Ch 35: My Multiverse Supermarket

When Ting Linzhi returned to Sophia’s clinic, the place was bustling.

She asked what had happened and learned that another geomagnetic storm had struck before dawn, setting fire to a nearby power station. Several workers on duty had been injured and sent to the clinic for emergency treatment.

Realizing Dr. Sophia would likely be busy late into the night, Ting Linzhi decided to come back another day.

But just then, Dr. Sophia emerged from the treatment room.

“Dr. Sophia, are you finished?”

“Almost. Once the hospital arrives to transfer the patients, I’ll finally get a break—after all, they can’t use their insurance here. Did you come for a follow-up?”

Ting Linzhi shook her head quickly. “No, I feel much better now. I actually came to give you a gift—to thank you for saving my life.”

Dr. Sophia smiled faintly. “Saving lives is a doctor’s duty. And besides, I was paid.”

Even so, when Ting Linzhi handed her the flashlight, she accepted it without hesitation.

“What’s this?”

“A flashlight—Blue Star, twenty-first century model.”

The moment Sophia heard that, her eyes brightened.

She pressed the obvious power button, and a beam of light cut through the air.

“Lithium battery, rechargeable too! Yes, this is definitely a Blue Star product from the twenty-first century.” As a collector of Blue Star relics, Dr. Sophia knew all about such outdated technologies.

Lithium batteries, due to safety issues, had been completely discontinued by the mid–twenty-second century.

“Where did you find an antique like this?” she asked.

Ting Linzhi hesitated for a couple of seconds but decided to tell the truth.

Even if she didn’t say it, Dr. Sophia would soon hear about the mysterious supermarket from the other residents.
If Sophia discovered that these ‘antiques’ were sold there for just a few dozen points, Ting Linzhi’s credibility would be gone.

“From a supermarket,” she said.

“A supermarket?” Sophia raised her brows. “Since when do supermarkets sell antiques?”

Ting Linzhi looked embarrassed. “They might not really be antiques.”

Sophia chuckled. “Did you think everything in my display case was a genuine relic from the twentieth or twenty-first century?”

“Ah?” Ting Linzhi blinked.

“I just like Blue Star–style objects. They don’t have to be authentic antiques. As long as something matches the production quality of Blue Star’s twentieth or twenty-first century, I consider it worth collecting.”

“Oh, I see…” Ting Linzhi said sheepishly. “But the flashlight can’t possibly cover the cost of treatment, can it?”

“True,” said Sophia, smiling, “but happiness is worth more than gold.”

“I know that saying—it’s an old proverb from Blue Star.”

Sophia’s eyes softened. “Tell me where that supermarket is. I’ll visit after work.”

“It’s right next to Tzu Chi House, on the old vacant lot,” Ting Linzhi said. “But it’s closed today. It reopens tomorrow.”

Fearing Sophia would rush there too eagerly, she also explained the store’s rules to her.

Sophia nodded. “It seems that supermarket is quite unusual.”

Ting Linzhi didn’t know much about it herself, so she changed the subject. “By the way, Doctor, why are you the only one here?”

Most tasks in the clinic could be handled by robots, so apart from Dr. Sophia, there was usually just one assistant doctor—mainly there to prevent accidents if a robot malfunctioned.

When Ting Linzhi had come for treatment last time, she hadn’t seen the assistant either. Translated on Hololo novels. And now, the place looked empty again.

“She quit,” said Sophia.

Ting Linzhi was momentarily impressed—quitting in this worsening world took courage.

But as if reading her thoughts, Sophia added, “Richter Hospital offered her a higher salary and poached her.”

Ting Linzhi: …

So much for admiration.

Before leaving, she suddenly thought of something, inspired by how Lin Jianshan had gone out to find work on her own.

“Dr. Sophia,” she asked, “do you need an extra hand?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t practice medicine or handle equipment, but I can help with chores. I don’t need high pay—I just want a job.”

“Those tasks can all be handled by robots.” Sophia paused. “But with geomagnetic storms happening more often, robots have been malfunctioning more frequently. Perhaps it’s time I hired a human—someone who can think faster.”

*

Before work, Qu Shuyi made a stop at Tzu Chi House.

The supermarket doors were still firmly shut. She sighed.

Nearby, a few residents were grumbling. “Still closed today… Guess she really meant two full days of suspension.”

Qu Shuyi thought, Now everyone knows this boss is a woman of her word.

She glanced at her wrist terminal—her neighborhood chat was exploding. The “all-powerful” local network had already identified the people who had reported the store.

To her surprise, there were several of them.

Not all were spiteful blacklisted customers seeking revenge. Two had genuinely believed they were “upholding justice.” In their eyes, any business operating publicly should accept government inspection.

Before being exposed, they had even discussed filing another complaint—because the supermarket’s goods had fake manufacturer details and non-existent product codes that couldn’t be found in the Commerce Bureau’s database.

Even after being unmasked, they showed no remorse. Instead, they tried to persuade others to join their cause.

“If the store is fined,” they argued, “the boss will behave and stop using closure threats to control us.”

For a while, the angry voices in the chat grew quieter.

Until someone asked Qu Shuyi, “Attorney Qu, you studied law—do you think their accusation will hold up?”

Qu Shuyi replied calmly, “Under normal circumstances, a supermarket that sells non-compliant products would face severe penalties.”

The whistleblowers immediately puffed up with pride, ready to gloat and argue with everyone in sight.

Then another voice cut in, “You said under normal circumstances.”

“Yes,” said Qu Shuyi. “Normal circumstances. But let me ask you all—does this world still count as normal?”

The chat fell silent.

She went on, spelling it out clearly. “How many have died of hunger or cold because they lacked food or clothing? Even the city hall’s relief rations shrink day by day. I don’t believe any of you are so naïve as to think we still live in those golden centuries when no one worried about survival.

“If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t be complaining about prices rising again. You wouldn’t be waking up before dawn to fight wind and snow just to snatch what little’s left on the shelves. And you certainly wouldn’t be queuing up to apply for relief aid.

So what if the Good Life Supermarket’s products have fake codes? Even if they had no packaging at all—even if they were expired—if the owner told me they were edible, I’d still buy them.

The prices there are cheap, and there’s a purchase limit. Is that limit for price gouging or marketing hype? No—it’s to make sure no one person hoards everything, so the rest of us can still eat.

The boss has already closed for two days. That means I’ve gone two days without being able to buy anything there. I just spent twenty Orka on a few slices of bread. Twenty Orka equals sixteen hundred points—enough to buy fifty bags of rice at the supermarket.

So, because of you, I lost fifty bags of rice. If anyone dares make that store close again, I have a hundred ways to send you to prison.”

One of the reporters shouted angrily, “You’re a lawyer! How can you talk like that?”

Qu Shuyi said evenly, “Lawyer is a profession—it doesn’t define my morals. When it comes to survival, I can be an immoral, despicable lawyer if I have to.”

After that, she ignored the group chat entirely.

Spotting movement through the supermarket’s windows, she quickly walked over and knocked.

Inside, Lin Jianshan, who had been restocking, nervously set down the goods in her hands. She didn’t want anyone to see her working and give the boss more trouble.

“Go see what’s up,” Zhou Li said without hesitation, ordering her soon-to-start part-timer.

Lin Jianshan cracked the door open. “Hello, what can I do for you?”

“Is the store open today?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh… I see.”

“I work here,” Lin Jianshan added.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Qu Shuyi’s eyes, but she said politely, “Is the owner here? I’d like to speak with her.”

Zhou Li poked her head out from the storage room and walked over. “You’re looking for me?”

Qu Shuyi hesitated a moment before saying, “Someone plans to report you. They claim your product brands and serial codes are fake. If the authorities investigate and confirm that, you could face serious penalties.”

“How serious?” Zhou Li asked calmly.

That wasn’t the reaction Qu Shuyi expected.

“They could confiscate your goods and destroy them,” she said. “Though, in times like these, they might not destroy them outright—but you definitely wouldn’t get them back. Unless you can replace every label with genuine manufacturer information.”

Zhou Li replied coolly, “Who said my manufacturer info is fake? All of my products are from Blue Star. You can verify them there. Or is Blue Star not allowed to export to Mia Star?”

Both Qu Shuyi and Lin Jianshan—two of the few who suspected the Good Life Supermarket came from Blue Star—weren’t all that surprised.

Qu Shuyi forced herself to continue, “Even if they’re Blue Star products, they still need to go through the Interstellar Customs Authority for inspection.”

Zhou Li asked her system, “Do we have that documentation?”

System: “Of course. But if you show it, more investigators will come snooping.”

“Let them,” Zhou Li said confidently. “As long as the paperwork’s valid, I’m not obligated to answer anything else.”

Turning back to Qu Shuyi, she said, “I’ve completed all the required filings.”

Qu Shuyi almost asked, If you can travel from Blue Star to here, why can’t Mia Star contact Blue Star—or even the space station? How did you get past customs at all?
But she swallowed her curiosity and said instead, “Alright… just be cautious. I wanted to warn you in advance. If someone files another complaint, could you consider showing leniency once?”

“I never go back on my word,” said Zhou Li. “But thank you for the warning. As a token of gratitude, you may buy three items today.”

Although Qu Shuyi hadn’t managed to persuade Zhou Li to change her rules, she didn’t feel bad about benefiting a little for her efforts.

She picked out three things and paid without guilt.

When people saw her leaving the store with bags in hand, someone called out, “Hey, is the store open again?”

“No,” she said.

“Then you—”

“I was helping the boss with a legal matter.”

After all, warning Zhou Li about penalties for fake labeling did count as legal advice, didn’t it?

The onlookers stared silently.

Later, in the community chat, Qu Shuyi wrote, “I’ve looked into it—the supermarket’s product information is real, but the registration and licensing are based off-world, which is why they can’t be found in our system. The store’s legal documents are fully compliant, so the boss has nothing to fear. Trying to threaten her with reports won’t work—it’ll only make more people go hungry.”

The group went even quieter.

Not long after, someone posted a photo: “Passed by Longhu Community and saw this. [pic][pic]”

The pictures showed one of the whistleblowers tied to a lamppost, beaten black and blue, wrapped tightly in colored cords—like a giant multicolored slug.

No one admitted to doing it, but the message was clear enough.

☢️☢️☢️