Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 120

In Linzi City, at a house just outside the city, the lights are bright. Servants hold torches, and slaves hold bows and arrows.

Everyone moves hurriedly. A maid stands quietly in the corner, holding her breath as she listens to the furious voice of the master of the house.

“A merchant! How dare he capture the head of our Yang family! Humiliate the Yang family like this!” a man’s voice rings out, followed by the sound of a wooden table being kicked over.

“If we don’t kill him, how will the Yang family survive?”

In the hall, dozens of Yang family members sit together, watching the family head’s brother rage. Their expressions vary—some genuinely angry, others silently lowering their heads.

No one speaks.

The man points outside the door. “If we really pay him, how will the people of Linzi see us? How will the world see us? The head of a noble family is captured by merchants, and we’re expected to give them money and food?”

Another says, “This won’t do. If we give in this time, there will be a next. From now on, everyone will think the Yang family is easy to bully. This door must not be opened.”

“But if we launch an attack, it’ll be hard to explain things to Marquis Chen.”

“We’ve been giving gifts to the Zheng and Zhang families for years. They promised to recommend the Yang family’s sons to court positions, but they’ve delayed it for a year now. Not a single Yang has entered the court.”

“Why don’t we wait for Marquis Chen to recover and have him deliver justice?”

“Yes, otherwise, if Marquis Chen wakes up and finds us fighting in Linzi, it won’t end well.”

The man sneers. “Does the Chen State today still let Marquis Chen speak freely? He kills Zhang Rong, and what comes of it? Nothing. The Zhang family has many sons—too many to worry over. If he really acts out, Marquis Chen will be confined to the Chen Palace for life!”

The Yang family members look at one another. Though they know his words make sense, many still hesitate.

One young man stands up and nervously addresses the man, “Uncle, we are subjects of the monarch after all. It’s taboo for subjects to take up arms. What the family head did today was inappropriate. We should end the fighting and try to negotiate. If it can be solved with money and food, isn’t that preferable…”

Before he finishes, the man kicks him hard in the stomach. The youth staggers back several steps before being supported by others.

“Coward!” the man shouts, pointing at his nose. “You’re not worthy of the Yang family name!” His eyes sweep over the others, fury rising. “The Yang family has fallen so low because of your cowardice—afraid of nobles, of monarchs, of officials. That’s why we are where we are today. In the past, we offered gifts to the Zheng and Zhang families. Now, what, we start offering them to merchants? You might be able to stomach that humiliation, but the Yang family can’t! Someone! Drag him out!”

Two servants enter immediately and drag the youth away. His parents say nothing, only casting the man a glance before quickly looking away.

Though this is the main branch of the Yang family in Linzi, even among them, distinctions have grown. As ties between relatives grow distant, so do their fortunes. Some can feast on meat, while others can only sip soup.

And now the meat-eaters want the soup-drinkers to charge forward and take risks with them. Even the most foolish among them know better than to agree.

The man barks, “This is a major clan matter! There’s no room for hesitation. If we can’t rescue the family head tonight, the Yang family will have no place left to stand! No more idle talk!” he shouts toward the gate. “Send them out!”

The armored guard outside answers the command. He turns to look at the torch-bearing crowd behind him and sighs inwardly.

Though he’s a soldier now, he was once a commoner. It’s only because the Yang family gave him food that he became a guard, earning enough to feed his family.

“Move out!” he shouts to the servants in the courtyard.

The servants pick up their weapons and file out. They’re not trained soldiers—most don’t even know how to hold a weapon properly. They’re scared, but too afraid to flee. All they can do is follow.

Late at night, the streets of Linzi are deserted. Lights flicker, shadows stretch across the walls—long, thin, and grotesque. The evening wind rustles the torches, twisting the silhouettes even more.

The servants walk in a long line toward the supermarket. Their eyes are blank. Soldiers lead them from the front and guard the rear. They look less like soldiers and more like prisoners being escorted.

But no one protests. They are all “Yang family people,” servants for generations. If the Yang family casts them out, they’ll be worse off than slaves.

The lead soldier stops in front of the house.

It has been renovated. Though the structure is the same, it looks brand new. Broken tiles have been patched. A new tree has been planted where the old dead one once stood. It is now blossoming, petals scattered across the courtyard, the air filled with a gentle fragrance.

The soldier turns to look behind him.

No one from the Yang family has come.

They are all afraid that after the family head is captured, they’ll be next.

Even the master’s own younger brother, the one shouting the loudest, hasn’t come.

The guard purses his lips and shouts to the servants, “Break down the door!”

But the servants have no tools—and even if they did, they wouldn’t know how to use them. They stare at the soldier with blank, clueless eyes.

The soldier points at one of the taller men. “You. Break it down.”

The tall man flinches. Though big, he looks like a frightened quail. His lips tremble. “I… I can’t, sir…”

The soldier sighs inwardly. With this group of spineless servants, even a god couldn’t win a battle.

The Yangs don’t raise capable men. They don’t need competent subordinates—only clan members are trusted.

Servants and slaves are disposable. Troublemakers are executed publicly. Over the years, even the already-obedient ones have become thoroughly docile and numb. They have stopped thinking. They respond to nothing except direct commands.

Slaves are still people. People who don’t work nonstop will inevitably think. But Yang family slaves do not.

They have completely lost their sense of self. They obey, never question.

The guard hesitates briefly. Then finally, he steps forward himself and stands before the main gate.

He looks back once more, then raises his hand and knocks on the door.

—

“Surrender?”

Ye Zhou is roused from sleep in the middle of the night. He throws on a jacket, washes his face with the water Cao’er brings, rinses his mouth, and then asks, “The Yang family?”

Cao’er nods, then shakes her head. “He’s a soldier raised by the Yang family… I don’t know if he counts as a Yang. He didn’t take their surname.”

Didn’t take their surname—then he isn’t a trusted insider.

The Yangs don’t even let foreign merchants in Linzi keep their original names.

Let alone the soldiers they raise.

This soldier likely isn’t valued at all—probably seen as less than the household servants.

But at least he’s a commoner. Unlike slaves, he hasn’t been brainwashed from childhood. He hasn’t been taught to serve a single family for life.

“Have him sent to the lobby,” Ye Zhou says. “I’ll wait for him there.”

In this dimension, the people are ignorant, barbaric—yet free. A sign of royal power in decline. And with that decline, new ideas spring up like mushrooms after the rain.

The children of noble houses bring those ideas with them. Monarchs care only for maintaining power and expanding territory. This world has many problems, but it is undoubtedly full of vitality.

However, in such a society, only commoners and nobles are considered people.

Slaves and the lowborn are not.

To the powerful elite, the world is beautiful. It might lack in material comfort, but it imposes few restraints. Regardless of gender, nobles enjoy equal privileges—they can stay unmarried for life or have multiple lovers. They can do as they please.

There is no real difference between princes and princesses. In fact, princesses often live better.

But for the lower classes, life is different. They have no rights. Freedom brings chaos and hunger. They can become slaves at any moment. Even if their lives and possessions are taken by the powerful, they can only blame fate.

Ye Zhou understands this. Every system has pros and cons. He knows that slave society will inevitably evolve into feudalism.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from seeing the good parts of this world he likes. Unmarried men and women can fall in love. Having children out of wedlock isn’t scandalous. Scholars can live where they please. Oppressive “traditions” haven’t yet formed.

Men don’t lock wives indoors to guard lineage.

Women don’t have to bind their feet or surrender all freedom and property.

Even without inheritance rights or the ability to lead a clan, daughters of rich families are often given property. If bullied by their husbands, their maternal relatives can storm the house, take them back by force, and declare divorce unilaterally.

Even if it’s all noble privilege, even if commoners still buy and sell wives and daughters, there are elements of progress.

Still, that progress belongs only to one class.

In slave society, the elite thrive. In feudal society, commoners will do better.

Ye Zhou enters the lobby, already refurbished by supermarket employees. People here aren’t used to sitting on their knees, and neither is he. Every time he tries, his butt hits his heels, and he hurts himself. Later, he observes the locals’ sitting posture—they sit with their feet turned to the side.

They do it naturally. But no matter how he tries, Ye Zhou can’t get used to it. His knees and legs ache, and his feet feel awkward.

So Ye Zhou asks the employees to renovate the hall according to their own living habits.

The hall is furnished with simple, elegant chairs, and a tall wooden table stands nearby. Small potted plants are usually placed on the table, but when guests arrive, the decorations are removed to make space for the tea sets.

In one corner stands a Fushan stove. When visitors come, they light incense. As guests taste their tea, they catch a faint fragrance at the tip of their noses and see wisps of smoke curling from the stove—a scene especially pleasing to the eye.

Ye Zhou sits in the main seat in the hall and asks Feng Yao to make him a cup of strong tea. He has just taken two sips when Cao’er brings the guest in.

Cao’er enters first, trots to Ye Zhou’s side, and leans in to whisper, “He brought nearly a hundred people. Brother Wu took them to the backyard. Brother Wu and Brother Zhou are watching them together. Sister Chen says she’ll come over soon.”

Ye Zhou nods and sets down his teacup. Cao’er quickly leaves the hall again and tells the soldier waiting outside to come in.