Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 114

In the west of Linzi City, a young girl in coarse hemp clothing hangs freshly washed garments on a hemp rope. Her sleeves and skirt are patched, her cheeks slightly sunken, and her outfit hangs loosely on her thin frame.

An old woman sits under the eaves of the door, mending a torn dress.

After a while, her eyes grow tired, and she lifts her head to look at the girl standing not far away.

“Take a break,” the old woman sighs. “I don’t know when this day will end.”

The girl pauses in her work, then resumes hanging the clothes, replying calmly, “The grain official is coming to our house today.”

The old woman hesitates, then can’t help but say, “If it really comes to that, let me take you back to the countryside. We have farmland there. At least we won’t starve.”

Once the last piece of clothing is hung, the girl shakes her head. “If we can’t survive in Linzi, what’s the point of going back to the countryside? If you could truly survive by tending fields, there wouldn’t be so many people abandoning everything to rush to Linzi.”

People with a little wealth from all over the country move to Linzi with their families. They would rather live in straw huts outside the city than stay in their hometowns, where their lands have been passed down for generations.

The old woman sighs deeply.

Her husband passes away early, and the wealth he leaves behind is meager. At first, life isn’t too difficult for her and her three children. They still have fields and slaves in the countryside. Though the harvest can’t support the boys’ studies, they can fill their stomachs and live comfortably.

But now, there’s no surplus food. After the grain officials take what’s harvested, the remainder is barely enough to sustain the slaves.

They think about selling the slaves, but no merchants are willing to buy them.

Keeping them means watching them starve. And even if they are cruel enough to let that happen, they wouldn’t dare—because once the slaves are desperate enough, they won’t talk reason anymore.

“Maybe the rumors are true?” the old woman murmurs with some hope. “Maybe… maybe we really can get money this time?”

Though the people don’t believe they can buy food at a low price, there’s still a faint hope.

The young girl says nothing, afraid to shatter her mother’s remaining hope with her words.

In Linzi these days, if a grown man can still find work as a laborer, even if the job is exhausting and harsh, it at least brings in some income. On good days, the employer might even provide a meal.

But women can only find jobs like washing and mending clothes. These pay less, and the money earned from working from dawn to dusk barely fills their stomachs. Moreover, such jobs aren’t always available, and women from across the western part of the city often compete for them.

Washing clothes is more exhausting than mending. Though the girl has little flesh left on her bones, she still takes on the heaviest tasks, leaving the simpler mending to the old woman.

After hanging another batch of clothes, the girl brings in a bucket of dirty laundry.

Back when the family is better off, she never does such chores. At most, she might wash a piece or two.

Now, these clothes are filthy, soaked with sweat and stench. Even from a distance, they reek.

But she’s grown used to it, no longer finding it unbearable.

In just a few months, her hands have become like those of an old woman, wrinkled and unattractive that even she doesn’t want to look at them.

The harsh life wears down their bodies. Every day, they wonder if they’ll find work tomorrow, whether they’ll earn enough to eat, and if the price of grain will rise again.

“The grain officer is here!” someone runs by, shouting, “The grain officer is here to collect grain!”

Those with grain must hand it over; those without must pay in money. The people have grown used to it.

But hearing it announced so suddenly still fills them with fear and confusion, and they wish they could hide at that moment.

But hiding does no good. If life is that simple, they wouldn’t be struggling so much.

The young girl purses her lips, walking toward the door. It can’t get worse; what can they, the little people, do against the king?

They wait for what feels like an eternity, but the grain officer doesn’t come to their door, and they don’t hear any crying.

In the past, whenever the grain officer visits, neighbors cry and shout. Whether in hopes of appealing to his mercy or just to vent their frustrations, it is always a loud affair.

The old woman can no longer sew, and the girl can no longer wash clothes. They stand, staring at the door, waiting for the grain officer to deliver bad news. Whether you flinch or not, it’s still a blade—better for it to fall quickly. Once it does, at least you can find peace.

Someone’s coming!

The old woman and the girl stand up. They walk toward the door. Just as they lean over to look, they hear a sound before seeing anyone. It’s the sound of coins clinking. The iron coins used in Chen state make a distinct noise when shaken in a purse.

The sound draws closer. The familiar, detested face of the grain official appears—astonishingly, with a smile.

Behind him are six soldiers, moving in pairs, carrying chests clearly filled with iron coins.

Behind them are more than a dozen soldiers in leather armor, holding long spears.

The old woman grabs her chest in fear, her body leaning back. Had her daughter not caught her, she would have fallen and likely been injured. When the grain officer reaches their door, the old woman immediately kneels, pulling her daughter down with her. She cries out, “Master, we have no money at home, really no money! We swear, we have nothing!”

The grain officer has witnessed scenes like this countless times. He smiles and says, “Old aunt, I’m not here to take money from your pockets today, but to give you money! The king has decreed that this time, grain will be bought. One bucket of grain costs ten coins.”

At these words, the old woman stops crying. She stares at the grain officer blankly, her tears still on her face, mouth slightly open—she looks almost comical. She murmurs, “So the rumors are true?” But she’s still unsure, and in a trembling voice asks, “The grain price…?”

She’s afraid that even if a bucket of grain costs ten coins now, by the time she goes to buy it, the price will have risen to twenty coins.

If that’s the case, no matter how much money the grain officer gives her, it won’t help.

The grain official grins. “The ruler has already notified all grain shops in the city—grain will sell for one qian per dou.”

“One qian?!” the young girl exclaims in disbelief.

In her memory, grain has never been cheaper than five qian per dou. She only hears from her parents that in the days when Chen is at its strongest, they don’t need to import grain from any other state. At its peak, two dou could be bought for just one qian. Back then, even commoners are wealthy beyond belief.

Countless foreigners try everything they can to become citizens of Chen.

Her parents say it is in her great-great-grandfather’s time—eight generations ago.

Still, even now, people love to talk about those days.

But those days have passed.

Her parents explain that Chen is strong for only a brief period. For most of its history, it has always been weak, with no famous rulers or corrupt officials to turn the tide.

Chen is a small, mediocre country, so ordinary that even its own people have little to praise about it.

After her exclamation, the girl looks at the official with eyes full of hope.

The grain officer nods proudly, “This is all thanks to the king’s wisdom!”

The old woman and the girl nod together: “The king is wise!”

The old woman’s “we have no grain” earlier now becomes “we still have a little,” and the mother and daughter go to their cellar to retrieve their remaining rations—two barrels of yellow rice.

These are old reserves, likely stored for years, and when opened, they reveal black bugs crawling inside.

For the past months, this worm-infested yellow rice has been their only sustenance.

Upon seeing it clearly, the grain officer sighs in resignation.

He sees this all too often along his journey.

Though a grain official, his rank in Chen means little—no place in court, no real power. When the higher-ups issue orders, he simply enforces them.

He’s not from a noble family. This small position comes from ancestral blessings and his father’s years of bribing superiors. That’s how he inherits the post.

But he is still a commoner. Though he doesn’t live in the city’s west, his family isn’t well-off either.

He has six children and aging parents to support, and he and his wife are close. Their love brings child after child. Often, there’s not enough food at home.

So when he receives this order, he is genuinely happy—for himself and for the people.

Once the grain is brought out, he has the soldiers bring out the measuring container.

This bucket, which looks like a funnel, is slightly different in shape. Every state—and even every grain shop—has its own version.

This time, the king has ordered the creation of identical buckets, so the grain officials can only use these for collecting grain.

Once they assess the amount, the soldiers open the wooden box and instruct the mother and daughter to go fetch something to put the money in.

Before leaving, the grain officer tells them, “If you want to buy grain, go to the east of the city. There’s a strange house there. You’ll recognize it when you see it. Grain is sold at that house. But if you’re going today, you’d best hurry—more people will come, and it’ll be hard to squeeze in.”

With that, the grain officer hurries off to the next house.