Ch 45: My Multiverse Supermarket

Qu Shuyi stayed at the hospital with her mother until a little past five in the morning before leaving, planning to go home, shower, and then head to work.

The sky at that hour was still pitch-black.

Since the natural disasters began, it was as if the stars had all fallen overnight.

Looking up, there was nothing but endless darkness, deep and vast like the maw of an abyss. Only snowflakes or hail would occasionally fall from the sky.

After confirming there was no sudden hail, Qu Shuyi mounted her balance hover-bike and rode toward her neighborhood.

Her mother had been transferred back to a hospital in Chang District, which shortened her commute considerably, allowing her to spend more time by her mother’s side—and even get a decent night’s rest now and then.

However, what troubled her lately was how crowded the supermarket had become. Every day after work, she went straight to queue up, and it often took over an hour to get in.

Worse, people from other districts had started learning about the supermarket and came flocking to buy things too.

Even with the neighborhood agreement in place, the lines for residents of the three surrounding communities kept getting longer.

The good news was that the supermarket owner had purchased two automatic vending machines.

No one knew when they would be installed, but surely it wouldn’t be long…

Then Qu Shuyi froze mid-thought.

She had just passed by the Good Life Supermarket next to the Tzu Chi House and saw two vending machines standing outside.

Early risers who had come to queue had already gathered around them, studying the new machines.

Without hesitation, Qu Shuyi rushed over.

“They really installed vending machines! You can buy all the supermarket goods here!”

“Not all of them… look, there’s no fruits or meat.”

“You’re right! Guess we still have to come back after 8 a.m. for those.”

Someone grumbled, “Why not stock fruits and meat in the vending machines too? Now I have to make an extra trip!”

Another person rolled their eyes. “Why don’t you just ask the supermarket to deliver to your house?”

The first one said stubbornly, “Yeah, why don’t they offer delivery?”

That sparked a chorus of sarcasm. “Why not have the boss feed you with a spoon while she’s at it?”

“I’m just happy we can buy rice and oil anytime,” another said. “If you’ve got time, go queue for the fresh stuff.”

Qu Shuyi was disappointed that the machines didn’t sell produce or meat, but she understood why.

The vending machines were meant to increase efficiency—shortening queues and letting more people access essential supplies.

Given the current situation, survival came first. People had to fill their stomachs before worrying about quality of life.

She said firmly, “More people are coming to line up. If you’re not buying, don’t hold everyone else up.”

When the complainer saw it was Qu Shuyi, they didn’t dare argue and quickly picked three items.

From selection to delivery, the whole process took only three minutes—faster than any vending machine in other districts.

If not for the two minutes spent deciding what to buy, it would have been even faster.

Suddenly, those with wrist-bound light-brain watches received a local notification.

They opened it and saw that the Good Life Supermarket was requesting access to the Matrix.

By agreeing, customers could link their membership cards and use the supermarket’s “mini program” to pre-select items—then later use the vending machine for one-click pickup, as long as the item was still in stock.

“This is way more convenient than queueing inside!” someone said.

Of course, “convenient” was relative.

Before the apocalypse, if a supermarket refused to deliver orders placed online, people would have complained until the place was fined.

Now, everyone knew that if they complained, the store might just close—or worse, the boss might block them entirely.

She was temperamental, yes—but no one could live without her Good Life Supermarket.

At that moment, several people were almost moved to tears. “The boss has seen the light—no, the boss has finally shown mercy!”

Qu Shuyi: …

A bit dramatic, but she had to admit her heart felt warm too.

She quickly hit “Agree” and started pre-selecting items on her light-brain.

When it was her turn, she just scanned her membership card.

Within seconds, the dispenser slot released her purchases: one sleeping bag and a four-piece bedding set.

She still had one more purchase left and planned to buy some bones for soup before work—something to bring to her mother that night.

Zhou Li woke up to find that the system had updated itself overnight.

The system explained that the update was to integrate with the supermarket’s mini program, linking online and offline functions.

As for planes without phones or light-brains? They would continue using in-person shopping.

At exactly 8 a.m., Zhou Li opened the shop.

The number of walk-in customers was down by about seventy percent.

Those who did come were either people who thought queueing at the vending machines still took too long, ones applying for membership cards, or customers looking for fresh produce.

Her own workload hadn’t changed much—it wasn’t heavy to begin with.

Lin Jianshan’s workload, however, had dropped by two-thirds.

She asked, “Boss, should I move these goods to the vending machine’s restock port?”

Zhou Li said, “No, I set those aside for the Tzu Chi House.”

Just as she finished, Chen Yuhui arrived. “Good morning, store owner.”

“Morning, Director Chen.”

Chen handed her a tablet-sized device with a transparent glass screen displaying floating text.

“This is the orphan registry and accompanying documents for the Tzu Chi House.”

Zhou Li took it, murmuring, “An OLED display? The transparency must be around eighty percent.”

Earth’s OLEDs only had about forty percent transparency.

Chen corrected her. “It’s actually ninety-two percent. When off, the light transmittance reaches ninety-eight.”

Zhou Li: … I want one.

Seeing the longing in her eyes, Chen smiled and swiped on her light-brain. “This one has to be paired with a light-brain to operate.”

As Chen manipulated her device, the tablet’s screen updated in sync.

“So this is just a display?” Zhou Li asked.

“More accurately, a touch-screen display,” Chen replied with a small smile.

Zhou Li: …

She swiped through the screen and quickly skimmed the files.

Luckily, the script resembled a mix of Chinese and English—easy enough to read.

Zhou Li got curious and asked the system, “The common language on Mia Star—is it Chinese and English?”

“There are two official languages,” the system explained. “Li Language and Federal Language. Li is similar to Chinese, and Federal is like English. There are smaller dialects, but since the original settlers mainly came from Chinese- and English-speaking regions, those became the defaults. Here in Chang District, over ninety-eight percent of people speak Li.”

“No wonder communication’s been so easy,” Zhou Li said.

She returned the device to Chen.

“Any other questions?” Chen asked.

“Nothing wrong with the list,” Zhou Li said. “I trust you’re an honest person and won’t use fake names to fool me.”

She couldn’t verify whether the names were real or not—she simply had to believe that Chen wouldn’t lie.

Zhou Li handed her an iPad. “Here’s a list of supplies the supermarket can provide in bulk this week—enough for 300 people, available for pickup once a week.”

Fresh fruits and vegetables were mostly gone thanks to the residents’ demand, so giving the children daily produce wasn’t realistic.

Chen selected rice, flour, sweet potatoes, eggs, and milk.

Breakfast would be eggs, sweet potatoes, and milk; dinner would be noodles and rice dishes.

“Can I pre-order fruits and vegetables?” Chen asked.

“Yes, but only a limited selection.”

Currently, Zhou Li only had stable contracts for certain crops: corn, sweet potatoes, potatoes, pumpkins, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelons, and apples.

Chen chose corn, pumpkin, tomatoes, and apples for the next week’s breakfast menu.

…

Compared to the orphanage, which considered nutrition balance, City Hall’s supply list was much simpler—just six categories: rice, flour, oil, salt, sugar, and bottled water.

Once City Hall collected their share, half the warehouse was empty.

Zhou Li checked the time; it was nearly time for her scheduled trade with the ancient plane. She posted a notice: Closed for restocking. Will reopen in five days.

Residents had grown used to her three-to-five-day restock breaks.

During those days, whole families would buy their three-item limit daily, stockpiling enough to last a month.

So her short absences no longer caused panic—in fact, people welcomed them.

The only ones unhappy were the speculators who’d hoarded goods to resell.

City Hall had just received a massive shipment from the supermarket and immediately halted its grain purchases from the major merchants.

For those grain dealers and middlemen, the loss wasn’t just a client—it was a whole market.

City Hall’s move sent a clear signal across Mia Star: food and material supplies were still stable and abundant. There was no need for panic buying.

The supermarket’s low prices gave the poor hope—and dealt a heavy blow to profiteers.

Would the supermarket face retaliation?

City Hall wanted to see whether Zhou Li had any hidden defenses left.

…

But Zhou Li knew nothing of this.