Ch 91: My Multiverse Supermarket

Qiao Siniang’s decision to enter this market came only after a long and difficult internal struggle.

After all, this was an era where even mentioning sex was considered shameful.

Anything related to it—especially the products—could hardly be spoken of openly.

Even buying an erotic picture book had to be done in secret, or one risked being drowned in spittle by public outrage.

So at first, Qiao Siniang had never paid attention to such things, nor dared to. She feared being labeled indecent.

That changed when, on one of her trading journeys, she personally witnessed a woman die in childbirth.

The baby was in a transverse position, and after a long struggle, both mother and child died—the woman hemorrhaged badly after delivery.

People told her this was the woman’s eighth child.

In twelve years of marriage, she’d barely rested from one pregnancy before another came.

With so many mouths to feed, the family couldn’t make ends meet; several of the children had starved or died young.

There was no imperial lineage to continue, no desire for male heirs—it was simply that the husband couldn’t control his urges, and the wife had no means of contraception.

And even if a woman wanted to prevent pregnancy, it was nearly impossible. There were only two methods—oral and external.

The oral ones were mercury or musk potions. The former was deadly toxic, the latter too expensive for common folk.

The external methods involved animal intestines or fish bladders. Aside from their stench, they were rare and costly.

For this reason, some noble wives arranged concubines for their husbands—just to share the risk of childbirth.

Poor women who couldn’t afford that had no choice but to keep bearing until their bodies broke.

Qiao Siniang, a young girl who had never known marriage or sex, was deeply shaken by the danger childbirth posed to women.

She spoke about it to her aunt Yin Jiao, who shared her own experience—her son, Qiao Erlang, was frail because of a difficult birth that left her permanently weakened.

She herself had nearly died then, surviving only because she was strong and later nursed her health carefully. Her husband hadn’t forced her into back-to-back pregnancies, so she recovered.

But Qiao Siniang’s birth mother hadn’t been so fortunate. After several pregnancies in a row, her health collapsed, and a single cold spell took her life.

Of all her children, only Qiao Siniang, Qiao Wulang, and Qiao Jiuniang survived.

Learning this truth, Qiao Siniang felt desolate for a long time.

One day, upon seeing Zhou Li, she casually asked, “Boss, isn’t there any way to prevent pregnancy without harming the body?”

She hadn’t expected an answer.

But the moment she realized what she’d just said, her face went white—she was too terrified of how Zhou Li might react.

To her surprise, Zhou Li wasn’t angry. She merely pointed to the display near the register—a shelf full of family planning products, namely condoms.

Zhou Li didn’t know why nearly every supermarket placed them near the checkout, but she followed the convention.

“This is…” Qiao Siniang’s face flushed crimson. She couldn’t meet Zhou Li’s eyes.

“Condoms,” Zhou Li explained. “You can think of them like gut sheaths—but these are made of rubber, not animal intestines.”

Qiao Siniang was at a loss for words. She twisted her hands nervously, unsure whether to flee or stay.

Fortunately, no one else was around.

Afraid she’d never again find the courage to ask, she forced herself to continue. “Could you explain them to me?”

Zhou Li: …

She’d never used them herself—how was she supposed to explain?

Still, believing in the principle that “the customer is god,” she picked up several boxes of different brands and read the packaging out loud, introducing their listed advantages.

—Naturally, since the brand owners never wrote the disadvantages, Zhou Li didn’t know any either.

When Qiao Siniang learned that one brand sold a condom for just a single coin (about two yuan), her eyes lit up with mercantile fire.

Such a bargain!

It was far cheaper than gut sheaths or fish bladders.

And since it was made of rubber, it was sturdier—less likely to tear.

In other words, it could even be washed and reused.

That would greatly reduce the cost. Ordinary families could afford one or two coins per use without guilt.

Seeing the potential, she forgot all embarrassment and rushed off to discuss the idea with Yin Jiao.

Qiao Erlang objected strongly—selling sanitary cloths was bad enough, but these things? How would she ever find a husband after this?

Qiao Siniang hesitated, but in the end, she steeled herself and sought out Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi.

If she could get their support, the market would open.

*

Unlike unmarried Qiao Siniang, Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi had both borne children and were far bolder discussing such matters.

Having already endured the pain of childbirth and unwilling to let their husbands take concubines, they saw condoms as a blessing for women.

Of course, because child mortality was high and the poor needed labor, the “more children, more fortune” mindset remained dominant.

So resistance was inevitable.

But every product existed for those who needed it.

Using a condom didn’t mean one would become infertile.

If you wanted more children, fine—but at least let the wife rest a year or two before the next.

Could a man restrain himself for a year or two? If he could, there wouldn’t be so many who couldn’t keep their pants on.

That’s where condoms came in handy.

Still, Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi suspected many men wouldn’t agree to use them.

Qiao Siniang said, “That’s why I won’t sell them to men. I’ll sell them to women—those who care about themselves and the women around them.”

In such a world, could one expect men to care?

Even when wives died in childbirth, they’d simply remarry under the pretext of “continuing the family line.”

Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi found her reasoning sound.

Just then, a voice coughed nearby.

Startled, they turned—and saw Xian Sanniang smiling.

“Some other people might need them too,” she said.

“Huh?” Qiao Siniang blinked.

“Have you forgotten where we are?” Xian Sanniang said. “This is Baiyue territory—its customs differ from the Confucian Central Plains.”

Though there had been waves of assimilation, Han people remained the minority here. Most locals were Li, Liao, or Zhuang, often dismissed by others as “southern barbarians.”

They practiced tattooing, hair-cutting, and kept marriage customs very different from those of the Central Plains—such as paired marriages.

—In the Central Plains, women were expected to be chaste before marriage; in Baiyue, that idea barely existed.

In some regions, there was even the custom of “not dwelling in the husband’s home.” A woman would spend only the wedding night there, then return to her mother’s house for several years. During that time, she was free to take other lovers. Once she returned to her husband’s home, chastity resumed.

So the idea of “more children, more fortune” wasn’t mainstream here.

And unmarried people needed condoms just as much.

Qiao Siniang was dumbfounded.

Even Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi, steeped in Confucian values since childhood, turned beet red.

After collecting herself, Qiao Siniang asked hesitantly, “But aren’t those places quite remote?”

Xian Sanniang nodded. “That’s true.”

Zhou Li, who had been listening quietly, finally joined in—with a completely different angle: sexually transmitted diseases.

Though syphilis and HIV hadn’t yet spread to this region, that didn’t mean STDs didn’t exist. Traditional medicine called them “lin disease.”

Many thought that since no records existed, no one had ever died from such illnesses.

In truth, people just didn’t understand them. Even by the Qing Dynasty, recognition of venereal disease was still limited. Symptoms were often mistaken for other conditions.

Zhou Li said, “Especially those men with poor morals—they’re the ones most likely to catch these diseases. They infect their wives, who pass it to their unborn children. That’s why some babies die early. Using these can at least help reduce transmission.”

She didn’t claim it was foolproof, but the women in the store were already stunned.

So men could sleep around, and they were the ones to suffer?

Then there was no question—this was something they had to buy.

[Author’s Note]

This chapter’s mostly educational content [covers face, laughing-crying].

Qiao Siniang’s clientele had always been mostly women, so whether men wanted to use the product wasn’t her concern. What mattered was whether women would buy it. After all, once a woman purchased it, how or whether it was used was no longer her burden to consider.

—

Reference: “The Custom of ‘Not Dwelling in the Husband’s Home’ and the System of Youngest Son Inheritance” — Wang Entian, Shandong Provincial Museum.

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