Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 95

The soldiers chat and drink as they set up the tent. After a few sips, they regain some energy and start to realize how unusual this place is.

“This doesn’t look like leather or cloth!”

“I think it’s probably made with fairy magic.”

“What are you talking about? You see fairy magic in everything. Last time we had some good wine, you claimed it was brewed by fairies. The shopkeeper raised the price and earned extra from us.”

“Hey, well, I hadn’t tasted wine like that before. Compared to it, that last wine was just average.”

“I wonder how His Majesty is doing now.”

“If those people can give us things like this, then I doubt His Majesty is living poorly.”

Some of the soldiers are commoners, while others come from military households. Most are farmers, only called upon during wartime.

But those from military households are trained from childhood in swordsmanship and martial arts. They don’t farm, but they learn to read and study military strategy.

And when war breaks out, while commoners might keep a few men back, military households send everyone—except the elderly, the very young, and women—into battle.

“Did you see that meat?” someone whispers. “Some pieces are fatty, some lean. Just roast it over the fire and you can eat it. There’s white frost on the outside—must be salt.”

“Wow, they actually use salt to preserve the meat? That’s generous.”

“What do you think that house is made of? It looks like a big stone block.”

“Maybe they hollowed out a boulder?”

“The roof has no tiles, just flat. Someone must have to sweep snow off it all the time. I think a tiled roof would be better.”

“You’re so short-sighted. That house is probably warm in winter and cool in summer. So what if it snows? There’s no shortage of people to sweep it.”

The soldiers finish setting up the tent. It’s enough for people, but not for horses. They don’t want the horses to freeze in the snow.

In times of famine, horses can be eaten. But now that there’s food, the horses are comrades. They shove and urge each other until one finally steps up to go ask General Zuo.

They find General Zuo tending to his wounds in the tent. His clothes are off, revealing bloodstains on his chest and back. Fortunately, the cold weather has prevented infection. The wounds have already scabbed over.

His personal soldiers melt snow in a bronze helmet, soak a rough cloth, and carefully wipe the blood around the wound.

“General Zuo! I have something to report!” someone calls from outside.

The soldier inside looks to Han Ran, who closes his eyes and says, “Talk outside.”

From outside: “The tent can house people, but not the horses. What should we do?”

Han Ran is at his limit with their incompetence. “We still have plenty of furs, don’t we? Cut some dead branches and build a shed. Gather the horses inside. They’ll keep each other warm. Throw some furs over them—they’ll be fine.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the soldier leaves, Han Ran sighs and says to his personal guard, “Why do they have no adaptability at all?”

The guard replies, “Don’t you see? Chen hasn’t seen war in years. These sons of military households… they’re born into it, but the military texts they study are centuries old. And those old books? They’re all about commanding armies—not how to survive in the wild.”

Han Ran gives a bitter smile. “Aren’t I the same? If not for my ancestors’ merit, how could I have become General Zuo? I just hope His Majesty and the other general are doing well. Maybe they’ve got blankets too.”

At dawn, Chen Hou stirs. His lips are dry. Thinking he’s still in the warm palace, he doesn’t open his eyes. He murmurs, “Water… water…”

A cup is immediately brought to his lips.

Chen Hou assumes it’s his wife. After a sip, he smiles. “Madam is still so thoughtful.”

Sitting beside him, Zhou Yuanhe remains expressionless.

“…So I’m the madam now?” he mutters.

After quenching his thirst, the Marquis of Chen slowly opens his eyes and sees a haggard-looking man. The man seems seriously wounded, looks exhausted, and wears a frown full of worry, sitting nearby.

“Who are you?” he asks in confusion.

Chen Yan, standing beside him, quickly answers, “Your Majesty, this man is a doctor. You caught a cold, and he treated you.”

Only then does Chen Hou remember what happened before he lost consciousness—he’s still on his way home. But where is this place?

It doesn’t look like a snowy mountain at all. The breeze is warm, more pleasant than early spring.

He can’t make sense of it, but Chen Yan wouldn’t lie. Chen Hou gives the man a slight bow. “Thank you for saving my life. I’ll repay your kindness.”

“Where are we? It’s so warm here. Have we returned to Chen?”

Was I unconscious so long that it’s already spring?

Zhou Yuanhe exchanges glances with Chen Yan, signaling him to explain.

Chen Yan says, “Your Majesty, we’re still on the snowy mountain. We’re near the summit. Luckily, we met this benefactor and escaped death.”

Chen Hou is surprised. “There are people in a place like this?”

“And why is it so warm, if it’s still the mountain? There’s no stove.”

Chen Yan has asked the same thing but doesn’t understand the answer. He explains as best he can: “It seems to be a marvelous mechanism. The master of this place knows everything. A hidden genius.”

Chen Hou narrows his eyes. In this Warring States period, everyone calls themselves a master, traveling between kingdoms, boasting of their abilities. Few have real skill.

But if Chen Yan says this man isn’t after fame, then perhaps he isn’t.

Still—can this warmth really come from a mechanism?

“Doctor,” Chen Hou asks, “am I well enough to walk?”

Zhou Yuanhe, dark circles under his eyes from a sleepless night, replies tiredly, “You can walk, but don’t overdo it. Go outside and I’ll have to dig you a grave.”

Chen Hou chuckles. “Of course not. Just a short walk inside.”

Zhou Yuanhe stands. “I’m going to rest. If anything happens, call me.”

“Take care, Doctor.”

After he leaves, Chen Hou turns to Chen Yan. “Where is this place? Who are these people? That man doesn’t seem ordinary. He looks like someone from a noble family.”

Chen Yan lowers his voice. “This place is unusual, Your Majesty. I suspect…”

Chen Hou: “Suspect what? Speak.”

Chen Yan: “Their behavior is nothing like common folk. Yesterday I saw a woman taller and stronger than most men. And the warm breeze here… they said it’s powered by electricity.”

Chen Hou frowns. “What is electricity?”

“They said it’s the power of lightning. But how can mortals control lightning?”

Chen Hou understands now. “You mean… immortals?”

Chen Yan nods. “I doubted it too at first. But they truly mean no harm. There’s one more thing… I hope Your Majesty will understand.”

“Go on.”

“I gave the sword bestowed on me by His Majesty—the Emperor’s Sword—to the owner of this place. He doesn’t care for gold or silver. But he cherishes rare things. This place is so remote—clearly, he isn’t someone who chases luxury. He has such powerful people under him and only met with the king. Why not treat him sincerely? Offer him a high post, invite him to serve the State of Chen.”

Chen Hou looks at Chen Yan and smiles. “You haven’t even met him, yet you speak so highly of him. As for the Imperial Sword, it doesn’t matter. When the Zhou house was strong, it could command armies with a single blade. Now, it’s just a sword.”

Chen Yan lowers his voice. “We were ambushed by Lu and had nowhere to go. And then, out of nowhere, we found this strange house and these people. Maybe this isn’t hardship. Maybe it’s opportunity.”

“Even if the owner can’t govern or strategize, just this warm shelter could help the people of Chen.”

Chen Hou has only just woken up and doesn’t fully grasp it all. He doesn’t agree outright, only murmurs, “I wonder what this person looks like.”

“You’ll see him soon,” says Cao’er, walking in with a warm towel.

Cao’er enters with a warm towel in her hand. “The Lord immortal says, once you’ve cleaned up, you’re to go meet him.”

Chen Hou and Chen Yan both exclaim, “Lord Immortal?”

Cao’er nods. “Of course. If he weren’t, how would you have survived?”

Chen Hou is skeptical. “If he’s truly an immortal, why live in such a remote place instead of the capital?”

“Have you ever seen an immortal who likes being around crowds?” Cao’er replies. “Besides, now that you’re here, do you really think an immortal would care for worldly pleasures?”

She hands him the towel with tongs. “Wipe your face.”

Chen Hou accepts it stiffly. “Why is this cloth so soft? And fluffy, but not animal hair?”

“It’s called a towel. Made of pure cotton.”

The Marquis asks, “Cotton? Like brocade?”

Cao’er blinks. “Don’t tell me you don’t have cotton here?”

The Marquis: “What is cotton? A flower?”

Cao’er is about to answer but realizes he’ll probably have more and more questions. If she keeps talking, she’ll never escape. So she says, “Just clean your face and follow me. I’ll take you to see the Lord immortal.”

Chen Hou nods, but can’t help muttering, “When I meet him, I must ask him to enlighten me further.”

“Fine, fine, ask away,” Cao’er says impatiently.

But she couldn’t help worrying—

How many questions is this man going to throw at the Lord Immortal?