Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 109

The sun shines brightly as Zhang Zilan stumbles out of the house called the supermarket. He nearly falls, but fortunately, the “sales assistant” beside him catches him in time, sparing him the embarrassment of falling flat on his face.

The crowd outside hasn’t dispersed. No sooner does he step out than someone calls out from among them, “Young master! How is it in there? Any demons or ghosts?”

Zhang Zilan knows they’re teasing him.

He snorts, doesn’t bother replying seriously, and simply takes the shopping basket from Feng Ling. Then he shouts to those gathered at the base of the stairs, “The store owner said, if you don’t have money, don’t go in. You’re just jealous. If you want to know what’s inside, why don’t you go in and see for yourself?”

With that, he loops the basket over his arm and swaggers down the stairs.

The onlookers know he’s a son of the Zhang family, so they don’t take offense. After all, it’s not surprising for a young master from a noble family to act a little arrogant.

Zhang Zilan squeezes past the crowd and mutters, “I should’ve brought Ah Shan with me.”

But right after, he remembers: his family doesn’t let him go out—he isn’t supposed to leave the house at all. Ah Shan helps him slip out by keeping the other servants at bay.

Now burdened with so many things, sneaking back over the wall is out of the question. Besides, he made such a fuss when he left that even if his parents were blind and deaf, they surely know by now.

He sighs and glances at the wine bottles in his basket, consoling himself: with all the things he’s bringing home, maybe he won’t get beaten.

Even if he is beaten, it’s not like he’ll be bedridden tomorrow.

After a few steps, he has to stop and rest from carrying the heavy basket. It takes some effort, but he finally reaches the front gate of his house.

He sets the basket down and calls out, “Uncle Li! Open the door! Your young master is back!”

After shouting, he sits down on the steps and looks through the basket again.

Besides wine, there are also unfamiliar things like glowing beads. According to the sales assistant, as long as you leave them in the sun during the day, they’ll glow at night. They won’t light up a whole room, but they give off a unique atmosphere.

He buys nearly everything the sales assistant recommends.

To avoid getting scolded by his parents, he even forces himself to buy a “workbook” and a fountain pen.

What Zhang Zilan hates most in life is reading and writing (engraving). As a child of an aristocratic family, slacking off is allowed in everything except studies. He injures his hands countless times engraving bamboo slips and wooden boards, always covered in little cuts.

And engraving isn’t easy—it takes force. His fingers are now calloused and even a little deformed from it. Zhang Zilan cares a lot about looks. Men without means don’t care, but those with status need a proper crown, jade accessories, and the like.

Both men and women value beauty, though in different ways.

Zhang Zilan’s idea of beauty is frailty. The body should be slender, the skin pale, not tanned, and movements elegant.

Everyone in his family shares this aesthetic. His parents and siblings almost always use umbrellas when they go out. His little sister has especially pale skin and well-kept hair. With her black hair, white skin, and red lips, she’s not even ten yet, but countless noble families have already sent marriage proposals.

Zhang Zilan glances at the fountain pen, thinking it might be another type of carving tool. Though called a pen, a carving pen is basically a knife.

While they do use brushes to write, brushwriting only lasts on silk. On bamboo slips, ink fades quickly from rolling and unrolling, so even brush-written text has to be engraved to preserve it.

But he can’t understand the book.

The “sales assistant” doesn’t let him ask questions, so he doesn’t. He still doesn’t know what a book is, or what paper is.

Suddenly, the door creaks open behind him. Zhang Zilan stands up and turns around, grumbling, “What took you so long, Uncle Li? Were you eating again in the kitchen?”

As he turns, expecting to see Uncle Li’s familiar old face, he’s greeted instead by a stern and furious expression.

Zhang Zilan immediately hunches his shoulders and mutters, “…Father.”

“You still remember I’m your father?!” Zhang Shen glares at him, barely holding back his fury. “Get inside.”

Zhang Zilan knows he’s in trouble. He carefully picks up the basket and follows his father into the house.

Uncle Li, standing at the gate, mouths silently as Zhang Zilan passes: Beg for mercy.

Zhang Zilan nods miserably.

“To the ancestral hall,” Zhang Shen says. His face is so dark it looks like storm clouds.

Zhang Zilan walks toward the ancestral hall without complaint.

If a member of the Zhang family dares to flaunt wealth outside, they’re not worthy of the name.

“You’re still carrying things?!” Zhang Shen finally snaps. “Do you even know what happened yesterday?! Do you know the Marquis is rectifying the court and that Zhang Rong has been arrested?!”

Zhang Zilan freezes. He knows Zhang Rong—though they’re only distantly related.

His family is a branch of the Zhangs. A hundred years ago, they’re forced to live in hardship at the border. Only after generations of effort do they return to the capital.

When they go out, they never claim to be the Zheng-surnamed Zhangs—only “Zhang.”

They don’t want to be associated with the main branch—because the moment they are, the main branch becomes their master.

Zhang Zilan forgets what he’s holding and blurts out, “No one knows we’re connected. Even if they did, we’ve been separate for years. When there are benefits, we get none. So when there’s trouble, it shouldn’t involve us either. Besides, the Lord is a good man. Zhang Rong is his friend—I doubt he’ll be punished.”

Zhang Shen laughs angrily. “If one day, you’re away from home and your older brother helps an outsider seize your property and imprison your wife and children, what would you do?”

Zhang Zilan stiffens. “Then he’s no brother of mine! Either he dies or I do!”

If a stranger betrays him, so be it. But if his own brother does? That can’t be forgiven.

Zhang Shen sneers. “So you’re not stupid. Then tell me, will the Marquis spare Zhang Rong? The ruler isn’t just punishing him—he’s having him executed at the palace gates! Public beheading!”

Zhang Zilan gapes. “…How can that be? No one stops him? Father, you didn’t try to talk him out of it? You know the law—criminal penalties don’t apply to the gentry!”

Rituals are not for commoners; punishment is not for the nobility.

Not that commoners are without decorum, or that the gentry are exempt from all punishment—but commoners struggle just to survive, so one can’t expect them to follow refined etiquette like noble sons.

And when a noble commits a crime, out of respect for his dignity, they’re not subjected to vulgar punishments—usually, they’re ordered to commit suicide, preserving a bit of face for them and their families.

“Is His Majesty going to break with the noble families?” Zhang Zilan asks, his voice lower.

Though usually unruly, he’s not stupid.

Zhang Shen nods grimly. “This morning, the Marquis declares Zhang Rong’s execution. All the noble officials withdraw in protest.”

Zhang Zilan thinks for a moment, then says, “That’s a good thing.”

Zhang Shen glares at him. “What’s good about it?!”

Zhang Zilan replies, “No one knows we’re part of the main Zhang family. And you didn’t become an official through their help. If the Lord is cutting down the nobles, he’ll need new people—he’ll have to promote you. This might be disaster for noble families, but for us, it’s a blessing. Besides, if all the Zhang family leaves, each of us can get a job. Big Brother and Second Brother still haven’t found work.”

Zhang Shen’s expression slowly eases. After thinking it over, he realizes his son makes sense.

He only becomes an official thanks to a recommendation from his own father. Their family enters the capital by hiding their surname, claiming to be the Wei Chen clan.

Otherwise, the main branch would never allow them into the royal city.

In large clans, the more branches there are, the more diluted the power. That’s why each generation leaves only two or three heirs in the main family—all others are sent away.

It’s a strategy to preserve strength.

But the ones who get cast out—those are the ones who resent the Zhang family most.

Zhang Shen, who initially plans to make his son kneel in the ancestral hall, pats him on the shoulder. “Alright. No need for that. Now tell me—what are you doing when you went out?”

Zhang Zilan grins. “I went to check out the excitement! You know that house that burns down in the south of the city? There’s a new building on that spot now—it’s amazing!”

Zhang Shen asks, “What’s so amazing about it?”

Zhang Zilan becomes animated. “They say it’s built overnight! It doesn’t have the pillars our houses do. It’s square and huge inside, with rows and rows of shelves—each one packed with goods…”

He goes on and on. Zhang Shen doesn’t listen—he knows his son tends to exaggerate. If he believes everything, he’d be a fool.

“Oh, and I bought all this from the supermarket,” Zhang Zilan adds. “I didn’t have much money, so I sold my jade set.”

Zhang Shen, just starting to calm down, explodes again. “Do you know how hard your mother worked to get that set?! You little spendthrift!”

Zhang Zilan quickly places the basket in front of him. “I didn’t buy it for myself! Look—it’s all wine for you and Mother!”

Zhang Shen is about to scold him again, but as he looks down, he hesitates.

He might not know wine, but even he can tell these bottles aren’t ordinary.

“Where did this come from?!” he demands.

Zhang Zilan puffs out his chest. “The supermarket. There’s tons of it there, but it’s expensive. Still, if you have the money, you can buy it. Right now, we’re the only ones with it. After you and Mom drink it, we can sell the bottle to a merchant!”

He’s already figured out resale strategies.

Zhang Shen picks up a bottle—clear glass, colorless, transparent. He holds it to the light. Not a trace of sediment. Crystal clear. Even the best wine these days is somewhat cloudy.

“This looks…” he murmurs.

Zhang Zilan jumps in. “I also bought this glowing bead! It glows at night! Not as bright as a torch, but still magical. Imagine if we sold these outside…”

Zhang Shen frowns. “Has your family mistreated you? You’re a noble son. Why are you so mercenary?”

Zhang Zilan mutters, “We still have to spend on food, clothes, and shelter. You don’t earn money…”

Zhang Shen kicks him. “I’m your father!”

Zhang Zilan clutches his backside and grumbles, “I know. If you weren’t my dad, I’d have fought back already.”