Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 107

Madam Hou lies on a single bed. She has never slept on a bed raised off the ground before. Compared to this tent and bed, the wound on her shoulder feels almost insignificant.

The young and haggard doctor undresses her and cleans the blood and dirt around the arrow wound.

When the arrow is pulled out, Madam Hou finally can’t help but bend over, curling up like a shrimp, powerless against the pain.

Crown Prince Chen Rui is carried out by Feng Ling before Zhou Yuanhe begins the procedure.

After the wound is dressed, Madam Hou is soaked in sweat. She gazes up at the top of the tent, panting for breath.

Zhou Yuanhe warns, “Avoid irritating food for now. I’ll change the dressing regularly until it heals completely. Don’t get it wet. If you need to bathe, wipe yourself with a damp towel.”

Madam Hou softly hums in acknowledgment. After a pause, she asks, “Doctor, did you sew up my wound?”

Zhou Yuanhe administers a local anesthetic, but perhaps due to her physical condition or other reasons, the normal dose doesn’t numb her shoulder. Yet she says nothing as he pulls the arrow out.

There is no time to administer another round of anesthesia before cleaning and stitching the wound—Madam Hou endures it all by sheer willpower.

Zhou Yuanhe nods. “Yes.”

Madam Hou takes a few deep breaths and squeezes out a question through gritted teeth. “Doctor, … would it be feasible?”

Zhou Yuanhe understands what she means and nods again. “Yes, you can use catgut or silk thread.”

It is probably the first time Zhou Yuanhe has seen a patient endure both the extraction and suturing of a wound with no anesthetic effect. He gains a deeper respect for Madam Hou.

“But your sanitary conditions and surgical equipment aren’t up to standard,” he says. “Even if you manage to make suturing threads, it’s unlikely to save lives. Your needles aren’t good either.”

Despite her splitting headache and feeling completely drained, Madam Hou still says, “Thank you, doctor. It’s better to have a solution than none at all.”

Zhou Yuanhe nods. “Your problem is low productivity. Most people trade goods instead of using currency, and the value of money is unstable. Even if you come up with good ideas, it’s hard to implement them. Medical advancement will be difficult under such circumstances.”

At this point, there is no medicine. Doctors rely entirely on experience to prescribe treatments. Even when a patient recovers, they don’t know which medicine worked. The next time they encounter the same symptoms, they just prescribe everything again.

Few patients are cured; many die.

Those who survive often had minor issues that could have healed on their own.

Though Zhou Yuanhe is a Western doctor, he’s familiar with Chinese medicine as well. Both systems advance by accumulating cases—often at the cost of human lives.

Western medicine didn’t start with systems or advanced instruments. In its early days, surgeries were performed on stage, and people bought tickets to watch.

There was once a surgery where three people died: the surgeon severed two fingers of his assistant due to haste; the assistant bled to death. The patient died of infection after having his genitals removed. One man in the audience died of a heart attack from the shock.

A surgery with a 300% mortality rate sounds absurd, yet it was a necessary step in the progress of medicine.

Having treatment is always better than having none.

In the era of cold weapons, many soldiers didn’t die on the battlefield, but afterward, from infections or uncontrolled bleeding. Being able to suture and stop the bleeding—no matter how primitive the tools—is better than nothing.

“I’ll give your craftsmen the suture needles I use,” Zhou Yuanhe says. “Let them try to replicate them.”

Madam Hou struggles to sit up and thanks him. “Thank you, doctor.”

Zhou Yuanhe glances at her, then turns and leaves the tent.

The Marchioness finally drifts into an exhausted sleep.

But her sleep is restless. In her dreams, the faces of those “attendants” who bribed the guards to smuggle her out of the palace keep appearing—those soldiers who died under a hail of arrows to protect her and the prince.

The scent of blood still lingers in her nose, impossible to shake.

She had never seen a dead person before. Prior to marriage, even when her father or brother punished servants, they had them dragged away first.

After she married into the palace, like the Marquis of Chen, she never left Linzi City again. The maids around her were all her half-sisters—daughters of slaves.

Though they were born of concubines and couldn’t become noble ladies like her, they grew up together. Their bond was as deep as that of real siblings. Even if they made mistakes, she couldn’t bring herself to punish them, let alone kill them.

Life and death are often spoken of lightly by nobles. But many of them have never killed with their own hands—or even seen someone die.

One word from them, and someone else carries it out.

Madam Hou wakes from her nightmare in pain and terror, her head throbbing.

“Mother!” Just then, Chen Rui runs into the tent. At some point, he has changed into the “immortal’s” clothes, showing thin arms and legs, his hair tied up like a little girl.

Madam Hou forces herself to sit up and smile at her child, But inside, she’s burdened with the weight of a mountain. She doesn’t know if those “attendants” are still alive.

The soldiers are dead. All she can do is take care of their families in the future.

But she hopes the “attendants” survive—so that she’ll have a chance to repay them.

Ye Zhou waits from noon until dusk before the palace gate finally opens from within.

What meets his eyes is not the grand palace he had imagined. While it may seem luxurious for this era, it’s nothing compared to Beijing’s Forbidden City—or even a princely manor—it’s nothing.

Inside, he sees only rows of low buildings, stone slab paths connecting them.

The most imposing structure is merely a hall supported by dozens of pillars.

The palace is filled with corpses.

Chen Yan is soaked in blood; his leather armor is drenched with it. The soldiers behind him are no better.

Only palace maids and eunuchs cower in corners, trembling.

“Immortal,” Chen Yan strides quickly to Ye Zhou, a little awkward and ashamed. “The palace is in chaos now. Might I suggest that you first stay at the relay inn? ‘Shangpin Ju’ is the largest inn in Linzi. All the wealthy merchants and nobles stay there. Its furnishings and accommodations rival the palace.”

Ye Zhou doesn’t agree. “I just need a piece of land.”

Chen Yan immediately nods. “Yes, of course. The king has already given orders. I’ll send someone to take you to a suitable location.”

Ye Zhou still wants to do business. During this period, Chen Hou is likely overwhelmed with internal affairs. Ye Zhou isn’t in a rush.

After all, Chen Hou wouldn’t dare default on his debts. 

Ye Zhou plans to fleece the powerful first, then open the supermarket to the general public.

Chen Yan assigns a pair of personal guards to escort Ye Zhou’s group. 

As for the Marquis’s wife…

“The lady can’t be without the doctor right now,” Chen Yan says. “Most of the palace buildings are uninhabitable. It wouldn’t be right to ask the doctor to stay here.” As he speaks, he pulls out a jade token from his robes. “This is the jade once worn by the late Marquis Wu. Please accept it.”

Ye Zhou glances at Cao’er, who steps forward to accept the jade.

Ye Zhou asks, “Then I’ll take the Marquis’s wife. What about the prince?”

Chen Yan answers in a low voice, “It’s best if the prince stays with his mother.”

No one knows how many members of the royal and noble families were involved in the rebellion. No matter how mild-tempered Chen Hou is, he can no longer back down. If he keeps retreating, one day there will be no ground left to stand on.

This time, he must act—even if his enemies are his own blood.

Ye Zhou gives a slight nod. “You’ve worked hard.”

Chen Yan immediately says, “No, no, it’s the Immortal who worked hard. All thanks to you.”

Ye Zhou waves lightly.“Carry on.”

He knows that if he doesn’t leave, Chen Yan won’t be able to proceed. So he signals the young soldiers to wait.

Ye Zhou and Zou Ming ride on horseback while Madam Hou and her son ride in a carriage.

Since Madam Hou still can’t move, Chen Shu carries her into the carriage.

Though she says nothing, Zhou Yuanhe senses that, for a woman of this era, being held by an unrelated man is likely uncomfortable.

Chen Rui walks beside his mother on his own, steady and firm. He doesn’t need guidance.

Ye Zhou watches Chen Rui closely.

Zou Ming notices. Riding beside Ye Zhou, he asks in a low voice, “Do you like him?”

It’s unclear whether he means the child or just the child’s demeanor.

Ye Zhou smiles. “I’m just curious whether he’s imitating adults, or if he already understands how adults behave.”

Zou Ming answers calmly, “He’s seen a lot. Even if he doesn’t understand, he’s learned.”

Ye Zhou catches the implication. “Were you also a little adult when you were a child?”

Zou Ming shakes his head. “Not sensible—but I understood the rules of survival.”

Children are quick learners. Like animals, they know instinctively how to judge what helps or hurts them.

Even the most ignorant child knows who to run to in danger. They don’t need logic or reasoning—just instinct.