The road to the county seat was a ribbon of packed earth winding between frost-browned fields and skeletal trees. Lin Yan walked beside his father in the predawn gloom, their breaths pluming in the icy air. Ten copper coins felt like a fortune in Lin Tieshan's belt pouch, and a target on their backs.
They carried no food—could spare none—only a skin of water and the precious permit application, written carefully by Lin Wen on a scrap of salvaged paper. The characters were precise, beautiful even, a stark contrast to the rough hemp of their clothing.
"Stay close," Lin Tieshan said as the first rooftops of the county town appeared on the horizon. "And say little. Officials have ears for trouble and eyes for weakness."
Lin Yan nodded, taking in the sight. Dust Creek Village had prepared him for poverty, but not for scale. The county walls were mud-brick but stood twice a man's height, patched and crumbling in places but imposing nonetheless. The gates were open, guarded by two sleepy-looking soldiers in mismatched armor, their spears leaning against the wall as they warmed their hands over a small brazier.
One guard straightened as they approached. "Purpose?"
"Business at the magistrate's office," Lin Tieshan said, his voice respectful but not cowed.
The guard's eyes swept over them—patched clothes, worn shoes, the lean look of hunger. He snorted. "Tax payment's not due for another month."
"Grazing permit application," Lin Yan said before his father could respond.
That earned a longer look. "The wasteland west of Dust Creek?"
"Yes."
The guard exchanged a glance with his companion, who smirked. "Another fool and his father. That land eats dreams and shits stones." He waved them through. "The office is on the main street. Don't block the door if there's a queue."
They passed through the gate into another world.
The county town was a shock of sound and smell after the silence of the village. Cookfires sent up smoke from a hundred households. The scent of roasting meat—actual meat—made Lin Yan's stomach cramp violently. Shops lined the narrow street: a blacksmith's with glowing forge, a fabric merchant's with bolts of faded cloth, a grain store with sacks piled high.
People moved with purpose here. Merchants in thick wool coats. Scholars in clean robes, their hands tucked into opposite sleeves. Laborers hauling loads on their backs. And everywhere, the poor—but even the town poor looked different. Their clothes were ragged but varied; their faces held a cynical awareness rather than the blank endurance of villagers.
Lin Tieshan navigated without hesitation, his eyes fixed ahead. He'd been here before. Many times. To pay taxes. To beg for extensions. To bear witness to the relentless machinery of Imperial administration.
The magistrate's office was a single-story building with a tile roof—the only tiled roof on the street. A wooden sign hung above the door, the characters for "County Administration" carved deep and painted black, though the paint was flaking. A short queue of people stood outside, shuffling in the cold.
They took their place at the back. In front of them, a well-dressed merchant argued quietly with a clerk about a shipping manifest. Ahead of him, an old woman wept silently as she clutched a land deed.
The system nudged at the edge of Lin Yan's consciousness:
[LOCATION: QINGHE COUNTY SEAT]
[POPULATION: ~3,000]
[NOTABLE: DISTRICT MAGISTRATE WANG - REPUTATION FOR STRICT BUT NOT UNJUST ADMINISTRATION]
[ADVICE: BUREAUCRATIC PROCEDURES PRIORITIZE FORM OVER FUNCTION. PATIENCE REQUIRED.]
Patience. They had little else.
The line moved slowly. The sun climbed, doing little to warm the street. Lin Yan's legs ached from standing, his body still recovering. He watched the clerks through the open door—three men at high desks, their brushes flying across documents, their voices sharp with boredom and petty authority.
Finally, it was their turn.
The clerk who beckoned them was young, with a sallow complexion and ink-stained fingers. He didn't look up from his ledger. "Name and business."
"Lin Tieshan of Dust Creek Village. Application for a temporary grazing permit on five mu of western wasteland, stream-adjacent plot." Lin Tieshan placed the paper on the desk.
The clerk's brush paused. He looked up, his eyes sweeping over them with dismissive efficiency. "Wasteland? That's under the Land Development Office. Next window."
"The sign says Land and Agriculture," Lin Tieshan said quietly.
"And I'm telling you it's next window." The clerk pushed the paper back. "Don't waste my time."
They moved to the next window, where an older clerk with a watery gaze took the application, squinted at it, and sighed. "You need Form Seven-B. Temporary grazing, non-arable land. Two copper coins processing fee."
Lin Tieshan's jaw tightened. "The fee was not posted."
"It's posted on the wall behind me. Your eyes are your responsibility." The clerk gestured vaguely to a faded notice among dozens of others.
Another two coins. Lin Yan felt the loss like a physical blow. But his father counted them out without comment, placing them on the desk.
The clerk produced a form, stamped with an official seal. "Fill this. In duplicate. Black ink only. If you make an error, you buy another form."
Lin Wen's careful writing was their salvation. Lin Yan filled the form with precise characters, copying from the application. Name, village, plot location by landmarks, intended use, duration. He wrote "experimental grass cultivation for single bovine livestock" under intended use, which made the clerk snort.
"Grass cultivation. On that sour ground. Good luck."
When both copies were finished, the clerk examined them, nodded, and pulled a heavy ledger forward. He entered their names with slow, deliberate strokes. "Inspection required before final approval."
"Inspection?" Lin Tieshan asked.
"Magistrate's man must verify the land is truly wasteland and not concealed arable. Fee: three copper coins for the inspector's travel."
Another fee. Another extraction.
Lin Tieshan's hand trembled slightly as he counted out three more coins. Five gone already. Half the loan, vanished into bureaucracy.
"When will the inspector come?" Lin Yan asked.
"When he has time. Next week. Maybe two. You'll be notified." The clerk stamped both forms with a smaller seal—pending approval—and handed one copy back. "Keep this. Lose it, and the process starts over."
They were dismissed with a wave.
Back on the street, the remaining five coins felt dangerously light. Lin Tieshan stood for a moment, his eyes closed, mastering his anger. "Five coins. For paper and promises."
"We have the pending permit," Lin Yan said, though the words felt hollow. "That's something."
"It's a receipt for our desperation."
They began the walk back, the morning sun now high but offering no warmth. As they passed the market square, Lin Yan's eyes caught on something—a pen of animals at the far end, near the tannery. His steps slowed.
"Father. A moment."
He moved toward the pens before his father could object. They held mostly goats and sheep, a few scrawny pigs, and in one corner, two calves. One was strong-looking, already on its feet, nuzzling its mother in the next pen. The other lay in the dirt, its ribs stark against its dull coat, its eyes half-closed.
A farmer leaned against the fence, chewing a stalk of straw. "Looking to buy?"
"Just looking," Lin Yan said, his eyes on the sick calf.
The farmer followed his gaze. "That one's not long for this world. Born two weeks early, weak from the start. Dam won't even let it nurse properly anymore."
"How much?"
A snort. "You don't want that one. Even if it lives, it'll never be strong."
"How much?" Lin Yan repeated, quieter.
The farmer studied him, then shrugged. "Six coins. And I'm doing you a favor."
Six coins. They had five.
"We have four," Lin Tieshan said, appearing at his shoulder. His voice was flat. "And we need those for seed and emergencies."
"Father—"
"No." The word was final. "We don't have the land ready. We don't have the grass. We don't even have the full permit. Buying a dying calf now is throwing coins into a dry well."
He was right. Lin Yan knew he was right. But looking at the calf, seeing the faint rise and fall of its chest…
[LIVESTOCK ASSESSMENT: MALE CALF, ~2 WEEKS OLD, SEVERE PROTEIN DEFICIENCY, DEHYDRATION, LOW BODY TEMPERATURE]
[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY WITH STANDARD CARE: 8%]
[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY WITH TARGETED NUTRITION AND SHELTER: 35%]
[BREED: LOCAL YELLOW CATTLE - HARDY STOCK IF SURVIVES INFANCY]
Thirty-five percent. Better than nothing. But not enough to bet their last coins on.
"Come," his father said, turning away.
Lin Yan followed, but he glanced back once. The calf's eye met his—a dark, liquid gaze that held no hope, only endurance. Then it closed.
The walk home was silent, the weight of their spent coins heavier than any stones they would move. The countryside seemed bleaker now, the fields more barren, the sky more indifferent.
As they neared Dust Creek Village, a figure stepped onto the path ahead. Old Zhang, waiting.
"Back so soon?" the old farmer said, his eyes sharp.
"The permit is pending inspection," Lin Tieshan said. "Five coins in fees."
Old Zhang's mouth tightened, but he nodded. "The magistrate's hand is never light." He paused. "I heard something in the village. Sun Dahu is asking questions."
Lin Yan's attention sharpened. Sun Dahu—the village's wealthiest farmer, with ten acres of good land and a brick house. A man who enjoyed his status and disliked ambition in those beneath him.
"What kind of questions?" Lin Tieshan asked.
"About fools leasing wasteland. About air castles built on borrowed coins." Old Zhang spat to the side. "He's bored. Winter makes bored men dangerous."
"We're not bothering his land."
"You're bothering his sense of order. Poor men should stay poor. It's simpler that way." Old Zhang looked at Lin Yan. "My field. Tomorrow at dawn. Don't be late."
He walked away, leaving them with the warning hanging in the cold air.
At home, the family gathered to hear the report. Lin Tieshan laid out the remaining five coins on the table, then the stamped permit form. The story of fees and inspections was met with grim silence.
"Half the loan," Lin Lu said finally. "Gone."
"But we have the permit pending," Lin Hua said, her voice hesitant. "That's something, right?"
"It's permission to try," Mother Lin said. She picked up the stamped paper, tracing the seal with a rough finger. "In this world, that's more than most get."
That night, as Lin Yan lay on his thin mat, the image of the calf wouldn't leave him. The way it had looked at him. The thirty-five percent chance.
The system glimmered:
[PERMIT PROCESS INITIATED: ESTIMATED APPROVAL TIME - 10-14 DAYS]
[CAPITAL REMAINING: 5 COPPER COINS]
[RECOMMENDATION: PRIORITIZE LAND PREPARATION. LIVESTOCK ACQUISITION TIMELINE MAY BE EXTENDED.]
Extended. He had twenty-six days left on the original thirty-day objective. But the system was adapting to reality. It wasn't rigid. That was something.
Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through the cracks in the wall. Somewhere in the village, a dog barked once, then fell silent.
Lin Yan closed his eyes, but sleep was slow to come. He saw the clerk's dismissive face. The calf's ribs. Old Zhang's warning. Sun Dahu's invisible disapproval.
They had taken the first steps into a larger world, and that world had begun to press back.
But they had the permit. Pending, but real.
And tomorrow, they would move stones.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start that couldn't be taken away by fees or rumors.
[OBJECTIVE UPDATED: SECURE GRAZING PERMIT (PENDING) - COMPLETE]
[NEW OBJECTIVE: CLEAR STONES FROM ZHANG FAMILY NORTH FIELD (0/100%)]
[NOTE: VILLAGE POLITICS ACTIVATED. REPUTATION MANAGEMENT ADVISED.]
Lin Yan took a slow breath, letting the cool air clear his mind.
One stone at a time.
That's how mountains were moved.