Ch 52: My Multiverse Supermarket

Because the sanitary pads and bath products Qiao Siniang brought to Guiyang Prefecture stirred great discussion among the women, many also came to hear of the Goddess who had appeared in the Immortal Village.

Women like Zhou Wanniang, who now wanted to travel there to worship the Goddess, were not few.

To ensure the safety of those making the journey, the local government and garrison troops increased patrols along the roads.

This, in turn, sent a clear signal to the common people—
and soon, the supermarket welcomed a wave of new faces.

*

After the first two days of trial use, many refugees had already learned how to use the vending machines.

Some, having heard there was a “celestial child” inside, tried speaking to her, but were met with silence.

Eventually, they discovered the “celestial child” only responded when they were making a purchase or when they didn’t understand the shopping process.

At first, no one dared disturb the “celestial child” at night.

Then one restless soul, unable to hold back his curiosity, sneaked over after closing hours to try buying something.

When he found that the “celestial child” did not get angry, everyone finally believed what the Goddess had said—that they could come to shop at any time of the twelve daily periods.

Even so, most refugees worked during the day and rested at night, so only a few came after dark.

But when Zhou Li checked the system’s backend data, she noticed that the number of products sold during the night was surprisingly high.

She didn’t even need to check the surveillance feed—she already knew why.
Refugees didn’t wander about at night, but the stationed Dayue troops did.

Many soldiers were assigned to night patrols.

And when hunger struck—since they were forbidden from lighting fires—the supermarket’s bread and bottled water became their ready-made rations.

Because the vending machines required membership cards, the soldiers would secretly take off their uniforms during the day and disguise themselves as refugees to apply for one.

They carried little of value, but each kept some coins on hand—savings for their families.

One copper coin could be exchanged for two yuan; two coins were enough to buy a large bun and fill their stomachs.

“If only we could cook,” one soldier said, chewing his bread. “These buns fill the belly, sure, but if I could choose, I’d rather spend three yuan on a jin of rice than on this strange bread.”

Another replied, “That’s against army discipline. If we’re caught, we’ll be punished severely.”

“The inspector doesn’t care about that kind of thing!” someone said dismissively.

Dayue’s army had inherited the old dynasty’s system—its inspectors were eunuchs.

What’s more, the emperor, fearing rebellion, had even placed eunuchs in command of troops.

The Shence Army of the previous dynasty had also been controlled by eunuchs, so this wasn’t without precedent.

However, Dayue’s eunuchs knew nothing of warfare—only how to scheme and profit.

Military discipline had fallen apart.
Even broken weapons went unrepaired, because the funds meant for maintenance were stolen.

Soldiers used chipped blades, patching them as best they could.

Complaints were common, but no one listened.

Over time, the men simply gave up caring.

“True,” someone muttered, “but if the inspector’s in a foul mood, it could still cost us our lives.”

That silenced them.

Then, suddenly, a delicious aroma wafted through the camp.

“What’s that smell?”

“Smells like instant noodles… I’ve smelled that before.”

At once, the bread in their hands lost all appeal.

Someone stood up to follow the scent, but another stopped him. “Don’t go there—that’s Deputy Envoy Chang’s tent.”

They all recognized the name.

Deputy Envoy Chang of the Taiwei Palace—
the first immortal envoy to receive the Goddess’s favor.

Compared to Fan Yuxian of the Yuqing Palace, who constantly invoked the Jade Emperor’s name yet never produced results, “Chang Yan” was the one who had truly brought the Goddess down to the mortal world.

And now that Attendant Gong had officially become the Dayue court’s representative supplier for the supermarket, her status had soared.

As Gong Qiongxian’s right hand, “Chang Yan” had played a key role in quelling malaria and calming refugee unrest. Her reputation had risen swiftly.

In the eyes of the soldiers, her authority was second only to Gong Qiongxian’s.

Just then, the tent flap lifted.

Zhao Changyan stepped out, holding a kerosene lamp. When she saw the soldiers, she gave a polite nod.

“Deputy Envoy Chang, you’re still awake?” one of them asked.

“I just finished some official work,” Zhao said mildly. “Then realized I was hungry, so I made some noodles with hot water.” She paused. “You men must be hungry too, patrolling all night?”

The soldiers rubbed their stomachs. “A little,” one admitted.

“Doesn’t the army provide a night meal?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” another said. “Only morning and evening rations. Lighting a fire at night might expose the camp, so it’s strictly forbidden.”

“I see. Rules are rules—but still, guards who patrol through the night will inevitably get hungry. There are ways to deal with that… without breaking discipline.”

Seeing how eagerly they listened, Zhao stopped herself, afraid she’d sound like she was encouraging disobedience. She changed the subject. “Here, take these noodles instead.”

“But those were yours, Deputy Envoy.”

“Eating late hurts the stomach. I’ll pass. You eat.”

“Thank you, Deputy Envoy!” they said gratefully.

They knew perfectly well that the noodles had been cooked before she came out—she’d planned to eat them, yet gave them away.

They didn’t refuse, but from that moment, they carried a deep sense of gratitude toward her.

One packet of noodles for fifteen men—each could only take a small bite or a sip of broth. Translated on hololonovels. But even that, at such a moment, felt like warmth from Heaven.

When Zhao returned to her tent, Gong Qiongxian was inside.

She sat on a small supermarket-bought folding chair, a delicate teapot before her. A tiny blue flame flickered under it.

“One packet of noodles, and you’ve won them over,” Gong said coolly. “There’s no cheaper way to buy loyalty.”

Zhao replied, “Some people are greedy—no matter how much you give, they’ll still betray you. But some are easy to please. When they’re at their lowest, lend a hand, and they’ll remember it for life.

A single packet of noodles given in hunger means more than ten when they’re already full.”

Indeed, the noodles hadn’t been for herself.

From the moment she’d learned how hungry the soldiers got at night, she’d been planning this.

If she wanted military command, she’d need the emperor’s approval. But to truly lead the army, she had to win the soldiers’ hearts.

In court, she had Gong Qiongxian.
In the army, she had only herself.

“But people’s hearts are greedy,” Gong said. “You can’t rely on noodles forever.”

“This is only the beginning,” Zhao said calmly.

The ban on night meals existed for several reasons:

First, lack of provisions. Each soldier only received enough for two meals daily. A third would deplete stores too quickly, and resupply was difficult.

Second, lighting fires at night risked exposing the camp’s position to the enemy.

Third, soldiers grew drowsy after eating, which could endanger night patrols.

But hunger was equally dangerous—if a guard fainted on watch, that, too, invited disaster.

Now, with the supermarket, shortages could gradually be resolved.

If soldiers filled canteens with hot water, they could make instant noodles anytime—no fire, no exposure.

And by staggering patrol shifts, they could eat safely without losing vigilance.

Feeding soldiers at night brought clear benefits:

First, it restored strength and stamina.
Second, it turned miserable patrols into bearable duty, lifting morale.
Third, the officer who provided that food would earn unwavering loyalty.

“I noticed long ago,” Gong said softly, “you care more about command than rank. But without a general’s prowess, few would dare seek control of an army.”

Zhao smiled faintly. “Since we’re speaking openly—yes. I am Princess of Yizhang from the fallen Chu Kingdom. My father was Zhao Xiche, Military Commissioner of Jingjiang and Prefect of Langzhou, of royal blood. My mother was Xu Qiongzhi, daughter of a native chieftain.”

Gong Qiongxian’s eyes widened.

She’d heard of Zhao Xiche—the Chu King had him poisoned out of jealousy.

Xu Qiongzhi had led the Tujia army and the remnants of Jingjiang’s troops in rebellion, only to be defeated and killed.

Rumor had it all their children were dead—but one daughter had survived after all.

“You still have an uncle alive?” Gong asked.

“Yes, in Xuzhou—but he’s barely holding on.”

The Chu Kingdom was now a battlefield of endless chaos—rival kings, warring prefects, and splintered armies.

Her uncle Xu Shiyu, leader of the tribal forces, had enthroned the depraved King of Wugang, alienating his people and dividing the Tujia army with internal strife.

Rather than seek refuge there, Zhao Changyan had resolved to claim her own command—to raise Dayue’s troops, slay the Chu King, and avenge her parents.

Gong Qiongxian finally understood.

After a pause, she asked, “Your father taught you warfare?”

“No,” Zhao replied. “My mother did.”

Xu Qiongzhi, the chieftain’s daughter, had risen from rebellion herself.

When the western tribes of Chu revolted against heavy taxes, she led the Tujia army to victory, securing their flank and forcing the Chu King into a truce.

The peace treaty exempted Xuzhou from taxation and granted the Xu family local rule.

Later, the Xu family formally submitted, and Xu Qiongzhi was married to Zhao Xiche, the king’s brother, sealing the alliance.

Even after marriage, she never gave up her skills. Instead, she taught them to her children.

Gong Qiongxian said, “Dayue has Lady Xian, and Chu had Lady Xu. Both are models for women like us.”

Dayue’s tolerance for female officials came not only from the emperor’s distrust of scholars and preference for eunuchs and women, but also from the legacy of such heroines and rulers who proved that women could lead as wisely—and as fiercely—as men.

☢️☢️☢️