed mouths."
"It does," Lin Yan said. "Just not greed."
The smile vanished.
"You'll regret being difficult," Zhang Qu said.
"Everyone says that," Lin Yan replied calmly. "Few mean it."
Zhang Qu left angry.
Stone barked once.
Ash didn't bother standing.
The price pressure came quietly after that.
Xu Wen returned—this time with a ledger and a frown.
"Market's soft," he said. "Wool prices down."
Lin Yan nodded. "Seasonal."
"Yes," Xu Wen agreed. "But yours… might be harder to move."
"Why?" Lin Yan asked.
Xu Wen hesitated. "Quality's good. But quantity's small. Transport costs eat margin."
Lin Yan smiled faintly. "You're telling me I should sell cheaper."
Xu Wen sighed. "I'm telling you others will."
"Then buy from them," Lin Yan replied.
Xu Wen studied him. "You won't budge."
"No."
Xu Wen closed his ledger.
"You're standing still," he said.
"No," Lin Yan replied. "I'm standing firm."
Xu Wen laughed softly. "That's expensive."
"Yes," Lin Yan agreed. "That's why I can afford it."
Xu Wen left without buying.
That stung.
But Lin Yan did not chase.
The village reacted immediately.
"Did he really turn them away?"
"Isn't money tight?"
"Maybe he thinks he's above us now."
Whispers followed him.
Not hostile.
Curious.
Dangerous in their own way.
Lin Yan heard none of it directly.
But Lin Erniu did.
"They say you're too proud," his brother said that night.
Lin Yan nodded. "Pride looks like patience to people in a hurry."
"And what if they stop trusting you?" Lin Erniu asked.
"They won't," Lin Yan replied. "They'll get angry first."
"Isn't that worse?"
"No," Lin Yan said. "Anger passes. Dependence lasts."
The system panel flickered later that night.
[Market Pressure Detected]
[Short-Term Income: Reduced]
[Long-Term Stability: Increased]
Lin Yan closed it without comment.
He already felt both.
The lambs grew.
Slowly.
Evenly.
One morning, Chen Kui stopped beside Lin Yan and said, "These won't sell cheap."
"No," Lin Yan agreed.
"They'll push harder."
"Yes."
Chen Kui smiled grimly. "Good."
Lin Yan glanced at him. "You enjoy this."
Chen Kui shrugged. "I enjoy watching people misjudge."
The breaking point came from an unexpected direction.
The village head summoned Lin Yan to his courtyard.
"You're causing friction," the man said bluntly.
"Yes," Lin Yan replied.
"With merchants."
"Yes."
"With villagers."
"Yes."
The village head rubbed his temples. "You could smooth things."
"I could," Lin Yan agreed.
"Why don't you?"
"Because smoothing means yielding," Lin Yan replied. "And yielding here means losing control."
Silence.
"You've changed," the village head said.
"No," Lin Yan replied. "I've become visible."
The village head stared at him for a long moment, then laughed tiredly.
"You're right," he said. "That's worse."
Lin Yan smiled faintly.
That night, Lin Yan made a small adjustment.
Not expansion.
Not concession.
Diversification.
He selected three lambs—strong, even-tempered—and separated them completely.
Different feed.
Different grazing.
Different handling.
Chen Kui noticed immediately.
"You're creating a line," he said.
"Yes," Lin Yan replied.
"For what?"
"For leverage."
Chen Kui nodded slowly. "Merchants like labels."
"And officials like consistency," Lin Yan added.
"And villagers?" Chen Kui asked.
Lin Yan smiled. "They like results."
The next morning, Lin Yan walked the hill alone.
The wind was clean.
The sheep moved as one.
Ash trotted ahead, tail relaxed.
Stone lingered behind, listening.
Lin Yan stopped at the ridge and looked down at the village.
He understood now.
Standing still was not refusal.
It was declaration.
He would not be pulled forward by hunger.
He would not be pushed sideways by fear.
He would move when the ground was ready.
And when he did, the price would no longer be negotiable.
He turned back toward the pens.
Slowly.
Firmly.