Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 104

The old woman finally reaches the front of the line. She still hides behind her husband, too scared to face anyone outside the village. Even though the person distributing food is an older woman, she’s still terrified.

She shrinks her neck as the food is handed to her, and she takes it to carry it on her back.

Aunt Li hands the snakeskin bag to the old man and glances at the woman hiding behind him. She can’t help but say, “Don’t be so scared. We’re here to give food, not to harm you.”

But as soon as she finishes speaking, the old woman suddenly kneels before her.

Aunt Li, startled, takes a step back. She’s used to being the one kneeling to others—who would kneel to her?

The old woman cries out, “Noble lady, noble lady, I’m not—I didn’t…”

Aunt Li quickly realizes what’s happening and hurries to say, “I didn’t say anything, get up. The food will be given to you, don’t worry, it won’t be less than anyone else’s.”

After that, she falls silent and moves another bag of food over.

Being a commoner herself, she knows all too well that what commoners fear most is the nobility. No one ever knows which word might offend them—or what they might do in return.

Noble folk are people. Commoners are not.

The old man kneels when his wife does. It isn’t until they realize the nobles distributing food don’t drive them away or withhold food that they support each other and stand up, carrying the food they’ve received, leaving with countless thanks.

They are so thin, yet can carry such heavy food, even the three children dragging a bag of food back home.

Aunt Li watches them leave, unsure of what she feels in her heart. She turns away and wipes her eyes with her hands.

Cao’er, in charge of carrying the food, knows her mother is crying just by the look on her face.

She feels a little confused—she doesn’t remember her mother ever crying before. In her memory, her mother is fierce. If anyone dares to take water from their family, her mother goes to their house and scolds them all day.

With her mother around, Cao’er never has to worry about anything.

Her mother never shows sympathy for others. Cao’er remembers her mother saying that she can’t even feel sorry for herself, so how could she feel sorry for others?

But now, her mother is feeling sorry for others.

Cao’er’s chest swells with emotion, and her eyes sting.

The old woman has never felt so strong before. Though there are still tears on her face, her hands and feet move quickly. She doesn’t feel the weight of the food on her back at all. There’s still more to move! They have to carry it twice more before bringing it all home.

She fears someone might take her food away.

“Hurry up, old man!” she urges. She’s only carrying one sack; the old man has two.

The old man’s face flushes, and his cloudy eyes glimmer as he hurriedly speaks. “I’ll hurry, hurry!”

They bring the grain home, set it down, and rush back to the open space without pausing.

After three trips, they finally bring all the grain back.

The old woman carries the last bag inside, then sits down, exhausted. Her waist aches, but the excitement in her spirit makes the pain seem insignificant.

“Open it, open it quickly, let’s see!” She stands up, supporting herself with her hands, and bends over to open the seal of the snakeskin bag.

When she opens it, the fragrance of rice wafts out, and the old woman almost drowns in the scent of the grain.

Their small mud house is filled with the smell of rice.

The children immediately cry, “Hungry! Mother, we’re hungry!”

The old woman turns to her husband. “Let’s eat! Let’s cook! Let’s have a full meal for once!”

They get to work cooking. They can’t afford a proper iron pot, so they use a clay one. It’s chipped, but they can’t afford a new one. This broken one is all they have.

The old woman adds some water to the pottery pot and puts the rice directly in without washing it.

“It doesn’t look like the rice we usually eat,” the old woman says, holding a handful of white rice in disbelief. “Where could this white rice come from? And it’s so big!”

The old man whispers, “It’s definitely not from our Chen country.”

Though the old woman doesn’t know what’s happening outside, she’s heard from her elders that Chen country has the best land and the best food. The food from other countries can’t compare to theirs, which is why other countries always ask them for food.

“My parents said the grain in our Chen country is the best,” the old woman says stubbornly. “Other countries don’t have such good grain.”

The good grain from Chen country is the one thing these commoners, who make a living by farming, can take pride in.

The old woman points to the other two opened snakeskin bags. “We’ve never seen those two things!”

She whispers, “They can’t be from another state, and they’re not from Chen either. Maybe… maybe they’re immortals.”

The old man is confused. “What immortals?”

She stamps her foot. “Hermits! The kind that live deep in the mountains!”

The old man still doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t argue. He just smiles and says, “If that’s what you say, then that’s what it is. As long as the grain official doesn’t come, we’ve got enough to eat,” the old man says, smelling the cooked rice, lost in thought. “This kind of rice would make great wine.”

The old woman shakes her head. “Only the nobles can afford wine. Why waste food like that? The food that fills their stomachs will be gone in a blink when it’s turned into wine.”

The children’s crying gradually stops. They don’t have many tears to shed. When they get tired of crying, they huddle in their parents’ arms. The family sits together, waiting for the rice to cook.

After some time, the old woman checks the pot and finds the rice is ready.

She tells her husband, “Go get the bowl.”

Their house doesn’t have a chimney, so the stove is set up outside the house, under a shed that keeps out rain and snow, also serving as a place to pile firewood in winter.

They fill their bowls, each of them getting a serving of porridge.

When the old woman enters the house, she looks around and sees that the neighbors are also cooking.

They haven’t had a full meal in a long, long time.

“It’s a shame there are no side dishes,” the old man sighs as they return inside. They kneel around the wooden table, placing their bowls on it.

They’ve put a lot of rice into the pot. Though it’s porridge, it isn’t much different from regular rice.

The old woman smiles. “With porridge, who needs side dishes? There’s no salt at home.”

The old man sighs, “Salt is expensive.”

They can’t afford it. If they could, they would’ve bought the cheapest salt, which isn’t really salt but saline soil. It’s boiled in water and allowed to settle overnight. The next day, the water is poured out, and the soil discarded. What remains when the water dries is a little bit of salt.

But it tastes bitter. They’ve never eaten good salt and don’t know what real salt is supposed to taste like.

“Just eat as it is,” the old woman says, laughing at her husband. “We didn’t even have porridge yesterday, so why complain about side dishes?”

The old man nods. “After I finish eating, I’ll take a walk in the mountains—nothing too deep—to see if I can find some wild vegetables to dry for later.”

The old man adds, “I still need to chop wood.”

The old woman nods. “I’ll pack some food to send back to my parents.”

The old man smiles. “They’ve lent us plenty of food before.”

They’ve managed to survive up until now, not just thanks to the kindness of the village chief, but also because the old woman has a family with many laborers. Though they live in poverty, they can still share a bit to help. Without that help, it would’ve been impossible to raise three children to this age.

“Mother, eat.” The eldest son holds his bowl, using a wooden spoon to scoop up the porridge, but it’s too hot. His face scrunches up, but he doesn’t spit it out. He endures until tears well up, then opens his mouth to show his mother. “Mother, it’s hot.”

The old woman looks over and sees two blisters forming in his mouth. She sighs. “We don’t have a needle at home. After eating, ask your father to cut a stick and prick the blisters.”

The eldest son nods. He glances at the porridge but doesn’t dare to eat.

The old woman takes the bowl, blows on the porridge to cool it, and feeds it to the children.

The old man also sets down his bowl and feeds the children as well.

Though they are exhausted and hungry, the couple smiles, their faces flushed with sweat.

The children eat, mouthful by mouthful, their eyes wide open, savoring their first full meal with the aroma of rice.

Outside, the smoke from the stove rises, and the house is filled with the fragrance of rice.

What a good day it is.