Ch 71: My Multiverse Supermarket

Before the instructors could catch her using their drinking as leverage, Duan Jing hurried back to the school and pretended to be dutifully cleaning.

Once the alcohol wore off, the instructors rushed over, eager to find trouble—but to their surprise, she’d returned first. Their eyes turned dark and venomous.

“Where’s the other one?” the buzz-cut instructor quickly noticed one student was missing.

“What person?” Duan Jing asked, feigning innocence.

The instructor quickly realized the missing girl must still be at the supermarket.

Thinking of that store’s special protection, his anger twisted into a helpless frustration—like a butchered lamb suddenly rescued by an animal-rights group.

But he couldn’t catch Duan Jing doing anything wrong, so all he could do was storm off toward the shop.

“Where’s that student?” the buzz-cut instructor demanded of Zhou Li, who was calmly working on test problems behind the counter.

Without looking up, Zhou Li said, “I don’t sell students here.”

“I mean the student from our school!”

“Then even less chance she’s for sale in my supermarket.”

The instructor: …

Whether she was playing dumb or not, he didn’t care. His neck twisted and stretched, head splitting open like a grotesque flower as it snaked between the shelves.

“I see you, Song Ganlan,” it hissed. “Come back to school right now—playing truant will be severely punished…”

Zhou Li felt her sanity bar plummet. “That neck’s longer than the duck necks I sell for ten points apiece. Ugh, I really want to slice it—that’d be so satisfying.”

The instructor: …
System: …
Which of you is the real monster here?

The instructor searched the aisles but found no one, then looked up toward the stairs. Just as it prepared to slither upward, a kitchen knife suddenly flew out.

It barely dodged in time—the blade grazed its throat before it snapped its neck back, the flesh contracting until it returned to normal.

“You attacked me!” the buzz-cut instructor shrieked when it saw An Yixiao at the top of the stairs, excitement flaring in its distorted voice.

But after several seconds, she still wasn’t expelled from the supermarket.

An Yixiao herself was surprised. She’d been ready to kill the creature and accept the supermarket’s punishment afterward.

Could it be…

Zhou Li spoke up, “The store security’s job is to maintain order. Her actions are justified.”

The instructor’s grin froze—he had forgotten that the “stowaway” also happened to be the supermarket’s security guard.

An Yixiao blinked, then gave him a mocking, provocative smile.

“I didn’t attack anyone,” the instructor said defensively.

“You disrupted the store’s appearance and obstructed other customers.”

“There are no other customers here.”

“Exactly. Because of you, they’re too scared to come in.”

The instructor: …

Zhou Li asked pleasantly, “Will you leave on your own, or should I help you out?”

No matter how unwilling he was, the instructor had no choice but to retreat beyond the supermarket’s protective barrier.

But before leaving, he still bought a few bottles of liquor.

Zhou Li sighed. “He just got caught drunk, and he still dares to buy more?”

An Yixiao said, “Precisely because he was caught once, he’s convinced he won’t fall for the same trick again. Imitating humans too long has given anomalies their habits—making the same mistake over and over again.”

Zhou Li: “?”

An Yixiao explained, “Oh, it means ‘tripping on the same rock repeatedly.’”

Zhou Li said, “I know that saying, I just didn’t expect you to use it.”

“Learned it from a short-video app called ‘DouLe,’” said An Yixiao.

Zhou Li: …

She’d forgotten—worried that boredom might drive her crazy on other planes, she’d pre-downloaded a bunch of videos, dramas, and 200 offline clips from DouLe, so she could watch anytime without internet.

Changing the subject, she asked, “How’s Song Ganlan? Calm now?”

“Mm. She’s been watching variety shows so long she’s forgotten where she is.”

An Yixiao’s expression twitched.

When Song Ganlan had been left behind, An Yixiao hadn’t wanted her breaking the store rules, so she’d tried to tie her up.

But Song Ganlan, an A-rank player, had resisted fiercely.

Zhou Li, afraid they’d wreck the shop, sent them both upstairs instead and gave them a tablet to kill time—with only one rule: don’t break anything.

An Yixiao thought she’d have to rough the girl up to make her behave, but instead, Song Ganlan was instantly absorbed by the variety show.

It wasn’t hard to understand.

Ever since The Game descended, entertainment had all but vanished. Dungeons had replaced music, film, and television; everything else became dusty museum relics.

People’s leisure now consisted of little more than old-fashioned card and board games.

And after entering Mingde School, even that was stripped away—only “virtue lessons” and chores remained.

The moment she saw the show, Song Ganlan’s buried longing for color and joy reawakened, a splash of life in her numb soul.

Still, her corruption ran deep. One show wasn’t enough to bring full clarity.

And because Zhou Li’s downloaded videos had scrolling comments, Song Ganlan watched like an overexcited schoolgirl, shouting along with the screen: “Aaaah, they’re so cute together! I’m dead!”

An Yixiao: …

Wasn’t that another kind of mental contamination?

*

After Duan Jing and the others brought snacks back to Mingde School, the ranks of secret snack-eaters began to grow.

More and more students snuck off during breaks to buy food from the supermarket.

Since it stood right behind the school gate, even those unable to step outside could use the vending machine to make purchases.

Zhou Li felt a small swell of pride—the vending machines were finally earning their keep again.

Still, the number of “customers” was too small.

Bound by school rules, they couldn’t buy much at once, so the profits barely reached a fraction of what she’d earned back in the ancient-era plane.

An Yixiao knew nothing of her boss’s woes. She and the newly promoted temp worker, Song Ganlan, were busy arranging products on the most visible shelves.

That was when Duan Jing arrived.

Just as Song Ganlan was about to greet her, she froze—then ducked behind a shelf in terror when she saw who was standing behind Duan Jing.

Zhou Li also noticed something off. Duan Jing’s movements were stiff, unnatural.

Had she been polluted again?

That thought barely formed when a heavy, suffocating pressure swept through the store.

Behind Duan Jing stood a man with a stern face whose very presence pressed down on everyone around him.

He wore a long-sleeved high-collared cheongsam paired with thick stockings—traditional yet completely defeating the garment’s purpose of showing a graceful figure.

For some reason, Zhou Li thought of the meme, “How did you tell I was cross-dressing?”

“Pfft.” Zhou Li’s laugh shattered the oppressive atmosphere.

Duan Jing’s legs buckled; she clutched the counter for support. “Boss!”

Her voice was so urgent Zhou Li thought she was crying for help—
but instead, the next words were, “Do you have a sewing kit?”

“Uh… yes,” Zhou Li said.

Duan Jing turned back. “See, Teacher? There really is sewing here.”

The man’s voice sounded squeezed between his teeth. “Buy it.”

With a burst of motion, Duan Jing darted behind the shelves, dragging Song Ganlan along.

Song Ganlan, who had mostly recovered, whispered, “Why in the world did you bring the Director of Discipline here?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Duan Jing hissed.

The recent surge of students sneaking to the back gate had caught the school’s attention.

When the instructors couldn’t catch anyone, the teachers began patrolling.

Today, Duan Jing had used the excuse of practicing embroidery to come buy thread—and just her luck, she ran into the returning Director of Discipline.

Since embroidery aligned with Mingde School’s educational principles, he had no reason to forbid her. Still, to test her honesty, he followed her.

The Director was an S-class anomaly, the second most terrifying being in Mingde School, surpassed only by the Principal.

They had once watched several A-class students try to gang up on him—within three seconds, not a single one was left alive.

Every technique, every item they used, even S-class tools, shattered like toys in his hands.

They had learned then: an anomaly strengthened by pollution could not be defeated by brute force.

Luckily, he only appeared twice a week.

If they acted on days when he and the Principal were absent, clearing the dungeon might still be possible.

As for the Principal—Duan Jing had been in the dungeon for months and had never seen them.

“You need to hide—don’t let him see you,” Duan Jing warned Song Ganlan.

“Too late,” someone muttered.

A massive fan-sized hand reached toward Song Ganlan.

Both girls were seized by an invisible force. Panic exploded in their minds; every instinct screamed at them to run, but their legs wouldn’t move.

Then, An Yixiao stepped between them and that hand.

The Director’s arm paused for only half a second before continuing as if unaffected, reaching right past her and grabbing Song Ganlan.

“Truant students must be punished.”

His tone wasn’t cold, but it chilled the blood.

“Ah—ahhh!” Song Ganlan screamed as she was pulled helplessly toward him.

Then the Director glanced down. The blade in his grasp had nicked his own skin, and from the wound seeped black mist—within which squirmed countless tiny, gnat-like creatures.

Zhou Li silently picked up a can of insecticide and started spraying.

She muttered to her system, “Why hasn’t the supermarket’s protection triggered? He attacked someone.”

The system replied, “Not all attacks are equal. Grabbing someone is low threat. Unless Song Ganlan resists and it escalates into a fight, the defense mechanism won’t trigger.”

The Director’s eyelid twitched. His pitch-black eyes locked on the wound, disbelief flickering across them—how could a simple knife injure him, and how could insecticide actually destroy those polluted organisms?

At last, he understood: the reports from the instructors hadn’t exaggerated the supermarket’s power.

As tension hung thick, Zhou Li tried reasoning with him. “This student isn’t skipping class. She’s participating in a work-study program. Before you came, she was working here.”

The Director: …

Duan Jing jumped in eagerly. “Yes, yes! Her family’s poor, so she’s working to afford her moral education classes.”

Through tears, Song Ganlan sobbed, “I’m just working a part-time job!”

No rule had been broken.

The Director’s expression soured; he withdrew his hand. “Return to class on time,” he said darkly.

Duan Jing and Song Ganlan exhaled in relief.

Then Zhou Li asked, “By the way, does your school offer knitting or cross-stitch classes? I have some embroidery needles and yarn available—interested?”

Duan Jing: …
Song Ganlan: …
An Yixiao: …

Only you would still try to make a sale right now.

“No need,” said the Director.

Zhou Li pressed on, “But as the saying goes, ‘The thread in a loving mother’s hand makes the clothes on her wandering child.’ Isn’t that perfectly aligned with your teaching philosophy?”

The Director was silent for a few seconds. “I’ll have the supplies procured.”

Zhou Li immediately seized the moment. “I also have farming tools—perhaps you’ll introduce gardening for your natural science class?”

“There is no such class,” he said curtly.

“Then your curriculum isn’t very well-rounded,” Zhou Li said blandly.

“Who said that!?” the Director thundered. “Our graduates number over fifty thousand—we are a renowned institution for spreading traditional culture!”

“Oh? Do you teach the four arts—qin, chess, calligraphy, painting? What about tea ceremony, archery, pottery, flower arrangement? If you don’t, how can you claim to teach traditional culture?” Zhou Li asked, unimpressed.

“You—!”

But Zhou Li wasn’t afraid. “You’re the Director, right? You can set the curriculum. Add those classes.”

She pulled out a clipboard and began jotting things down. “I have chess sets, calligraphy brushes, paper, ink, sketchpads, color markers—some in stock, others by order. Would you like to place an order?”

The Director: …

So that righteous speech was just a sales pitch!?

After a long pause, he said, “Three hundred sets of each.”

“Excellent. You’ll need a membership card first.”

Understanding the requirement, the Director tore off one of his fingernails.

Before their eyes, it transformed into a steel pen.

[Auto Pen (S-class)]
Year: Unknown
Date of Origin: Unknown
Owner: Long Zhatiān
Starting Price: 172,330 (suggested)
Buyout Price: 200,000 (suggested)
Note: A pen used by the Director of Discipline during evaluations; capable of transcribing spoken words automatically.

Zhou Li recalled the man who had plucked out his own eyeball for trade and thought, Why do all these anomalies turn their own body parts into tools?

Curiously, this pen showed no trace of pollution.

She put it up for auction.

A single pen selling for two hundred thousand was outrageous—yet it was snapped up within seconds.

“Here’s your membership card,” she said. “Keep it safe.”

The Director gave a rasping “keh-keh-keh” laugh, clearly plotting some new way to exploit the players.

Zhou Li added, “The items you ordered require a deposit. I’ve deducted it directly from your balance.”

The Director’s laughter cut short, his face returning to a dark, icy scowl.

After he left, Duan Jing asked, baffled, “Boss, why would you sell him those things?”

The supermarket’s goods were immune to The Game’s distortions and untouched by pollution.

For players, they were invaluable as reliable tools.

But once in an anomaly’s hands, they could be turned against the players.

Zhou Li replied, “He’s a customer—just like the rest. Why wouldn’t I sell?”

Duan Jing choked on her words.

And then she understood Zhou Li’s earlier self-introduction—neither player nor anomaly.

Meaning, Zhou Li stood on neither side.

She’d just assumed the woman sided with players because so many had sought refuge here.

The realization left her strangely hollow.

Meanwhile, An Yixiao, wiping the last drops of water from her knife, asked, “You really came for sewing supplies just to do embroidery?”

“Of course not,” Duan Jing said. “It’s a cover. Needles and thread can serve as hidden weapons—they’re perfect for surprise attacks on anomalies.”

“But if the supplies can’t be affected by pollution,” said An Yixiao, “and the school’s buying them for teaching, they’ll end up in the students’ hands anyway. Why worry about the anomalies using them against you?”

Duan Jing: …

That actually made sense.

“Also,” An Yixiao continued, “didn’t you notice? The Director didn’t forbid students from buying study supplies.”

After thinking for a moment, Duan Jing’s eyes lit up. “So as long as we act under the guise of studying, we’re moving within the rules—and restrictions will be looser.”

“Exactly. You’ve been here so long and still haven’t figured out the clearance condition?”

“I have,” Duan Jing said grimly. “To become an ‘Outstanding Graduate.’”

Which was nearly impossible. To earn that title, one had to be the teachers’ favorite, the model student admired by peers.

And being a “good student” meant sinking ever deeper into pollution and assimilation.

Even then, the anomalies might still find an excuse to torment them.

But now, with the supermarket’s help, Duan Jing saw a glimmer of hope.

If she could collect enough leverage on the teachers, instructors, and students—force them to mark her as an exemplary graduate—she could clear the dungeon.

“Don’t celebrate too soon,” An Yixiao said. “You still have the Director and the Principal to deal with.”

Duan Jing: …

Those two were true nightmares.

An Yixiao offered, “You could try contacting Zhang Xiaozhi.”

“Huh? Isn’t she a freak? That’s way too risky!”

“Try it.”

“Try and die, you mean!”

“You still have that S-class life-saving artifact, right? Or you could just give me back the Twin Bells.”

Duan Jing laughed awkwardly—then grabbed Song Ganlan and ran off as fast as she could.

☢️☢️☢️

Previous