Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 64

The moment the light fades, the entire world seems to shift.

Zhang Yao stands frozen on the battlefield, her gaze fixed ahead. But the zombies that had been there before the light erupts are nowhere to be seen.

The soldiers behind her are just as confused, staring ahead in shock and disbelief.

Yang Guoqin, standing on the distant wall, widens his eyes in astonishment. The photon cannon fires only a single shot—just one—but that single shot is enough.

The vast, seemingly endless zombie tide disappears under the intense white light.

The zombies, as though their necks are snapped and their brains destroyed simultaneously, collapse to the ground. Their decaying flesh is torn away by the wind, leaving nothing but white bones.

They revert to their original forms.

Yang Guoqin, holding a telescope, stands motionless. The sun blazes above him, casting light so bright it seems as if the world hasn’t been this radiant in years.

Everyone seems frozen.

They stare at the ground where the photon cannon’s blast hit, confused and awestruck. The limbs and flesh have vanished, leaving only human soldiers standing on the weathered earth.

The zombies—once as terrifying as locusts—have turned to bones.

A scream breaks through the silence, and with it, time begins to move again. Yang Guoqin hears crying.

He turns toward the sound.

It’s his orderly.

The veteran who has served for nearly two decades, fought through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, who has broken a leg and received a prosthesis. He has three children with his wife, all of whom have died on the battlefield.

It seems that since his youngest daughter died on the front lines, Yang Guoqin has never seen this man cry.

The orderly has always been angry—whether out of frustration with the zombies or because he once encouraged his children to join the army, no one can say.

“Ahhh—!” The orderly half-kneels on the ground, his voice hoarse and dry. It isn’t just crying—it’s a scream dragged from the depths of his soul. There aren’t many tears on his face, but everyone can feel his grief.

He bites his fist, curling into himself, his sobs shaking his body.

Yang Guoqin, slightly numb, finds himself thinking: Has he gotten this thin? Does he really look this old now?

So this is what he looks like when he cries—this is the sound he makes.

Then, following that wave of weeping, comes an eruption of wild cheers.

“The zombies are gone!!”

“They’re gone!”

The soldiers, their faces covered in dirt and grime, shout and holler, hugging each other. Someone even throws his gun into the air—and when it falls and hits him on the head, he doesn’t even flinch.

Tears well in their eyes, but their smiles stretch ever wider.

Yang Guoqin turns to look at the photon cannon. It seems like such a small thing—this little device doesn’t look remotely capable of such power. It has no connection to human joy or sorrow. Having completed its task, it begins recharging again.

“Don’t relax!” Yang Guoqin takes a deep breath and grabs the loudspeaker. “There are still small groups of zombies approaching from all directions! Get ready!”

The soldiers snap to attention immediately.

Yang Guoqin barks, “Rotate the front-line troops!”

“Yes!!”

Finally, they can bring the soldiers from the front lines back.

“I told you we don’t have enough people,” Zhou Yuanhe says as he sits inside a makeshift medical tent, exhausted and slumped while taking a quick gulp of water. His clothes are soaked with sweat, his hair dripping like he’s just walked through a downpour. He hasn’t even had time to sit before another wounded person is carried in.

“Doctor, please look at him…” the soldier carrying the wounded man looks at Zhou Yuanhe urgently.

Zhou Yuanhe doesn’t meet his eyes. He shakes his head slightly. “There’s nothing we can do. Take him outside. While he can still speak, ask if he has any last words.”

Before he finishes speaking, another patient is being helped in.

Zhou Yuanhe doesn’t look back at the previous one. He walks over to the newly arrived woman.

This new patient’s arms hang limply. As she sits down, Zhou Yuanhe hears the faint crack of her bones. He glances at the woman and thinks she looks vaguely familiar.

“Don’t you work at the supermarket?” Zhang Yao hasn’t expected to see Zhou Yuanhe here.

Zhou Yuanhe, as he examines her, replies, “I’m also a doctor at the supermarket.”

But there are no patients at the supermarket, and no one comes there for medical care.

Zhang Yao winces as Zhou Yuanhe pinches her arm. She takes a breath and whispers, “I told them not to bring me back. I was in such close contact with the zombies. I must’ve been infected. It’d be better to leave me outside the barbed wire and shoot me if things take a turn.”

Zhou Yuanhe glances at her. “Aren’t you afraid of death?”

Zhang Yao smiles bitterly. “Of course I’m afraid. I’m terrified. But we don’t have a choice.”

She wasn’t fighting for some lofty ideal or the future of humanity. She was just trying to protect the people she cared about at the base.

Maybe when she was fifteen or sixteen, she’d dreamed of being a hero and saving the world. But as she grew older, and witnessed the endless cycles of life and death on the battlefield, those dreams faded away.

Now, she’s just an ordinary person who wants to survive, and to make sure the people she loves survive too.

If she has to choose between the two, then she’d rather be the one who dies.

“Doctor, how much time do I have?” Zhang Yao asks, her voice steady in the face of death.

Zhou Yuanhe replies, “Just treat the wound and rest. Don’t worry, you won’t turn into a zombie.”

Zhang Yao looks at him, confused. “What do you mean? I—I was so close to them. I was scratched. Look at my shoulder. A zombie bit me here.”

She moves her shoulder closer for Zhou Yuanhe to inspect.

On her left shoulder is a bite wound from a zombie. She has treated it herself with fire, burning the flesh and skin to stop the bleeding. She was a bit too rough—the edges of the wound are charred, but the center still shows raw, red flesh.

Zhou Yuanhe doesn’t want to waste too much time on a non-critical patient. In the time they’ve been talking, several more people have been brought in. He waves her off. “I said you won’t turn, so you won’t. Someone will explain it to you later.”

With that, he leaves, leaving Zhang Yao sitting there, completely lost.

There aren’t enough doctors at the base—just about a thousand in total—and they’re overwhelmed with treating the wounds of tens of thousands of soldiers. Even if each doctor works three times as hard, they can’t keep up.

Zhou Yuanhe has been dragged in as emergency help—one more pair of hands means saving a few more lives.

Ye Zhou doesn’t waste any time after returning to the supermarket. He purchases a large quantity of medical supplies. Whatever Zhou Yuanhe needs, Ye Zhou orders. The base is running low on even gauze, let alone medical alcohol or other essentials.

Ye Zhou spends money freely, but he doesn’t feel regret this time.

It has been more than ten hours since the zombie tide began. Throughout that period, Ye Zhou hasn’t eaten a single grain of rice, relying only on water to maintain his strength. Although he feels exhausted, hunger isn’t an issue.

In addition to buying supplies, Ye Zhou works part-time as a “nurse.” He doesn’t have medical training, and he isn’t capable of being a doctor, but he can clean and bandage wounds. As for injections, he leaves those to the professional nurses. He’s afraid of accidentally poking people with needles in the wrong places.

The employees at the supermarket are busy as well. Ye Zhou hasn’t asked them to do anything—it’s their own choice. One by one, they step out of the supermarket and join the crowd, and somehow, they all just start working.

Zou Ming connects the power supply from the supermarket, and Cao’er Niang directs the employees to boil water. They need hot water, alcohol, and many other things.

Cao’er Niang is drenched in sweat, her voice hoarse. She helps others while pouring water.

It’s her first time seeing such a scene: so many young people, so many wounded soldiers, and such a brutal war.

She has always feared soldiers and the powerful families. Soldiers could take away her family’s money and food, her husband and son, tearing her family apart in an instant. The powerful families control her fate.

But when she looks at the frail and dying soldiers, she endures her fear.

These soldiers aren’t much older than her own children; many of them still have youthful faces. Cao’er Niang has heard from customers that, in the absence of zombies, these children would’ve been studying in school, at least until they were seventeen or eighteen years old.

Under eighteen, they’re all considered children. They wouldn’t need to worry about anything except the next exam.

Although Cao’er Niang has never seen this kind of world, she can’t help but yearn for it.

If her family lived in such a world, her children could go to school—boys or girls alike. Who knows, maybe one of them could even become a top scholar.

She and her husband wouldn’t have to toil from dawn till dusk, nor turn gray from worrying about rent and head taxes year after year. As long as they worked hard and found a job, they could raise their children and eventually retire, living out their old age surrounded by their children’s filial piety.

These soldiers… most of them are still children.

Cao’er Niang’s eyes redden as she kneels in front of a soldier who has lost his arm. She endures her fear as she begins to treat his wounds.

The soldier, leaning against the wall, smiles weakly at her. “Auntie, got any water? I’m thirsty.”

Cao’er Niang immediately responds, “Yes, yes, I’ll get it for you.”

She hurries over, grabs the kettle, and pours him a glass of water mixed with glucose.

The soldier has little strength, so Cao’er Niang supports his shoulders and brings the cup to his mouth. He drinks slowly. After finishing two cups, he exhales, his hoarse voice slightly more relaxed. “I can sleep well tonight.”

Cao’er Niang’s gaze shifts to the arm he has lost.

The soldier follows her eyes and smiles gently. “It’s okay. I can live without an arm. I’ll retire after this fight. I can find a job and won’t have to go back to the battlefield.”

He says this with a touch of sadness, his voice quieter.

His comrades, sitting next to him, help each other treat their wounds. After hearing his words, they laugh and joke, “Yeah, retirement’s perfect timing. You’ll join the breeding farm, save some money, and maybe even start a family.”

They laugh together, and for a moment, the pain from their wounds seems to fade.

After finishing the treatment, Cao’er Niang quietly moves to the side, carrying a basin of water, and continues tending to the wounds of these “children.”

These aren’t the soldiers she once imagined. They aren’t bandits or marauders who persecute civilians. They’re just ordinary people who have been forced to pick up guns and march into battle.

Making hot food is too troublesome with so many people, so Ye Zhou uses the system to buy food in bulk.

Bread sandwiches filled with meat floss, meat buns, and sesame cakes are simple to eat and don’t take up much space.

Each person also gets a cup of hot soy milk—although it’s diluted, it’s better than nothing.

“There are still too few people who can help,” Ye Zhou says, sighing as he and Zou Ming move boxes. “Yang Guoqin hasn’t confirmed yet whether the zombie virus will continue to spread, so he’s afraid to let the residents in the base come out and help.”

Ye Zhou understands Yang Guoqin’s caution, but it also means the workload for “non-staff personnel” is overwhelming.

Ye Zhou sets down a box, rubs his shoulders, and looks around. His frown relaxes as he takes in the sight of the soldiers who are still alive. Though injured, it’s a relief to see they’ve survived.

No one expects the photon cannon to be so effective, not even Ye Zhou. He thinks it would be more like a missile—powerful but with its own set of problems.

For instance, scattered zombie limbs.

For instance, soldiers caught too close to the blast zone.

The limbs could carry the virus into the base. The soldiers could be caught in the cannon’s destructive radius.

The temporary warehouse next to the supermarket is now filled with supplies. Wu Yan and his team are busy going in and out, and Ye Zhou works alongside them.

When soldiers pass by, some thank them, others stop, salute, and then rush off again.

After moving the last box, Ye Zhou wipes the sweat from his forehead. He feels unbearably hot but is too modest to take off his shirt and go shirtless. Instead, he keeps wiping the sweat away.

Zou Ming walks over. He looks just as drenched as Ye Zhou, but his spirits are noticeably better. In a soft voice, he says, “You should rest. I’ll handle the rest.”

“No need,” Ye Zhou waves him off. “I’m not too tired to move. Five minutes—just five minutes is enough.”

Zou Ming doesn’t insist. He stands by Ye Zhou, like the most loyal knight beside his king.

“The photon cannon can actually eliminate the zombie virus?” Ye Zhou asks, taking off his gloves and, exhausted, leaning his weight on Zou Ming.

Zou Ming doesn’t speak. After a moment’s hesitation, he wraps an arm around Ye Zhou’s waist and pulls him into a close embrace in the corner where no one can see them.

Behind them lies the land, recently “purified.” It might take years, even decades, to restore it to the way it was before the zombie outbreak.

But ahead of them lies the Luoyang base—devastated, broken, but still brimming with vitality.