The livestock market was quieter in the late afternoon. The serious buyers had come and gone, leaving only the dregs—the sick, the old, and the unmanageable.
Li Wei walked past the pens, his boots kicking up dust. He wasn't looking at the animals with the eye of a farmer seeking a plow mate. He was looking with the eye of a butcher seeking a specific texture.
"Brother," Li An whispered, tugging at Li Wei's sleeve. "People are staring. They say you're the 'Mad Scholar' who bought the demon bull. Why are we back here?"
"Because the best secrets are hidden in the trash," Li Wei replied.
He stopped in front of a pen containing a single, massive steer. It was a local breed, likely a mix of yellow cattle and some unknown draft breed. It was huge, its frame like a wagon, but it was ugly. Its ribs showed slightly, its coat was dull and patchy, and it had a temperament that made the butcher's assistant wary.
"Hey! Back away!" the assistant shouted, poking the steer with a prod. The steer bellowed and kicked a splinter out of the wooden fence. "This beast is for the glue maker. He's too mean to work and too tough to eat."
Li Wei ignored the assistant. He looked at the steer's hindquarters. Despite the poor condition, the bone structure was wide. The loin area was deep. *Potential,* Li Wei thought. *If you feed the engine right, the chassis will shine.*
"How much?" Li Wei asked.
The assistant laughed. "You want him? Three taels. But you have to haul him. He won't walk for anyone."
"Li An," Li Wei said, not looking back. "Open the gate."
"Brother, are you insane? That thing will—"
"Open the gate."
Li An swallowed hard and slid the wooden latch. The steer, sensing freedom, lowered its head and snorted, pawing the ground. It prepared to charge.
Li Wei didn't back up. He stepped forward, into the animal's space. He didn't raise his voice or a stick. He simply stared the steer down, using the presence he had cultivated over a lifetime of boardroom negotiations and, more recently, taming Blackjack.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of the dried Napier grass stalks he had brought with him. The scent was sweet and potent.
The steer froze. Its nostrils flared. It smelled the high-protein sweetness it had been craving its whole life.
"Follow the food," Li Wei said, his voice a low rumble. He took a step back, holding the grass like a lure.
The steer hesitated, its aggression melting into hunger. It took one step, then another, following Li Wei out of the pen.
The assistant stared, his mouth open. "I'll be damned."
"Here is your three taels," Li Wei said, tossing the pouch to the man. "We're taking him home."
***
**POV: Blacksmith Wang**
Wang's forge was located at the edge of the artisans' district, a place of heat, noise, and the smell of sulfur. He was hammering a horseshoe when the shadow fell across his anvil.
"Good iron costs money," Wang grunted without looking up. "Cheap iron breaks legs."
"I'm not here to buy," Li Wei said. He placed a heavy, jagged rock on the workbench. The rock was grey but streaked with a dark, heavy band of metallic ore.
Wang stopped hammering. He picked up the rock. It was heavier than it looked. He pulled his goggles down and examined the streak.
"Where did you find this?" Wang asked, his voice losing its casual dismissal.
"The North Ridge of the Westland," Li Wei said. "Can you work it?"
Wang snorted. "This? This is raw ore. I don't have a smelter here. I buy pig iron bars from the iron masters in the mountains. To turn this rock into a tool... you need a bloomery, charcoal, and a lot of labor. It's not worth it for a few rocks."
"What if I had a lot of rocks?" Li Wei asked.
Wang looked at the scholar. "The Westland is barren rock. If you found a vein... it would be deep. Hard to dig."
"I don't have time to dig right now," Li Wei admitted. "But I need something made. And I need it made of the best steel you have."
He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. On it was a drawing of a blade. It wasn't a sword. It was wide, rectangular, and heavy. A butcher's cleaver, but with a specific curve to the blade and a granton edge—fluted indentations to prevent meat from sticking.
"What is this?" Wang asked, frowning. "A weapon?"
"A tool," Li Wei said. "It needs to be sharp enough to slice hair, but heavy enough to chop through bone. And it needs to be polished to a mirror shine. Can you do it?"
Wang looked at the drawing. It was a strange design, but the mechanics were sound.
"Five taels. And you tell me if that vein on the North Ridge is real."
"Three taels," Li Wei countered. "And I'll give you the first right to survey the land when I'm ready to dig."
Wang studied the scholar's eyes. He saw the same steel he was looking for.
"Done. Come back in three days."
***
**POV: Su Qing**
The Su household was in an uproar.
Su Qing stood in the center of the main courtyard. In front of her stood a heavy wooden cart, delivered by a merchant from the southern coast. It was covered in salt—vast, heavy bags of sea salt.
"Madam, this is reckless!" the Head Steward cried, wringing his hands. "Salt is a government monopoly! Buying this much... the tax collectors will think we are hoarding to resell! It's illegal!"
"It is only illegal to resell without a license," Su Qing said, her voice calm as she signed the delivery slip. "We are not reselling. We are using it."
"Using it? For what? To pickle the entire city's cabbage?"
Su Qing turned to him. "We are preserving meat. My husband is preparing for a harvest. And meat requires salt. A lot of it."
She looked at the cart. Buying this much salt had depleted the last of her personal jewelry fund. It was a gamble. But Li Wei had sent a message earlier that day: *Prepare for the processing. The first steer is in the chute.*
She didn't fully understand the science, but she understood the logistics. If they were going to sell beef, they needed a way to keep it from rotting before it reached the customer's table.
"Take it to the secondary kitchen," Su Qing ordered. "And clean the tables. I want everything scrubbed with lye soap. If a single speck of dirt touches the meat, I will hold you personally responsible."
She walked back toward the house, her heart pounding.
*Meat,* she thought. *You better be worth all this trouble, Li Wei.*
***
**POV: Li Wei**
The steer, whom Li Wei had affectionately named "Brisket," stood in a small, isolated pen near the cabin. For the past three days, Brisket had been living the dream.
He wasn't eating the dry stalks the other cows rejected. He was eating the cream of the crop—the tender, young shoots of the Napier grass, mixed with a mash of boiled barley and bran that Li Wei had bought from the brewery.
"High energy diet," Li Wei explained to Old Zhang, who was leaning on the fence, watching the steer eat. "We're finishing him. We want the fat to infiltrate the muscle. Marbling."
"Marbling?" Zhang asked, chewing on a stalk of grass. "Like a statue?"
"Like art," Li Wei corrected. "When you cut the meat, the fat should look like white veins running through a red stone. That's where the flavor lives. If you just have a lump of fat on the edge, it's greasy. But inside... it's butter."
The steer looked different already. The dullness in his coat was gone, replaced by a sheen. His eyes were bright. He had stopped trying to kill them and now looked at Li Wei with the devotion of a pet dog.
"He's ready," Li Wei said.
The mood shifted. The fun of feeding was over. The reality of the ranch set in.
Li Wei walked to the shed and retrieved the item wrapped in oilcloth. The cleaver from Blacksmith Wang. It gleamed in the sunlight, perfectly balanced.
"Li An," Li Wei called out. "Bring the block."
They had fashioned a chopping block from a massive section of hardwood log, sanded smooth and washed with salt water.
"We do this quickly," Li Wei said to Zhang. "No suffering. It ruins the meat. Stress makes the muscles tense and the meat tough."
Zhang nodded, his face solemn. "I know. In the army, we learned that. The quiet deaths are the ones that feed you best."
Li Wei opened the pen gate. Brisket didn't run. He walked out, expecting another handful of treats. Li Wei led him to the wooden chute they had built—a narrow passage that held the animal still.
Li Wei placed a bucket of fresh mash in front of the steer's nose. Brisket dipped his head to eat.
"Good boy," Li Wei whispered.
He pulled a heavy cloth hood from his belt. He reached over and slipped it over the steer's eyes. Brisket flinched, but Li Wei stroked his neck, calming him. "Easy. Easy."
The steer returned to eating, blind and content.
Li Wei looked at Old Zhang. "Hold the head steady."
Zhang stepped forward, gripping the horns with his strong hands.
Li Wei took a deep breath. He wasn't a killer by nature. But he was a rancher. This was the cycle. He raised the cleaver.
"Thank you for the sacrifice," Li Wei murmured, a prayer from his past life to the animal. "We will not waste you."
*Thud.*
The blow was precise. Heavy. Instant. The steer slumped, feeling nothing.
"Quick work," Zhang said, wiping his forehead. "Cleanest kill I've seen."
"Now the real work begins," Li Wei said, rolling up his sleeves. "We have to dress the carcass. And I need to show you how to cut a steak."
***
**POV: The Night Shift**
Hours later, the Westland cabin was a factory of activity.
The carcass hung from a wooden beam, skinned and cleaned. It was a beautiful sight to Li Wei—the deep red of the muscle, the layer of white fat.
"Look here," Li Wei said, holding a lantern close to the hindquarter. He pointed with the tip of the cleaver. "See that? The white lines inside the red?"
Li An leaned in, his nose wrinkling at the smell of blood. "It looks... speckled."
"That's marbling," Li Wei said. "The system works. The feed worked. This is going to be tender."
He made a cut. A thick slab of red meat fell onto the table. It wasn't like the tough, stringy beef sold in the cheap stalls. It looked expensive.
"Now," Li Wei said, grabbing a bucket of coarse salt. "We rub it down. We let it age in the cool cellar for two days. Then, we smoke it."
"Smoke it?" Li An asked.
"Cold smoke," Li Wei clarified. "It adds flavor and preserves the surface. Then, we take it to the city."
Li Wei looked at his small team—his brother, a cripple, and himself. They were covered in blood and grease, tired and smelling of iron.
"To the city?" Zhang asked, cleaning his knife. "Who will buy it?"
Li Wei smiled, picking up a piece of fat trim and tossing it into the fire. It sizzled and popped, filling the air with a savory aroma.
"We don't sell it to just anyone," Li Wei said. "We sell it to the ones who think they are too good for it. We sell it as a luxury. We sell it as 'Imperial Red Beef'."
He looked at the hanging meat.
"And tomorrow," Li Wei added, "we introduce the pork butchers to their worst nightmare. The Steak."
**[System Alert: First Processing Complete.]**
**[Product: Aged Westland Beef (Grade: High Select).]**
**[Quest Update: Sell 50 lbs of Beef.]**
**[Reward:Smokehouse Blueprint.]**
Li Wei grinned. "Let's get rich."