The days in the Westland fell into a rhythm that was entirely new to this ancient land. It wasn't the slow, seasonal pulse of rice farming, nor the rigid, gong-driven schedule of the city officials. It was a faster, rowdier beat—the beat of the ranch.
Li Wei stood on the porch of the cabin, squinting against the rising sun. He held a blueprint in his hands that looked out of place in a world of ink brushes and silk scrolls. It was a detailed schematic for a Western-style windmill, designed to pump water from the deep aquifer into a trough system.
**[System Blueprint: Aermotor Windmill.]**
**[Cost: 50 Taels (Material fabrication and delivery via System Space).]**
**[Construction Requirement: Basic Carpentry (Level 2).]**
"Expensive," Li Wei muttered. The system shop charged a premium for technology that was centuries ahead of its time. He didn't have fifty taels. He barely had enough to pay for the grain for the workers he hoped to hire.
"Boss!"
Li Wei looked up. Old Zhang was riding a horse—one of the two sturdy ponies they had rented. The old soldier wasn't sitting sidesaddle like a proper gentleman of the dynasty; he had his legs wrapped firmly around the beast's barrel, his posture straight and commanding.
"Your brother falls off too much," Zhang shouted as he trotted closer. "He has no seat. He rides like a sack of grain."
Li An, who was trailing behind on the second horse, looked miserable. He was clutching the mane for dear life. "Brother! This beast is trying to kill me! Can't I just walk?"
"Walking is for sheepherders," Li Wei called back, rolling up the blueprint. "If you want to manage a thousand head of cattle, you need to ride. Now, straighten your back! Heels down!"
Li Wei walked over to the fenced pasture. Inside, the twenty cows were already stripping the Napier grass down to the stems. They moved with a new energy, their coats beginning to shine. In the corner, Blackjack stood like a statue, watching over his harem with a possessive eye.
But the fences... the fences were straining.
"Zhang," Li Wei said, watching a cow lean heavily against the wooden posts. "We need better wood. And we need it fast. If they break out and eat the neighbor's crops, the Magistrate will have my head, father-in-law or not."
"The lumber yard in the city is expensive," Zhang said, dismounting and patting his horse's neck. "But there is a sawmill three valleys over. It's run by an old hermit. He sells rough logs cheap, but we have to haul them ourselves."
"Do it," Li Wei said. "Take Li An. It'll be good for him to learn how to haul freight. And stop by the tailor's shop."
"Tailor?" Zhang frowned. "We have clothes."
"We have scholar robes and rags," Li Wei corrected. "I sent measurements yesterday. I ordered something special. Pick them up."
***
**POV: The City Tailor**
Old Zhang stood inside the cramped tailor shop, holding up the item Li Wei had ordered. He turned it over in his calloused hands, confusion etching deep lines into his face.
It was a hat. But not a hat like any he had seen before. It wasn't a soft cap, nor a conical straw hat used by farmers to keep off the rain. It was made of stiff, felted leather, with a wide brim all the way around and a high, creased crown.
"What is this?" Zhang asked the tailor, a small man with spectacles.
"I... I don't know," the tailor admitted, looking terrified. "The Young Master brought me a drawing. He called it a 'Cowboy Hat'. He said it shades the eyes from the sun and the neck from the rain, and doesn't fall off when the wind blows. It was very hard to shape the leather like this."
Zhang put it on. It sat low on his brow, casting a shadow over his eyes. He walked to the mirror.
For a moment, the cripple didn't see a broken soldier. He saw a figure of authority. The wide brim made his shoulders look broader. The shadow hid the scars on his face.
He tilted the brim down slightly. *Not bad.*
Beside him, Li An was trying on a smaller version. "I look like a bandit!" the boy exclaimed, grinning.
"You look like a ranch hand," Zhang corrected, though a small smirk played on his lips. He turned to the tailor. "And the boots?"
The tailor pulled out a pair of heavy leather boots. They didn't have the curled-up toes typical of the dynasty. They were straight, sturdy, with a distinct heel.
"The heel," the tailor explained, pointing. "The Young Master was very specific. He said it keeps the foot from slipping through the stirrup. And the pointed toe makes it easier to insert the foot."
Zhang sat down and pulled the boot on. It was tight, hugging his ankle. He stood up and stomped his foot. The sound was solid. Thud.
*Thud.*
He walked outside. The sound of the boot heel on the cobblestones was sharp and rhythmic. *Clack. Clack. Clack.*
People turned to stare. The boots made a sound that demanded attention. It wasn't the soft shuffle of cloth shoes. It was the sound of business being done.
"I like these," Zhang murmured. He felt grounded. Stable. "Li An, pay the man. Let's get the wood."
As they loaded the cart with rough-hewn logs, a group of city guards passed by. They glanced at the strange hats and the heavy boots.
"Hey, cripple!" one guard jeered. "Are you going to a play? You look like a barbarian."
Old Zhang didn't shout back. He just tilted his head, the wide brim of the leather hat shading his eyes. He rested his hand casually on the hilt of his sword.
"Keep walking," Zhang said, his voice low.
The guard hesitated. There was something dangerous about the silhouette in the wide hat. Something that looked ready for a fight. The guards moved on.
Zhang climbed onto the wagon seat. "Hyah!"
***
**POV: Su Qing**
The administrative office of the Su household was a quiet place, but today, Su Qing was pacing.
On her desk lay a report from the Steward of the West District. It was a complaint.
*To Magistrate Su:*
*Your son-in-law's activities are causing a disturbance. The smoke from his fires is visible from the main road. His cattle are lowing loudly, disturbing the peace of the meditation temple nearby. Furthermore, he has been seen wearing strange attire that mocks the dignity of a scholar. I request he be reprimanded.*
Su Qing tapped the paper with her finger. The meditation temple was two miles away. How could cows disturb them?
"Xiao Tao," she called to her maid.
"Yes, My Lady?"
"Prepare the carriage. I want to see these... disturbances for myself."
An hour later, Su Qing stood on the edge of the Westland ridge. She had expected chaos. She had expected a mess.
Instead, she saw a transformation.
The central area was now completely fenced in with sturdy, rough logs—a style of fencing she hadn't seen before, vertical posts with horizontal rails, stretching across the landscape like the ribs of some great beast.
And there, in the center, was Li Wei.
He wasn't wearing his scholar robes. He was wearing loose-fitting trousers made of thick denim-like fabric, tucked into the strange leather boots the tailor had described. And on his head was the hat.
He looked... rugged.
He was standing by a pile of rocks, directing a group of hired laborers. They were building something tall—a tower with a fan of blades at the top.
The wind caught the blades, and they began to spin.
*Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.*
It was a rhythmic, soothing sound. Then, a miracle happened. Water began to gurgle up a pipe and pour into a wooden trough.
The cattle rushed to the trough, drinking greedily.
"He built a water tower," Su Qing whispered. "He didn't dig a new well. He built a machine to pull the water up."
She watched him wipe his brow with a bandana around his neck. He laughed at something a worker said, his head tilting back. The sound carried on the wind. It was a full, hearty laugh.
Just then, a rider approached from the direction of the city. It was Old Zhang, returning with the wagon of logs. He pulled the wagon to a stop, the horses stamping their hooves.
Li Wei walked over to inspect the wood. He nodded, then pulled something from his belt. It was a coil of rope.
He swung it overhead.
*Swish, swish, swish.*
With a flick of his wrist, the rope sailed out and settled perfectly around a post on the wagon. He pulled it taut, securing the load without even climbing up.
Su Qing felt a flush rise to her cheeks. It wasn't the elegance of the court, nor the refined skill of calligraphy. It was a display of raw, practical competence. It was undeniably... attractive.
"He looks like a different person," she murmured.
"My Lady?" the coachman asked.
"Nothing," she said, turning back to the carriage. "Tell the Steward of the West District that if he sends another complaint about cows, I will personally assess his temple for tax fraud. The ranch is... within his rights."
She climbed into the carriage, a small smile playing on her lips. She couldn't wait to tell her father. Li Wei wasn't just gardening. He was engineering.
***
**POV: Li Wei**
The sun was setting as Li Wei sat on the porch of the cabin, a guitar resting on his knee.
It was an instrument he had commissioned from the best luthier in the city, paying a small fortune. It was based on his vague memories and sketches—a precursor to the acoustic guitar. The body was pear-shaped, made of polished maple, with a sound hole in the center.
He tuned the strings, the notes plinking softly in the twilight.
"What is that?" Li An asked, sitting on a stump nearby, nursing a bruised hip from his riding lesson. "A lute?"
"It's a guitar," Li Wei said. "It doesn't sing like a lute. It sings like the wind."
He strummed a chord. It was a G-major, deep and resonant. He began to pick a simple melody, a tune he remembered from an old country song from his past life.
He didn't sing the English words. He hummed, a low, mournful melody that spoke of open roads, lost loves, and the long road home.
Old Zhang came out of the bunkhouse, holding a cup of tea. He leaned against the railing, listening. The rough, hard edges of the old soldier seemed to soften.
The cows in the pasture had settled down for the night. The windmill creaked rhythmically in the background.
*Home, home on the range...* Li Wei thought, translating the melody into his hum.
"It sounds lonely," Zhang commented quietly.
"It sounds free," Li Wei corrected, letting the last note fade into the darkness. "That's the sound of the West, Zhang. No walls. No ceilings. Just the sky."
He set the guitar down. "Tomorrow, we start branding."
"Branding?" Li An asked. "Like... with a hot iron?"
"Exactly," Li Wei said. "We need to mark them. So everyone knows who they belong to. We'll use the 'W' brand. For Westland."
He looked at his little brother and his foreman. The fire pit was ready for the irons. The herd was growing. The water was flowing.
"Get some sleep, boys," Li Wei said, standing up and stretching. "Tomorrow, we make history."
He walked to the edge of the porch and looked up at the stars. They were brighter here than in the city.
"Thank you," he whispered to the universe, or perhaps the System. "For the second chance."
He tipped the brim of his hat down over his eyes and leaned back, breathing in the scent of dust, grass, and freedom. He wasn't a middle manager anymore. He was Li Wei, the Rancher. And this was only chapter six.