Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 119

Ye Zhou walks to the infirmary door with a cup of milk tea in hand. It has been quiet inside for a long time.

He doesn’t hate the middle-aged man. In fact, he doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. Sometimes, Ye Zhou feels like he has lost the ability to feel.

At certain moments, it’s like there’s a switch in his brain.

When the switch is on, he’s just like anyone else—sympathetic, compassionate, eager to help.

But when the switch flips off, the world becomes veiled, like it’s covered in gauze. Through that veil, all sensations dull to numbness.

Even if he kills someone with his own hands, he wouldn’t feel a thing.

He doesn’t tell Zou Ming to spare the man because he thinks the man’s life is important, or because it would be a pity if he dies. He simply weighs the pros and cons and decides that keeping the man alive is more beneficial.

Ye Zhou blows on the milk tea and takes a sip.

He no longer drinks instant milk tea. Aunt Li somehow finds a book on how to make milk tea. Although she can’t read most of the characters—she barely recognizes fifty in total—she follows the pictures and manages to figure it out on her own.

She stir-fries tea leaves and sugar until they caramelize, pours in milk, and, once off the heat, adds two spoonfuls of canned water chestnuts. It’s not much different from what you’d get in a milk tea shop. If Ye Zhou liked pearls, Aunt Li would probably figure out how to make those too.

Ye Zhou drinks slowly, sipping little by little. Just as he finishes the last drop, the door of the infirmary finally opens.

He stands up.

The moment the door opened, a strong stench of blood hit his nose, along with another indescribable odor.

Zou Ming has taken off his jacket. Now he wears only a black tank top, revealing two muscular arms. Sweat beads on his forehead, and blood—still not dry—clings to his arms. Heat radiates from his body as he approaches Ye Zhou.

Ye Zhou wrinkles his nose and frowns. “What’s that smell?”

Zou Ming tosses his coat aside. As always, he remains silent and gentle in front of Ye Zhou.

“He peed,” Zou Ming says lightly.

Ye Zhou: “…Zhou Yuanhe’s going to have a word with you later.”

Zou Ming: “He’s seen worse.”

As a doctor, Zhou Yuanhe must have encountered patients with incontinence. Doctors require cleanliness, but they also have to endure filth. Otherwise, they can’t treat people.

Ye Zhou smiles faintly. “I’m not so sure about that.”

This isn’t the same as treating a patient.

“Does Zhou Yuanhe need to check his injuries?” Ye Zhou glances inside.

The middle-aged man is clearly in better shape than the cannibal bandit they encountered back in Daliang. Zou Ming has gone to some effort.

The man even tries to sit up with difficulty.

“No need,” Zou Ming replies. “They’re just minor injuries. No bones broken.”

Ye Zhou says, “Still, it probably hurts like hell.” He thinks for a moment. “If you beat me up, I’d probably be bawling for my parents.”

“I wouldn’t lay a finger on you,” Zou Ming suddenly says.

Ye Zhou pauses—not because of what is said, but because of how it is said.

Zou Ming isn’t simply stating a fact. It sounds more like a vow, or even a declaration of intent. His voice is soft, but solemn and firm: “You can do anything to me, but I will never do anything to upset you.”

Ye Zhou stands still, and for some reason, his heartbeat quickens.

It feels like he’s just finished running a 2,000-meter dash.

But he quickly composes himself, turns around, and smiles. “Go take a shower first.” Then he looks at the man behind Zou Ming, who has tried several times and failed to get up. His eyes narrow. “Let him stay there and calm down for a bit.”

“Okay.” Zou Ming, sweaty and bloodstained, doesn’t argue. He turns and goes to the lounge.

Ye Zhou doesn’t leave. He looks at the man who has no visible wounds on his face yet can’t manage to get up from the ground. Ye Zhou walks over and squats down slowly in front of him.

The man looks up and sees Ye Zhou’s face clearly.

He has never met Ye Zhou before, but the moment he sees him, he instinctively knows—this is the supermarket’s owner.

“Your family will try to buy your release,” Ye Zhou says, his voice calm, face blank. “But they won’t get what they want. The amount of money and grain they’ll need to provide will keep increasing, until it’s too much for them to bear. At that point, they’ll wish you were dead. The Yang family will fall into civil strife. Chen Hou won’t need to lift a finger. The Yang family will collapse on its own. This is the consequence of your actions. Do you regret it?” Ye Zhou asks softly.

But the man no longer has the strength for anger or resentment—only fear remains. Zou Ming’s methods have made him wish he’d never been born. He is completely broken. He can only murmur and cry, “Let me go, let me go! I was wrong! I messed up!” He reaches out to grab Ye Zhou’s clothes, begging, “I’ll give you anything—just let me go! I know I was wrong! I know I was wrong!”

Ye Zhou gently pulls his hem away, then lowers his head and smooths the wrinkles on it.

“What you should be thinking about now,” he whispers, “is what you’ll do if your family really pays to redeem you. If they pay, their reputation will be ruined. A noble family, extorted by merchants and unable to fight back—you’ll never have a place in Linzi again. If they don’t pay and abandon the head of their household, that might be an even worse ending. And if they bring people to rescue you,” Ye Zhou smiles, “the Chen family will wipe you out immediately.”

The man just keeps begging.

Ye Zhou looks at him, disappointed, then stands up.

Some people believe that once they admit their mistakes, they deserve forgiveness. But when others offend them, those people should die. Their lives are precious. Others’ lives are cheap.

Ye Zhou turns to Cao’er, who has appeared behind him at some point. “Give him some water. No painkillers. Let him go hungry for now. When the Yang family sends food and money, we’ll feed him.”

Cao’er nods in response.

“Boss, Zhao Xue is here,” says Wu Yan’s wife, coming in from the back door.

Ye Zhou nods. “Let him in… just send him straight to the cashier.”

Zou Ming is still showering in the lounge, so chatting by the cashier’s sofa partition would be best.

Wu Yan’s wife nods and leaves.

Ye Zhou stands there and adjusts his clothes. He regrets wearing something so formal—it wrinkles easily and restricts movement. Squatting makes the hem brush the floor. He feels like an underpaid street cleaner.

—

Zhao Xue walks up the steps. The moment he steps inside, the sheer variety of goods stuns him, but he doesn’t let it show.

He looks up at the lights overhead.

Everything in here is beyond his comprehension.

But he remains calm, acting as if he’s used to it.

People always rationalize the unknown. Merchants assume everything here is made by skilled artisans—unseen before, perhaps, but still within the realm of human capability.

They just think they’ve been unlucky not to meet such craftsmen.

They never imagined this supermarket came from the future.

But Zhao Xue isn’t like them. He’s different.

Ordinary people come for the excitement. The rich and powerful come for luxury. Merchants come for profit.

But from the moment Zhao Xue enters, he sees the “past and present” of every object here.

None of these goods—none of this supermarket—is built by human hands.

Wu Yan’s wife leads him to a quieter corner. Zhao Xue’s eyes land on the man sitting against the wall. The instant he sees him, everything else fades.

“I greet the Prime Minister!” Zhao Xue stops a few steps away and bows.

It’s the first time anyone has called him that in the supermarket. Ye Zhou finds it both amusing and strange.

It makes sense outside, but here… it feels like a moment out of time.

“No need for formality. Sit down,” Ye Zhou says, then turns to Wu Yan’s wife. “Pour him some milk tea.”

People in this plane seem to prefer milk tea over regular tea. It’s sweet and only available at Ye Zhou’s place.

No matter how they make it at home—adding tea leaves and sugar—it always comes out with a strange fishy taste.

Many merchants come every day for this one cup.

Zhao Xue looks up at Ye Zhou, and only after confirming he’s being offered a seat does he move.

After he sits down, Ye Zhou says, “Something came up just now, so I missed our appointment. I hope you won’t take offense.”

Zhao Xue quickly replies, “The Prime Minister bears the burden of the people and the nation. I am just a man who’s been frustrated half his life. How could I blame you?”

Ye Zhou smiles. “Master, don’t belittle yourself. If you really thought that way, you wouldn’t have traveled thousands of miles to Linzi.”

Zhao Xue looks up. “Then what kind of man does the Prime Minister think I am?”

Ye Zhou thinks for a moment, then says gently, “You’re like a crane poised to fly—just waiting for the wind to carry you to the skies. I don’t mean to tease,” Ye Zhou adds softly, “nor do I have any ill intentions. Since you need a wind to rise, let me be that wind. What do you think?”

Zhao Xue replies with grave sincerity, “The Prime Minister intends to recommend me to Marquis Chen?”

Ye Zhou says, “The State of Chen is weak, its people struggling. I can save Linzi’s people, but not the entire state. I don’t have that much time. Are you confident?”

Ye Zhou looks directly into Zhao Xue’s eyes.

Their eyes meet.

Zhao Xue presses his lips together and answers, “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have come to Linzi.”

Ye Zhou smiles. “You’re a man of great ambition. In that case, I’ll have someone take you to a residence I’ve prepared. Everyone there is a scholar. But their quality varies. Some are envious of talent. Before I recommend you to Marquis Chen, be cautious.”

His tone is soft, his face smiling, as if they’re discussing something casual. But Zhao Xue hears the threat in his words and sees the blade behind the smile.

His breathing grows heavier, and he lowers his voice: “I will never disappoint the Prime Minister.”

He knows—this moment is the turning point in his life.

The one who can change his fate… is sitting right in front of him.