Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 107

Before Zou Ming learned to read, he already knew survival came down to fists and knives.

But he was too small. Even if he had the courage to kill, he didn’t have the strength to fight an adult.

When he was caught, he knew clearly—those people wouldn’t let him grow up.

What value does a child’s body have?

Only their organs.

Among the underclass, “selling one’s body” meant exactly that. Being used for sex and paid for it was already a mercy. More often, they were dragged away, caged like livestock. Still alive, but always starving, never free.

When the upper class needed them, they would be taken, cut open, their organs placed in others’ bodies to extend others’ lives.

And their original owners would be tossed into pits, without even a handful of dirt to cover them.

That was supposed to be his fate.

Zou Ming had no parents—or perhaps once did, or else it wouldn’t explain how he survived infancy.

From the moment he could remember, he was in the slums, immersed in violence and depravity. People would fight over moldy biscuits.

Couples were often pimps and prostitutes. Their children were just more goods to sell.

He got lucky. An elderly prostitute took a liking to him, wanting someone to care for her in old age. She adopted him, gave him a place to live and some shelter.

But she was too old. Before he could even bond with her, she passed away.

She had no savings, only a rundown shack of tin. That’s all she left him.

After that, Zou Ming became a ghost wandering the slums. There were things he never told Ye Zhou—things that only felt safe when buried in silence.

His only way to eat—was to kill.

The upper-class people would occasionally come to the slums—perhaps because life in the upper levels of the base was too monotonous. After indulging in all the pleasures available to them, they came to the slums seeking novelty and excitement.

In the slums, they were like emperors. Everyone scrambled to please them, hoping to be chosen, to be taken away from this filthy hell on earth. And these upper-class people would indeed pick consorts the way emperors did.

Man or woman—so long as someone looked good and felt novel— the upper-class would benevolently choose to spend the night with them.

In those filthy, cramped little rooms, they copulated with the lower-class people they looked down on during the day.

And Zou Ming would pick out the weakest-looking men to kill. These men had long since been hollowed out by alcohol and sex. Zou Ming would hide in a dark corner and wait for them to come out.

He could no longer remember what it felt like the first time he killed someone.

Maybe, more than fear, what he felt was excitement.

If he killed this man, he could fill his stomach and keep  the tin-roof shack a woman had left him.

Sometimes, Zou Ming felt that the prostitute who had barely spoken a few words to him was like a mother to him—although she had adopted him just so someone would take care of her in old age. But weren’t some biological parents the same?

To them, children were just tools for survival, instruments to support them in old age.

As a child, Zou Ming didn’t believe in affection without ulterior motives.

He lived like a wild animal, relying entirely on instinct to survive. But he was, after all, just a teenager, always wandering around the slums. Even though no one knew that he was the one who killed those upper-class men found dead in the slums, there were still a few eyes watching him.

The reason was simple: he was healthy. Even if he had nothing, he still possessed the most basic form of capital—his body.

He couldn’t remember all the details of that day. He only remembered running for a long time. The weather was scorching hot. The only thing he could hear was his own panting and heartbeat. He held a knife in his hand, darting through the slums like a rat.

But he still got caught. The moment they seized him, the knife was also taken away.

Even when he was rescued, he didn’t quite register what had happened.

A single bag of biscuits saved his life—and bought him from the traffickers.

Zou Ming didn’t even know if his life was precious or cheap.

He might not remember the specifics of that day, but he remembered the man’s embrace. He must’ve looked terrible back then. With the slums facing water shortages, there wasn’t even enough to drink—let alone bathe.

He must’ve been filthy and ragged, and he didn’t even have a decent pair of shoes.

But the man hadn’t shown the slightest disdain. He simply pulled him into his arms and carried him out.

Zou Ming didn’t resist. Maybe he instinctively knew the man wouldn’t hurt him. He clung to the man’s sleeve, his dirty fingers smearing the man’s pristine white cuffs.

He could smell the man’s scent—a faint fragrance that he had never smelled before. To him, there was no better smell in the world.

In the man’s arms, he heard a sigh: “So this is how it is. No wonder I was asked whether a bag of biscuits could buy someone.”

Zou Ming didn’t understand. He was confused, but soon he heard the man say, “Don’t be afraid. It’s all over now.”

It’s all over now.

.He didn’t know why, but those three words somehow soothed him.

Just moments before, he’d been struggling in the hands of traffickers. But in the next moment, he fell asleep in the arms of a stranger.

When he woke up again, he was no longer the little street rat of the slums, starving and squatting in corners.

He remembered his first real bath, his first full meal, and the first time he put on clean clothes. All of it was with that man.

The man also gave him a name—Zou Ming.

Although the blonde girl was always targeting him and trying to get rid of him, he still felt happy.

The people in the supermarket treated him well. They didn’t look at him like a child, but more like an old friend.

The man would sometimes take time to teach him how to fight. He often said, “So this is what talent looks like.” 

Zou Ming took that as praise, so he trained hard during the day and secretly got up at night to practice more.

Back then, he never thought the man would leave him.

“Maybe,” Ye Zhou says casually. “Let’s go.”

They follow the guards to an open area—or rather, what used to be one. There are still ruins here, and the charred wood nearby suggests a large fire once broke out.

The guard explains, “This used to be the residence of a wealthy merchant. Before the Lord set out on campaign, there was a fire here. Rest assured, Immortal. No one died, so it’s not considered an inauspicious house.”

Ye Zhou nods. He isn’t superstitious—though he does pick auspicious dates when opening his supermarket.

But hey, anything involving money doesn’t count as superstition, right?

Even if the place is haunted, it doesn’t matter. Besides, there’s no way the guard would dare lie to him.

This location is excellent. It’s on a street right next to the palace. Even without knowing the layout of the city, Ye Zhou can tell: anyone who could afford to build a house here is either rich or noble.

And though Linzi is a royal capital, it’s still just one from the Warring States period. Its prosperity is limited.

Only the area immediately surrounding the palace has smooth and well-maintained roads.

“This place will do,” Ye Zhou says, swinging down from the horse. He instinctively hands the reins to Zou Ming and tells him to tie the horses.

Ye Zhou adds, “Feed them the good beans.”

Zou Ming replies, “Got it.”

Ye Zhou doesn’t feel there’s anything strange about his relationship with Zou Ming.

Sometimes Zou Ming just looks at him, and Ye Zhou knows exactly what he’s thinking.
Likewise, even when Ye Zhou says nothing, Zou Ming often acts ahead of him.

Maybe that’s what they call tacit understanding between good friends.

He’s never had a friend like Zou Ming before, much less one so close. It feels new—and precious.

Whether it’s family, friendship, or love, there’s only a limited number of chances in a lifetime.

Some people are lucky and get them easily. Some people are unlucky and never find them at all.

“We only need to deal with these walls,” Ye Zhou says to Wu Yan and the others. “Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” Wu Yan replies.

The employees quickly get to work.

With tools in hand, it takes them less than two hours to finish clearing everything.

Since it’s getting dark, Ye Zhou has them wear headlamps while working—he doesn’t want anyone accidentally smashing their legs with a hammer.

Because of the light, curious neighbors start peeking out from their windows, quietly gathering in the shadows.

But no one speaks. Aside from the sound of tools hitting the stone walls, it’s dead silent.

Once the major obstacles are cleared, Ye Zhou takes out the mini-sized supermarket model. He presses a button and places it in the center of the clearing.

He isn’t afraid of being seen.

No matter how ignorant people are, they’ll know this is no ordinary building once they see the structure and goods inside.

This place is destined to be unusual.
And they have shields, weapons, and the backing of Chen Hou, ruler of the State of Chen—so there’s no need to be subtle.

Half an hour later, the supermarket is fully restored.

Cao’er lets out a sigh of relief. “Finally back.”

She already thinks of the supermarket as her home.

The kids rush toward it, eager to get inside.

Their toys and dolls are still there! They haven’t watched cartoons in days!

Because there’s no space to pitch tents, the employees have to sleep in the warehouse. Ye Zhou and Zou Ming once again share the lounge.

“What the hell is that!” The man hiding in the shadows trembles. He doesn’t even know why he came out to look. Now, he wants nothing more than to beat his past self for being so reckless.

Leaning against the wall, he swallows hard, eyes wide as he stares at the strange square house not far away.

There’s a soft glow coming from it—but it’s not fire. Fire doesn’t shine so steadily.

It looks just like… like the glow coming from those people’s heads before the house appeared!

A monster! It has to be a monster!

The man claps a hand over his mouth. He doesn’t dare scream. He doesn’t even dare breathe too loudly. He can only back away slowly, hugging the wall.

He wants to go home—right now.

There’s a monster here!

No one on this street gets any sleep that night. They aren’t afraid of the lord returning—after all, they are traitors, yes, but they can’t bear to leave the homes they’ve lived in for generations.

What they fear… is the monsters.

No one sleeps well that night. Many don’t sleep at all.

Only Ye Zhou and the others, back inside the supermarket, sleep peacefully.