Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 74

This is the first time Ira has seen so much food. Born a slave, he always hears that his father is the lord — that’s what his crazy mother, now long gone, used to say. She tells him with guilt.

If she is a commoner girl, then no matter what, her child would be the lord’s illegitimate son. He might not inherit property, but he could at least get schooling or a job.

But because she is a slave, Ira can only be a slave too.

For as long as he can remember, he works. When he is small, he cleans the lord’s house. When he gets a little older, he works in the boiler room. The dust soon destroys his health.

When the stewards see that he can’t work much anymore, they send him here to reclaim wasteland.

They hope he will work a little more before he dies and not waste food.

Maybe because they know who his father is, they don’t treat him well, but at least they don’t beat or kill him.

His “friends” aren’t so lucky.

Ira smells the food in the warehouse, and for the first time, his numb brain starts to function again. Memories from long ago return — when he is young, his mother often gets called away in the middle of the night.

He remembers being happy when that happens — because his mother brings something back for him.

Sometimes candy. Sometimes bread.

Once, she even brings a small bottle of honey.

He can’t remember her face clearly, but many say she has a beauty that rivals the Moon God’s. It is that beauty that earns her the lord’s favor.

To be favored by the lord is seen as honorable.

Ira doesn’t think about it anymore. He rushes to a rattan frame full of black bread.

There is bran in black bread. Sometimes it has sand or stones. It tastes rough and can harden like a rock after a while.

But it doesn’t spoil easily. It is a long-lasting staple.

Ira has barely eaten bread in his life. Thanks to his mother, he still remembers it, but for most who are born slaves, bread is just a thing from stories.

Normally, what they eat is porridge—tasteless, thin porridge that isn’t even thick enough to be filling.

Ira grabs a piece of bread and stuffs it into his mouth, then curls around the rattan frame. Even as others come up trying to move him, he clings tightly to the basket.

These breads are his! All his! No one can take them from him! He won’t give any away!

The rock-hard bread slowly softens in his mouth as it mixes with his saliva. He chews it carefully and keeps it tucked in his cheek.

But there are too many others. Eventually, they flip him over.

The warehouse turns into a frenzy of commotion.

Once the slaves realize there is enough food for everyone, they stop fighting. They sit on the floor, some even scooping water from the puddle nearby to drink.

The puddle is their water source.

If it hasn’t rained and the surface is clear, it’s drinkable.

If it has been stirred up, they drink it muddy.

But they are used to it. They don’t care.

“Do you want to eat?” An older slave girl touches Ira’s head and hands him the bread in her hand.

Ira quickly stuffs it into his arms — even if he can’t eat it right now, he has to keep it close.

The slaves are just starting to rest when someone shouts, “The Moon God is still outside!”

Everyone stirs.

“We have to bring the Moon God in!”

“How could we forget the Moon God!”

They scramble to their feet and rush outside again.

Ye Zhou, stiff from standing so long, moves back in front of the lamp — he is tired, but he can’t stop now.

As the slaves run up to him and naturally kneel at his feet, Ye Zhou doesn’t feel superior to them.

He just feels sorrow.

But he can’t explain where that sorrow comes from.

Zou Ming slowly turns down the brightness of the flashlight.

Ye Zhou’s figure gradually comes into focus before the slaves.

The softened light wraps around Ye Zhou’s body, outlining him in pale white. The slaves don’t dare raise their heads to look directly at his face, but even just seeing his silhouette is enough for them to imagine the Moon God.

He must have a perfect body, not too muscular — a beautiful young man, never a bulky warrior.

He must be handsome. Even if androgynous, he could never have a square face or thick eyebrows.

Ye Zhou speaks softly: “I heard someone calling me, so I came.”

The slaves kneel on the ground, trembling. Whether it is from fear or awe is unclear.

But no one speaks. No one dares interrupt.

Ye Zhou says, “I saw what happened to you. I saw you being driven, beaten, and insulted like cattle. You are human beings. Yet you are denied the freedom and dignity that belong to all humans.” Ye Zhou lets out a soft sigh.

At that sigh, the slaves begin to wail. They cannot cry, so they howl dryly, using what little strength they have left to express their sorrow.

Ira presses his forehead tightly to the ground, his body trembling. If he can cry, he would be in tears.

The god’s voice is exactly as he imagines—mysterious, gentle, and full of love.

It is like hearing the voice of a natural father, or a natural mother.

He always believes that in the eyes of a god, slaves are not even considered human.

After all, in all the stories he has ever heard, gods never save slaves.

Gods save kings and nobles. As for slaves, they are just part of the background—mentioned only in passing when they die.

Ye Zhou can’t distinguish who is who in the crowd. He can only see bowed heads and curled-up bodies.

He looks up, and sees the stewards hiding behind the trees.

Caught off guard by his gaze, they tumble out from behind the trunks, falling to their knees in a panic. “D-deity! Moon God!”

Ye Zhou begins walking toward them.

The stewards pale in fright—they aren’t stupid. The god has shown such kindness and compassion toward the slaves. He might punish them for their cruelty. Even a kind god can have a temper. Otherwise, why would some people be cursed for a thousand years?

They don’t want to be the next ones to suffer.

“M-Moon God…” The blond steward realizes Ye Zhou is looking at him. He doesn’t dare raise his eyes.

But then, a strange desire rises in his heart.

Maybe the Moon God has taken a liking to him? Maybe he will be taken to the heavens, to serve in the Moon God’s palace?

The thought overtakes him in an instant. The steward whispers, “Moon God, I am your most devoted believer. I am willing to offer everything to you—even my life!”

But no response comes. When he cautiously looks up, he is caught off guard by what he sees.

Eyes like an abyss.

So dark that no light in the world can penetrate them.

Like black gemstones, only deeper.

The steward holds his breath. In that moment, he can see nothing but those eyes. He can no longer even see the “Moon God.”

Ye Zhou looks straight at him and asks quietly, “Why is it so easy for you to treat slaves as if they aren’t human?”

This is the question Ye Zhou truly wants to ask.

People should feel empathy for one another. Even if they are of different status, they still share the same body, the same face. So how can they act like this?

He goes on, “Don’t you think they’re the same as you? No different at all?”

The steward is startled—perhaps because Ye Zhou isn’t harsh or intimidating. He says in a low voice, “My lord… slaves are people despised by the gods. You may see them as human, but the other gods don’t. To them, slaves are just bugs crawling on the ground.”

Ye Zhou asks, “Which god? Which god said that?”

The stewards look confused. In truth, no story ever says exactly which god despises slaves. They only know that those unloved by the gods are slaves. Because they are lowly, vulgar, disgusting. Not worthy of being called human.

Ye Zhou asks, “Didn’t you just make all of that up? Hiding behind the name of God, enslaving your own people.” Ye Zhou draws back his gaze, straightens up, and says softly, “I’ll come again tomorrow.”

The stewards all look up—but before they can react, a blinding light flashes, leaving them momentarily blinded.

Ye Zhou uses their moment of blindness to run off.

—Fortunately, the angle is good. Even if the stewards don’t see him bolting away, the slaves might. But the slaves are easier to fool. Even if they see it, they’ll probably think it is the Moon God’s unique way of moving.

After his experience in the world with Cao’er and the others, Ye Zhou understands one thing clearly: poor people aren’t easier to deceive because they’re stupid.

It’s because they have nothing to lose.

For them, being tricked or not makes no difference.

If they die, at least it ends their suffering.

If they survive, and they get to eat, that’s already a blessing.

People only dare to believe in miracles when they’re desperate.

That’s why it’s always the poor who get fooled the most. Even when the rich are fooled, it doesn’t hurt them. They just laugh it off, like it’s some amusing life experience.

“The Moon God is gone…” the blond overseer mutters. He grabs a senior beside him. “What do we do now?!”

“Do what? What can we do?”

“What about the warehouse? What about all these slaves? Oh my god!”

“Will the lord be coming tomorrow? We need to inform him about all this.”

“Is Hill dead?”

“He looks alive. That kid’s watching over him.”

“I say…” the witch doctor walks out from the side. After thinking it over, he decides not to leave.

It looks like the Moon God is going to stay here. As the village’s witch doctor, he is the closest to the divine.

He can turn himself into the Moon God’s messenger!

“I came here to scout the land for the Moon God!” the witch doctor lifts his chin, putting on an air of lofty pride while sneaking glances at the overseers. “The Moon God thinks you’ve been too cruel, too harsh to the slaves. He is liberating them, saving them, making them equal to you as free citizens!”

The stewards aren’t too surprised. The Moon God just said as much, after all.

The witch doctor goes on, “To show our piety, we must do everything the Moon God desires!”

The stewards blink. They are curious: what exactly does the Moon God want?

The witch doctor knows he has hooked them.

He blinks back, then says mysteriously, “The Moon God wants this land!”

Truthfully, he has no idea what the Moon God wants. But his instinct tells him—this land is the only valuable thing here.

A god wouldn’t want junk.

He’d want luxury, fine wine, beautiful women, precious gems.

But never slaves.

In the witch doctor’s eyes, the Moon God’s concern for the slaves is just an excuse.

A reason to get angry.

A reason to drive people away.

A god needs land. To build his palace.

—And surely, a god also needs a priest to serve him.