Ch 39: My Multiverse Supermarket

Modern Primary Plane

When Zhou Li returned to her primary plane, the first thing she did after waking up was to rent a warehouse.

Although external warehouses couldn’t shift planes along with the supermarket, every time she came back, she had to call suppliers to restock. Doing that too frequently would draw unwanted attention.

It would be better to rent a warehouse right in the village. Then whenever the supermarket’s stock ran low, she could simply pull supplies from the larger warehouse.

The village was sparsely populated, mostly with elderly residents who wouldn’t notice—or care—how many shipments she made per day.

Still, Zhou Li thought it best to report the plan to her mother first.

Zhou Hao, who was having breakfast, nearly spat out her rice porridge when she heard it over the phone.

She wanted to reach through the screen to touch her daughter’s forehead and ask, “Are you feeling all right?”

What on earth did a small village supermarket need such a big warehouse for?

But before saying that, she asked, “How many members do you have now?”

“Over two thousand,” Zhou Li said. “Stored membership balance has already exceeded five million.”

Zhou Hao: ?

She went quiet for a long time.

Zhou Li held her breath, ready for her mother to rush over and start an audit.

But Zhou Hao was lost in thought, already planning her daughter’s business empire. “You’ve gained that many members in just a few days and boosted sales so fast—truly my daughter. Handing the supermarket over to you was the right call. Keep it up. Our warehouse membership supermarket still needs to grow.”

“Warehouse membership supermarket?” Zhou Li repeated blankly.

“Oh, that’s the new retail model I’ve been studying. Just a regular membership store isn’t new anymore. The current trend is combining storefronts with front-end storage.”

Zhou Li thought, Isn’t that exactly what Good Life Supermarket is doing?

Even though her own store wasn’t nearly as big as the chain stores, customer demand was so high that she’d practically turned the store itself into a warehouse—letting people carry away boxes and bags at a time.

“Mom,” she said, “didn’t Uncle Ping use to have a furniture factory? Is that place still open?”

“It closed ages ago,” Zhou Hao said. “The building’s been empty for years. You went there two years ago for his son’s wedding, remember?”

Zhou Li’s eyes lit up. “Do you think I could rent it?”

The factory was only about two or three hundred meters from the supermarket, just two turns down the village road.

“I’ll ask for you,” Zhou Hao said. “But you’d better go see it yourself. The place’s been empty for years—the roof might’ve started cracking. And whatever happens, don’t go blabbing about this in the village chat.”

“Got it, Mom.”

Zhou Hao contacted “Uncle Ping.”

Soon she called back. “Zhou Ping isn’t home, but Aunt Rong is. Go see her for the keys.”

With the green light, Zhou Li locked up the supermarket and rode her electric scooter into the village.

When she arrived at the factory, a middle-aged woman with short hair called out, “Little Pear!”

Zhou Li: …

If Aunt Rong hadn’t shouted it, she would’ve forgotten all about that childhood nickname.

Because Zhou Hao had chosen a name that sounded like “Li,” the village elders thought it was unlucky, so they all called her “Little Pear” instead.

Once Zhou Li went off to school in the city, she rarely came back and stopped hearing the nickname altogether.

“Have you eaten, Aunt Rong?” Zhou Li greeted.

“Not yet,” Aunt Rong said warmly. “Heard from your mom that you’re looking to rent the factory, so I came to show you around.”

“Oh, sorry to bother you before breakfast. You can go eat first, I can come back later.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re already here—let’s look first.”

Aunt Rong led Zhou Li inside.

The factory wasn’t huge—about four hundred square meters—and at the far end stood a small red-brick house.

That was Uncle Ping’s old home. The factory had been built over what was once farmland.

A decade or two ago, before the regulations tightened, many villagers traded farmland plots with one another to build large courtyards.

Uncle Ping’s father had been a carpenter.

As the national economy boomed, demand for furniture grew, so he fenced off the courtyard and turned it into a workshop.

But as he aged and slowed down, the factory declined. Translated on Hololo novels. Uncle Ping, his successor, lacked both skill and business sense, and eventually shut it down.

A few years later, he built a new home elsewhere, leaving the old house and factory completely abandoned.

“How’s it look?” Aunt Rong asked. “Your mom and I talked—twelve hundred yuan a month.”

That price would’ve been impossible in town or the city, but around here, unused land earning an extra thousand yuan monthly was still a good deal.

“If I rent it,” Zhou Li said, “I’ll install security cameras and close off the yard with a wall. Would that be okay?”

Beside the old house was an open courtyard surrounded only by railings—not ideal for storage.

“Sure,” Aunt Rong said. “You can build a wall and leave a door. You could even keep some chickens there if you want.”

“You and Uncle Ping might visit for the holidays,” Zhou Li said. “I’ll skip the chickens.”

The courtyard had a back gate so they could come by to burn incense during festivals.

Zhou Li also decided she’d need to seal the roof with waterproof film to prevent leaks.

Once everything was agreed upon, she paid a deposit.

The contract would have to wait for Uncle Ping’s return, but she immediately arranged for cleaning, roof work, and wall construction.

She found out she didn’t even need bricks—just insulated panels, which could be bought in town.

So she drove there, hired a supplier to measure the site, and arranged electricians to inspect and install cameras.

The factory’s wiring would need safety testing too, to prevent fire hazards.

…

By the time she finished, it was already dark.

Zhou Li pushed her drained scooter home to recharge.

Mu Kun asked, “Had dinner yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Auntie’s treating you to snail noodles.”

Zhou Li: …

“And I’ll throw in a fried egg and duck feet.”

Zhou Li darted inside. “Thanks, Auntie Mu. I’ll take mild spice.”

“I know you can’t handle the hot stuff.”

Zhou Li grabbed a bottle of soy milk from the fridge.

All the milk and drinks from her own supermarket had been cleaned out by the residents of Mia Star.

Her next delivery wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.

“Xiao Li, did that little app of yours go live already?” Mu Kun asked.

“Huh?” Zhou Li blinked, then remembered the story she’d made up earlier—that local customers were using same-city delivery apps to buy from her, just to explain the empty shelves.

“Oh,” Zhou Li said quickly. “Are you interested in making one too, Auntie Mu? I can recommend a senior from my business program. But for restaurants, joining an existing food delivery platform might be better.”

Mu Kun didn’t press her but said, “I’ve already registered with those—〇Le, 〇Tuan—but orders are slow.”

“Then maybe change what you sell,” Zhou Li suggested. “Snail noodles aren’t local food, so not many people here eat them. You could do breakfast instead—congee, rice rolls, sticky rice chicken. Drivers passing through might stop for a bite.”

Mu Kun seemed thoughtful.

When the noodles were ready, she brought them over and said decisively, “All right, I’ll switch to breakfast.”

Zhou Li was taken aback. “Auntie Mu, you already had this idea, didn’t you?”

Otherwise, how could she have agreed so fast?

Mu Kun smiled. “I think your suggestion’s smart. Business for snail noodles isn’t great, and I keep getting complaints. Might as well switch.”

Zhou Li bit into her fried egg, thinking privately, You’ve been getting complaints for ages—why only decide now?

Then another idea came to her. “Auntie Mu, if you really start selling breakfast, I can sell it for you at the supermarket!”

“Will I have to pay any entry fees?”

“That’s for big chain stores. Not mine.”

“Free’s the most expensive,” Mu Kun said suspiciously.

Zhou Li stayed calm. “I didn’t say free. Just give me five percent commission on your sales.”

Most major supermarkets charged either 45% entry fees or 10–40% commissions.

She only wanted 5%.

A two-yuan soy milk would give her ten cents.

It didn’t sound like much, but with enough sales, it would add up—and she wasn’t worried about demand.

She could even have Auntie Mu make breakfast combos, like:

– Single Meal: one milk, one sticky rice chicken, one stir-fried noodle.
– Couple Meal: two congees, two fried eggs, two baskets of soup dumplings.
– Family Bucket: three soy milks, six fried dough sticks, nine tea eggs.

If she announced that breakfast items weren’t subject to the purchase limit, the people of Mia Star would lose their minds.

(The purchase limit only applied to supermarket merchandise.)

Of course, breakfast had to be hot.

So she’d need foam boxes or food warmers to keep everything warm.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Mu Kun said. “Let’s do it. I’ll call a decorator tomorrow.”

Zhou Li: …

That fast?

But thinking about it, she wasn’t much different herself, so she said nothing.

Mu Kun added, “I heard you’re renting Zhou Ping’s old factory for a warehouse?”

Zhou Li wasn’t surprised—village gossip spread fast.

“I just got back,” she said. “Yes, my home warehouse is too small.”

“But if you stock too much, and it doesn’t sell, won’t your cash get stuck?”