The Royal Hunting Grounds was a city of silk and canvas. Thousands of tents blanketed the valley floor, arranged in concentric circles according to rank. In the center stood the Imperial Pavilion, a towering structure of red and gold that seemed to glow in the morning light. Banners snapped in the wind, each representing a different noble house, a different general, a different claim to power.
And then, there was the Westland.
Li Wei's convoy rolled into the designated area—a patch of grass on the edge of the noble sector, far from the center, but strategically close to the main fire pit.
"Circle up!" Li Wei shouted, his voice carrying over the noise of the camp. "Defensive formation! Form the corral!"
It wasn't just a parking job; it was a statement.
The chuckwagon and the supply carts rolled into a wide oval, their rear ends touching, creating a solid wall of wood and iron. Behind this wall, the Rangers began to set up the picket lines for the horses and the temporary pens for the cattle.
The nobles and their servants stopped to stare. They were used to regimented lines of white tents. They had never seen a camp built like a fortress of wagons.
"It looks like a... a bandit lair," a passing nobleman sneered to his wife. "Barbaric."
"It looks like they are ready for war," his wife whispered back, eyeing the grim-faced Rangers hammering stakes into the ground.
Li Wei ignored them. He swung down from his horse and stretched his back. They had made it.
**[System Alert: Camp Established.]**
**[Structure: The Wagon Fort.]**
**[Defense Bonus: +20% against thieves.]**
**[Morale Bonus: +10% for Rangers.]**
"Li An, get the water boiling," Li Wei ordered. "Gao, fire up the pit. I want smoke. I want smell. I want every noble in this valley to know we are cooking."
***
**POV: Chef Gao**
Gao was in his element. In the city, he had been a failure because he was too aggressive. Here, amidst the smoke and dust of the trail, he was a prophet.
He built a massive fire in the center of the wagon circle. He didn't use the delicate charcoal of the city kitchens; he used hickory and oak logs they had hauled from the mountain pass.
He laid out the iron grates. On them, he placed massive slabs of beef brisket—rubbed with salt, pepper, and the secret chili blend.
But today, he had a new weapon.
"The iron pot!" Gao barked at his helpers. They carried a heavy, cauldron-like pot and hung it over the fire on a tripod. Inside was the "Trail Stew"—beans, salt pork, and chunks of smoked beef, bubbling thick and brown.
And then, the coffee.
Gao poured the roasted grounds into a burlap sack and dropped it into a giant tin kettle of boiling water. The smell that rose up was dark, earthy, and incredibly potent. It was the smell of caffeine and wakefulness.
"Let them sneer," Gao muttered, watching the silk-clad servants wrinkle their noses. "They will be begging for a cup by noon."
Within an hour, a thick column of grey-white smoke rose from the Westland camp. It carried the scent of roasting fat, smoked wood, and spices that drifted over the polite, perfumed air of the Imperial camp.
***
**POV: General Zhao**
General Zhao sat in his campaign tent, a structure large enough to house twenty men. Maps of the hunting grounds were spread across a table.
He smelled the smoke before he saw it.
He stepped outside. The wind was blowing from the south. The smell hit him—rich, savory, and undeniably masculine. It smelled like meat. Real meat.
His stomach growled, an unwelcome betrayal. He had eaten a light breakfast of fish porridge, as befitting a man of his station, but the smell from the Westland camp made it feel like he had eaten nothing but air.
"The Scholar has arrived," his aide said, pointing to the circle of wagons.
Zhao grunted. "He made it through the pass. The boy has grit. I'll give him that."
"His camp is... unconventional, sir. The guards are saying it looks like a lair of bandits."
"It looks like a military encampment," Zhao corrected sharply. "Circular defense. Clear fields of fire. He's not just a scholar. Someone is teaching him."
Zhao strapped on his sword belt. "I will inspect his 'prize'. If his steer is as fat as he claims, I might just buy it from him and serve it to my men for a laugh."
He marched toward the Westland camp, flanked by four of his Iron Guard.
***
**POV: Su Qing**
Su Qing stood by the entrance of the wagon circle, dressed in her riding attire. She saw the General approaching. His stride was aggressive, his entourage imposing.
She touched Li Wei's arm. "He's here. Let me speak first."
Li Wei nodded, leaning against the chuckwagon with a mug of coffee in his hand. "Go ahead. I'll be the 'eccentric farmer'."
Su Qing stepped forward, blocking the path. She bowed with perfect precision—three degrees lower than for the Emperor, but exactly correct for a retired General of the second rank.
"General Zhao," she said, her voice cool and clear. "The Westland Ranch welcomes you."
Zhao stopped, looking her up and down. He was surprised to see the Magistrate's daughter dressed in trousers and a leather vest.
"Lady Su," Zhao said, his voice booming. "You have brought quite a spectacle. The Emperor values dignity. This... wagon fort... is an eyesore."
"It is practical, General," Su Qing replied. "We are here to supply the feast, not to attend the court. Our cattle need protection from the wolves of the forest."
"Wolves?" Zhao laughed. "There are ten thousand soldiers here. There are no wolves."
"Wolves come in many forms, General," Su Qing said, her gaze unwavering. "Some wear armor. Some wear silk."
Zhao's eyes narrowed, but he chuckled. "Sharp tongue. Just like your father. I am here to see the steer. The one you claim is worth two thousand taels."
Li Wei pushed off the wagon and walked over. "This way, General. Try not to step in the manure. It's high-quality fertilizer."
Zhao scowled but followed.
They led him to the inner pen. There, separated from the main herd, stood Atlas.
The massive black steer looked up. He was chewing a mouthful of fresh grass. The morning sun glinted off his coat, highlighting the deep marbling of fat that rippled under his skin. He was a mountain of beef.
Zhao stopped. He stared.
He had seen many oxen. He had seen war horses. But he had never seen a steer this perfect. It wasn't just big; it was *dense*. It looked like it was carved from stone.
"By the Ancestors..." Zhao whispered. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch the animal's flank.
Atlas snorted, a puff of steam, and turned his massive head to look at the General. He didn't shy away. He simply stared back with calm, bored eyes.
"Touch him," Li Wei said. "Feel the fat cover."
Zhao ran his hand over the steer's ribs. He expected to feel bone. Instead, he felt a thick, spongy layer of fat covered by muscle. It was like touching a wall padded with silk.
"This is... unnatural," Zhao murmured. "What do you feed him?"
"Grass. Water. And a lot of care," Li Wei said. "This is the future of meat, General. Not the stringy old oxen you're used to. This is the 'Imperial Black'."
Zhao pulled his hand back. He looked at Li Wei with a mix of respect and intense jealousy.
"A fine beast," Zhao admitted grudgingly. "It is a pity it will never be tasted."
"Why is that?" Su Qing asked.
"Because," Zhao smiled, a cruel glint returning to his eyes. "The Minister of Rites has just arrived. And he is a strict traditionalist. He has already announced that the opening banquet will feature the traditional roasted whole lamb and swan. Beef is considered... unclean. You may have the steer, Scholar, but you have no invitation to serve it. You cannot enter the Imperial Pavilion without a sponsor."
He turned to leave.
"I will enjoy watching you try to sell this 'monster' to the common soldiers outside the gates. Good luck, Rancher."
Zhao walked away, laughing.
***
**POV: Li Wei**
Li Wei watched the General go. He took a sip of his coffee.
"He's right," Li An said, panicking. "We didn't get an invitation! We can't get into the banquet!"
"We don't need an invitation," Li Wei said calmly. "We need an alternative."
He looked at Su Qing. "Is the 'Tasting Pavilion' open to the public?"
Su Qing nodded. "Yes. It's a market area outside the main tent where regional specialties are displayed. But the Emperor never goes there. Only the lesser nobles and merchants."
"The Emperor doesn't go there," Li Wei agreed. "But the Crown Prince does. And the generals. And the ministers."
He turned to Gao. "Gao! Pack the smoker. We aren't setting up a stall."
"Then what are we doing, Boss?" Gao asked.
"We're going to set up a *restaurant*," Li Wei said. "Right outside the Imperial Pavilion gate. We're going to serve the smell. And we're going to charge them for the privilege of tasting it."
He looked at Su Qing. "I need you to handle the Minister of Rites. Or rather, handle his aide."
"Me?" Su Qing asked.
"You have the silver. Go bribe the head chef of the Imperial Kitchen. Not to let us in. Just to let us use their prep area for 'waste disposal'. Tell him we'll take the scraps."
"Scraps?" Li An looked confused.
Li Wei grinned. "It's a Trojan Horse. We get our 'scraps'—which are actually our best cuts—inside the perimeter. And then... we let the aroma do the work."
He clapped his hands. "Move! The feast starts at dusk. We have four hours to start a revolution."
**[System Alert: New Quest - The Trojan Steer.]**
**[Objective: Get the Beef inside the Imperial Pavilion perimeter.]**
**[Reward: Imperial Reputation +500.]**
Li Wei mounted his horse. He wasn't going to let a silk tent stop him. He was going to bring the West to the Emperor, one way or another.