Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 103

In the dim, narrow earthen house, the old woman stares at the corn cakes on the table. She breathes in their aroma, dazed and disbelieving.

She sits there blankly, neither reaching out for the food nor eating any. She simply stares dumbly at the stack of cakes, motionless.

She doesn’t even realize when the person who fetches the water leaves.

The children, exhausted from crying, are curled up asleep.

She no longer remembers what day it is—until a man’s voice comes from outside the wooden door: “Wife!”

Only then does the old woman come to her senses. It’s as if, in that moment, she returns to the world of the living.

She stands up but staggers, nearly falling to the ground. Fortunately, she catches the edge of the table in time.

There is nothing good left in the house—the table has been there since her parents-in-law’s time. Now one of its legs is missing a chunk and wobbles constantly. Even with a rock wedged underneath, it doesn’t stay steady.

It’s a square room, with nothing inside but the wobbly, chipped wooden table. Normally, they kneel around it to eat.

Not far from the table is the “bed”—some dry grass spread on the ground, covered by a patchwork of furs serving as a quilt.

Other than that, there’s only a wooden barrel for storing grain. The barrel has cracks, and the grain easily becomes damp. So they wrap the barrel layer by layer in rags, but even so, the grain still goes moldy. They have no choice but to dig a cellar for storage.

But now, the cellar is empty. Only the barrel still holds some wheat—not even enough to last the family half a month.

Usually, the couple does odd jobs for villagers who have land, earning whatever food they can.

But even the other families have little to spare. The pay grows smaller each time. In a few days, they might not be able to earn anything at all, and will have no choice but to wait for starvation.

The old woman opens the door. Standing outside is an old man whose skin is just as cracked and aged as hers.

They look like elderly people, but their limbs still hold strength. Judging by their faces, they seem over sixty, but their bodies and vigor are more like those of someone in their thirties.

“Old Zhou said someone came to the house?” The old man is anxious, his voice trembling. “Was it a soldier? Are the children alright?!”

They have a daughter—only six years old, but if she encounters someone heartless, even a six-year-old can be…

The old woman looks at her husband’s face and nods, then shakes her head. “Someone did come, but it wasn’t a soldier. It was a girl. She borrowed our bucket to fetch water.”

She steps outside and looks toward the well. There’s no one there now—only the bucket and shoulder pole left beside it.

She doesn’t know whether to feel regret or relief. She whispers, “Come in with me, husband.”

She takes her husband’s sleeve and pulls him inside. Then she looks around cautiously and shuts the wooden door behind her.

As soon as the old man enters, he catches the sweet scent in the air. He follows the smell—and sees the stack of golden cakes.

“This is…” He swallows hard.

The old woman whispers, “That young lady gave them to me. She said it was payment.”

The old man says in disbelief, “Payment for fetching water?”

Water isn’t worth much. They have no shortage of it.

Their land is rich in water. Wherever a well is dug, water flows. The soil is fertile—scatter a handful of seeds and you’ll get a bountiful harvest the next year.

They are people of Chen, born on this land of abundance.

But they never enjoy the blessings of that abundance—only suffer its countless misfortunes.

As far back as they can remember, the number of grain taxes has increased—from once a year, to twice, to three times. Last year, they are taxed four times.

They are surrounded by fertile fields, yet can’t even fill their bellies.

The old man’s voice is too loud and wakes the children.

The three kids are eight, six, and three years old. Except for the eldest, the other two still haven’t learned to speak—either from hunger or exhaustion. Crying takes all their strength.

The eight-year-old boy smells the scent too. He climbs off the “bed,” runs barefoot to his parents, grabs his mother’s clothing, looks up like a hungry fledgling, mouth open, and calls out, “Mama, hungry, eat cake.”

The old woman looks at the old man.

He swallows again, breaks off a small piece from the top cake, and cautiously places it in his mouth.

It’s delicate—no sand, no bran, nothing hard to swallow. Then comes the sweetness.

It’s a sweet aroma he’s never tasted before. There’s no corn here, so they don’t know what corn even tastes like. But once he takes a bite, he can’t help stuffing the whole piece into his mouth.

Seeing him devour it, the old woman fears he’ll choke and quickly pours him a cup of water.

After he swallows, he nods vigorously at her. “Eat! Let them eat! You eat too! A single cake is so big.” The old man looks at the dozen or so cakes as if seeing their future survival.

The old woman says, “I’ll divide them up!”

No one dares eat too much. There are too many mouths for too few cakes.

Even the young children know this is rare food. They can taste the difference.

No one says a word. They all wolf down the cakes.

Even the crumbs that fall to the ground are picked up by the children and stuffed into their mouths.

The parents don’t stop them—only hold back from fighting the kids for the fallen crumbs.

“Put the rest away,” the old man says, frowning. “If we store them in the barrel and they get damp?”

The old woman sighs. “There’s nowhere else to store them. If they get damp, so be it—we’ll still eat them.”

Once full, the old man remembers the cloth bag he’s tucked into his clothes. He places it on the table and opens it to reveal a small handful of wheat.

“Yesterday,” he says, sighing, “Old Yang said not to come anymore. His family’s out of grain. I’ll have to make do myself.”

The old woman is silent. Then she says, “How can we keep living like this…”

The old man pats her shoulder. “It’s fine now. So many cakes! Enough for days!”

“But what happens when the cakes run out?” she asks.

“Then it’ll be time for the autumn harvest. We’ll get through the New Year just fine!”

The old woman says, “And once the grain is harvested, the grain officials will come again. We’ll have to hand it over. We might not even make it to spring plowing.”

Last year, they only made it because some kind-hearted villagers lend them food. But they still haven’t repaid it. If they ask again this year, they might not get help.

The old man falls silent. After a while, he mutters, “I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.” Then he asks, “You said it was a girl? A girl from a noble family?”

“She doesn’t look like a noble girl,” the old woman says. “More like… a general.”

The old man laughs. “A general? Surely she looks more like a lady than a soldier!”

“I’m serious! She’s this tall—” the old woman raises her hand.

“So tall?!” the old man is shocked.

The old woman nods eagerly. “She’s amazing! I think even the soldiers are scared of her. She seems like a good person.”

“She gave us so many cakes. Of course she’s a good person!” the old man exclaims. “We’ve really met a noble soul this time.”

“Maybe the noble people aren’t all bad,” the old woman murmurs. “It would be great if she came again.”

But deep down, she knows she might never meet someone like that girl again.

“If you keep doing this, the people will lose trust in the soldiers! When real war breaks out, they won’t cooperate, and there’ll be no way to start a guerrilla resistance!” Chen Shu scolds Chen Hou as soon as she returns to camp, not even sparing Chen Yan a glance. “You’re a general, aren’t you? Can’t you manage your troops? Can’t you enforce discipline? If I were you, I’d be too ashamed to show my face—I’d jump into the river!” She pauses to drink water—then resumes her scolding. “Without public support, your army is nothing. Do you really think the people don’t matter? Bullshit! When war comes, the people will be the ones passing messages, covering for us, transporting supplies! They know the terrain better. They know where to hide, where to ambush. Without them, your army is just a headless fly!”

Chen Hou and Chen Yan sit quietly in the tent, heads lowered like children getting scolded.

Outside, Ye Zhou overhears the shouting and turns right around to his own tent—no way he’s getting involved. Besides, he doesn’t think Chen Shu is wrong.

Chen Shu, after venting, points at Chen Yan. “I’ll lead the troops myself! Watch and learn. Write me a report afterward.”

Chen Yan lowers his voice. “Miss Chen, you… can lead troops?”

“I join the army when I’m fourteen,” Chen Shu says coldly. “I’ve fought more battles than you’ve crossed bridges.”

Maybe she doesn’t fight much in her original plane, but ever since becoming a system employee, she’s seen plenty of battle.

Compared to Chen Yan—a bookish general with no real experience—she’s far more qualified.

“Military theory is dead. People and battlefields are alive. On the battlefield, it’s all about flexibility.” She glares. “If you don’t know how to apply what you’ve read, then it’s all useless.”

Chen Hou glances at his brother and silently mourns him for two seconds.

Chen Shu has even said “bullshit”—more than once. Clearly, she’s genuinely angry.

“Miss Chen is a soldier?” Chen Hou asks, curious.

“I was,” she says calmly, finally less aggressive now that she’s vented.

“In heaven… women can fight in wars?” he asks.

But more than that, he wants to ask—Who are you even fighting against?

Could there really be people capable of challenging immortals?

Chen Shu recalls the horror of Chen Hou’s endless questions and quickly cuts him off. “Don’t ask. You wouldn’t understand even if I told you. Just remember—fix your military discipline. Soldiers should act like soldiers. They’re not paid to abuse civilians. A soldier’s duty is to defend the nation and protect the people. If a soldier harms the people, he’s worse than a beast.” Chen Shu lets out a long sigh. “If you don’t win the people’s hearts, don’t instill patriotism, and lack cohesion—this country might collapse on its own even without an enemy invasion.”

If the people don’t believe in their country, if even the soldiers and scholars don’t… can it still be called a country?

Chen Shu doesn’t know what these people think. They don’t seem to care about their nation. They don’t even believe their fate is tied to it.

Chen Hou hurriedly lowers his head. “Please… teach me.”

For the first time, he gives a deep bow—to a woman.