Ch 33: My Multiverse Supermarket

Queen District, Richter Hospital.

Qu Shuyi poured the soup from her lunch box into a bowl and handed it to the frail old woman on the hospital bed.

“Mom, drink it while it’s hot.”

The old woman’s eyes widened in alarm when she saw the pork bones floating in the broth. “You’ve been wasting money again?”

In times like these, everything was expensive—grains, vegetables, fruit, meat, poultry—everything had skyrocketed beyond reason.

Even with her daughter’s monthly salary of fifty thousand Orka, it was barely enough to scrape by.

And this illness—this endless pit of a disease—had already swallowed millions of Orka without showing a single sign of improvement.

She knew her daughter’s savings were gone, and debts were piling up. She could hardly keep herself afloat.

Her son-in-law’s family had long grown resentful.

Because of the overwhelming medical bills, her daughter hadn’t been able to start a family or raise a child.

Just a few days ago, her in-laws had come to tell her that her son-in-law wanted a divorce.

Not wanting to drag her daughter’s life down any further, she’d begged to be discharged.

But her daughter wouldn’t agree.

Now, seeing the rich bone soup before her, the old woman’s heart clenched painfully.

“How much did this cost?” she demanded.

Qu Shuyi knew exactly what her mother was thinking. “Mom, it wasn’t expensive at all. Half an Orka—forty points.”

Mother Qu stared at her, eyes filled with disbelief—as if silently asking, do you think I’ve lost my mind?

Qu Shuyi understood how unbelievable that sounded.

If she hadn’t bought the ingredients herself, she wouldn’t have believed it either.

“There’s a new supermarket beside Tzu Chi House,” she explained. “Everything there is cheap. These past two days, people have been lining up outside just to buy things. If you don’t believe me, you can ask our neighbors back in the community.”

Her mother asked skeptically, “You’re really not lying to me?”

“I’m not!” Qu Shuyi paused, then raised her wrist light-brain and played a short video.

Her mother’s eyes widened. “It’s real?”

In the footage, she saw plenty of familiar faces—neighbors, locals—so she knew it wasn’t some AI-generated fake.

“When you recover and get discharged, you can see it for yourself,” Qu Shuyi added. “Then you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

Mother Qu took a sip of the soup. The pure, natural taste—untainted by any synthetic nutrients—was so good it brought tears to her eyes.

She sighed. “Shuyi, please, just let me be discharged. Or at least transfer me back to the Great Wall Hospital. It’s closer to home, and the insurance will cover part of it.”

Medical coverage didn’t transfer across districts.

If it weren’t for Richter Hospital’s cutting-edge technology, they wouldn’t have come to the Queen District at all.

Now that her condition was deemed incurable, there was no point staying.

Better to return to Great Wall Hospital and at least keep herself alive a little longer.

“Everyone dies eventually,” she murmured softly. “My only wish now is to die comfortably. And to do that, two things matter: first, that you live well; second, that we can still eat and feel full. If you bury yourself in debt just to prolong my life, we’ll both live miserably. I won’t be at peace when I go.”

Qu Shuyi sighed. “Alright. I’ll start the transfer paperwork in a few days.”

Her ex-husband had taken nearly everything from their home; she still needed to replace the furniture.

She remembered seeing sleeping bags at the Good Life Supermarket. She’d buy one and make do for now.

…

After leaving the hospital, Qu Shuyi returned home.

She had work tomorrow, so she wanted to get to the supermarket early.

But when she arrived, she found the doors locked tight. Translated on Hololo novels. A crowd had gathered outside—residents like her, all hoping to shop but unable to enter.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Someone replied, “Sigh, someone reported the store. The boss got mad and said she’s shutting down for two days.”

Qu Shuyi felt her heart sink.

She saw a few elderly residents throwing a fit at the entrance.

“So petty! If she’s done nothing wrong, what’s she afraid of?”

“Yeah! We already paid for our points! Closing the store now is infringing on our consumer rights!”

Qu Shuyi, already frustrated from being unable to buy food, couldn’t hold back anymore.

“She’s been running her business honestly, and someone reported her twice in one day! Who wouldn’t be angry? As we used to say on Blue Star, even clay idols have a temper. It’s not about having a guilty conscience—if people keep showing up to harass you, how’s anyone supposed to work in peace?”

The old folks ignored her, thick-skinned and relentless, still harping about “membership rights” and “unfair treatment.”

Then, suddenly, a window on the third floor creaked open.

Zhou Li leaned out with a megaphone in hand.

“If you feel my closure has violated your rights,” she said, her voice amplified and clear, “you’re welcome to request a refund for your membership. After that, you can shop wherever you like. But I’ll say this upfront—once refunded, you won’t be allowed to reapply for membership. I have no interest in selling to people who make a scene. Anyone who wants a refund, come forward. I’ll process it now.”

That shut most of them up.

Only a few still grumbled, “What kind of attitude is that? With service like this, her store’s bound to go under sooner or later!”

Qu Shuyi knew what they really meant—if not for the inflation, the shortages, the unstable times, they’d never tolerate being talked to like this.

But this wasn’t an age of stability.

In chaotic times, the one who controlled the supplies held all the power.

In an era of peace, a shop like this would’ve been boycotted into bankruptcy.

But peace was long gone.

Leaning on the windowsill, Zhou Li continued, “Let’s be clear about one thing: your lives may have become difficult, but the chaos in this world wasn’t caused by me or my supermarket. The shortage of resources isn’t my doing either. I came here to do business, not to play savior. So, for anything that interferes with that business, I reserve the right to suspend trade.”

Her words stirred murmurs among the residents below.

But Qu Shuyi caught one phrase—“I came here.”

At first, it sounded like Zhou Li was referring to this specific spot near the city park.

But there was something in her tone—an undercurrent of distance, of disconnection.

It wasn’t the way a Mia native would speak.

It was as if she didn’t belong to this world at all.

So maybe “here” didn’t just mean this place.

Maybe it meant this planet—Mia itself.

So, she came from Blue Star?

Had a transport ship from Blue Star arrived?

No, that couldn’t be right.

According to the interplanetary aid accords, Blue Star was obligated to support Mia Star.
If this supermarket owner had come through an official transport route, the City Administration would’ve immediately taken control of all supplies aboard.

Qu Shuyi was still mulling this over when a loud, defiant voice cut through the murmurs.

“I want a refund for my card!”

Someone whistled. Others cheered, egging the person on, as if they’d just witnessed a brave hero taking a stand for everyone.

Moments later, Zhou Li came downstairs and unlocked the door.

“You exchanged two Orka for 160 points,” she said calmly, “after the service fee, that’s 157.6 points. You used 101.6 points to buy a bag of rice, a bag of flour, and a box of noodles. Your remaining balance is fifty-six points, which equals 0.7 Orka. Here’s half an Orka and a fifth Orka—please take them.”

Nearby, a few residents who hadn’t managed to get membership yet whispered among themselves.

“How big’s a bag?”

“I think it’s five kilos.”

“You’re telling me she got all that for just two Orka?”

“Not even two—she still got 0.7 left, didn’t she?”

The newcomers gaped. Two Orka buying the equivalent of a thousand Orka’s worth of goods?

They started muttering angrily, “The people who reported her—and the ones demanding refunds—are they brain-dead?”

“Hey now,” someone countered, “that’s not fair. They were standing up for our rights! The supermarket closes for a day, we lose three items we could’ve bought. Big loss, huh?”

“…”

After a long pause—perhaps finally realizing how good the deal had been—the woman who’d demanded the refund just stood there, not taking her money back.

Zhou Li raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you want to cancel your membership?”

The woman shrank back. “I… I was just talked into it. I didn’t really mean it. I’ll keep my card.”

Then she clutched the card and bolted, afraid if she lingered a second longer, she’d end up on the blacklist.

Zhou Li didn’t bother chasing her. She turned to the onlookers and said evenly, “Think it through before asking for a refund. My time’s valuable.”

With that, she went back inside.

At once, Qu Shuyi hurried forward. “Wait, boss, please—hear me out.”

“Mm?”

“I know you’re angry about the reports,” Qu Shuyi said. “Anyone would be. But could you give us another chance? From now on, we’ll keep each other in check. If anyone files another baseless report, you won’t need to step in—we’ll deal with them ourselves.”

“Yeah, she’s right! Lawyer Qu speaks for all of us,” the residents chimed in.

Zhou Li crossed her arms, face expressionless. “Rules are rules.”

Qu Shuyi pressed on. “Rules are dead things—people are alive. There’s a saying in law: ‘Justice should serve humanity.’ Can’t we make an exception?”

“Yeah, boss,” someone added, “you said yourself you’re just here to do business. How are you gonna do business with the doors shut? No need to let a few petty troublemakers stop you from earning money!”

Zhou Li looked at them. “You think I’m making money?”

Of course she was—but she couldn’t admit it.

The crowd fell silent.

They couldn’t argue.

Compared to outside prices, the goods here were practically being given away. She wasn’t just not profiting—she was selling at a loss.

But then, what was she after?

They couldn’t figure it out.

And the more they couldn’t figure it out, the more convinced they became that she was running a charity.

Then it dawned on them—of course she was furious. Who wouldn’t be? She’d tried to do good, and people repaid her kindness with suspicion and slander.

The more they thought about it, the more indignant they became on her behalf, as if they were the ones who’d been betrayed.

A few people with local connections immediately set out to find who’d filed the reports.

Zhou Li said nothing more.

By now, nobody was complaining—only feeling disappointed and guilty.

Even Qu Shuyi, usually the first to invoke the law to defend her rights, could only sigh helplessly.

That night, when the supermarket still hadn’t reopened, everyone finally gave up waiting.

At Sophia Richter’s clinic, Ting Linzhi returned to find the store’s doors closed.

“Didn’t the boss say she’s open till ten?” she asked. “It’s only eight.”

Lin Jianshan ladled a bowl of hot porridge and handed it over. “Zihua and the others said the supermarket was reported. The boss got mad and decided to close for two days.”

Ting Linzhi was stunned.

She’d been at the clinic just one day and night, and already so much had happened?

“You don’t seem bothered at all,” she said.

Lin Jianshan shrugged. “We’ve got food now. Even if it’s closed for a day or two, we won’t starve. Besides, we live close—when it reopens, we’ll be the first to know.”

Ting Linzhi sighed. “I wanted to buy a flashlight for Dr. Sophia.”

At that, Lin Jianshan was glad she’d sent Ting Linzhi to the clinic.

Ting Linzhi had assumed her fever was from a wound infection.
In reality, the blow from that thug had caused a mild concussion—and because the weapon was filthy, it led to an infected wound and early sepsis.

The medical costs had soared.

But Dr. Sophia hadn’t demanded payment upfront—she’d treated her first.

Once she recovered, Ting Linzhi wanted to buy a few vintage Blue Star items to thank her.

Still, she didn’t want Lin Jianshan to shoulder the expense, so she planned to find work—even if it paid just one Orka a day, she’d be satisfied.

Lin Jianshan answered absentmindedly, clearly lost in thought.

Seeing that, Ting Linzhi said nothing more.

At nine that night, Lin Jianshan climbed over Tzu Chi House’s wall and made her way to the back of the supermarket.

She found that the rear entrance was tucked away, easy to miss.

Of course, she wasn’t there to steal.

She knocked softly on the back door.

After a while, a window upstairs creaked open.

Zhou Li leaned out, peering down. “Oh, it’s you. What’s the matter?”

Lin Jianshan tilted her head up and asked, “Boss… are you hiring?”

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