Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 73

“Quick!” The companion finally returns in the afternoon, but instead of riding a donkey, he leads one. An old man with an unusual figure sits atop the donkey.

The old man has gray hair, a long beard, and straight white eyebrows that make him resemble a small Maitreya Buddha rather than the usual figure of a doctor.

Ye Zhou doesn’t expect to see such a plump person here.

The companion, Som, anxiously speaks to the witch doctor, “He must’ve been struck by something unclean—maybe a ghost or a werewolf vampire!”

The witch doctor doesn’t seem to entertain the notion. “Is there really a hole in his body? There are no weapons nearby?”

Som nods. “Yes. I didn’t see any iron pieces or arrows.”

The witch doctor frowns. “Let’s go inside and take a look. I hope the boy is still alive.”

As they walk, they step over the slave who has drowned in the mud.

No one pays any attention to him. He is just a stone, a weed—nothing more than an object, not a person.

Inside, the witch doctor quickly approaches Hill, who lies in bed. Not even knowing where Hill is wounded, the doctor suddenly shouts, “Kadibuti!”

The stewards are startled but don’t stop him from “casting a spell.”

Witch doctors are the only medical practitioners in this world. They are responsible for sacrifices and treating illnesses, though most people don’t recover and often die. Nevertheless, the witch doctor is the only hope the people have.

Hill can’t really make out who is in front of him, but he feels warmer, and his body doesn’t feel as cold. He reaches out, trying to grab Som’s hand.

Som rushes over and takes Hill’s hand in his. “You’ll be fine,” Som’s voice chokes. “You’ll be fine.”

He and Hill grow up together. Som is just an ordinary farmer’s son, destined to become a serf. But Hill treats him like a friend, offering him a chance to avoid slavery.

Som’s family will remain free, as long as Hill survives.

If Hill dies, how can Som protect everything else he holds dear? Can he protect his family? And will the valet forgive him?

Hill’s life is more important than his own. As long as Hill survives, Som can protect his family, and they can continue to live as free people.

“Master Witch Doctor,” Som looks at the witch doctor still chanting. “I remember there’s a way… a method to save seriously ill people.”

The witch doctor ignores him, finishing his chant with a grin. “Don’t worry. He’s just slightly injured.”

The witch doctor walks over to Hill’s bedside and inserts his fingers into the wound in full view of everyone.

With some pride, the witch doctor remarks, “Such wounds are easier to treat than those with iron pieces.”

“Just cover it with herbs and bandage it up. If he isn’t dead by tomorrow, he’ll live.”

Everyone is silent, staring in disbelief.

But after all, there is only one witch doctor nearby, and the managers don’t want to offend him, no matter how bad their tempers are.

The witch doctor carries a wooden barrel with him. He pulls out the stopper, and the smell of fermented dead branches and rotten leaves suddenly rushes out, almost knocking everyone in the wooden house unconscious. But he seems oblivious to it and says to Som, “Apply this to him. The wound isn’t that big, so you don’t need to push it in too deep.”

Som doesn’t dare to doubt the witch doctor’s medicine. No matter how foul it smells or how unappealing it looks, he applies it to Hill, who is unconscious, as though it’s a miracle cure. His movements are quick but delicate, his eyes full of hope. He wishes that Hill would wake up immediately, full of energy, maybe even joking with him or getting up to beat the slaves again.

“That’s it,” the witch doctor says calmly. “I’m going down the mountain. There are other people who need me.”

“No! You can’t leave!” Som blocks the witch doctor, desperation in his voice. “He’s still in danger. You must stay here and watch over him!”

The witch doctor frowns and gives him a stern look. “Is his life the only life that matters? What about other young masters and ladies, lords and mistresses—are their lives not lives? If a lord dies because I wasn’t there to help, can you take responsibility?”

Som hears the implied threat, but he grits his teeth and says, “I can.”

The witch doctor sighs and, despite his apparent reluctance, knows he has to go. He can’t afford to stay—he isn’t here to actually help people, just to make a quick profit. The barrel he carries is filled with random grass and dead branches he’s picked up, and he uses it to fool people into thinking he can heal them. He’s already done what he can; if he stays longer, what if he gets caught? Even if he isn’t killed, he could still end up in serious trouble.

But Som is young and strong, and the witch doctor can’t beat him. So, reluctantly, he is forced to stay in the cabin, tending to Hill along with Som.

The witch doctor glances out the window and sighs. He doesn’t care about helping Hill—he’s just trying to make a living. He doesn’t know how to care for Hill, only repeating to Som, “Clean his body, clean his wounds, give him some water, lift his arm.”

Fortunately, Som is too frantic to question the witch doctor’s odd instructions.

As the sky outside darkens, the witch doctor suddenly looks at Som with a more friendly expression. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day. I’m really starving.”

Som, too concerned about Hill, replies stiffly, “What do you want to eat? I’ll ask them to bring it to you.”

The witch doctor shakes his head quickly. “Better let me go out and eat. The smell in here is unbearable.”

The wooden house smells not only of blood and sweat but also of Hill’s excrement that has just been cleaned up.

Som seems to realize how bad the situation is, but he doesn’t want to leave Hill alone for too long. He doesn’t want to force the witch doctor to stay, either, so he reluctantly nods. “You go out. You have to be careful. There are snakes in the forest.”

Som looks away.
He lowers his head, wrinkles his nose so hard his whole face crinkles, but still manages a smile. “I know, I know. I’m not going down the mountain—I didn’t bring any antidotes today.”

He doesn’t have an antidote for snake venom—if he did, he’d be in the royal city, working in the palace.

The witch doctor opens the wooden door and walks out.

He exhales in relief—he just wants to make a living, why is it so difficult?

As he walks around the crowd, he makes sure not to be seen by the stewards. He doesn’t want to be stopped. He has done this many times before: the stewards ask him to treat the sick and then the slaves. It isn’t because they care for the slaves’ health—it’s just to show the witch doctor’s “ability.” After taking their money, he leaves.

The witch doctor is determined to slip away before anyone notices.

But just as he surveys his escape route, a strange light catches his attention. He squints in confusion and looks in the direction of the glow.

In the dark night, the light is so bright it’s almost terrifying, and no one dares look directly at it.

The witch doctor feels as though all his strength has been drained. He can’t stand anymore and collapses to the ground. This light isn’t normal—it should belong to the Kingdom of God. It is a pure, snow-white light, without a trace of orange or yellow, not firelight but more like the light from lightning captured at the moment it falls, lingering in the air.

The witch doctor lies half-prostrate, staring at the light in a daze, unsure of what is happening. He even forgets his own name.

The slaves, too, see the light. They stop walking, almost as if they have just realized the stewards are no longer around, that no one is watching them constantly.

The witch doctor observes them, but they don’t look at him. They are just like livestock, numbly waiting for the stewards to return.

But then, just as he thinks everything is fine, a mute slave suddenly stretches out his arm, pointing towards the light. He shouts, “Ah—!”

He waves his hands excitedly, and his eyes, which have been void of any spirit, now shine with life.

Although he is mute, the witch doctor understands what he means. He is saying—we have been redeemed. God has come to take us. We don’t have to live like this anymore.

The slaves, one by one, stumble towards the light, their voices rising in excitement.

It is a miracle! It is God who has come to save them and take them out of their suffering.

The witch doctor doesn’t want to follow them at first. He is timid and wants to hide, to see what is going on. But soon, greed overcomes him. If this is really a god, he thinks, then maybe I can get something out of it. Some benefits?

How big a benefit? Could it make him rich, or even a king?

The witch doctor’s expression shifts from confusion to excitement, but there is also a hint of fear. He worries it might be an evil god.

People here believe in gods, and there are many legends about them.

“Follow me!” the witch doctor suddenly shouts, as if he has joined the slaves in their pursuit of salvation.

But the slaves ignore him. They simply run towards the light, oblivious to him, their movements simple, numb, but full of hope.

As long as they reach the light, they believe they will find happiness.

It seems they will run toward it, even if it means running straight into death.