Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 54

“Open a breeding farm?” Ye Zhou is stunned when he hears the proposal.

He runs a supermarket—how could he possibly open a breeding farm? He knows absolutely nothing about it. He doesn’t even know how long it takes for an egg to hatch, or how long a chicken has to be raised before it can be slaughtered.

If they let him run a breeding farm, they might as well be prepared to lose everything.

Yang Guoqin shakes his head. “Not you running it. I mean we cooperate. The base doesn’t have any money right now.”

Supplies are sufficient, but the corn cakes that double as currency might soon run out.

Ye Zhou thinks about it and realizes it makes sense. At Luoyang Base, corn cakes are still the main form of currency. Because they can be used to shop in his supermarket, people aren’t using the official paper money.

And even if they do, those bills likely aren’t worth much.

Even if they have value inside Luoyang Base, they’re worthless in other bases—essentially just scraps of paper.

If Yang Guoqin wants to re-establish a currency system, he’d have to issue a new currency specifically for Luoyang Base. But he’s only a base leader. Even if that currency only circulates locally, he’ll probably be held accountable.

Yang Guoqin says, “I’ve thought it through. Everyone’s used to bartering. The market and society are still unstable. No one knows when the next zombie tide will come. In this situation, bartering isn’t such a bad idea.”

But bartering requires stable-value goods—and that means relying on what the supermarket can produce.

“I originally thought of using cloth,” Yang Guoqin says with a helpless shrug. “But our base doesn’t produce any. Not every household can weave cloth either.”

This isn’t ancient times—how many people still know how to weave cloth? Even if they do, where would they get the looms?

And even if they have machines, cloth made on an assembly line isn’t suitable as currency. Once production starts, it becomes endless.

It might only take two days for the cloth to completely lose its purchasing power.

After all, many other bases—especially the larger ones—have factories churning out cloth.

In contrast, agricultural products have more stable value and take time to produce. That’s why the value of corn cakes hasn’t dropped too much—the supply is steady and not prone to sudden spikes or drops.

Ye Zhou still doesn’t quite understand. “So how exactly are we cooperating? How do we split the profits?”

His earnings come from system exchange. Living animals can’t be preserved long-term. He can’t store them up and take them to the next plane to exchange.

And chickens and ducks sell quickly, but they aren’t worth much in any plane—there’s no point in reselling them.

Yang Guoqin shakes his head. “It’s not joint investment. I mean we need you to help us buy what we need, and help keep track during the purchasing process.”

Ye Zhou feels relieved. “Alright, make a list of what you need. If I can get it, I’ll hand it over to you.”

Yang Guoqin visibly relaxes, his smile no longer forced. With renewed energy, he says, “That’s great. I don’t have any professionals here, and I can’t even find any technical books on the subject. If I tried transferring someone in from another base, who knows how long it’d take.”

Private trading fleets are convenient. Official channels, on the other hand, have to go through all the red tape.

Sure, it’s safe—if something goes wrong later, there’ll be someone to take responsibility. But it’s also incredibly slow.

If they’re unlucky and a few bases get attacked by zombies, it’s normal for the approval documents to be delayed for a year or two.

“I’ll have someone make the list tonight.” As Yang Guoqin leaves, Ye Zhou sees him out.

They stand by the supermarket door.

“How’s business lately?” Yang Guoqin asks. After working with Ye Zhou for so long, he really seems to treat him like an ordinary shopkeeper. His tone has become more casual, and he even starts asking questions that used to be awkward.

Ye Zhou nods. “Not as busy as before, but it’s better this way. I used to be swamped.”

He’s been so busy he even dreams about work.

Now that the supermarket is running smoothly, his employees no longer need constant guidance. Even without him around, everything continues as usual.

After watching Yang Guoqin drive off, Ye Zhou rubs his neck and returns to the break room.

Truthfully, he doesn’t like dealing with Yang Guoqin. It’s nothing personal—just the man’s position. That kind of authority makes Ye Zhou feel distant.

Back in his own world, the highest-ranking official he’s ever dealt with is the president of his university—if that even counts.

He lies on the couch in the break room for twenty minutes before getting up and turning on the computer to browse the system mall.

Since the system can send employees to this world, it should also be able to sell livestock. After all, he’s already bought a horse once.

After searching for half an hour, Ye Zhou finally finds listings for chickens, ducks, and geese. There are also cattle, horses, pigs, and dogs.

Tools and machinery needed for farming are available too.

The prices are surprisingly reasonable.

Ye Zhou notices that the prices in the system mall don’t fluctuate across different planes. For example, guns cost the same in this world as they do in the last.

If he uses gun prices as a benchmark, then overall, the system’s goods are fairly cheap.

He notes down the product pages in the notebook next to him, muttering as he writes, “You can move people across planes, but you can’t upgrade your interface? Back in my world, every shopping app had a proper cart. Why not take a hint? At least make a shopping cart, so I don’t have to search everything again each time.”

But the computer stays quiet as ever.

After complaining, Ye Zhou glances at the clock. It’s already eight in the evening. He hasn’t eaten dinner yet.

“What do you want to eat tonight?” he asks Zou Ming, who’s reading by the window.

Business has been steady lately, and the supermarket has enough staff, so the employees—including the system ones—have started taking turns resting.

Tonight is Ye Zhou and Zou Ming’s shift off.

Zou Ming stands up. “Did Aunt Li not make anything?”

Ye Zhou shakes his head. “I asked her not to. I thought I wouldn’t be hungry tonight.” He sighs. “Turns out I can’t predict my own appetite.”

Zou Ming puts down his book and walks over. “What do you want to eat? I’ll make something.”

Ye Zhou looks surprised. “You can cook?”

Zou Ming nods. “Yeah.”

Ye Zhou laughs. “You really know a lot. Not like me—I can barely do anything. …Well, I shouldn’t say that. I can wash dishes. And pots. I’m actually great at scrubbing pots. Back home, I’m in charge of cleaning all the iron ones. My mom always says I do a better job with one wash than she can in three. After I scrub them, they shine like new.”

After boasting, Ye Zhou eagerly follows Zou Ming to the kitchen to watch him cook.

While Zou Ming cooks, Ye Zhou stays nearby to liven up the atmosphere.

“Actually, I never learn how to cook because I put all my time and energy into learning how to run a supermarket. Back in college, I used to work part-time at the supermarket whenever I had free time. My mom always says that if I don’t learn to cook, I won’t be able to get married in the future.” He sighs leisurely. “In my hometown, it’s the men who cook. Any young man who doesn’t know how to cook will never be able to marry a wife.”

As soon as the word “wife” comes up, Zou Ming’s hand trembles while slicing vegetables, and the knife slips, cutting a gash on his finger.

Beads of blood slowly well up, falling onto the cutting board and staining the leaves.

Ye Zhou is startled. “Wait, I’ll get you a band-aid!”

When he comes back, he motions for Zou Ming to hold out his hand. Zou Ming wants to put it on himself, but Ye Zhou shifts the hand holding the band-aid away. “You can’t do it yourself. Let me. Why are you so careless?” Ye Zhou mutters in the same tone his mom used to scold him. “Don’t get distracted while chopping vegetables.”

Then he pauses, a little stunned. “No, this is my fault. I talked too much just now. I’ll keep quiet later. I shouldn’t have been chatting while you were holding a knife.”

As Ye Zhou bends down slightly to help apply the band-aid, Zou Ming glances at his earlobes and suddenly asks, “Do you want to get married?”

Ye Zhou is caught off guard by the question but answers anyway. “I don’t know. I think that kind of thing depends on fate. If it feels right, we’ll get married. If it’s not right, then there’s no point forcing it.”

Zou Ming asks, “What do you mean by ‘right’?”

Ye Zhou hesitates. “How should I explain this… Probably when you see someone and feel like you have to be with them, that kind of feeling?” He sighs. “I can’t really explain it. I’m ‘single from birth.’”

Zou Ming, ever the curious one, asks, “What does ‘single from birth’ mean? Like a peony? A flower?”

(Translator’s Notes: In Chinese, “母单” is an internet slang term that comes from the phrase “母胎单身”（mǔ tāi dān shēn）, which literally means “single since the womb”. It humorously refers to someone who has never been in a romantic relationship since birth.

So when 叶舟 says, “我母单,” he’s casually saying, “I’ve been single all my life—never dated anyone.”

Zou Ming hears “母单” and mishears it as “牡丹” (mǔ dān), which means peony, a flower. The joke here plays on the homophones: 母单 (mǔ dān) = “single from birth” (slang) and 牡丹 (mǔ dān) = “peony” (flower))

Ye Zhou can’t help but laugh. “No, it means I’ve been single since birth. I’ve never been in a relationship.”

Zou Ming’s eyes widen. “Never? Why not? No one liked you?”

Ye Zhou chuckles awkwardly. “It’s not like that. It’s just…”

Back when he likes playing basketball, girls often bring him water and towels. Even if he’s dense, he can tell they’re interested. He doesn’t mind getting to know them, but over time, the relationships naturally turn into friendships. And once they become friends, he just can’t feel anything romantic.

At first, his female friends think he’s pretending to be clueless—but eventually they realize he really doesn’t think that way.

He doesn’t know how to act around girls, so he treats them like he does his guy friends.

Like when someone says to him, “There’s a milk tea shop outside school. I heard it’s really good.”

He replies, “I’m not drinking milk tea right now, and you shouldn’t either. It’ll make you fat and give you acne.”

Later, he realizes that the girl probably wants to get milk tea with him—basically, a date.

His female friends all think he’s great as a friend but not suitable as a lover.

This is how Ye Zhou becomes the “friend” to many women. He has a lot of female friends, but no romantic relationships.

Ye Zhou also realizes that he’s not very good at understanding romance.

Occasionally, when he reflects on things, he realizes how badly he’s messed up.

But on the other hand, maybe it’s because he doesn’t like them that way. If he really likes someone—likes them so much it makes his heart itch—then the moment he hears they open a new milk tea shop, he won’t even wait to be asked. Even if the dorms are locked, he’ll climb over the wall and bring them milk tea.

Ye Zhou says, “I guess I just haven’t met anyone I really like yet.”

Zou Ming looks into his eyes. “What kind of person do you like?”

Ye Zhou thinks for a moment. “…I don’t know. Human-looking?”

Zou Ming: “…”