Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 7

The refugees’ clothes are washed and disinfected by Cao’er’s mother. Ye Zhou scans them all and earns a total of 130 yuan.

They are so poor that they have nothing to sell. This isn’t exactly a windfall, but it is better than nothing.

About half an hour after the scan, the cloth disappears.

Before Ye Zhou can even be surprised, the computer sounds again.

This time, the screen displays something new—an additional [Transaction] column.

The new column has three tabs: [Goods], [Sell], and [Buy].

Under the [Sell] tab, there is only one picture: a bundle of rags labeled with the number 130.

That is his current total balance.

The [Buy] tab is still empty.

But the [Goods] tab is full. There is no clear classification and no search function, but no matter how far he scrolls, he can’t reach the bottom.

At the top are agricultural supplies and tools—seeds, fertilizers, sickles, hoes. Scrolling down leads to agricultural products like rice and pork. Farther still are daily necessities and snacks.

To Ye Zhou’s surprise, there are even hot weapons available.

But the prices are ridiculous—a simple pistol costs 500,000 yuan!

He does want to buy a self-defense weapon, but with only 130 yuan, he can’t even afford a part of one.

Ye Zhou spends the whole afternoon browsing. With only 130 yuan of purchasing power, his options are very limited. He isn’t planning to open up farmland—he is here to do business. Farming is something he’ll only consider if he can’t leave and has to settle down permanently.

That said, if any local farmers come to buy, he can resell agricultural tools.

But… are there even farmers willing to farm here?

Unlikely.

Farming in ancient times isn’t exactly a profitable venture.

First, without pesticides, there are too many pests.

Second, without proper fertilizers, land only gets poorer. Even with farmyard manure, poor families who can’t afford pigs or cattle have no source of it. After one harvest, they have to let the land rest before planting again.

Third, location matters. Ideal farmland needs to be near water sources and protected by hills. If land doesn’t have access to water, no farmer will bother with it—better to walk farther to less fertile land with water nearby.

On top of that, seed quality is poor, land yield is low, and if a natural disaster hits, there is no safety net.

There is no getting rich through farming.

And according to Cao’er and her mother, even high yields don’t matter. Because the taxes aren’t fixed. Every year, officials come to evaluate the land’s yield and adjust taxes accordingly.

Tenants don’t pay the court directly, but they still have to pay head taxes—and rent to the landlords. The landlords can avoid tax by hiding land, but tenants can’t do that.

Even if landlords take 60% or 80% of the yield, as long as tenants have food to survive, they won’t rebel.

In those times, everyone wants to send their children to school, even if it means selling everything they have.

It is the only way to change their lives.

Not all landlords have it easy either. Those with a lot of land and local connections can hide land and live comfortably. The rest have to work just like ordinary farmers.

Land is the root of survival—but also the rope tying them down.

Under the rule of a feudal dynasty, farmers can never truly prosper, no matter how high the yield.

Sigh… Ye Zhou figures these agricultural products won’t sell well. His supermarket has seeds, but most are flowers, not crops. Most of the fertilizers are for flowers too. There are some novelty farming kits—like boxed mushrooms that can grow with just water.

Ye Zhou slaps his forehead.

Even if he doesn’t start a farm, he can still grow fresh vegetables.

For now, he can start with mushrooms—open a box and grow them gradually.

If he earns more later, he can buy more items like that. Even if they don’t sell, he can eat them himself.

He has so many mouths to feed. He can’t rely on the supermarket’s inventory forever. It will run out eventually.

While Ye Zhou browses the goods, the refugees have already started dinner.

Without a table, they sit on the ground to eat.

Wu Yan and his wife have been looking forward to dinner all day. Their only thought now is to eat.

The others are the same. No one dares to fight over food, but they all stretch their necks and stare.

“We’re having porridge tonight,” says Cao’er’s mother, placing down the tray. “The Lord Immortal said you can eat some meat—but not too much. Divide it yourselves.”

Each family gets a small plate of sausage, sliced paper-thin—clearly Cao’er’s mother’s handiwork.

The deep red meat is wrapped in almost transparent fat. Even though it is mostly lean, just the fact that it is meat makes it precious.

As the steamed sausage releases its aroma, the refugees look at it as if it were some rare treasure.

Wu Yan swallows hard and picks up a slice to feed his wife. She is about to bite down but pauses and whispers, “You eat it. I’ll just eat porri—.”

Before she can finish, Wu Yan pushes the sausage into her mouth.

The moment it enters, she forgets everything. The rich, fatty aroma makes her cry.

“Don’t cry, what are you crying for?” Wu Yan hurriedly wipes her tears. His voice is hoarse. “Is it good?”

His wife nods, tears still falling.

She has never eaten anything so delicious. During their flight, she hasn’t even eaten enough bark—let alone meat.

Sugar and oil—those are the two things that bring people the most happiness.

The refugees don’t even chew. They just hold the sausage in their mouths and slowly eat their porridge. Only after finishing the porridge do they finally chew and swallow the sausage.

Besides the sausage and porridge, each person also receives a roasted sweet potato.

Each one is larger than a grown man’s fist. Once the skin is torn open, the red, steaming flesh is revealed.

A rush of fragrant sweetness fills the air.

Someone can’t resist and takes a big bite, not caring about the heat. He holds it in his mouth, blowing on it until it cools down, then chews and swallows.

“Sweet!” he shouts, eyes wide with joy. “Sweeter than sugar!”

So no one speaks anymore, and everyone buries their heads in eating sweet potatoes.

Cao’er’s mother is a little proud. “As long as you work hard, you can have anything good. Aren’t we working in the fields just for a bite to eat?”

She and Cao’er have already recovered from their stomach illnesses, so they aren’t eating porridge—they have white rice instead. With a serving of braised beef and cold cucumbers, they eat with great appetite.

The refugees are envious of their food, but none of them dare to snatch it, afraid of being thrown out by The Lord Immortal—being expelled means death.

Besides, Cao’er’s mother has said that once their stomachs recover, they too can eat like this.

Cao’er eats with her head down. At that moment, she even forgets her name—there is only the smell of meat and the act of eating meat.

They even pour the sauce from the braised pork over their rice, mixing it well and eating it clean, not wasting a drop.

The Lord Immortal has told them to rest for a few days, and they will work after they recover.

The refugees are relieved.

Having work to do is a good thing.

While the new workers are recuperating, Ye Zhou thinks about how to attract customers.

How to keep people coming to the supermarket.

Doing business here is practically hell.

No matter what he thinks of, there are all kinds of risks.

Go out to the roadside and promote it?

Ye Zhou dismisses the idea as soon as it comes up.

Set up a stall on the roadside?

There are only nine men in the supermarket now, including himself, and he’s the only one capable of guarding the goods.

No matter how he looks at it, doing business here is impossible.

And if he goes somewhere else—like the southern region Cao’er and her mother mentioned—his supermarket will probably get raided by local soldiers the moment it appears.

It seems that no matter where he “lands,” it’s a nightmare.

In the end, he has no choice but to ask the locals for advice.

***

When Cao’er’s mother hears The Lord Immortal calling, she’s still tidying up the dishes. The women are all fighting to wash them, but Cao’er’s mother doesn’t trust them with the task.

All the tableware is fine porcelain, the thin white bowls and plates decorated with delicate green patterns. Their rough hands look especially crude in contrast.

“Don’t touch them! If they break, you won’t be able to pay for them!” Cao’er’s mother panics at their enthusiasm.

Before she can call Cao’er over to help, she hears The Lord Immortal’s voice.

The sound seems to come from all directions. The Lord Immortal isn’t physically there, but his voice echoes throughout the supermarket.

The refugees’ mouths fall open. Not knowing where The Lord Immortal is, they all kneel in the direction of the storeroom door and kowtow devoutly.

Cao’er and her mother also kneel. When they finish, Cao’er’s mother asks shyly, “Is The Lord Immortal calling me?”

She doesn’t have a name. Before marriage, her family only used a nickname. After marriage, she’s called “Lao Zhangjia.” After giving birth, she becomes “Cao’er’s mother.”

From birth to death, it seems she has never had her own name.

Not daring to delay, she says to Cao’er, “Keep an eye on them. Don’t let them wash the dishes. If any bowls get broken, I wouldn’t know how to explain it to The Lord Immortal!”

Cao’er quickly replies, “I’ll wash them myself, Mother. You go, don’t keep The Lord Immortal waiting!”

After Cao’er’s mother leaves, the new workers gather their courage and ask, “Miss, have you been following The Lord Immortal for a long time?”

Cao’er waves her hand. “We’re the same. My mother and I were saved by The Lord Immortal not long ago. We were on the brink of death back then. The Lord Immortal took pity on us and took us in. He gave us clothes, food, and even work.” She swallows, eyes gleaming. “We eat meat every day.”

The new workers gulp.

White rice and meat every day—that’s the kind of life only immortals live in the operas.

Even Wu Yan, who has a small oil press at home, only eats meat once or twice a month, and never to his heart’s content.

Poorer families don’t even have oil to cook with. They don’t fry or stew and don’t dare use extra salt.

After collecting the bowls and chopsticks, Cao’er says, “If you want to drink water, go outside. Actually, I’ll take you there.”

She first hands out glass cups, but the new workers don’t dare take them.

Even emperors might never have seen such transparent cups—peasants like them are unworthy.

“These cups are fragile, be careful when using them.” Cao’er notices how they hunch their shoulders and shy away from the cups, and she remembers her own reaction the first time she saw one.

She had wanted to worship it!

If The Lord Immortal hadn’t been watching, she wouldn’t have dared to use it at all.

Cao’er feels proud, but she adds, “If you don’t dare use these, wait a bit. I’ll get something else.”

She brings over a carton of plastic cups. These are much lighter and won’t break when dropped. Cao’er herself doesn’t use glass cups—she uses plastic every day.

Glass cups are more like treasures than actual drinking vessels.

Sure enough, the new workers finally dare to accept the plastic cups and examine them in amazement.

The cups are so thin and light! Yet they look so strong.

Cao’er says, “Don’t just look at the cups. I’ll teach you how to get water. I’ve told you, immortals have great magical powers. What’s a treasure to us might be no different from gravel by the roadside to them. You’re just not used to it yet. Give it a few days.”

Even though she hasn’t arrived much earlier than them, she already sees herself as a senior.

Cao’er clears her throat. “Alright, each of you try getting a cup of water. Let me see.”

So many people have come—Cao’er only worries that someone will take her job.

It’s a pity that when she and her mother were working alone a few days ago, she didn’t pass out from exhaustion. Otherwise, The Lord Immortal might have seen her sincerity.

Author’s Note:

Cao’er: I hope to faint from exhaustion every day. (I never fake it, I’m really honest!)