Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 104

These days, the only food the common people have is millet, yellow rice, and various beans. No matter how fertile the land of Chen State is, it still can’t replace millet with rice.

The vegetables they eat are mostly wild greens—plants that, in later generations, would be considered weeds.

As for meat, that’s even more rare. Whether soldiers get to eat meat depends on whether they can hunt wild animals or buy poultry raised by farmers and sold by merchants. But even if the general is willing to pay for it, it’s not something they can afford often, much less everyone having access to it.

The only ones who regularly get meat are the general’s personal guards—and even they only get a small taste.

A bowl of meat broth with millet rice is considered a luxury.

As for the common people, they basically can’t eat meat at all. Most don’t raise poultry—farming takes all their time and energy, leaving no room to care for animals or spare any feed.

They don’t have the time or skills to hunt either.

If they can’t even raise poultry, raising cattle is out of the question. Most can’t even afford to buy anything.

After arriving at the supermarket, Chen Hou’s favorite part of every day becomes mealtime. He eats everything happily and thinks everything is delicious. Since his rescue, he has gained over 30 kilograms.

Even Chen Yan puts on around 20.

Chen Hou tells Ye Zhou that back in Linzi, he can’t eat meat every day. And even if he can, it isn’t fresh—it’s mostly tasteless smoked or dried meat. There’s no shortage of salt, but aside from salt, there are barely any seasonings.

Ye Zhou, curious, asks what the best dish over there is.

Chen Hou gives the example of the Emperor of Zhou. His so-called “eight delicacies” aren’t at all what Ye Zhou imagines.

(Translator’s Notes:refers to the nominal ruler of the Zhou Dynasty — a time when China was divided among feudal states, and the Zhou emperor held symbolic authority rather than direct power. )

(Translator’s Notes: Eight Delicacies”, also known as “Eight Treasures”, refers to eight kinds of ingredients cooked with different methods. The ingredients include rice, pork, mutton, beef, venison and the cooking methods include roasting, stewing, boiling, pickling, and grounding, etc.)

One of the dishes involves slicing beef and soaking it in wine, then eating it the next day with some meat paste.

This is already considered a “treasure” and unique to the Zhou Emperor. You can imagine just how rare the ingredients are, and how few food options there are.

Even the cooking vessel is made of bronze. Not all craftsmen are skilled, so it isn’t unusual for someone to bite into a meal and end up spitting out a chunk of bronze.

In modern times, a bit of oyster sauce or MSG can add umami, but over there, even the Emperor likely never truly tastes anything “fresh.” With no spices, fish just tastes like mud and algae—there’s no depth of flavor.

Ye Zhou rarely goes out to distribute food to the villagers now. Unless necessary, he doesn’t want to make appearances just for show.

It’s awkward and exhausting.

He sits inside a tent, eating a self-heating tomato hot pot with rice. Chen Hou comes uninvited and joins him.

Compared to Ye Zhou’s calm eating style, Chen Hou devours his food like someone is trying to take it from him. He eats with wild enthusiasm, oil all over his mouth, shoveling food in until he physically can’t anymore.

Maybe because of the rush, Ye Zhou doesn’t have much of an appetite. He doesn’t touch the hot pot much and only finishes the rice because he doesn’t want to waste it or let someone else eat his leftovers.

Not that he thinks anyone would eat his leftovers, but once, while dining with Chen Hou, he puts his chopsticks down because he’s full, and the marquis immediately asks if he isn’t going to finish and whether the “immortal” would allow him to eat it instead.

Ever since then, Ye Zhou always finishes his bowl when eating with Chen Hou.

Chen Hou drinks all the soup in the hot pot. Then he wipes his mouth with a napkin, lets out a loud, satisfied burp, covers his mouth shyly, and mutters, “Forgive my rudeness, Immortal.”

Ye Zhou can’t take it anymore. “I’ll teach you how to make soy sauce and MSG. Whether you can gather the ingredients for MSG is up to you.”

MSG can be made from chicken. Ye Zhou can find the information, but he’s not sure whether a fully handmade version can match industrial MSG. Still, it would certainly be better than just using salt.

“I’ll give you the recipe for tofu too,” Ye Zhou adds. “It’s simple to make and uses few ingredients.”

The only downside is that it’s labor-intensive.

Chen Hou sighs. “Before I come here, I have no idea food like this even exists!”

Ye Zhou warns him, “Chen Hou, you need to eat less. I’m worried people in Linzi won’t recognize you when you go back.”

The weight gain hits Chen Hou’s face hardest. His body still looks alright, but his face puffs into a round ball, and his eyes look smaller.

If Ye Zhou doesn’t see him every day, he might not recognize him either.

Chen Hou sighs again. “I can’t be as self-disciplined as you, Immortal. You must have tasted all the delicacies in the world. I haven’t even eaten sugar before.”

Back then, they didn’t have beets or sugarcane in Chen State. Wild fruits are too sour or astringent to eat. Their only source of sweetness is honey—but since no one raises bees, tasting honey is pure luck.

Even if someone finds a hive and collects some honey, a bunch of nobles would fight over it. It’s rare for even the king to get a taste.

So now, Chen Hou loves everything he eats.

He loves vegetables and rice, and he especially loves sweets.

Ye Zhou gives Chen Hou any sweets he can’t finish—Chen Hou eats them all.

His current favorite is White Rabbit Milk Candy. He even carries a pouch full of them and eats some wherever he goes, including before bed.

After learning how Chen Hou lives every day, Ye Zhou feels he’d rather be a modern-day commoner than a king in this world. A king who can’t even eat sugar, and whose only seasoning is salt, is no better than a savage to someone used to ordering takeout.

If the king lives like a “savage,” what about the common people?

—

Chen Shu stands with her hands on her waist, yelling, “Line up! Line up!”

In front of her are villagers holding all sorts of containers—pottery bowls, basins, wooden barrels, rattan baskets—anything that can carry food.

Old and young, everyone comes out. Even toddlers who just learn to walk hold broken bowls. They don’t understand what queuing is; they just keep pushing forward, eyes fixed on the food laid out on the ground.

They don’t even know what the food is, but the aroma of rice tells them it can fill their bellies. So they surge forward wildly.

Chen Shu’s voice is already hoarse, and no one is listening. She has no choice but to call over the village chief. She says in a rasp, “Make them form a proper line, like soldiers marching. If they don’t, we’re not giving out any food.”

That last sentence scares the old village chief enough to turn pale. He quickly calls his sons to help maintain order.

Fortunately, the chief’s words still carry weight—and his strong sons are effective. Slowly, the villagers start lining up.

Chen Shu takes a sip of water, then starts distributing food with Cao’er Niang and the others.

Sweet potatoes and potatoes are packed in snakeskin bags. Though the villagers bring containers, opening the bags and scooping them out takes too long, so Chen Shu decides to distribute by family instead.

She has a good memory and can quickly recognize each family. She remembers the person with the most distinct features in each household to prevent repeat claims.

At the end of the line is an old woman with three children—the most in any household in the village.

Even though people give birth often, the number of surviving children is low. So to keep more alive, they have to keep giving birth.

Some families have seven or eight children, but only one survives.

Children are too fragile. They die from food poisoning, colds, fevers, or poor parental care.

So despite frequent births, the village population doesn’t grow.

In fact, it keeps shrinking.

The old woman holds the youngest child in her arms, while the two older ones hold bowls and stare at the snakeskin bags behind Chen Shu, their eyes fixed on the bits of rice that spill during transport.

Some kids wriggle free from their parents and run behind Chen Shu to grab rice grains off the ground, shoving them straight into their mouths without even wiping them.

Chen Shu doesn’t even know if they chew.

She hurriedly stops them—who knows what germs or parasites might be in the dirt?

Then she calls over the village chief again. “From now on, don’t drink raw well water. You have to boil it before drinking.” She doesn’t go into science, just puts it in simple terms. “The water is cursed by ghosts. If you drink it raw, you’ll get diarrhea, stomachaches, or grow worms in your belly. Only boiling it dispels the curse. Do kids here often get diarrhea or die from fevers?”

The village chief nods frantically. “Yes, yes! That’s exactly it!”

“That’s from drinking unclean water,” Chen Shu says. “Also, wash your hands before eating. There are insect eggs in the soil. If you eat them, they hatch inside you. Your body will be crawling with worms.”

The village chief’s eyes go wide in shock.

Chen Shu adds, “I don’t want to see you suffer. Whether you believe it or not is up to you. Just pass the message along. It’s their choice whether they listen.”

“Don’t worry, noble one! I’ll make sure they boil their water from now on.” Then he asks timidly, “But boiled water’s too hot…”

Chen Shu: “…Just let it cool.”

“But if it cools down, isn’t it raw again?”

Chen Shu: “…”

She says all that, and he still thinks hot water is safe and cold water isn’t. She takes a deep breath. “It’s not about hot or cold. It’s whether it’s been boiled or not.”

The village chief finally gets it. “Thank you, noble one.”

He doesn’t doubt her words. They never leave the village. All they ever see are the mountains and fields around them. They believe nobles are born knowing more than them.

They are born lowly. Nobles are born noble.

So it makes sense that nobles know things they don’t.

Chen Shu pats the old chief on the shoulder. Seeing his graying hair, she praises him. “How old are you? Still working hard at your age—it’s admirable.”

The village chief says quickly, “I’m forty-two this year.”

Chen Shu is speechless. Forty? That’s considered old here? People age too fast!

The old chief says proudly, “I’m the oldest in the nearby villages. Even at forty-two, my arms and legs are still strong.”

Chen Shu sighs. “It’s not easy for you.”

The old chief nods eagerly. “Exactly! Life’s not easy at all! If only we can harvest more grain each year! No matter how good the land is, you can’t plant today and harvest tomorrow. We only get two harvests a year, but the tax collector comes three times. How are we supposed to keep any grain?” He whispers, “If you have a chance to speak to those in power, please tell them about our hardships.”

Chen Shu: “Don’t worry, I will!”

How much land do the nobles have, and how much do the common people have?

Most of a country’s wealth is controlled by the nobles, while the common people live in extreme poverty.

But when people from other countries come to ask for food, Chen Hou can only turn to the common people. He does ask the nobles as well, but they all claim to be poor, so he can’t force them. If he does, it will lead to a conflict.