Dimensional Supermarket - Chapter 96

The room isn’t very large, and it is completely silent. Marquis Chen sits stiffly on the soft sofa, visibly ill at ease. He doesn’t even touch the tea set in front of him. After all, all these years, he’s only ever knelt—when has he ever sat on such a “chair”?

Staring at the tip of his nose and trying to calm himself, he finds that everything around him fills him with dread.

Could these things really be made by a human?

The iron-like shelves, the “cabinets” that discharge water on their own, and the overhead “lamps” that glow without fire—none of it seems like anything man-made.

Marquis Chen feels as if he’s sitting on pins and needles. Since arriving here, he’s been alone in the room without hearing any movement or voices from outside.

The silence makes him increasingly anxious and lost.

Since ascending the throne, this is the first time he’s ever left the royal capital.

As the sovereign of a nation—a symbol of the state’s strength—he must never act recklessly. So before departing, he appoints a crown prince and makes preparations for the possibility that he might never return.

Only after leaving the capital does he realize that he’s been living in an illusion of prosperity.

Everyone in the capital comes from wealthy families, with slaves and ample food stores that allow them to support their children in studying under esteemed teachers.

But outside the capital, the populace is impoverished, unable to fill their bellies despite good farmland. Even the grain officials are miserable—no other country is like theirs, where grain taxes are still collected by force even when the common households are down to their last grains.

Yet Marquis Chen has no choice. They can’t win in a fight. They don’t have the strength to stand tall—they simply don’t have the power.

They can only play both sides and navigate the situation carefully—only then can the State of Chen survive.

The powerful nations see the State of Chen as obedient, and thus never consider attacking. After all, Chen’s land is fertile—if they can get food easily, why bother sending troops? It would just be a waste of soldiers, and even if they did conquer it, it might not yield more grain.

When Zhao State attacks Lu State, the food and provisions even come from the State of Chen.

Finally, Marquis Chen reaches out and picks up the tea bowl. He doesn’t drink, only watches as the tea leaves float on the surface, then slowly sink.

The State of Chen also tries to recruit talented individuals, but the scholars are never willing to stay for long. They have lofty ambitions and dreams of making a name for themselves—there is no place for such dreams in a small state like Chen.

Even the people of Chen often say that they would rather be a citizen of Zhao than a minister of Chen.

If the owner of this place is a man and not a god, then he has to convince him to come out of seclusion.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed. After thinking through everything he can possibly think of, he finally hears a sound at the door—a soft ka-ka, like something intricate turning.

Instinctively, Marquis Chen turns his head and leans back. He can’t stop himself from trembling.

Soon, the door opens.

As the doorframe gently shifts, Marquis Chen finally sees the owner of this place.

He doesn’t even need to ask. He knows at once: this person is the “master” who holds power here.

The man is very young, just in his early twenties, and like the other men around here, he doesn’t wear long hair.

Tall and lean, with clear eyes and a broad stride, he walks in smiling, giving off the impression of a warm spring breeze.

Most of Marquis Chen’s nervousness melts away.

He quickly rises to his feet, raises both hands high, and bows deeply to the young man. “I, Chen Ji, offer my deepest thanks for your life-saving grace!”

He stays bowed until the young man’s voice sounds from above. “Marquis Chen, there’s no need for such courtesy. Please, sit.”

Hearing footsteps pass him, Marquis Chen straightens up and returns to his seat.

From this angle, the other man seems even younger.

Marquis Chen looks at him, opens his mouth to speak, but can’t think of what to say.

“You have many questions,” the young man says with a smile, picking up the tea bowl. “But I can’t answer most of them. What you need to know is this: you’re alive, and your generals and soldiers are alive too.” He continues, “You’ve probably heard that I like collecting rare treasures. I am very fond of the Emperor’s Sword.”

Marquis Chen understands immediately and asks tentatively, “The master likes sharp swords?”

The young man gently shakes his head. Marquis Chen notices how naturally and lazily he sits on the soft chair, as if he has no bones—yet he doesn’t come off as deliberately casual. It just feels… natural. This, it seems, is how the chair is meant to be used.

But Marquis Chen can’t sit like that. This chair still makes him uncomfortable.

The young man looks at him with a smile and shakes his head again.

Marquis Chen understands. “Once I return to the capital, I shall present all the royal treasures of the Chen royal family as thanks for saving my life.”

The young man’s smile widens.

Marquis Chen lets out a breath of relief. He isn’t afraid of the man having ambitions—he is only afraid that he has none.

“I have a question. May I ask it?” Marquis Chen speaks humbly, shedding the air of a sovereign. Seeing the other man remain silent, he continues, “Although the State of Chen has fertile land bestowed by heaven, it lacks soldiers and generals. The people live hard lives. I wish to strengthen my country, but I lack the ability…”

He pauses and looks at the other man’s face—only to find it perfectly calm, as if he hasn’t been listening at all. Could it be that the man is skilled in machines but not politics?

Yet these machines far surpass human capacity. Who is he really?

Could he… really be human? The thought makes Marquis Chen break out in cold sweat.

He looks nervously at the tea bowl on the table and realizes for the first time that it isn’t made of pottery. Its surface is smooth and cold, glinting faintly. Even without touching it, he can feel the chill.

After a long silence, the man finally says, “Strengthening a country is not something that happens overnight. It takes the wisdom of many generations of rulers to achieve.”

Marquis Chen says, “Although I dare not claim to be wise, I am willing to follow the example of the sages, to discipline myself and strive diligently for the rest of my life to strengthen my country and protect my people.” He stands up once more and bows deeply. “Please teach me.”

The man sighs. “Marquis Chen, sit down. It’s not so much teaching as sharing a story.”

The story, naturally, begins with the State of Qin.

He starts with Shang Yang’s reforms.

“Even slaves can become officials?” Marquis Chen blurts out when he hears about the military merit system. “If slaves can become officials, won’t the world fall into chaos? And confiscate land from the royal family to return it to the commoners? If we did that in Chen, the entire state would be upended!”

The man laughs. “That’s right. That’s why when the new king ascended the throne, he has Shang Yang torn to pieces to appease the royal family.”

“Wait—can the law just be changed like that?” Marquis Chen asks.

The man shakes his head. “No. Though Shang Yang is executed, his laws remain.”

“And does Qin grow stronger because of it?”

The man nods. “It does. Qin’s national strength surges, and its soldiers no longer fear battle. Everyone wants to earn merit.”

Marquis Chen is silent for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath. “The King of Qin… truly is a wise ruler.”

“He is later posthumously named Duke Xiao,” the man adds.

“Even without the military merit system—just the confiscation of royal lands—if I try that in Chen, I’d be replaced instantly.” Marquis Chen smiles bitterly. “To tell you the truth, the only land I actually own now is Linzi. The rest is under the royal family’s control. I don’t even know how much they hold.”

Looking up, he sees the young man regarding him with a trace of pity, and his heart lifts. He quickly adds, “Master, you don’t know how hard life is for the people of Chen. They have fertile fields but not enough to eat, and their clothes are in tatters…”

He sniffles. Though he intends to play the victim, he truly feels miserable—miserable for himself, his people, and the State of Chen. His voice grows more emotional, and he eventually begins to cry.

The sovereign of a nation, bawling in front of Ye Zhou with snot and tears.

Ye Zhou has no choice but to hand him a tissue.

Chen sobs blindly, grabs the tissue, and blows his nose.

When he then tries to use the same tissue to wipe his eyes, Ye Zhou quickly hands him several more.

 All Ye Zhou can do now is wait for the crying to stop.

Marquis Chen cries for more than twenty minutes. Ye Zhou doesn’t know how to console him.

Finally, Marquis Chen looks up, eyes red and swollen. Ye Zhou nearly laughs at the sight but quickly composes himself. Marquis Chen says hoarsely, “Master, if I want to imitate Qin, do you have a strategy?”

Qin has Shang Yang. The nobility hates him—they might hate Duke Xiao too, but with Shang Yang present, they believe that killing him might win the ruler’s favor back.

But Marquis Chen has no Shang Yang. If he returns and uses Shang Yang’s methods, his own royal clan—and even his mother’s family—will turn on him.

His young son might truly become king then.

Ye Zhou says, “If you want to follow that path, first you must hold all military power. The people in the palace must listen to you. Does anyone in your royal family secretly command troops?”

Marquis Chen sniffles. “Yes… but I don’t know the exact numbers. It’s all kept secret.”

He knows Shang Yang’s reforms are good—if they are enforced, the country might truly become strong.

But the better the plan, the fiercer the resistance. He fears being killed by his own family before any success can be realized.

Ye Zhou: “…”

It seems that being a king really is miserable.

He realizes now that monarchs in this era aren’t much different from feudal emperors—except that the gap isn’t just wide, it’s vast.

According to Marquis Chen, the only area he can directly govern is the royal city, and only that city pays taxes to him.

Even then, those taxes aren’t truly his—they are needed to fund the army and provide for military expenses.

The rest of the State of Chen is either under royal fiefdoms—belonging to various princes—or ruled by powerful aristocratic families. The Marquis of Chen has no idea how much tax revenue they are actually collecting, compared to what they report.

Though it is called a nation, it is far from unified.

This is likely the downside of a family-based dynasty: royal power is shared with the entire clan, and the monarch is just the one seated on the throne—not the true ruler.

Ye Zhou drums his fingers on the table. “Why not start with military merits? But for now, exclude slaves. Just make it available to commoners and military households.”

The Marquis of Chen, tear-streaked and still holding a tissue, looks up and asks Ye Zhou, “Master, what is this? It’s lighter than silk, but it breaks so easily.”

Ye Zhou remembers that the State of Chen doesn’t have paper or pens yet—only wooden or bamboo slips and carving knives.

He explains, “This is paper. It’s not silk—it’s made from plant materials.”

Chen stares in amazement. “Master, can paper only be made so thin?”

Ye Zhou shakes his head, walks over to a standing cabinet, pulls out a blank notebook, and hands it to Marquis Chen. “If made thicker, it looks like this.”

The supermarket also sells rice paper, but Ye Zhou doesn’t feel like fetching it.

Marquis Chen’s fingers tremble as he touches the pages. “Master, who made this paper?”

Ye Zhou sits back down. “Cai Lun.”

Marquis Chen looks up eagerly. “Where is this man? With such skill, our State of Chen must honor him as a national treasure!”

Ye Zhou says, “He’s not here. He’s not in this world.”

Marquis Chen’s face fills with regret. “He’s no longer alive? And this tea bowl,” Chen Hou asks again, “I don’t know what it’s made of—it doesn’t look like pottery.”

Ye Zhou can only reply, “It’s of the same lineage as pottery. This is porcelain, also called ceramics.”

Chen Hou continues, “What about this table and chair…”

Ye Zhou is starting to feel impatient with all the questions, but still answers patiently, “The tabletop is glass, primarily made from limestone and shells, forged at high temperatures.”

Chen Hou asks again, “The frame—doesn’t look like iron, but I don’t know what it is…”

Ye Zhou says, “It’s a steel frame.”

Chen Hou’s eyes light up. “I don’t know what steel is.”