The harsh spring winds had given way to the humid embrace of early summer.
The Westland was no longer a patch of brown scrub; it was an island of green in a sea of wild foothills. The ryegrass had spread, aided by the system's subtle guidance and the natural fertilizer of the herd. The test plot was now a memory, replaced by sixty mu of managed pasture, divided into rotating sections to prevent overgrazing.
But Li Shun had a problem. A problem that hurt with every step.
He sat on the porch of the log cabin, wincing as he pulled off his boot. His foot was raw, the skin blistered and red.
"Those cloth shoes aren't made for stirrups," Han Qiang observed, sharpening a knife nearby. "And the sandals slip. You need something solid."
"I know," Li Shun grimaced. "I've been avoiding it, but we need to process the leather properly."
He looked at the stack of hides curing in the shed—treated with salt and brains, scraped clean of flesh. They had accumulated several from the steer slaughter and a wild boar Han Qiang had killed. They were stiff, raw, and waiting.
In his past life, Li Shun had watched documentaries on traditional cowboy gear. He knew the theory. A cowboy's boots weren't for walking; they were for riding. They needed a high heel to catch the stirrup, a pointed toe to slide in easily, and tough leather to protect against thorns and snake bites.
"Uncle Zhang," Li Shun called out. "Bring the tanning tools. We're making boots today."
---
Tanning leather in the ancient world was a smelly, laborious process, but Li Shun had a cheat code.
He used the system's analysis to guide the tanning solution—a mix of oak bark, water, and, controversially, a splash of the rich slurry from the bottom of the manure pile (which the system identified as a source of specific enzymes that broke down the hide fibers).
**[ITEM CREATED: TANNED LEATHER (GRADE B)]**
**[DURABILITY: HIGH]**
**[FLEXIBILITY: MODERATE]**
Li Shun cut the leather with a sharp blade. He didn't follow the soft, embroidered styles of the dynasty. He cut a pattern that was purely functional: a high top that would cover the shin, a sturdy sole, and a distinctive, angled heel.
He stitched them tightly using waxed thread.
"Try them," Li Shun said, handing the first pair to Han Qiang.
The soldier pulled them on. They were stiff at first, but the high heel locked his foot into the stirrup position perfectly. He walked around the porch, his heels clicking on the wood.
"They feel... anchored," Han Qiang said, nodding. "My foot doesn't slide forward. Good for sword work, too. The ankle support is solid."
Li Shun made his own pair next—dark brown leather, simple stitching. When he pulled them on and stood up, he felt a psychological shift.
He didn't feel like a scholar. He didn't feel like a clerk. He felt like a rancher.
Next was the hat.
The summer sun was brutal. The wide-brimmed straw hats of the farmers were flimsy and fell off in a gallop. Li Shun needed felt.
He didn't have beaver fur, but he did have wool from the sheep they had bought. Using the system's knowledge of felting—a process of matting fibers together using heat, moisture, and pressure—he spent an entire day steaming and hammering the wool over a wooden block.
He shaped it wide and flat, with a crease down the center of the crown (a "Montana peak") to keep it rigid. He punched holes on the sides and threaded a simple leather string for a chin strap.
When he placed the hat on his head and pulled the brim low over his eyes, the transformation was complete.
He stood before the group wearing a checked shirt (roughly woven), canvas trousers reinforced at the knees, the high leather boots, and the wool hat.
Li Ming stared at him. "Brother... you look like a barbarian from the western tribes."
Li Shun tipped his hat back and grinned. "I look like someone who works for a living. This is the uniform of the Westland."
He turned to the corral. "Saddle up. It's time to check the fences."
---
Riding the perimeter had become a daily ritual.
The ranch now stretched over a hundred mu, but the land was rugged. They had fenced off the primary pastures using split rails—a technique Han Qiang had mastered—but the outer boundaries were still marked by blazed trees and rock piles.
They rode in silence for a while, the rhythmic thud of the horses' hooves the only sound. Li Shun kept his eyes on the grass, the soil, the water runoff.
*The southern slope is getting dry,* he noted mentally. *We need to expand the irrigation channel.*
They reached the northern ridge, a line of craggy hills that marked the border of the property. Han Qiang pulled his horse to a stop, pointing down.
"Tracks," he said.
Li Shun leaned forward in his saddle. In the mud near the stream, there were footprints. Human. And small.
"Woodcutters?"
Han Qiang shook his head. "No axe marks on the trees. And look at the gait. They were running. Toes digging in deep."
Li Shun frowned. "Bandits?"
"Maybe. Or squatters. The war in the north displaced many people. Refugees sometimes filter down into these hills."
Li Shun's mind raced. He had a herd now. He had assets. The thought of thieves stealing his cattle—one of which was a genetically enhanced bull—made his blood run cold.
"We need to secure the perimeter," Li Shun said. "And I need to go to town. We need supplies. And I need to make a deposit at the bank."
He touched the pouch of silver at his waist—the payment from Chen Liang's father for the first batch of jerky. It was a modest sum, fifty taels, but it was proof of concept.
"I'll go tomorrow," Li Shun decided. "It's time I introduced the new me to the family."
---
The ride to Clearwater County took half a day.
Li Shun rode alone this time, Han Qiang staying behind to guard the ranch. As he trotted into the town, heads turned.
He was a sight to behold. A young man in strange, rugged clothes, a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his face, riding a horse with a saddle that looked foreign. He didn't slouch in the saddle like a tired merchant; he sat straight, reins held loosely in one hand.
He passed by the teahouse.
"Who is that?"
"Looks like a bandit..."
"Is that... is that the Zhao family's son-in-law? The useless one?"
Li Shun ignored the whispers. He rode straight to the Zhao manor.
The gate guards blinked in surprise as he approached.
"Young Master Li?" one stammered. "We... we didn't recognize you."
"I'm here to see Father," Li Shun said, dismounting. He tied his horse to the post with a practiced slip-knot. "Is he in his study?"
"Yes, but..."
Li Shun walked past them, his boots crunching on the gravel path. The maids in the courtyard stopped sweeping to stare. His stride was different—longer, more confident. The months of physical labor had carved muscle onto his frame. He was no longer the pale, sickly youth who had been carried into the house months ago.
He found Magistrate Zhao in the main hall, reviewing tax ledgers.
"Father," Li Shun said, bowing.
Zhao Wenqing looked up. His eyebrows shot up.
"Shun'er?" He stood up, walking around the desk. "Great heavens, boy. Look at you."
The magistrate looked at the hat, the boots, the weather-beaten skin. "You look like... well, you look like you've been fighting tigers in the mountains."
"I've been fighting scrub brush and stubborn cattle," Li Shun said with a smile. He reached into his pouch and placed a stack of silver ingots on the desk. "Twenty taels. First repayment on the loan."
Magistrate Zhao stared at the silver. He touched it, weighing it in his hand. It was honest weight, good silver.
"You made this from... the jerky?"
"And a steer. I sold the hide and the meat." Li Shun didn't mention the black market beef experiments. "The ranch is operational, Father. The grass is growing. The herd is healthy."
The magistrate sat back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I heard rumors. Chen Liang's father spoke highly of your dried meat. He says it's a hit with his caravan drivers. I didn't want to believe it until I saw the money."
He looked at Li Shun with newfound respect. "You've changed, Shun'er."
"I found my place, Father."
Just then, a side door opened. Zhao Lian walked in, holding a tray of tea. She stopped dead in her tracks.
She looked at Li Shun.
Her eyes scanned him from the dusty hat to the leather boots. She took in the broad shoulders, the tanned face, the callused hands resting on his belt.
"Husband," she said, her voice neutral.
"Wife," Li Shun replied, nodding.
She walked over and set the tea down. "I heard you were in town. I thought you might be here to beg for more money."
"Does it look like I'm begging?" Li Shun asked gently.
She looked at the silver on the desk. A flicker of surprise crossed her eyes.
"Those clothes..." she started. "They are strange."
"They are practical," Li Shun said. "I ride ten miles a day. I work in the sun. The silk robes you are used to seeing would be shredded in an hour."
He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a small object. It was a carved piece of horn—a small pendant shaped like a cow.
"I made this for you," he said. "A token."
Zhao Lian looked at the crude carving. It wasn't masterfully done, but it was recognizable. A cow.
"Why?"
"Because that cow represents our future," Li Shun said. "I want you to visit. Bring Yu'er. Bring Father. See what we're building. The summer solstice is next week. We're having a... a gathering. A barbecue."
"A barbecue?" she asked, confused.
"Meat roasted over an open fire. A tradition of the West." Li Shun's eyes shone. "I want to cook for you."
Zhao Lian hesitated. The old Li Shun would never have dared to speak so directly, or to invite her to a dirty, remote ranch. But this man stood tall, his gaze direct and warm.
"I... I will consider it," she said, taking the pendant quickly and turning away to hide the slight flush on her cheeks.
Magistrate Zhao chuckled. "A barbecue, eh? I haven't had a good roast in ages. We will come, Shun'er. We will come."
---
On his way out of the manor, Li Shun ran into Steward Wang.
The steward was directing servants moving sacks of rice. He saw Li Shun and sneered, ready with a barbed comment about beggars returning to the nest.
But then he saw the boots. The silver pouch. The sheer physical presence of the man.
Li Shun stopped in front of him.
"Steward Wang," Li Shun said politely. "Good to see you. I hope you are well."
"I... I am fine," Wang stammered, intimidated by the confidence in Li Shun's stance.
"Good. Next time you visit the ranch, bring an appetite. We'll be serving beef."
Li Shun tipped the brim of his hat—a gesture that was half-bow, half-salute—and walked out into the sunlight.
He mounted his horse and rode back toward the Westland.
*One step at a time,* he thought. *The boots are on. The hat is on. Now, I just need to build an empire.*