Ch 21: My Multiverse Supermarket

When Qiao Sinang returned to the supermarket and said she wanted to place another large order, Zhou Li was genuinely surprised.

But seeing that Qiao Sinang had the strength to stand up again after her setbacks filled Zhou Li with quiet satisfaction.

As the saying goes, failure isn’t the frightening part—what’s frightening is losing the courage to try again.

Clearly, within Qiao Sinang’s slender and delicate frame lay an unyielding strength unique to women who refuse to be broken.

Zhou Li asked, “What do you want to order this time?”

Qiao Sinang’s face flushed red. She looked embarrassed and hesitated for a long while.

Only after confirming there were no men inside the store did she pull out a small package and say softly, “This.”

Zhou Li blinked. …Wasn’t that a pack of sanitary pads?

She asked in disbelief, “You’ve decided to sell these?”

Sanitary pads were a dead-stock item in this world.

Men had no use for them.

Women, due to cost and the fact that their hezi (underpants) didn’t cover the area properly, preferred using homemade menstrual cloths with plant ash.

To sell pads, you’d basically have to market underwear alongside them.

Even then, most women, once they learned what the pads were for, felt so embarrassed they couldn’t bring themselves to look directly at them—just like Qiao Sinang now, whose ears were red enough to drip blood.

Qiao Sinang nodded quickly, then worried it might offend the goddess, hastily added, “Yes, I wish to sell… menstrual cloths, Goddess.”

She had discussed this decision beforehand with Yin Jiao and Dou Niang.

The idea had come to her after her younger sister, Jiu Niang, had her first period.

Jiu Niang was already thirteen, but because of poverty and malnutrition, she hadn’t menstruated until recently.

When it happened, she was terrified, thinking she had fallen terminally ill. Crying, she told Qiao Sinang she just wanted one last full meal before dying—she didn’t want to starve again in the afterlife.

Qiao Sinang immediately understood what was happening.

She comforted her sister and gave her one of her own menstrual cloths to use temporarily.

At that moment, Xian Sanniang, who had come to ask Qiao Sinang about the bandit attack for investigation, happened to walk in and see the scene.

She said, “How can you give someone else a menstrual cloth you’ve already used?”

Qiao Sinang replied, “I washed it clean.”

Xian Sanniang shook her head. “Even if it’s clean, you can’t share things that touch the body that closely. The goddess says it’s bad for both people’s health.”

The goddess had been invoked, and Qiao Sinang immediately withdrew the cloth, startled. “Ah?”

Xian Sanniang went on, “The supermarket sells proper menstrual cloths. They’re far better than the ones we make ourselves.”

It wasn’t realistic to make another trip up the mountain right away, so Xian Sanniang lent Jiu Niang one of her sanitary pads.

But then she awkwardly discovered that Jiu Niang didn’t even have a hezi.

Thinking of how the sisters were orphans, with their aunt having no obligation to care for them, Xian Sanniang sighed.

She gave the girl a new pair of underwear and a vest-style bra she had bought for her own daughter.

She had stocked those items because she often spoke with Zhou Li.

Zhou Li, eager to promote her products, would slip explanations about their uses into conversation whenever she could.

From Zhou Li, Xian Sanniang learned that many women’s ailments came from poor hygiene.

She decided to start washing herself and her clothes more frequently—not just for health, but also because she believed cleanliness brought her closer to the goddess.

After all, before spring rituals to honor the gods, worshipers always bathed, changed clothes, and perfumed themselves.

Inspired by the two sisters’ situation, Xian Sanniang decided to organize a class for the women in the settlement—a lesson on hygiene and hidden illnesses.

Qiao Sinang, her sister, Yin Jiao, and Dou Niang all attended.

That class sparked an idea.

“Auntie, Dou Niang—I’ve thought of something,” Qiao Sinang said excitedly. “Instead of selling things that everyone needs, why not sell what only women need? Every woman needs menstrual cloths. Bandits, soldiers, and officials are all men—they don’t.”

Their biggest danger in trading came from men.

So if they sold products that men didn’t need, they could reduce the risk of being robbed.

Moreover, menstrual pads were light and easy to transport—no need to hire so many men for heavy hauling.

She could even employ more women instead, assigning them to handle sales.

Of course, she wouldn’t give up the rest of her business.

She had paid dearly for the distribution rights in Guiyang Commandery; abandoning them would be foolish.

But instead of selling everything herself, she could authorize other women in the settlement—refugees with no livelihoods—to sell on her behalf.

After all, distributors didn’t have to handle every sale personally.

Once she trained multiple peddlers, each carrying small amounts of goods to different markets, they could sell safely without drawing attention or greed.

Yin Jiao and Dou Niang both supported her plan.

…

Afraid that the goddess still held her in poor regard after what had happened, Qiao Sinang laid everything out honestly this time.

Zhou Li considered for a while, then said, “Your idea is good—but do you realize how much these menstrual pads cost? For ordinary families, four or five pads a day equals nearly two jin of rice. A period lasts three to five days—at least fifteen pads in total. For people who still struggle to eat, do you think they’ll spend food money on menstruation?”

And that was being conservative.

For women with heavier flow, they might need five daytime pads plus a nighttime one in a single day.

Even after the first three days, when the flow lessened, they would still need to change frequently to prevent infection.

And the thinner panty liners made for lighter flow—despite their smaller size—didn’t come any cheaper.

Zhou Li worried that Qiao Sinang’s optimism was misplaced.

Even in this resource-scarce era, or in the 21st century for that matter, tens of millions of women still suffer from “period poverty.”

Years ago, an online debate erupted over a pack of “bulk sanitary pads”—a hundred pieces for just over twenty yuan.

Some criticized them for lacking proper quality inspection certificates, claiming they could cause health problems, and condemned both the sellers and buyers.

But few realized that for many women, those twenty-yuan packs were the only affordable option—since branded pads cost nearly forty yuan for just twenty pieces, a significant burden for low-income women.

Qiao Sinang said quietly, “I can earn a little less.”

Her determination moved Zhou Li.

Finally, Zhou Li nodded. “Since you’re ordering in bulk, I’ll give you a discount—almost at factory price.”

The factory price of a well-known brand’s pad was less than 0.4 yuan per piece.

For lesser-known brands, it was as low as 0.1 yuan each.

Of course, Zhou Li couldn’t sell strictly at cost.

She wasn’t greedy; earning just three to five jiao (about 0.03 yuan per pad) to offset warehouse storage losses was enough.

Qiao Sinang, after all, still had to make a living from her labor and transport.

When all was calculated, each pad sold to the public for 0.5 yuan—just one wen a day. One copper coin could be exchanged for two yuan in Zhou Li’s store.

Qiao Sinang didn’t plan to sell only pads; she also wanted to stock women’s underwear and camisole-style bras.

Unlike disposable items, these could be used for long periods and wouldn’t face the same pricing resistance.

…

Zhou Li sold all nine boxes of sanitary pads that had been piling up in her warehouse to Qiao Sinang at a discount.

Then a thought struck her—unlike the reusable cloths ancient women used, pads couldn’t be washed or reused.

Disposal would be a problem.

That made her think of the plastic packaging on all her goods as well.

“System,” she asked, “is there any good solution for this?”

The system replied, “You can recycle it—send it to a professional waste treatment company.”

“That would raise operating costs, wouldn’t it?”

“Compared to your profit, it’s negligible. Besides, most of this waste is recyclable and can be reused.”

After thinking it over, Zhou Li admitted the system had a point.

She told Qiao Sinang, “When you sell these menstrual pads, make sure to tell everyone not to wash and reuse them. They must be burned after use.”

The emissions from burning sanitary pads were minimal and had almost no environmental impact.

*

After deciding to start recycling plastic bottles and other waste, Zhou Li printed a large notice and posted it at the supermarket entrance.

When the refugees heard about it, they all pretended not to see.

What a joke—if the goddess herself wanted to collect something, how could it possibly be useless?

Those strange bottles—plastic bottles—they used them to carry water.

The rice bags? Perfect for storing other items.

Even cardboard boxes were repurposed for teaching children to write.

Zhou Li even spotted someone using a sanitary pad wrapper to stash money.

Zhou Li: …

As a proud 10th-century Cantonese, weren’t you supposed to hide money in butter cookie tins?

To the refugees, anything from the supermarket was a treasure.

So even after two days, no one turned in a single item.

That night, after closing up, Zhou Li was preparing to do her inventory count.

The system suddenly notified her that the visa for the next “interplanetary trade” world had been approved—she could now begin business with a new realm.

Zhou Li: “…You mean even interplanetary trade requires a visa?”

The system: “Of course it does.”

“Then why didn’t I need one for this world?”

“This world has visa-free entry for your realm.”

Zhou Li: “.”

She said, “I’ll need to go back first and restock inventory.”

“A wise choice,” said the system. “Shall we begin the dimensional transfer now?”

“Tomorrow night. I should at least warn my customers first.”

After speaking, Zhou Li stepped out onto the balcony out of habit, gazing toward the misty valley.

Suddenly, she noticed something like a fiery dragon winding at the mountain’s base.

She zoomed in with her phone camera to fifty times magnification and snapped a few photos.

After automatic processing, the image revealed a long line of figures holding torches, marching through the dark.

Bandits? No… judging by their neat formation, it was an army.

Had she attracted the attention of the Great Yue court?

☢️☢️☢️