The draining of the swamp had been a messy, chaotic gamble, but nature was already paying dividends.
Three weeks after the floodwaters had carved the irrigation channels, the valley floor was no longer a quagmire of grey mud. It was a carpet of vivid, shocking green. The alfalfa seeds, discarded by the military stables as worthless chaff, had found paradise in the nitrogen-rich silt. They sprouted with a ferocity that stunned the local farmers, their leaves broad and lush, drinking deep from the damp earth.
Li Wei walked the perimeter of the new pasture, his boots sinking slightly into the soft soil. He plucked a leaf of the purple medick and chewed it. Sweet. Protein-rich.
"The 'Green Revolution' is ahead of schedule," he muttered, looking at the system interface.
**[Pasture Status: Early Growth (Excellent).]**
**[Projected Yield: 30% above estimate.]**
**[Alert: Grazing ready in 14 days.]**
"Boss!" Li Sheng came running down the hill, waving his arms. "Sister-in-law is here! And she looks... scary."
Li Wei sighed. "Scary" for Zhao Qingyu usually meant there was a bureaucratic crisis looming. He wiped his hands on his trousers and walked back to the ranch house.
***
Qingyu was indeed radiating a cold aura, though her face was a mask of polite composure. She sat at the crude wooden table in the courtyard, a spread of official documents laid out before her.
"Wife," Li Wei greeted, pouring her a cup of hot tea. "To what do I owe the pleasure? More inspectors?"
"Worse," Qingyu said, accepting the tea but not drinking it. "The Spring Plowing Festival."
Li Wei's heart skipped a beat. The Spring Plowing Festival was one of the most important events in the Dynasty. It was a ritual where the local Magistrate would personally plow the first furrow of the year to pray for a good harvest. It was symbolic, political, and heavily scrutinized by the upper echelons.
"What about it?"
"The ceremonial oxen," Qingyu said, her voice tight. "The pair usually provided by the government stables... have been quarantined. Hoof rot. A severe outbreak. They cannot walk, let alone pull a plow."
Li Wei raised an eyebrow. "Uncle De manages the government stables."
"He does," Qingyu said, her eyes flashing. "And he has been cutting costs on the bedding straw to line his own pockets. Now, the animals are lame. The Festival is in three days. If Father has no oxen to pull the plow, it is a grave omen of incompetence. He could be demoted."
She looked at Li Wei, desperation flickering beneath her composed exterior. "Uncle De is trying to shift the blame. He says it is a 'mysterious sickness' brought in by outside feed. He is hinting that it is linked to your... western methods."
"Of course he is," Li Wei scoffed. "So, you need oxen."
"I need *ceremonial* oxen," Qingyu corrected. "They must be strong, healthy, and obedient. They must look impressive. I know you have been buying old cows for meat, but... do you have anything? Two strong bulls?"
Li Wei rubbed his chin. He had the 'General', but the Black Bull was a breeding stud, aggressive and unpredictable. He wasn't trained for the yoke. The other males were either calves or the old oxen he had rehabilitated.
Wait.
"I might have something," Li Wei said slowly. "But it comes with a price."
"Name it," Qingyu said instantly. "Money? Silver?"
"Not money," Li Wei said. "Permission. I want the Westland Ranch to be the official supplier of the plowing demonstration next year. And I want the title of 'Agricultural Consultant' for the county. A real title, not just 'son-in-law'."
Qingyu blinked. "Done. I will have Father draft the papers tonight. But the oxen... can you deliver them?"
"I have two days to train them," Li Wei said. "It's a gamble. But I've done crazier things."
***
Li Wei walked to the back pen. There, chewing on a mix of fresh grass and rehabilitated swill, stood two massive beasts.
They were not the sleek, Black Angus type. They were the old-school, mixed-breed yellow cattle, but they were giants. He had bought them from a bankrupt noble who had used them to pull heavy sandalwood logs. They were strong, their muscles like braided rope, but they were scarred and looked wild.
"These are your plow oxen?" Chen Hu asked, leaning on the fence. "They haven't worked in six months. And they are stubborn. That one on the left kicked me yesterday."
"They are bored," Li Wei said, entering the pen. "They miss the work."
He approached the larger of the two, a sandy-colored giant with a twisted left horn. The beast snorted, pawing the ground.
"Easy, Big Horn," Li Wei murmured. He didn't use a whip. He used his presence. He stood tall, projecting dominance, but kept his movements fluid.
He picked up a yoke—a heavy wooden beam used to hitch two oxen together.
"We don't have time for gentle breaking," Li Wei told Chen Hu. "We have to use the 'American' method. Pressure and release. We make it easier for them to do what we want than to fight us."
For two days and two nights, the Westland Ranch became a training ground.
Li Wei didn't sleep. He worked with the oxen in the cool of the night and the heat of the day. He used the "Bud Box" technique—a narrow chute that funneled the animals into the yoke naturally, without ropes or force.
He discovered that the sandy bull, 'Big Horn', responded to voice commands. Not the traditional "Gee" and "Haw" of the West, but sharp, guttural sounds.
"Left!" Li Wei would shout, tapping the beast's left shoulder. If the ox turned left, the pressure on the halter stopped. If he went right, the pressure increased.
It was a language of touch.
By the morning of the Festival, Li Wei was exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands raw. But as he stood in the pen, the two massive oxen stood side-by-side, yoked and ready.
They weren't just calm. They were magnificent. Their coats had been brushed until they gleamed like polished copper. Their horns had been oiled.
But Li Wei wasn't dressed like a stable hand. He wasn't dressed like a scholar.
He was wearing his "Sunday Best" of the West. He had taken the wolf-pelt coat and trimmed it with white rabbit fur. He wore his wide-brimmed hat. And on his feet, he wore the first pair of true *Cowboy Boots* he had crafted from thick steer hide, with angled heels to catch the stirrups.
"You look like a barbarian king," Qingyu said when she saw him, though her voice lacked malice. She looked at the oxen. "They... they look incredible. Are they safe?"
"They know their job," Li Wei said, picking up a long goad stick. "Let's go save your father's career."
***
The Spring Plowing Festival was held at the Sacred Field outside the city walls. Hundreds of citizens had gathered. The drums were beating. Banners fluttered in the wind.
Magistrate Zhao Rong stood at the edge of the field in his ceremonial robes, looking pale. To his left, Uncle De stood with a fake look of concern, whispering to the Vice-Magistrate.
"A tragedy, truly," Uncle De said loudly. "The government oxen sick. Perhaps it is a sign from Heaven that the Magistrate has lost the mandate."
"Don't be ridiculous," Magistrate Zhao snapped, though his hands trembled.
Just then, a horn sounded.
Not a traditional court horn, but a deep, resonating blast from a conch shell Chen Hu had found.
From the road, a procession approached.
It wasn't a solemn march. It was a trot.
Li Wei walked beside the two massive oxen. He held the lead rope loosely in one hand, the goad tucked under his arm. He walked with a rolling, confident gait, the spurs on his boots (just for show, he hadn't figured out how to make them jingle yet) catching the sun.
The crowd gasped. They had never seen oxen handled like this. Usually, oxen were prodded, beaten, and dragged. These two beasts walked in perfect step, their heads held high, moving as one organism.
Uncle De's jaw dropped. "Where did he get those? Those are... those are the log-pullers! They are dangerous!"
Li Wei brought the team to a halt precisely before the Magistrate. He bowed low, sweeping his hat from his head.
"Father," Li Wei announced, his voice carrying across the silent field. "The Westland Ranch presents the Ceremonial Team. Ready for duty."
Magistrate Zhao's face broke into a wide, relieved smile. "Good! Good son! Harness them!"
The plow was brought forward—a heavy, ceremonial iron plow.
Li Wei backed the oxen into the traces with a series of soft clicks and whistles. He didn't push them; he guided them.
He handed the plow handle to the Magistrate.
"Father, just hold the handle steady," Li Wei whispered. "I will drive. You just look dignified."
Zhao Rong nodded.
Li Wei stepped back. He stood at the head of the team, slightly to the side.
"Walk on!"
The command was sharp, military.
The two massive oxen leaned into the yoke. The muscles in their shoulders bunched. The heavy iron plow sliced into the virgin earth with a satisfying *crunch*.
They moved forward. Not struggling, not balking. A steady, powerful rhythm.
*Churn. Churn. Churn.*
The earth rolled over in a perfect, dark ribbon.
The crowd erupted in cheers. It was the smoothest, deepest furrow the town had seen in years. It was a sign of a bountiful harvest.
Magistrate Zhao walked behind the plow, looking like a true lord of the land.
At the end of the row, Li Wei gave a low whistle. "Whoa."
The oxen stopped instantly. They stood steaming in the cool spring air, looking calm and proud.
Li Wei walked over and patted Big Horn's neck. "Good boy."
The Magistrate returned to the starting point, beaming. He shook Li Wei's hand—a rare public display of affection.
"My son!" Zhao Rong announced to the crowd. "A man of the soil! A man of ability!"
Uncle De stood in the background, his face a mask of sour grapes. He had failed. The plowing was a success. His sabotage of the government stables had only given Li Wei a stage to shine.
As the crowd celebrated, Qingyu walked up to Li Wei. She carried a cup of wine for the ritual.
"You kept your word," she said softly, handing him the cup.
"I always do," Li Wei said, taking the wine. He looked at the furrow, then at the green hills of the Westland in the distance.
"This is just the beginning, Qingyu. Next year, we won't just plow the field. We'll feed the army that guards it."
**[System Notification]**
**[Event Complete: Spring Plowing Festival.]**
**[Reputation: Magistrate Zhao (Honored).]**
**[Public Reputation: Reliable/Competent.]**
**[Title Acquired: County Agricultural Consultant.]**
**[Quest Unlocked: The Military Contract.]**
Li Wei drank the wine. It tasted like victory.
But as he lowered the cup, he saw a man in black armor watching from the edge of the crowd. He wore the insignia of the Imperial Guard.
The man caught Li Wei's eye, nodded once, and melted into the shadows.
Li Wei frowned. *The Imperial Guard? Why are they interested in a plowing contest?*
He put the thought aside for now. The sun was shining, the oxen were fed, and he had a reputation to build.
"Chen Hu," Li Wei called out. "Saddle the horse. We have a ranch to run."