Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 74

This light has no temperature. It doesn’t bring warmth when it falls on you, but no one notices anything strange.

The slaves push and shove each other, staring blankly ahead. They’re not thinking—they only fixate on the source of the light.

Ye Zhou stands beneath the light—behind him is a high-powered flashlight hanging from a tree.

He sees the slaves approaching, but with the backlight, they can’t see him.

This is the first time Ye Zhou pulls off something this big. He’s a little nervous at first, but that fades quickly with the sound of shuffling feet.

Because there’s no expression on any of the slaves’ faces.

They’re still numb.

Like moths to a flame, they don’t care about what happens next. They just follow the light, even if it means being burned alive.

Ye Zhou watches their faces. Each one looks nearly the same—once people get thin and weak, and their skin dries out from long-term malnutrition, the differences between individuals almost vanish.

They look like the same person.

When his eyes meet with one of the slaves, a man who only comes up to his chest, Ye Zhou can’t bear to keep looking and turns away.

He can’t even tell whether these people are men or women—they’ve all lost their physical traits, their clothes are in tatters, and they hunch over their frail bodies.

Some of the women who do hard labor are shirtless like the men. Their breasts hang down like two ragged cloth sacks.

Just looking at them fills him with sorrow.

As the slaves gather and surround him, Ye Zhou picks up the translator.

But just as he’s about to speak, he changes his mind.

What is there to say?

Right now, no words are enough.

These people don’t need a speech, or a slogan, or any grand ideals. They just need food. Water. The hope that tomorrow, the sun will rise again.

So Ye Zhou glances over at Zou Ming.

Zou Ming immediately understands. He walks toward the warehouse with a shotgun, raises the weapon, and blows open the wooden door before the slaves even register his presence.

The whole door collapses—splinters fall to the ground, floating through the air.

The explosion of sound almost splits the sky.

Ye Zhou stares, stunned. That warehouse door isn’t some flimsy sheet of wood—it’s solid log. Something that even an axe would take forever to cut through.

He hasn’t kept many shotguns with him. They’re noisy, imprecise at long range, and dangerous at close range.

But now, for the first time, Ye Zhou realizes how useful a shotgun can be.

By the time the slaves turn to look at the warehouse, Zou Ming has already melted into the shadows.

That’s when the stewards finally come running out—

Faces flushed, clothes messy, reeking of alcohol. A few are still clutching iron liquor flasks, leaning drunkenly on each other, eyes unfocused as they stare in Ye Zhou’s direction—toward the light.

They hesitate, unsure if they should be more concerned about the gunshot or the strange light.

But the light wins.

“What’s that glow?” someone hiccups.

“Why are all the slaves over there? Should we check it out?”

“Let’s go together?”

“I see the witch doctor! Go get him!”

So they send the youngest among them.

The young steward rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. He grabs the witch doctor’s arm—but something feels off right away.

Is this old guy… this strong?

Why’s his skin so loose?

But he doesn’t think too hard. He remembers what he’s supposed to do. As the witch doctor turns to him, the steward says, “Come with me.”

The witch doctor flinches, but when he sees who it is, he shakes off the hand and sneers, “Who the hell are you? Why should I go with you?”

The steward doesn’t want to go back empty-handed. He pulls at the witch doctor and asks, “What’s with that light?” His voice drops. “Is it… is it a miracle?”

No one doesn’t believe in God.

Only those who believe in God are blessed. He gives them land, food, work—even life itself.

If God stops loving you, you die.

They’ve been raised like this since childhood. Day in, day out, year after year. Tell them there’s no god, and they’ll think you’re insane—if there’s no god, then where did people come from?

“I think so,” the witch doctor says confidently. “No, I’m sure it is!”

The steward leans in. “Which god?”

The witch doctor glances up at the moon, now hidden by that blinding white light, and answers with conviction: “It has to be the Moon God.”

The steward lights up. “I thought so too!” A smile spreads across his face. “The Moon God’s a kind god.”

He remembers the old myths: the Moon God, a beautiful hermaphrodite. As a man, he marries a princess; as a woman, she bears the Sun God’s children. The Moon God has supreme power but never fights for dominance.

A purely benevolent god—unlike the others, who favor some and hate others.

Even when the Moon God punishes, he doesn’t take lives. He simply sends people to labor endlessly in the abyss.

A rare kind of mercy, even in legends.

The steward grins. “So tell me—is the Moon God a man or a woman this time?” He asks with anticipation.

Men always hope the Moon God appears as a woman. Women hope he’s a man.

Because the God of Beauty, regardless of form, must be so beautiful that no one can look away.

The witch doctor squints toward the figure in the light. “Probably a man…”

Not that he knows for sure—he just has decent eyesight. And that silhouette doesn’t look like a woman’s.

The steward looks slightly disappointed—but only slightly. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t paying attention.

Just as they’re still wondering whether to follow the slaves toward the light—

Suddenly——!

The light passes through them!

The white light shines from the other side, and in the light, they see a hand.

That hand looks extremely pale, but it’s thin and powerful, and its index finger points in their direction.

Then comes the sight of hundreds of slaves.

They follow the hand numbly, and when it raises and taps in the air, the slaves seem to realize something.

“Run!” the witch doctor suddenly shouts.

The steward blinks in confusion. “Ah?”

Before he can say another word, the witch doctor grabs his wrist and yanks him to the side. The two of them tumble into the pit nearby.

“Are you sick?!” The steward stands up, pats the dirt off himself, and curses. “You—”

Before he can finish, he hears footsteps.

He looks up stiffly and sees a sight he will never forget—

The slaves, who usually move slowly and numbly like puppets, now surge forward like they’re possessed. They cluster together and charge toward the warehouse like a massive beast.

The steward turns to look at his fellow stewards — they’re all standing there.

But no one steps forward to stop the slaves.

No one dares.

Everyone can see it clearly: if they get in the way, there will be no good ending.

Although the slaves are rushing into the warehouse, and their fate might not be much better once the lord finds out, at least they won’t die.

The witch doctor mutters, “The Moon God is asking them to get food.”

The steward presses his lips together. “That’s the lord’s food. The Moon God can have it, but not the slaves!” Then, as if he’s figured something out, strength surges into his body. His eyes light up with sudden realization. “The Moon God must have mistaken them for free people! I have to tell Him—He’s wrong! We’re the free people. They’re just lowly slaves!”

With that, he climbs up the slope excitedly and runs toward the “Moon God.”

But the light shifts, and the figure in the light disappears.

The steward stands on the empty grass, looking around in confusion.

“They broke into the warehouse!” The other stewards are no longer calm. They look lost, not knowing what to do.

Should they worship the gods or control the slaves?

If they don’t worship the gods, and the gods think they’re not devout enough, they might be punished. Who wants to work for a thousand years?

But if they focus on praying while the slaves eat and destroy the warehouse supplies, how will they explain it to the lord?

The lord will definitely make them slaves too!

Both options come with terrible consequences. No one wants to be the one to decide.