Author Archives: sandy

“Boom—”

A blast shattered the silence of the village.

As the only person who hadn’t followed the dungeon’s “lights-out” schedule, Zhou Li heard the sound from far away.

But the entire village was enveloped in thick fog, so she couldn’t see what was happening outside.

Zhou Li muttered to the system, “It was fine the past two days, but ever since the dungeon started, the weather’s turned into this mess. Could the Game be using the fog to block my supermarket’s view?”

She had good reason to suspect that the Game didn’t want her seeing what was happening inside the dungeon—and spreading that information outside.

Unable to investigate, Zhou Li gave up on her curiosity.

The noise went on for a long time, but finally faded away—just when she was starting to yawn from boredom.

*

Dawn gradually broke.

An Yixiao and Lü Chui were hiding inside a drafty, half-collapsed greenhouse.

As the night’s darkness peeled away and the light of morning spilled across the ground, neither of them felt relieved. If anything, their hearts sank deeper.

An Yixiao held another slip of paper with three new rules:

1. Danger often hides in dawn.
2. The villagers are all petty-minded.
3. Attendance at village committee meetings is mandatory.

If these were all valid, it meant the village was just as dangerous by day as it was by night.

What puzzled them even more was that although this greenhouse was broken-down and abandoned, the aberrations chasing them had stopped right at its edge.

If daylight was the reason, then the first rule would already be invalid.

An Yixiao couldn’t figure it out—but she didn’t dare lower her guard.

After a long silence, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Lü Chui nodded heavily. “Yeah. This place makes me uneasy.”

They were both injured, but as S-rank players—and with An Yixiao being a major guild leader—they had plenty of healing items.

“Looks like the village committee’s holding a meeting today,” An Yixiao said.

She recalled the notice she had seen on the bulletin board last night.

She had paid more attention then to the “Five-Beauties Village” evaluation announcement, but she hadn’t ignored the others.

Lü Chui said, “If rule three is true, does that mean we have to attend? But we’re not villagers here.”

“That’s easy,” An Yixiao replied. “We’ll just go to the village committee and ask whether outsiders are required to attend.”

Lü Chui: …

As expected of an S-rank player—charging in boldly was her version of confidence.

An Yixiao added, “There must be rules inside the committee.”

The Game, in its twisted sense of fairness, always liked to maintain a fake balance between players and aberrations. Translated on hololonovels. It usually set up a seemingly neutral NPC between the two sides.

As long as players didn’t break that NPC’s rules, they could seek help from it when necessary.

In the dungeon Dawn Village, there was no role more fitting for that than the village committee itself.

If it hadn’t been closed for the day when they first entered the dungeon, they would’ve gone there yesterday to look for clues.

As they headed toward the village committee together, An Yixiao suddenly stopped.

Lü Chui immediately tensed. “Did you find something, guild leader?”

He followed her gaze toward the end of the road—the entrance to Dawn Village.

Nothing was there.

An Yixiao rubbed her temples. “There’s something there.”

At that, Lü Chui realized her S-rank talent must have activated.

He asked, “What is it? Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t feel danger… but it’s like something’s deliberately being hidden,” An Yixiao murmured. “We’ll go to the committee first.”

Finding out the rules came first.

Lü Chui didn’t question her decision and followed her in.

The sense of malice An Yixiao had felt from the committee building the night before was gone.

When she looked at the bulletin board again, the meeting notice had vanished—replaced by a red-and-black ranking list.

Inside, the old men sitting in chairs all turned their heads toward them in perfect unison.

The sight was unnerving. If the two of them weren’t so experienced in dungeon runs, they might have shuddered.

“Why are there so many old people?” Lü Chui whispered.

“Dawn Village must be a hollowed-out village—mostly elders and children left behind.”

A “hollowed-out” village referred to one where all the young laborers had gone off to work elsewhere, leaving the elderly to raise the kids.

At this hour, the children were in school, so the only ones left were the elderly.

A spark of insight flickered in An Yixiao’s mind, but it slipped away before she could catch it.

The old man behind the service desk looked up. “What brings you here?”

An Yixiao glanced around, not seeing her in-game uncle anywhere, and quickly improvised. “I’m here to attend the meeting on behalf of my uncle.”

“Your uncle is…?”

“Zhang Run.”

“Oh, you’re Zhang Run’s niece.” The old man nodded. “Wait here—it’s not meeting time yet.”

An Yixiao smiled politely. “Could you tell me where the restroom is?”

He pointed the way. She exchanged a quick look with Lü Chui, and they decided to split up.

The committee office was small, with only a few staff members. They avoided them and searched every corner they could.

Finally, An Yixiao found a third sheet of paper inside the printer—another list of rules:

1. Do not quarrel with villagers.
2. If disputes occur, report them to the village committee for mediation.
3. Carrying passengers on electric scooters is strictly prohibited.
4. Minors are forbidden to smoke. If found, stop them immediately.
5. If you lose any belongings, please contact the village committee.

“These three papers—twelve rules total—and none of them connect to each other?” Lü Chui muttered.

The fewer links between the rules, the fewer clues they had to clear the dungeon.

Even as a veteran of rule-based dungeons, he found this one frustratingly difficult.

An Yixiao lowered her gaze, thinking. After a pause, she walked straight up to the old man. “Village Chief, what happened last night? There was such a loud noise—I couldn’t sleep.”

The old man’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “Nothing happened last night. Our village has always been peaceful. Perhaps you were dreaming—confusing dreams with reality?”

“I see,” said An Yixiao.

She turned as if to leave, then seemed to remember something. “Oh, Village Chief—I just realized I lost a set of stationery. I’m a senior student preparing for the mock college entrance exam in a few days. Could you help me post a lost-and-found notice?”

The old man’s face turned grave. “The college exam is no small matter. I’ll make sure it’s found. Don’t worry.”

As he spoke, he wrote down a line on paper.

“Thank you, Village Chief.”

An Yixiao got exactly what she came for—and left the committee with her answer.

Lü Chui asked her, “Aren’t we supposed to attend the meeting?”

An Yixiao said, “That rule is fake.”

She pointed toward the sky. “Look.”

Lü Chui was stunned to see that it was already evening.

“The time flow in the village committee is different from outside?”

“Not different—just numbed. It dulls our perception of time. The moment we entered, our sense of time was already being interfered with. When the village chief said it wasn’t time for the meeting yet, we naturally assumed we’d only been inside for a few minutes. Later, while we were searching for the rules, we ignored the passing of time. And when we came out and saw the old people still sitting there, we assumed it still wasn’t time yet… but who ever said they were there for a meeting?”

Lü Chui suddenly understood.

He asked, “Then how did you notice something was off?”

An Yixiao said, “I told the village chief I’d lost some stationery, and he wrote it down in the duty log.”

Anyone with work experience knew that all pending matters had to be recorded for the next shift’s handover.

Since the chief accepted her request, he had to log it.

And the work log always included a timestamp.

That’s how An Yixiao realized something was wrong with time.

Lü Chui caught on belatedly. “If we hadn’t noticed and stayed there until curfew…”

“Then we’d have violated the rule ‘No staying out overnight.’”

Lü Chui said, “Good thing you were alert, guild leader.”

An Yixiao replied, “This dungeon was originally A-rank. It only became S-rank because someone triggered a hidden quest. I suspect that’s related to whatever’s special about the village committee.”

Following her reasoning, Lü Chui said, “We stayed there for so long without danger. Maybe the committee is part of the original A-rank map—and the real key to clearing it isn’t there.”

An Yixiao didn’t respond; she was still thinking.

Lü Chui asked, “Guild leader, when night falls, will those aberrations start hunting us again?”

Day and night in Dawn Village felt like two different worlds.

The village chief’s claim that he’d heard nothing the previous night might have been self-deception—an effort to keep the “Five-Beauties Village” image intact.
But it was also possible that, in his perception, the night had truly been calm and peaceful.

Suddenly, they saw two young boys walking out of a small shop.

One of them took out a pack of cigarettes and prepared to smoke.

Lü Chui said, “Minors are forbidden to smoke. If found, stop them immediately… Guild leader?”

An Yixiao reminded him, “The villagers are all petty-minded. Even if they’re underage, they’re still villagers.”

Because the “attendance at village committee meetings is mandatory” rule had turned out false—and because “villagers are petty” seemed to contradict “villagers are kind and friendly”—Lü Chui had assumed that entire sheet of rules was unreliable. He hadn’t connected it to the others.

“One of these two rules must be fake,” Lü Chui guessed.

“Not necessarily,” said An Yixiao. “Both statements are subjective. Depending on who made the rules, the villagers’ image in their minds could be completely different.”

“So what do we do? If we don’t stop them, we violate the committee’s rule. If we do, we offend the villagers.” Lü Chui looked troubled.

An Yixiao suddenly started walking toward the two boys.

They tensed up at first, but seeing that she and Lü Chui weren’t locals, they relaxed and stared back with hostility.

“What do you want?” one asked, glaring as if daring her to say a word about their smoking.

An Yixiao smiled. “You’ve got cigarettes? Great! I was just worried I couldn’t find any.”

The two boys: …

They exchanged glances. “These are ours. If you want some, buy your own.”

An Yixiao shook her head. “Can’t. I’m an adult, but my uncle forbids me to smoke, so I can only sneak one. If I go to the shop, he’ll find out. That’s why I want to buy from you.”

The taller boy smirked. “But we’ve seen you smoke now, haven’t we?”

“I trust you won’t snitch,” said An Yixiao confidently.

They were speechless—if they reported her, they’d expose themselves too.

“So, what’ll you trade?” the boy asked suddenly, his tone turning malicious.

Lü Chui’s heart clenched.

When aberrations asked that question, it usually meant they demanded flesh or blood as payment.

An Yixiao calmly unzipped her “elementary school backpack.” “Take a look. See if there’s anything you like.”

The boys froze, about to refuse—

But the boy with glasses suddenly pulled out a bottle of cola.

“I’ll take this!” he said happily.

The tall boy glared at him.

“Look at that brand,” he said. “Doesn’t it look like the one we drank yesterday…”

He never finished the sentence.

An Yixiao kept her expression neutral, but noted the words carefully.

The tall boy rummaged in the bag too, taking two more drinks and a few packs of snacks.

They handed her a cigarette.

An Yixiao pulled out a box of nicotine gum and said, “Here, when you feel like smoking, just chew one of these.”

The tall boy asked, “Why don’t you have one?”

“Because I’m an adult.” An Yixiao smiled sweetly and pocketed the cigarette.

The two boys looked speechless but said nothing more.

When they left, Lü Chui came over in awe. “Guild leader, that was brilliant. You stopped them and didn’t offend them.”

An Yixiao watched them thoughtfully. “Were those the same boys who were with Zhang Pu yesterday?”

When they first entered the dungeon, they had seen four boys—one of whom was her in-game cousin, Zhang Pu.

Lü Chui nodded. “Yes, those were them.”

“Then where’s the fourth one today?”

As for Zhang Pu—he had attacked her last night after she refused his request to open the door. She’d barely escaped using her items.

She had fled all the way to the greenhouse, where the pursuit had mysteriously stopped.

And she suspected that if she returned to the Zhang house tonight, he would attack again.

Then, as if remembering something, An Yixiao suddenly started walking toward the village entrance.

Lü Chui caught up to her. “Guild leader, are you leaving the village? Didn’t we already confirm there’s no way out?”

An Yixiao said, “There’s something I need to verify.”

☢️☢️☢️

An Yixiao found a note tucked inside the pocket of a battery scooter’s windbreaker.

1. Dawn Village is a Five-Beauties Village.
2. The villagers are all very kind and friendly, and every household is happy and harmonious.
3. Staying out overnight is forbidden.
4. You cannot refuse a good friend’s request.
5. …

The fifth rule was blacked out. No matter what method An Yixiao tried, she couldn’t restore it.

“Guild leader.” A Blue Owl elite named Lü Chui, who had entered the dungeon with her, hurried over.

An Yixiao asked, “Did you find any other rules?”

Lü Chui shook her head. “I ran into an aberration and almost triggered a rule violation. I didn’t want to alert it, so I pulled back.”

An Yixiao handed her the rules she’d found.

After reading them, Lü Chui muttered, “This rule list overemphasizes how perfect Dawn Village is. If it were really that wonderful, why would it even become a dungeon?”

An Yixiao asked, “The ‘Five Beauties’—what are they?”

Lü Chui: …

An Yixiao said, “You should’ve done your homework before coming in. ‘Five Beauties’ means environmental beauty, ecological beauty, cultural beauty, harmony beauty, and social beauty.”

Lü Chui scratched his head like a robot incapable of independent thought. “And then?”

An Yixiao, unsurprised, said evenly, “The second rule fits the ‘Five Beauties’ concept, and the third one barely aligns. But the fourth…”

Lü Chui’s brain finally kicked in. “Why specify ‘good friends’ instead of villagers? The fourth rule clashes with the others. Maybe it’s a fake rule—or maybe it’s the only true one.”

That was the difficulty of rule-based dungeons: the mix of truth and lies. Players had to distinguish which was which.

An Yixiao looked up at the blood-red moon. “Curfew’s almost here.”

Lü Chui asked, “The listening devices are all dead in here. How do you know the time?”

“The moon tells me,” An Yixiao said. “You head back first. Tonight’s the first night after entering. The chance of danger is low—but not zero. Be careful.”

“Got it. You too, guild leader.” Lü Chui turned and left.

An Yixiao took out a wristwatch and held it toward the blood moon. The hands moved on their own—set by an invisible force—to 9:30.

Half an hour left. She decided to explore a little longer.

She walked to the village committee office. Translated on hololonovels. On the bulletin board outside, she saw a weather-worn notice about the “National Five-Beauties Village” competition. The ink was so smudged that she couldn’t tell if it was an announcement of Dawn Village’s award or a pre-evaluation posting.

Honestly, An Yixiao doubted this place could’ve ever won.

Though quiet and peaceful, the village was clearly impoverished and outdated.

It was large, with spacious courtyards around every home, but most houses were red-brick and tile-roofed. Two-story farmhouses were rare.

Some walls had collapsed, replaced with haystacks and firewood piles.

Still, that wasn’t decisive—“Five Beauties” evaluations weren’t about wealth, but the environment.

And in fairness, Dawn Village was spotless. The roads were clean, the doorfronts swept, and the “three-front responsibilities” policy was well enforced.

Then, suddenly, An Yixiao felt a malicious gaze fixed on her.

She glanced around but saw no one.

Instead, the pitch-dark village committee office itself seemed to ooze malevolence.

She checked the time—five minutes to curfew.

Her judgment was clear now: the rule “Staying out overnight is forbidden” was real.

An Yixiao turned and left immediately.

In this dungeon, her assigned identity was the niece of a local villager named Zhang. She had returned for her grandfather’s funeral.

Her role didn’t give her any immunity to the rule, so she had to be home by ten o’clock.

When she reached her “uncle Zhang’s” house, a figure was standing at the gate, staring straight at her.

When she stepped inside just before the last minute, the face showed a flicker of regret.

An Yixiao: …

These anomalies weren’t even pretending anymore, huh?

“Why are you back so late?” her uncle asked.

An Yixiao thought for a moment, then pulled a small student backpack from her shoulder and took out a desk lamp. “The lamp in my room broke, so I went to buy a new one.”

Uncle Zhang seemed to remember that her role was a senior high school student. He didn’t question further and said, “I know you’re busy preparing for exams, but you still need to rest. Don’t stay up too late.”

An Yixiao nodded cautiously.

Back in her room, she found that the door lock was broken.

Luckily, among An Fengxuan’s hoarded junk, there was a spare lock.

She replaced it and threw the old lamp—ruined by the dungeon’s strange power—into the trash, setting her own lamp on the desk.

The warm orange light filled the room.

She even pretended to study from the books her role came with.

After some time, she heard the creaking of a wooden door.

The door was old—each push made the whole frame tremble.

Through the frosted glass in the center, a shadow appeared, someone pressing close, peering inside.

An Yixiao stayed silent. Then a voice—her “cousin” Zhang Pu—called softly, “Cousin, are you asleep? I don’t understand a question. Can you teach me?”

An Yixiao frowned.

She hadn’t yet found the house-specific rules, which put her at a disadvantage—she didn’t know what actions could trigger violations.

Then she suddenly recalled the fourth rule: You cannot refuse a good friend’s request.

But Zhang Pu wasn’t this role’s good friend. Did that mean she could refuse him?

She considered three interpretations:

1. You cannot refuse my good friend’s request.
2. You cannot refuse the player’s good friend’s request.
3. The least likely—but possible—was that an aberration named “Good Friend” existed.

An Yixiao decided to test it.

She said, “Uncle said I should rest when it’s time to rest. You should listen to him, shouldn’t you?”

The shadow behind the glass twisted.

Then Zhang Pu began pounding on the door, screaming, “Why won’t you teach me! Open up! Open the door!”

Clearly, the aberration had lost control.

The rule’s subject was now clear.

—The rule-maker and Zhang Pu were good friends.

The rule was real.

And it applied to all players.

Which raised a terrifying question: was Zhang Pu the only “good friend” they couldn’t refuse?

【Author’s Note】

I’m skipping some of the detailed dungeon mechanics since my brain power is limited. We’ll mainly stay with the little shop owner’s perspective. [Noob][Noob][Noob]

Note: “Five Beauties” slogans vary by region. Here, it references the Xianxi Town “New Era Beautiful Village Evaluation Program.”

☢️☢️☢️

Instance: Dawn Village

An Yixiao had ordered the guild elites to keep an eye on a small supermarket, but even after clearing several dungeons, they still hadn’t found any trace of it.

Even when they did encounter the supermarket, it was only inside a dungeon.

“There are too many dungeons. Even if we clear them efficiently, it’s still hard to find that supermarket quickly. We might as well mobilize more people to search for it,” said one of An Yixiao’s trusted aides.

“No, that’ll leak the information,” another elite objected.

Although the members of the Blue Owl Guild were top-tier players, not all of them were absolutely loyal.
Everyone had their own ambitions. If someone couldn’t resist temptation and leaked the secret to a powerful rival guild like Carefree Guild, what then?

An Yixiao seemed to ponder for a long while before finally making a decision.
“I’ll be entering the dungeon ‘Dawn Village’ soon. It’s dangerous—anything could happen. So, I’ll authorize posting this mission to the entire guild.”

“Guild leader, you’re so strong, you’ll definitely clear it,” her aide said quickly.

An Yixiao didn’t reply.

‘Dawn Village’ was a rule-based dungeon. Its difficulty didn’t just lie in the high-level aberrations inside but also in the deceptive nature of its rules—one could easily violate them and become cursed by the game’s power.

The curses were random: they could render items useless, or even cause one’s body to mutate into an aberration.

Rule-based dungeons ranked A or below still maintained some balance between aberrations and players.
But an S-rank dungeon was entirely the aberrations’ paradise and the players’ hell—a perfect display of the Game’s malice toward humanity.

In other words, “it doesn’t even pretend anymore.”

An Yixiao wasn’t confident she could clear it.

But she had been stuck at S-rank for too long. To find a way to end the Game, she had no choice but to move forward—
even if what awaited her was death.

*

Dark clouds loomed over the village, the air thick with eerie, ominous energy.

Zhou Li wrapped herself in a small blanket and asked the system, “You didn’t drop me into Silent Hill, did you?”

The system replied, “It’s also a village entrance. Don’t you feel like you’ve come home?”

“Cut it out. My village isn’t this rundown. We’ve got two big highways crossing through, cars everywhere during the day. You can’t even find a single ghost there.”

As soon as she finished speaking, a face suddenly appeared on the glass door.

Pressed up against it, every feature was visible—a pale face with bulging veins and pitch-black eyes without any whites.

“Ahhhh… that’s hideous!” Zhou Li screamed, clutching her blanket tighter.

The face outside: …

He stepped back slightly, then pushed open the supermarket door.

The next second, a young man walked in.

He stared fixedly at Zhou Li.

Zhou Li, however, wasn’t as scared anymore.

—If he could enter the supermarket, then at least he wasn’t an aberration.

She cleared her throat. “Welcome to Good Life Supermarket. What can I get you?” Her tone showed no trace of her earlier panic.

The young man didn’t move, but his eyeballs darted around erratically—like magnets caught in a chaotic magnetic field.

Zhou Li: …

Was this even human?

If he was, then seriously—

Zhou Li pushed the thought aside. “Ahem. We don’t take game coins here. You have to exchange valuable items for supermarket membership points before you can shop.”

The young man’s eyes abruptly swiveled back toward her, both locking onto her at once.

After a long moment, his left eyeball suddenly fell out. He caught it neatly and placed it on the counter.

Zhou Li closed her eyes, praying this was an illusion.

Then she silently asked the system, “Doesn’t this count as attacking me? Psychological terror—mental assault!”

The system replied, “That kind of attack is indeed rare. Not everyone’s psyche is that fragile, so we didn’t include mental attacks in your protection protocols.”

Zhou Li recited the twenty-four-character mantra several times before reopening her eyes.

Expressionless, she told the system, “List it on the auction house.”

System: …

Oh, so she wanted it to share her psychological pain, huh?

[Strange False Eye (Left)]
Year: Unknown
Date of Origin: Unknown
Owner: S-rank Aberration Wang Hui
Starting bid: (Not recommended)
Buyout price: (Not recommended)
Note: This is an S-rank item, originally a pair. The left eye can see through worldly illusions and pierce the soul; the right eye can ignore all rules and see through anything.

The system said, “The auction house won’t take this.”

Zhou Li didn’t understand. The auction house had accepted an E-rank item like the ‘Hair-Growth Patch,’ so why not this S-rank one?

Then it hit her.

Maybe this item had mental attack properties that ordinary people couldn’t handle. To prevent catastrophic consequences in lower planes, the auction house simply forbade its trade.

Zhou Li asked, “But wait, aren’t there only aberrations in this dungeon? Why are there also… anomalies?”

The system said, “Anomalies are a type of aberration.”

Zhou Li didn’t ask further.

She turned to Wang Hui and said, “I’m not accepting this.”

Wang Hui’s face suddenly split with countless scars, his features shifting out of place.

Zhou Li: …

Against her better judgment, she said, “Getting angry won’t help. I said I’m not accepting it. You have to follow my store’s rules.”

Wang Hui’s face seemed to understand her words. It paused—then quickly returned to normal.

He put the eye back in.

Then he looked at Zhou Li with a pitiful, almost resentful expression… and began digging his fingers down his throat.

Zhou Li said, “If you throw up in my store, you’re cleaning it yourself.”

His hands froze for a second. Then he continued—
and pulled out half a cigarette.

【True Fragrance】

Year: Unknown
Date of Origin: Unknown
Owner: Unknown
Starting Bid: 5500 (recommended)
Buyout Price: 6000 (recommended)
Note: C-rank item. A half-smoked cigarette that will never be finished.

As Zhou Li listed it on the auction house, she muttered to herself, “Who on earth would want something like this?”

The next second, it was instantly bought out.

Zhou Li: ?

Someone actually wanted it?

She asked the system, “So… do I need to make it a membership card too?”

The system replied, “Why not?”

Zhou Li thought about it—indeed, there wasn’t any rule saying the supermarket only traded with humans.

To her, it didn’t matter if the customer was human or aberration. As long as the goods sold, her mission was complete.

She handed Wang Hui a membership card.

Wang Hui stared at it for a long time, as if surprised she really made one for him.

He took it, then grabbed a bottle of cola.

Just as he was checking out, three other young men entered the supermarket.

Zhou Li noticed Wang Hui’s eyes instantly returned to how a normal human’s should look.

The three boys were delighted when they saw him. “So you really were here!”

Wang Hui smiled at them. “You guys came too?”

A short boy grinned. “Heard there’s a new supermarket at the village entrance—of course we had to check it out!”

Wang Hui said, “I just got a membership card… You need one to buy things here. What do you guys want? My treat.”

Zhou Li watched him chatting like an ordinary person, his expression lively and full of life.

If she hadn’t just experienced his mental attack, she would’ve thought this was a normal village, with perfectly normal people.

The three boys laughed. “Then we won’t hold back. We’ll let you copy our homework later!”

Each of them picked up a bag of chips and a bottle of cola.

Wang Hui paid, then left with them, arms draped around their shoulders.

Zhou Li couldn’t quite make sense of it. Wang Hui was an aberration—so what about the other three?

She couldn’t figure it out, so she decided not to overthink it.

…

Over the next two days, villagers gradually began visiting Zhou Li’s supermarket.

Upon learning they needed a membership to shop, some hesitated but eventually used ownerless items to get one; others cursed under their breath and left for the old convenience store already in the village.

Because of the new supermarket’s arrival, the old store’s business declined, and its owner even came by once.

But after pacing around at the entrance for a while, he seemed unable to come inside and left in frustration.

Zhou Li sighed. “This village really existed once, didn’t it? Everyone here feels so real.”

If not for the bizarre ways they produced their “items,” she would never have thought they were aberrations.

“With an S-rank anomaly appearing here, this dungeon’s level must be pretty high,” Zhou Li guessed.

She also noticed they seemed highly sensitive to rules.

Could this be a rule-deduction-type dungeon?

Pondering that, Zhou Li went downstairs to open up for the day.

As soon as she unlocked the door, she saw Wang Hui squatting outside.

Today he was wearing a school uniform, looking like he had just come back from class.

“Why don’t you open during the day?” Wang Hui asked.

“I was resting,” Zhou Li replied.

Daytime in the dungeon was when she slept—it was nighttime to her biological clock.

Wang Hui muttered to himself, seemingly confused as to why a supermarket owner would sleep in broad daylight.

He wandered to the condiment aisle and picked up a bottle of soy sauce.

Zhou Li pointed toward the vending machine outside. “There’s actually an automatic one out there. If the store’s closed, you can buy from that.”

Wang Hui said, “It scans your face.”

Zhou Li: …

So this anomaly was worried the machine wouldn’t recognize his face after disfigurement?

She said, “You can use your card too.”

Wang Hui looked at her and said slowly, “It still scans the face.”

Zhou Li suddenly understood—the system must’ve registered his “appearance” as an aberration when issuing his card.

If he went to the vending machine, the system would verify the ID… and the result wouldn’t match.

Zhou Li said, “Well, if you hadn’t scared me back then, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Wang Hui looked embarrassed and silently paid.

Then, all of a sudden, he set the soy sauce down, his movements turning stiff and mechanical.

Like a puppet, he walked out of the supermarket.

Zhou Li called after him, “You’re leaving your soy sauce?”

Without turning back, Wang Hui disappeared into the thick fog.

Only then did Zhou Li notice that outside the supermarket was now engulfed in blood-red mist.

And that red glow—it was the color of sunset.

She watched as the fog stopped right at the supermarket’s protective boundary. Inside the mist, countless bloody hands seemed to be striking the invisible barrier.

Zhou Li asked the system, “Is the dungeon activating now?”

After thinking it through, she realized that was the only explanation for Wang Hui’s and the village’s strange behavior.

The system confirmed her suspicion.

Zhou Li quietly sat back down behind the counter, unable to describe the feeling in her chest.

☢️☢️☢️

The alien species chased after the female player, and the male player took the chance to escape from the small supermarket.

When Bai Pi finished cleaning the mop bucket and came out, she realized none of her teammates had returned. She immediately understood what had happened.

They must have been too afraid of the powerful boss here and used the chaos as an excuse to flee.

The temporary team, fragile to begin with, dissolved as easily as it had formed.

Bai Pi didn’t blame them—if it had been her, she would’ve done the same.

She turned to Zhou Li. “I’ve finished cleaning.”

“Oh, thanks,” Zhou Li replied casually.

Bai Pi waited for a moment but heard nothing more.

“You—” she began.

Zhou Li looked up and suddenly remembered. “Oh right, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m the owner of this Good Life Supermarket. You can just call me ‘Little Boss.’”

Bai Pi: ?

She glanced around the supermarket, uncertain.

Zhou Li understood her confusion and couldn’t help but smile. “This is an ordinary supermarket. Everything here can be eaten or used normally.”

Bai Pi stayed silent for a long time before forcing herself to ask, “But didn’t you just assign us a task?”

“Well, the floor was dirty because of you. Isn’t it reasonable to have you clean it up?”

Bai Pi: …

She pointed outside. “But the alien didn’t come in.”

“That’s because this supermarket is my territory,” Zhou Li said. “Any person or creature that holds hostility toward it or intends to damage it is not allowed to enter.”

A word suddenly surfaced in Bai Pi’s mind—safehouse.

Could this place be a safehouse within the instance?

But in the three years since The Game descended, she had never once heard of an instance with a real safehouse.

At that thought, she began to regret not teaming up with An Fengxuan.

After Bai Pi had completed her floor’s task and unlocked access to other levels, she had met two more players. Translated on hololonovels. When they faced the formidable “Manager,” the three had temporarily joined forces.

During their escape, they ran into Player #242—An Fengxuan.

After a short exchange, they had sent her off on a diversion mission while the others fled to this floor.

If they had teamed up instead, maybe An Fengxuan would have told them about this supermarket.

But there was no medicine for regret.

While she was lost in thought, a figure appeared outside.

Bai Pi immediately pulled out an item and prepared to fight.

Zhou Li, recognizing the newcomer as An Fengxuan, relaxed in relief—she really didn’t want to see another grotesque alien creature.

“Boss—” An Fengxuan started to greet Zhou Li, but as soon as she saw Bai Pi inside the supermarket, she fell silent.

Zhou Li glanced at the two women, then said, “If you’re planning to fight, take it outside. Damaging supermarket property results in punishment.”

An Fengxuan recovered first. “I won’t fight in the supermarket. Every broken item could end up being mine.”

After all, she already had a membership card—she was, technically, one of the “staff.”

Bai Pi looked puzzled, glancing between them. Was this woman the sixth player?

If this supermarket was her item, that would explain why the alien couldn’t enter.

But wait—wasn’t this instance supposed to have only five players? When had a sixth joined?

No—she suddenly remembered—the instance’s introduction never said there were only five.

Perhaps one player had entered earlier and left the starting point before they arrived, so they had never met.

According to the rules, all players were supposed to enter simultaneously—but with the right item, early entry wasn’t impossible.

Her brows furrowed. “You two are together?”

Zhou Li said, “I’m the supermarket owner, and she’s a member. So yes, you could say that.”

An Fengxuan knew Bai Pi had misunderstood, but since they were rivals, she didn’t bother to correct it.

Zhou Li asked, “Do you want to sign up for a membership too?”

Bai Pi: Huh?

“You mean… join your guild?”

“No, literally what I said,” Zhou Li explained patiently. “If you want to shop here, you need to become a member first. You can trade anything valuable for points, and then use those points to pay.”

“I already have a guild,” Bai Pi said. “But thank you for your shelter earlier. My name’s Bai Pi—currently ranked 195. If you ever need help, you can come to me. I’ll do what I can.”

Then she left.

Zhou Li: …

What I need is a supplier for bulk trade contracts, not an empty favor. Can you manage that?

But she didn’t stop her.

After Bai Pi was gone, she turned to An Fengxuan. “Why’d you come back?”

“I heard the Manager showed up, so I came to check,” An said, glancing around. “Looks like the alien can’t get in here?”

“As I said,” Zhou Li replied, “this supermarket is my territory. Anyone—or anything—harboring ill intent or trying to damage it can’t come in.”

An Fengxuan thought, If this little boss can freely appear in instances beyond The Game’s control, she must have her own way to stay safe. She’d been worrying for nothing.

With a smile, she said, “So, if we run into danger, this place could serve as our safehouse, right?”

“Let’s not put it that bluntly,” Zhou Li said. “If you come in to shop, I’ve no reason to throw out a customer.”

An laughed. “Boss, meeting you must be the luck I’ve been saving up for three years.”

Zhou Li: …

Most people would say “blessing earned over eight lifetimes,” but for An Fengxuan, apparently, it was just three years of accumulated luck.

After confirming the supermarket and its owner were safe, An left again.

She never returned—because the instance was cleared.

Once the surviving players exited, the supermarket’s coordinates shifted once more.

This time, it appeared at the crossroads of a desolate village.

*

The Game, public hall.

An Fengxuan claimed her completion reward, then checked her ranking.

Her score had risen, bumping her from 242 to 233.

Just then, her communicator buzzed with a message: Cleared the instance?

An Fengxuan rolled her eyes.

She hadn’t planned to reply—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the appearance of the Good Life Supermarket might signal something strange happening in The Game.

The message was from her elder sister, An Yixiao—currently ranked 6th, an S-class player.

As one of the few who could communicate directly with the GMs, An Yixiao might know more.

So An replied: I need to talk to you.

The answer came slowly: I’m sending someone to pick you up.

Before long, a car pulled up beside her.

She recognized the driver—Chen Jiaoyan, an A-class player ranked within the top hundred, and a member of An Yixiao’s Blue Owl Guild.

“Get in, Young Lady.”

An Fengxuan’s face darkened. “Don’t call me that.”

Chen Jiaoyan snorted with laughter.

Once she climbed in, the car sped off like a rocket.

Not long after, they arrived at the Blue Owl Guild headquarters.

The guild wasn’t large. Compared to the vast Free Wanderer Guild with its thousands of members, Blue Owl—with barely thirty-some people—was almost pitifully small.

However, no one in The Game dared to underestimate the Blue Owl Guild.

Because all thirty-some of its members were top-100 elites.

Even Chen Jiaoyan, ranked 97th, was at the bottom of their roster.

As for An Fengxuan—she wasn’t even a member.

Blue Owl’s instance-clear rate was the highest among all guilds, and its casualty rate the lowest. Everyone dreamed of joining, but the admission requirements were so strict that they eliminated more than 80% of applicants.

Of course, once accepted, the benefits were excellent.

As An Yixiao’s younger sister, An Fengxuan was qualified to join—but since the two were at odds, she refused.

If not for this matter, she wouldn’t have set foot in Blue Owl at all.

“She’s here?” members whispered when they saw her.

“Who knows—maybe she’s here to ask for help.”

An Fengxuan’s face darkened. “Who would come begging to a bunch of self-righteous know-it-alls like you?”

“Well, well—the Young Lady’s got a temper.”

An Fengxuan nearly turned on her heel and stormed out.

But she rubbed the membership card in her palm and decided business came first.

At last, she ignored the unfriendly stares and walked into the office—where An Yixiao sat behind her desk.

An Fengxuan muttered inwardly: Running the guild like a corporate office—that’s so like the former CEO An Yixiao.

Without even looking up, An Yixiao said, “Do you have to complain about my office every time you come here?”

“You used a thought-reading item on me, didn’t you!?” An Fengxuan exploded.

An Yixiao put down her file and adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses. “It’s written all over your face. Why would I waste an item on you?”

An Fengxuan: …

Her eyes flicked to the papers on the desk—information about the S-class instance Dawn village.

That instance had yet to be cleared, with over three hundred players already dead inside.

It had originally been A-class, but the deaths and the triggering of hidden missions had raised it to S-class difficulty.

“You’re working on a strategy for Dawn village?” she asked.

An Yixiao ignored the question. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Swallowing her curiosity, An Fengxuan recounted everything that had happened inside the instance.

At first, An Yixiao listened indifferently. But when she heard that even the A-class alien “Manager” couldn’t enter the supermarket, her gaze sharpened instantly.

Don’t be fooled—just because S-class exists above A-class doesn’t mean A-class creatures are common.

In three years since The Game appeared, billions had played—but only nine were S-class players, and a mere hundred were A-class.

The difference between A and B might seem small, but the gap in power was like heaven and earth.

Even A-class beings couldn’t easily intimidate one another. For a supermarket to make one halt outside without even testing an attack—it had to be at least S-class, perhaps beyond.

An Yixiao had long suspected that S-class wasn’t the true limit of The Game. Beyond S-class, there had to exist something stronger, more terrifying—both among aliens and players. It was simply that no one had yet reached it.

And if this “Boss” could appear freely across instances, ignoring The Game’s restrictions, her strength must exceed S-class entirely.

But this was all based on An Fengxuan’s words—unverified.

“She said she’s neither a player nor an alien?” An Yixiao asked.

“Right.”

An Yixiao thought for a moment. “Where are the things you bought there?”

An Fengxuan pulled out her Elementary School Backpack and dumped everything onto the desk.

An Yixiao inspected them—just ordinary food.

“Items from inside an instance can’t normally be taken out,” she said, tearing open a bread package and taking a bite.

“Hey!” An Fengxuan glared. “I paid real money for that!”

An Yixiao flipped a Game Coin to her.

“I don’t want Game Coins—I want an item!”

An Yixiao looked at her intently, eyes like a hawk’s.

Under that stare, An Fengxuan quietly pocketed the coin and mumbled, “The Boss doesn’t take Game Coins—only items.”

That confirmed it.

If the Boss didn’t accept Game Coins, she truly wasn’t aligned with The Game.

But if she recognized the value of items, that meant they held some kind of utility for her.

“I’ll give you two A-class items,” An Yixiao said. “Sell me your membership card.”

An Fengxuan considered it. She might not run into that supermarket again, and selling the card wouldn’t be a loss.

She’d only spent an E-class item to get it—trading up to two A-class items was an enormous profit.

And if she did encounter the supermarket again, she could just claim she’d lost the card and reapply.

Was it shady? Maybe—but cheating her sister gave her no moral qualms. She agreed instantly.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” An Yixiao added.

As An Fengxuan cheerfully stuffed her supermarket goods back into her backpack, she said, “I’m not the only one who knows. Bai Pi—ranked 195—was there too. But she seems to think the Boss is just another player.”

An Yixiao watched her movements and suddenly said, “Leave those things here.”

“They’re just regular supplies—you don’t need them,” An Fengxuan protested.

“The food might be ordinary, but the objects aren’t necessarily. And that smug look of yours says you found something valuable,” An Yixiao warned.

An Fengxuan: …

After a pause, she muttered, “At least let me keep the flashlight.”

“I’ve reconsidered,” An Yixiao said. “Two A-class items is a bit generous.”

An Fengxuan choked. Then, after a moment, she confessed honestly, “Fine. I’ll admit it—the tools I bought there aren’t normal. They’re not classified as items, but alien energy can’t corrupt them.”

Take the flashlight, for instance. In most instances, flashlights broke easily—often manipulated by aliens to create fear.

But in the New International Department Store instance, the one she bought from the supermarket never malfunctioned.

On the contrary, its beam was so bright it nearly blinded the alien.

It had even screamed in rage, like a driver blinded by oncoming high beams.

And when she smacked the creature with the flashlight, it actually did damage—though the flashlight broke in the process.

That meant the object could be physically destroyed, but not corrupted by alien forces.

Even more strangely, The Game hadn’t restricted her from taking these items out of the instance.

So while they weren’t technically classified as “items,” they were every bit as useful as one.

“These were bought with membership points,” An Yixiao said. “I bought the card, which means they’re mine.”

An Fengxuan snorted. “Shouldn’t have told you the truth.”

She turned and left.

“Or maybe,” An Yixiao called after her, “you’re just pretending to be annoyed because you wanted to leave them with me—knowing I’m about to enter an S-class instance?”

An Fengxuan’s pace quickened, and within seconds she vanished from sight.

After she left, An Yixiao retrieved a strange eye-shaped item from her display case.

Pressing it to her forehead, she held the supermarket card in her other hand.

Moments later, an enormous eye appeared in the sky above the New International Department Store instance.

It scanned the first floor, including the supposedly sealed section An Fengxuan had mentioned.

It was still sealed—no trace of any Good Life Supermarket.

Before the instance could detect the intrusion, the eye dissolved into nothing.

The item crumbled into dust between An Yixiao’s fingers.

Taking a deep breath, she summoned her trusted aide.

“Post a Blue Notice within the guild,” she ordered. “Have our members check all instances for a supermarket called Good Life Supermarket. The owner is a young woman in her early twenties—she looks like this…”

The Blue Notice was a secret, high-level bounty system exclusive to Blue Owl. Only elite members could accept such missions.

Her aide, curious, asked, “Why are we looking for a supermarket?”

An Yixiao’s voice was calm but heavy. “Because that supermarket might be the key to clearing The Game.”

Her aide stared, stunned.

Was this… the first sign of dawn?

☢️☢️☢️

An Fengxuan exchanged her Hair-Growth Patch for 200,000 supermarket points.

After that, she bought a few buns and devoured them hungrily.

Once full, she purchased several useful tools.

These ordinary items couldn’t harm alien species, but in certain situations, they could still be quite handy.

For example, the lights in instances often flickered to create a horror atmosphere. With an ultra-bright flashlight—bright as a car’s high beams—she wouldn’t have to worry about some monster jumping out of the dark.

Even if the flashlight broke, it wasn’t bought with Game Coins, so she wouldn’t feel a bit of regret.

Her only disappointment was knowing that once she left this instance, she might never find this little supermarket again.

Zhou Li, unaware of An Fengxuan’s thoughts, had her own concern—that her customers might not be able to find her later, leaving unused funds in their membership cards.

So she reminded her, “Oh, right. I forgot to mention—because of how instances work, my supermarket’s location refreshes randomly. It might not be here next time. Normally, unused points can be refunded, but since your item can’t exactly be ‘cut into pieces’ to offset the remaining points, you’ll have to take goods of equal value instead.”

An Fengxuan was stunned. “The location refreshes randomly?”

“Yes. It can appear anywhere, completely unpredictable—so don’t bother asking me where it’ll show up next.”

“Then I’d better stock up while I can!” An Fengxuan said quickly.

Zhou Li thought about it. For now, she didn’t set a purchase limit.

This world was too strange anyway—she might not even meet a few customers in an entire day. Setting quotas would just make her stock harder to move.

Zhou Li said, “There are vending machines outside—you can pick up from there directly. By the way, do you have a storage item?”

“I do,” An Fengxuan said.

She took out a B-grade item—Elementary School Backpack.

It was a storage item: small in appearance but capable of holding a surprising amount.

Zhou Li: “…”

That name—wasn’t it basically mocking how heavy real schoolkids’ backpacks were?

She muttered, “Why isn’t there one called ‘Men’s Clothing Pocket’ instead?”

In fashion, men’s clothes always had huge, functional pockets—people joked they could hold the universe. Translated on hololonovels.
Meanwhile, women’s clothes barely fit a phone.

An Fengxuan said, “There is a similar item. It’s called ‘Straight Man’s Pocket.’ It’s an A-grade item—held by the president of the First Guild.”

Zhou Li let out a dry laugh. The Game’s sense of sarcasm was off the charts.

She turned to her system. “Are these items made with folded-space tech too?”

The system replied, “They’re more akin to what your home world’s Taoism would call Xiu Li Qian Kun—a cosmos within one’s sleeve.”

“So… the end of science really is metaphysics?”

“Don’t tell me you’re planning to use such items instead of spatial-folding technology? Forget it. Even if such items exist, their capacity wouldn’t match your needs. And if one did, its value would exceed even S-grade. No player would ever sell it.”

“Fair point,” Zhou Li said.

She asked An Fengxuan, “Any smaller storage items like that? I’ll take even a tiny one.”

“You want one?” An Fengxuan shook her head. “Storage items are rare and never repeat. But if you want, I can keep an eye out for any player selling one.”

“Thanks.”

…

Judging by the quantity and size of what An Fengxuan packed into her backpack, Zhou Li estimated the space inside to be about one cubic meter.

Not much compared to the “football-field-sized” inventories of fantasy stories—but more than enough for tools and daily supplies.

Once An Fengxuan had filled it, she left.

The little supermarket fell silent again.

Here, Zhou Li couldn’t even sense the passage of time.

For once, she had nothing to do—so she buried herself in her exam prep.

When hungry, she ate. When sleepy, she slept.

Before long, the lights outside dimmed.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when suddenly, loud chaos erupted beyond the door.

Zhou Li jolted awake.

Three strangers stumbled into the store.

All were wounded; one had even lost an arm.

Behind them loomed a twisted alien creature—its head small and pointed, its face distorted, arms so long they dragged on the ground as it chased them.

Zhou Li saw it all clearly—and nearly screamed. It was like watching a horror movie come alive. She began frantically reciting moral mantras in her head.

Just as the creature reached the supermarket’s boundary, its long arm brushed the doorway—and instantly recoiled as if electrocuted.

It stopped outside, shrieking at the invisible barrier.

Zhou Li quickly averted her gaze, not daring to look at that grotesque face again.

*

The three players, breathless, realized too late that someone was inside.

They had fled toward the light instinctively—people under extreme fear always ran toward brightness—never stopping to think that it might be another trap, or another monster waiting.

Seeing Zhou Li, they immediately assumed she was one of them.

Only now did it hit them—they might’ve dragged an innocent person into danger.

“There’s someone here! Let’s fight our way out!”

“Wait—look! The ‘Manager’ stopped!”

“It’s not coming in!”

Shock turned to relief.

But one of them still frowned—if even the alien refused to enter, how terrifying must the person inside be?

He looked toward the unfamiliar woman behind the counter.

Zhou Li was also studying them.

Two women and one man. The man looked the youngest—seventeen, maybe eighteen—and was the one missing an arm.

Blood dripped onto the floor.

Zhou Li pulled out a first-aid kit. “Your wound… shouldn’t we treat it first instead of staring at each other?”

They snapped out of it.

The boy quickly pulled out his own healing item.

Zhou Li silently put away her kit.

Right—ordinary medical supplies meant nothing here.

Most players had their own survival items anyway.

Then she said, “You’ll need to clean the floor too. The mop and bucket are in the restroom—use some toilet cleaner, and don’t leave any blood scent behind.”

The three froze.

So she was an alien after all—how else would she issue the exact same cleaning task?

They didn’t dare disobey and rushed off to find the mop.

Zhou Li felt pleased—such diligent customers!

In the restroom, the three huddled to whisper:

“What do we do? To ‘clean properly,’ we have to identify the linked event and resolve it. But we don’t even know what this supermarket’s event is.”

“Yeah. This task is weird. Why no prompt?”

“Wait—you realize this is a supermarket, right?”

“Of course. So what?”

“That’s exactly the problem. What’s this instance called?”

“New International Department Store.”

They all went silent.

A supermarket inside a department store? That was absurd.

Had the instance gone haywire?

“Could this be a hidden mission!?”

“If it were, there’d be a prompt.”

One woman grumbled, “So that’s why Player #242 was so eager to rush upstairs—turns out her floor had a damn boss.”

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” another said.

The boy added, “Agreed. Let’s cooperate for now—once we clear this part, it’s every player for themselves.”

The grumbling woman snorted but didn’t object.

They divvied up supplies—one grabbed a rag, another the toilet cleaner and detergent, another the bucket—and together scrubbed away every drop of blood.

When the floor gleamed spotless, they all froze.

That… was too easy.

When had missions become this simple?

The boy stepped up to “submit” the task. “It’s clean.”

“I see. Now dump the water, rinse the mop and rag,” Zhou Li said—then paused.

It was blood, after all. If the police somehow got involved, she’d be dragged down too.

“Never mind. Throw the mop and rag in the outside trash, but make sure to wash the bucket—use baking soda and vinegar.”

The players exchanged nervous glances.

“See? The hard part’s next. There’s a monster outside—how do we toss the mop and rag?”

“Or maybe the bucket is the real trigger?”

“What if this is all a trap?”

The boy cut in. “We’ll split up. One lures the monster, one tosses the trash, one cleans the bucket. My arm’s gone—I’ll handle the trash.”

The complaining woman added quickly, “Bai Pi, you’re the fastest—you lure the monster. I’ll wash the bucket.”

The third woman frowned. “We draw lots.”

They did, reluctantly.

Bai Pi ended up with the “wash bucket” job, the boy got trash duty, and the third woman had to lure the alien.

“You cheated!” the third shouted.

“Don’t talk nonsense!” he snapped back.

“You should be the one outside!”

“Oh, and you’re sure it’s not you who cheated with an item?”

The argument exploded instantly.

Bai Pi ignored them and quietly began washing.

Zhou Li watched all this unfold.

Thinking of the grotesque monster outside, she understood their fear.

So she said kindly, “Don’t you have storage items? Just keep it in there for now—throw it out after you leave the instance.”

The players blinked.

It was… a perfectly logical suggestion—
but somehow it felt wrong.

Then it hit them:

“What if these are cursed items? If we carry them out, they’ll corrupt our world!”

“No—we can’t take them!” they decided unanimously.

The female player said firmly, “Fine. I’ll distract the alien. You handle the trash.”

She’d rather face the monster than risk bringing a curse home.

The boy regretted agreeing but had no choice now.

The woman swapped into running shoes, crouched in a sprinter’s stance—
and in a blink, launched forward like a bullet.

Zhou Li blinked. All she saw was a streak of afterimage.

…She really wanted that kind of item.

[Author’s Note]
An Fengxuan: That’s what you get for excluding me. I’m not telling you the truth about the mini supermarket! [dog emojis]

☢️☢️☢️

An Fengxuan didn’t say anything. She watched Zhou Li with sharp, wary eyes—ready to defend herself at any sign of danger, yet also waiting for the woman to initiate a mission.

Zhou Li blinked.

So rude?

Then, realizing where this girl came from, she understood her caution and didn’t bother arguing.

“Do you need to buy something?” Zhou Li asked.

An Fengxuan waited for a while, but no mission was triggered.

She breathed a sigh of relief. So this wasn’t a “rules-type” instance.

According to player classifications, existing instances fell into four main types:

adventure-combat, puzzle-deduction, rule-logic, and survival-competition.

Adventure-combat tested one’s physical skills and item power.

Survival-competition tested human nature.

Puzzle-deduction and rule-logic both required clear thinking, tight reasoning, and keen observation.

But rule-logic instances were far more dangerous—none who’d entered one had ever emerged unscathed.

The New International Department Store instance she was in was a survival-competition type. Her goal was to complete missions assigned by the alien species, collect the instance’s secret keys, and find the item that would allow her to clear it.

There were five players total in this instance, each confined to specific floors. The first to obtain a key could unlock seals and access other levels.

That thought made her take a step back.

Could this person in front of her be another player?

But she had already met the other four at the start—this face was new.

Just as she wondered whether someone had used a disguise item, Zhou Li lost patience.

She sat back behind the cashier counter and picked up a book.

An Fengxuan caught a glimpse of the title—Analytical Thinking for Civil Service Exams.

An Fengxuan: …?

Was that the civil service exam she was thinking of?

Ever since the alien species descended with The Game, who in their right mind still studied for government jobs!?

Cautiously, she asked, “Which guild are you from?”

“What guild?” Zhou Li looked up. “I’m the owner of this Good Life Supermarket.”

“You’re… a solo player then?”

“I’m not a player. I’m just someone running a supermarket.”

“Then… you’re an alien?”

Zhou Li sighed. “I’m not a player, and I’m not an alien. I don’t belong to any faction in your world. If you have to label me, then this supermarket and I are our own faction. I don’t take part in your Game, I don’t help aliens persecute players, and I don’t want to be involved in your conflicts. But if you’re here to shop, you’re welcome.”

An Fengxuan was stunned.

Since the alien invasion, there had never been a truly neutral faction outside The Game or the player system. Translated on hololonovels.

Those that called themselves “neutral” were either NPC institutions set by The Game for balance or guilds formed by powerful players.

A human truly independent of The Game? That was no ordinary existence.

Her unease softened a little.

She patted her hungry stomach. “I’d like to buy something to eat.”

Then, uncertain, she asked, “The food here… it’s edible, right?”

“They’re all within shelf life. I don’t sell expired goods,” Zhou Li said.

Of course, she sometimes discounted items nearing expiration—but since starting interplanetary trade, she never worried about inventory anymore.

It had been years since An Fengxuan heard the phrase “shelf life.” In these instances, time flowed differently—some set decades in the past, some a thousand years ahead—so expiry dates meant nothing.

Hearing such a normal word again strangely comforted her.

She glanced toward the hot display case. The buns looked tempting—but she remembered an earlier instance where she’d broken one open only to find it crawling with maggots. Her stomach lurched.

Seeing her gaze linger, Zhou Li asked, “Want some buns? They’re fresh—barbecue pork and custard.”

“Custard, please,” An Fengxuan said quickly.

Custard buns wouldn’t trigger her trauma.

“Two yuan each,” Zhou Li said. “But to shop here, you’ll need to exchange something of value for supermarket member points.”

To keep things consistent across worlds, Zhou Li used “points” stored on a membership card as the standard currency.

An Fengxuan froze. Then frowned.

In this world, only items and Game Coins had value. Money, gold, jewels—they were worthless trash.

Carrying extras into an instance was even a burden, so she never brought jewelry.

All she had were her tools and a few Game Coins.

She took one out and asked cautiously, “Do you accept this?”

Zhou Li: …

In her own world, those were practically worthless.

Still, her experience with cross-world auctions had taught her to check before dismissing.

“Let’s see,” she said, taking it and listing it on the marketplace.

Nothing came up. No value, no buyers.

That meant not priceless—just useless.

“I don’t accept this.”

An Fengxuan stared.

A neutral supermarket that didn’t accept Game Coins!?

Who was this boss?

“Why that shocked look?” Zhou Li asked.

Flustered, An Fengxuan said, “Because Game Coins are our currency! Even aliens accept them…”

Even aliens used them—and this woman didn’t?

“I told you,” Zhou Li said mildly, “I’m not a player or an alien.”

An Fengxuan found that oddly convincing.

Zhou Li tilted her head toward the outer mall. “By the way, isn’t there already a supermarket out there? Why not buy food there?”

An Fengxuan blinked.

Now she was sure—this woman wasn’t a player.

“That’s because this place is an instance,” she explained. “Most of the stuff inside is fake. Well—not fake exactly, but The Game recreates real buildings using its own matter. The aliens can eat it safely, but humans can’t.”

“Ah, I see,” Zhou Li said, enlightened. Then frowned. “But then… do you players not eat or drink at all?”

“There’s another world outside the instance,” An said. “Humans can eat there. But to stop players from starving inside, The Game does supply some human-safe food—you just have to earn it through missions or identify it yourself.”

Zhou Li sighed.

This world was massive—if she could restock here, she wouldn’t have to worry about attracting government scrutiny back home.

Unfortunately, the food here wasn’t safe for humans.

“You’re not worried my food’s unsafe, then?” she asked.

“I’m at least a B-class player,” An said. “I can tell what’s edible and what’s not.”

“So everything out there’s inedible?”

“Some is fine,” An said. “But in this instance, my role is the supermarket’s janitor. I can’t eat anything inside during work.”

“Not even if you buy it?”

“No. That would count as theft. The real-world store this instance is based on once had a murder case from that kind of misunderstanding, so The Game banned it entirely…”

She stopped mid-sentence.

She suddenly realized why the floor’s blood couldn’t be cleaned—

She’d been tackling the task from the wrong angle!

Her eyes lit up. Without another word, she bolted from the store.

Zhou Li: ???

What just happened?

She assumed the girl had no valuables and had gone to finish her mission.

Still, seeing the Game Coin left behind, she called after her, “Hey! Your coin!”

Half an hour later, An Fengxuan returned, smiling. “Thank you!”

“For what?” Zhou Li asked. “Your coin’s right here—I just held onto it for you.”

An said, “Keep it. A souvenir.”

Zhou Li thought, what kind of souvenir is that? Back home, one yuan could buy a handful.

Still, since she’d kept it without triggering any system alert, it was harmless to her or the supermarket. She slipped it into a drawer.

Then An pulled out a large adhesive patch. “This is an E-grade item—called the Hair-Growth Patch. Wherever you stick it, hair grows within five minutes. Unlimited use. Is that valuable enough?”

Zhou Li: …

What kind of game made such bizarre items!?

Totally useless—surely worth nothing—

But before she could finish thinking, the auction interface popped up:

【Hair-Growth Patch (E-grade)】

Year: Unknown

Origin: Unknown

Owner: An Fengxuan

Starting Price: 184,130 (suggested)

Buyout: 200,000 (suggested)

Zhou Li froze.

She asked the system, “The buyer’s not… a hairstylist, right?”

System: “The global hair-regrowth market is worth hundreds of billions. You tell me—does that item have demand?”

Zhou Li said, “That figure’s from my country’s economy, isn’t it? Don’t tell me the buyers across the auction network are all stylists from my world!”

System: …

The lack of reply said everything.

Zhou Li turned to An Fengxuan. “This is worth two hundred thousand points.”

An Fengxuan gawked.

In the outside market, an E-grade item was worth maybe five hundred Game Coins.

Yet the little boss had just given her 200,000 points?!

And the prices here were about the same as—or cheaper than—outside the instance!

She couldn’t imagine it.

If an E-grade item fetched that much, how much would an A- or S-grade one be worth!?

☢️☢️☢️

Infinite World

Instance: New International Department Store

An Fengxuan gripped the mop, her face blank as she dragged it across the scarlet floor.

The red was glaring—so bright it made her skin crawl the longer she looked.

No matter how much cleaning powder she poured, the color never faded.

It seemed soaked deep into the tile, or perhaps the pigment had been mixed into the clay before firing, baked together in the kiln to produce this vivid red.

No matter how hard An Fengxuan scrubbed, she couldn’t make it clean. The only change was that the water in her bucket grew redder and redder.

Yet her mission was to clean this very floor—and clean it completely.

According to instance rules, since it was a mission, it had to be possible. She just hadn’t found the right method yet.

Without damaging the tiles, how could she make them spotless?

An Fengxuan tried every method she could think of, but none worked.

Perhaps there was a tool meant for this—but she didn’t have one.

Exhausted, she decided to rest.

She lifted her bucket of bloody water and headed to the restroom to dump it.

But as she approached the janitor’s closet, she froze—

Across from the restroom stood a new shop that hadn’t been there before.

A supermarket.

The New International Department Store was already a huge supermarket—so how could there be another one inside it?

And it had a different name: Good Life Supermarket.

“Did the instance… upgrade?” she muttered automatically.

Instance upgrades were rare, usually triggered by a hidden quest or when the difficulty didn’t match a player’s level—like when a high-tier player bulldozed through a low-tier scenario.

But her level didn’t exceed this instance’s difficulty, and she hadn’t triggered any hidden mission.

If she had, the Infinite Game GM would’ve notified her.

Still, she couldn’t think of any other explanation.

An Fengxuan stayed cautious. She didn’t dare approach—only watched from the shadows.

From its placement, the small supermarket was located in what had once been a sealed-off section of the mall.

So it could be a newly added merchant zone.

But instance layouts were fixed the moment they were created.

In other words, unless the instance itself had upgraded, no new areas should exist.

Suddenly, she saw someone moving inside the shop.

A young woman’s face—alive.

An Fengxuan could feel life from her.

It had been three years since the alien species descended, leaving the world in ruins.

The weak had all perished. Those still alive hadn’t become stronger—they were merely puppets, their strings pulled by the instance’s power.

People wanted strength. They sought artifacts from instances to satisfy their greed.

Others, worn down by endless runs, were simply exhausted.

They lived only to keep living.

In this world, humans no longer radiated vitality.

As for the alien species—they weren’t even human-shaped anymore, twisted and monstrous, each with different abilities.

Still, An Fengxuan couldn’t swear none could imitate human form.

With countless instances came countless species. A few shapeshifters wouldn’t be strange.

She still had time before her mission’s deadline, so she decided to keep watching.

Good Life Supermarket.

Zhou Li had already seen what lay outside.

She groaned, “Isn’t that a supermarket out there? I’ve basically opened a Meijia inside a Walm art!”

The system said, “Please remain calm. The local spatial interference of this dimension caused that. Since time and space here are unstable, the supermarket’s location will constantly shift.”

“Huh?” Zhou Li blinked.

“In the terminology of this world,” the system continued, “the supermarket is currently inside an instance. When time and space inside distort, the original coordinates collapse, and so the supermarket relocates.”

“So I’ve turned into a mobile mini-market now… actually, that’s kind of fun.”

Then, realizing how it might sound, she added quickly, “I mean—the concept is fun. Obviously, I don’t think an alien-ravaged world or suffering humans are entertaining. I deeply sympathize with them.”

The system stayed silent.

Zhou Li peeked out through the door. “Still, can we even get business here?”

Just as she finished, a figure peeked around the corner.

After a few minutes of observation, An Fengxuan came to a realization.

Even if the instance had glitched—what if that was the key to clearing it?

If the small supermarket was run by an alien species, it still had to obey the game’s rules.

So long as she didn’t break those rules, she wouldn’t be harmed.

How could she just waste time doing nothing?

Once she made up her mind, she equipped her tools and cautiously approached.

The closer she got, the stronger her unease became.

Not because a supermarket inside another supermarket wasn’t strange—it was—but because this wrongness came from Good Life Supermarket itself.

The New International Department Store instance was modeled after a real-world supermarket from before the alien invasion.

Everything inside could be eaten or used by the alien species—but for humans, most items were traps or curses.

Only special mission tools, like her mop and bucket, were safe for humans—and only usable within specific tasks.

Food on the shelves wasn’t mission-related. If she dared to eat any, she’d first get a “Rule Violation” warning, then the aliens would exploit that to punish her.

And the food itself would harm her body.

Yet their bodies were still human—they bled, they starved.

They needed food. Real, safe food.

And somehow, the products in this tiny supermarket felt real—like they were made for humans.

Everything about it radiated the aura of “safe to eat” and “safe to use.”

Only the two oddly shaped machines by the entrance—probably vending machines—seemed strange.

An Fengxuan stepped across the threshold.

A wave of cool warmth greeted her face.

Not the clammy chill of an instance dungeon, but the gentle spring air of twenty-six degrees Celsius.

Her eyes flicked toward an air conditioner remote—

Indeed, it read 26°C.

Zhou Li smiled warmly. “Hello. Welcome to Good Life Supermarket.”

[Author’s note]

The new world is a mobile supermarket [dog-head emoji]

☢️☢️☢️

Once Feng Zhang had satisfied his curiosity and prepared to return to capital, Qiao Siniang, Dou Dalang, and the other suppliers finally received clearance to pick up their orders from the supermarket.

Even so, they didn’t dare distribute their goods to the various counties. They feared meeting Feng Zhang on the road—who might seize everything for himself.

At least within the Immortal Village, the Goddess’s divine power kept him restrained. No one dared act rashly.

After Zhou Li handed over all the goods listed in their orders, she prepared to return to her modern home dimension.

When Gong Qiongxian learned this, she tried to persuade her to stay. “Little Boss, could you not remain in the mortal world a few more days? The people nearby have heard of your presence and are hurrying here to pay their respects. If they can’t see you, they’ll be terribly disappointed.”

“I can’t stay here forever,” Zhou Li replied.

But leaving without any promise of return didn’t sit right with her either.

After a moment’s thought, she said, “Very well. From now on, I’ll remain here for seven days each month—from the first to the seventh. Anyone who needs to pick up goods or make purchases can come during those days.”

Zhao Changyan sighed, her tone a mix of regret and melancholy. “The Goddess’s stays in the mortal world grow shorter and shorter.”

Zhou Li said nothing.

Who told her interplanetary trade was booming so quickly?

The only reason she could hop between worlds so frequently in such short intervals was because she had successfully expanded her “interplanetary trade” market.

To provide her system with enough energy for each dimensional leap, she had to assign schedules to each world.

For pre-industrial worlds like this one, where travel was slow and customers had to journey from far away, she stayed longer.

In contrast, in the interstellar world—where transportation was easy and customers were abundant—she made shorter, more frequent visits.

The rest of her time was reserved for restocking in her home dimension, and for exploring potential new ones.

Zhou Li muttered to the system, “At our current output, this little supermarket can only handle trade with three worlds at most.”

Each world got seven days, and the remaining time went to resupply.

The system suddenly asked, “You’ve met the conditions to unlock a third world. Would you like to go?”

“What’s that world like?”

“It’s a very special one,” the system said cryptically.

Zhou Li frowned. “Xiao Wan, don’t be so vague!”

“Fine. The third world is what you humans call an ‘infinite world.’ Because time and space there are disrupted by another form of energy, your sense of both will become unstable. Also, that world contains horror and supernatural elements—those who scare easily may find it overwhelming.”

“Do we have to go?” she asked.

“You can refuse,” the system replied. “But if you don’t open new worlds, the energy gained from interplanetary trade will gradually dwindle.”

Zhou Li refused to dwell on it. She tossed the problem back. “Can’t you just upgrade already? Use some kind of spatial-folding storage tech to expand the supermarket warehouse?”

Ever since visiting Mia Star and witnessing their advanced technology, she’d wanted to ask that question.

From a scientific standpoint, dimensional travel was far harder than folded-space storage.

If the system could jump across worlds, surely it could make more space in her warehouse.

Yet it kept insisting on sending her through repeated dimensional hops rather than providing that tech—something that puzzled her.

The system went quiet for a while. Then it finally said, “The system can provide such technology—but it consumes an enormous amount of energy. The current trade-generated energy is insufficient.”

Zhou Li was stunned. She hadn’t expected that answer.

The system continued, “Besides, long-term residence in one world brings complications. It can cause negative effects—mental strain, disorientation. Some previous operators stayed too long across multiple worlds and eventually suffered cognitive breakdowns. Others became emotionally attached to natives, even unbinding from the system to remain in that world. Some went further—using the supermarket and its resources to favor loved ones, even teaming up with others to exploit the system.”

After a moment of thought, Zhou Li understood the concern.

If she had spatial-folding tech, she could stock massive amounts of supplies at once and stay in a world for years. Translated on hololonovels.

The longer she stayed, the deeper her attachment to that world could grow.

Frequent contact bred familiarity, and familiarity bred affection.

Humans were emotional creatures. Prolonged interaction could easily turn into sentiment.

And an operator bonded to a system—with the ability to transport a whole supermarket between worlds—was the ultimate prize to any native civilization.

A rational one might keep control. But a love-struck fool would use every resource available to benefit their beloved.

At best, they would recklessly funnel goods from their home world. At worst, they might use the system itself to interfere with that world’s progress—something far beyond the acceptable level of influence normal trade already caused.

Even more dangerously, an operator might live decades across worlds. After experiencing dozens of timelines, a twenty-year-old face might hide a soul aged one hundred and eighty years.

When such a person returned home, with lifetimes of memories layered atop one another, cognitive collapse was almost guaranteed.

“Wait,” Zhou Li said. “Wouldn’t constant world-hopping cause even worse confusion and mental strain?”

“When you’re leaping between worlds nonstop,” the system asked, “do you have the time or energy to care about anything outside your work?”

“…” Zhou Li fell silent.

She couldn’t argue.

Each time she returned home, her only thought was how to restock without drawing attention.

And once she arrived in another world, all she thought about was balancing inventory and demand to reduce how often she had to come back.

As for getting attached to locals? That was never part of her plan.

Just like Article 1 of the Interplanetary Trade Regulations said—
She was here to do business, not meddle in local affairs.

“So those rules were written from real cases,” Zhou Li mused.

“Exactly,” the system replied.

“Then why didn’t you give me this orientation at the start?” she complained.

“With years of experience binding to humans,” said the system, “it’s clear you’re not the romantic type. Frankly, I’m less worried about you falling in love with a native and more worried you’ll try to stay and take their civil-service exam.”

“…I haven’t even passed the one in my own world,” Zhou Li retorted. “Why would I be foolish enough to take one in another?”

“What if you fail yours and decide to try the one elsewhere?”

“…You know, that’s actually an idea,” Zhou Li said thoughtfully.

“Give it up,” the system deadpanned. “Different worlds, different laws—you’d just have to start all over again. You’ll end up proving that old saying true: Ten years chasing the exam, and you’re still a first-year when you return.”

Zhou Li: “…”

She dropped the topic.

“So,” she asked, “how much energy do I need to unlock spatial-folding storage?”

“One more long-term, stable, large-scale trade.”

“How large?”

“Comparable to the order Gong Qiongxian placed on behalf of Dayue.”

Zhou Li winced. That was a multimillion-level deal.

“Wait,” she said, “shouldn’t that deal already provide enough energy?”

“The trade isn’t finalized,” said the system. “So the energy hasn’t been generated yet.”

Zhou Li realized the issue.

Past large orders had produced energy immediately because deposits were paid upfront—like her contract with the City Hall after they transferred Orka Energy Batteries.

But though Gong Qiongxian had become a distributor, she hadn’t paid any deposit or submitted an official order.

With that in mind, Zhou Li turned back before leaving. “Have you decided what quantity of goods you want yet?” she asked.

Gong Qiongxian hesitated.

Though she’d claimed her purchases were for disaster relief, the funds in her hands were imperial. She couldn’t spend them arbitrarily.

Still, after some thought, she decided to use a little of her discretion.

“I’d like to reserve ten thousand shi of grain and one thousand packs of salt.”

Zhou Li calculated. “One shi of grain is about 118 jin—so ten thousand shi equals 1.18 million jin, or roughly 590 tons.”

That much grain would surely draw attention from the authorities.

“Does it have to be rice?” she asked.

“Wheat or flour will do as well,” Gong said.

Zhao Changyan’s eyes lit up. “Little Boss, are there any grains better than rice or wheat?”

Zhou Li smiled, impressed by her quick thinking. “Not better—just more versatile. These crops yield high harvests, grow well in many climates, can be dried and ground into powder for noodles or feed, or even pressed for oil.”

Gong’s eyes brightened. “Then may the Goddess grant us the seeds!”

“You’ve eaten them before,” Zhou Li said.

Zhao guessed instantly. “Could it be… sweet potatoes?”

“And corn and potatoes,” Zhou Li confirmed.

“Of course!” Zhao had already suspected as much from her description.

The supermarket had been selling sweet potatoes, potatoes, and corn for some time, but since they were stocked in the produce section, most people treated them as vegetables.

Eventually, some refugees discovered that boiled sweet potatoes were filling—one could half-sate hunger, two could last half a day with water.

One man even forgot a sweet potato in a corner, only to find it sprouting later.

When Zhao learned of it, she realized these could be planted—but not knowing how, she simply buried them whole and observed.

Now that Zhou Li brought it up, she quickly asked about proper planting methods.

Zhou Li wasn’t a farmer, but she’d seen enough to explain.

“For sweet potatoes and potatoes, cut the sprouting eyes into sections and plant them in ridged soil at regular intervals. After three or four months, you can harvest them.

“As for corn, so long as the kernels aren’t damaged, they’ll sprout when sown and grow until they bear ears.”

Having handled government affairs for years, Gong immediately saw the potential.

“I’ll revise my order, then,” she said excitedly. “One thousand shi of sweet potatoes, one thousand of potatoes, one thousand of corn, five thousand of rice, and one thousand packs of salt.”

Zhou Li asked, “You’ll need to pay a 30% deposit. It’ll be deducted directly from your membership account. Confirm?”

“Confirm!”

“Deal,” Zhou Li said.

Then she turned to the system. “Now is the energy sufficient?”

“It is,” the system said, “but maintaining spatial-folding storage consumes immense energy. To prevent depletion that could leave the supermarket unable to jump in emergencies, I recommend saving up more first.”

Zhou Li sighed.

So that was why the system kept dodging—
the technology really did guzzle energy.

Which meant she had no choice but to explore that third world.

Still, before heading there, she needed to return to her home world first—
and then visit the interstellar one to update the schedule.

☢️☢️☢️

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.

☢️☢️☢️

Dayue, Guiyang Prefecture.

At the home of the Inspector Zhu family.

As the Dragon Boat Festival approached, Zhou Wanniang’s sister-in-law was returning home for a visit. Zhou invited several close friends over to weave five-colored silk threads and wrap zongzi together.

When her sister-in-law, Zhu Li’er, arrived and saw her, she couldn’t help leaning closer to sniff. “Sister-in-law, you smell so nice!”

“Shoo! What kind of shameless talk is that?” Zhou Wanniang teased, laughing.

“I’m not joking,” Zhu Li’er said earnestly. “You really do smell good. Are you secretly using some new kind of fragrance powder behind my back?”

“That reminds me,” said Zhou Wanniang. “I didn’t use any powder. I used something called scented body wash and shampoo.”

“Body wash? Shampoo?”

“Body wash, as the name suggests, is like soap pods—something you use for cleaning your body. Shampoo is for washing and perfuming your hair,” Zhou explained. “These have become very popular in Guiyang lately. Even Magistrate Dong’s wife and the family of the Mint Treasurer use them.”

“Where did you buy them?” Zhu Li’er asked.

“Not long ago, several traveling merchants came pushing small carts through Guiyang. They said they’d come from the Immortal Village at Yangshan Pass.”

“Yangshan Pass?” Zhu Li’er frowned. “When did a village appear there?”

She had lived here since childhood and had never heard of such a place.

“Probably built in recent years,” said Zhou.

“I’ll have someone look into it another day,” Zhu Li’er said.

“No need,” Zhou replied. “When I bought mine, I also got you a set. Use it once every few days—it’ll last you months.”

Zhu Li’er’s face lit up. “That’s so generous, thank you, Sister-in-law! You always spoil me.”

“As long as you like it,” Zhou smiled.

Each set cost three hundred copper coins. Considering it lasted about three months, that was just a hundred coins per month—or only three or four coins a day.

Each set contained a bottle of shampoo, a bottle of body wash, a bag of laundry liquid, and a bar of soap.

Zhou gave the soap to her husband and kept the rest for herself and their children.

“There are many scents and effects,” she added. “You can pick one you like best later.”

She had bought plenty, but she also planned to give some away, so she couldn’t spare too much for Zhu Li’er.

Even so, Zhu Li’er was thrilled to have her own set.

As they chatted, Zhou’s close friends began arriving.

They gathered in the waterside pavilion, chatting and weaving the festival threads.

Someone, seeing how everyone clustered around Zhou, complained playfully, “You’ve all hogged the seats near Wanniang long enough. Let me sit there too!”

Zhou laughed helplessly. “The pavilion’s wide enough—there’s plenty of room.”

“I don’t care. You smell too good; that’s why I want to sit here,” her friend said, laughing.

“Why do you smell so nice?”

Swarmed by teasing friends, Zhou finally had a servant bring out the gifts she’d prepared.

“I’d planned to give these to you when you left, but it looks like you can’t wait.”

“So this is your secret!” her friends exclaimed, suddenly understanding.

Zhu Li’er chimed in, “Sister-in-law said I get to pick first.”

“No one’s fighting you for it,” Zhou said with a smile.

Each woman received a set of the bath and care products and couldn’t stop admiring them.

But Zhou noticed that one friend, Hua Xiangzhi, though holding her gift, looked uneasy.

“What’s wrong, Xiangzhi? You don’t like it?” Zhou asked.

Hua Xiangzhi snapped out of her thoughts. “I love it! I just… need to leave early.”

“Why so suddenly?”

Hua Xiangzhi hesitated, embarrassed. When Zhou pressed, she quietly pulled her aside and explained she was probably about to get her period. Translated on hololonovels. She had no menstrual cloths with her and was worried she might bring bad luck to the Zhu household.

Zhou sighed in relief. “I thought it was something serious! I’ll give you a sanitary pad for now.”

“This…”

“Don’t worry—it’s new and unused.”

Zhou had a maid bring her a sanitary pad, and thinking Hua Xiangzhi might not have the small undergarments used to hold it, she also gave her a pair, showing her how to use both.

“These underpants are comfortable,” Hua Xiangzhi said curiously, “but why is the pad shaped like this?”

“It’s called a menstrual cloth, made of soft cotton,” Zhou explained. “Each one lasts an hour or two and helps keep your clothes clean.”

“Only one or two hours? Then you’d need quite a few.”

“A pack of eight costs ten copper coins. That’s just a few coins a day, maybe twenty a month since your period only lasts several days.”

Using reusable cloth would be cheaper, of course—but after trying these, Zhou realized the comfort was worth the price.

Once used, they could simply be burned—no need to secretly wash them, no risk of leaks, no messy ashes or stains.

“When will those merchants come again?” Hua Xiangzhi asked.

“In a little while, they said. But last time they met bandits on the road and lost a shipment, or I’d have bought more.”

“Bandits?” Hua Xiangzhi frowned.

“On the road through Yangshan Pass. I’ve already asked my husband to pay attention to it.”

“Don’t worry,” Hua Xiangzhi said. “When I get home, I’ll tell my husband to send extra patrols and make sure there are no more bandits.”

Her husband was the military commander overseeing Guiyang’s troops.

That was exactly what Zhou wanted—to get her friend to whisper in her husband’s ear, strengthen patrols, and keep the trade route safe for the merchants.

By evening, Zhou had seen off her friends and her sister-in-law.

Her husband, Inspector Zhu, returned home from the office.

“Try one of my handmade zongzi,” she said warmly.

He took a bite, then frowned. “The flavor’s quite different from last year’s.”

“It’s made from a new kind of glutinous rice,” Zhou explained. “It’s softer and easier to eat, even if the taste isn’t quite the same.”

Common folk processed rice roughly, rarely polishing it, so glutinous rice usually retained the bran layer and had a coarse texture.

But the merchant women—Qiao Siniang’s group—sold fully polished rice at an affordable price, and Zhou had bought several stones of it without hesitation.

After hearing about these “merchant women,” Inspector Zhu suddenly asked, “They’re from the Immortal Village at Yangshan Pass?”

Zhou looked surprised. “You know of them?”

“I don’t know them,” he said. “But I read today’s court bulletin—Prince Wei reportedly went there himself to seek enlightenment from the immortal.” His tone was faintly mocking.

“So it’s true then?” Zhou asked.

“What’s true?”

“The merchant woman said the Immortal Village’s peak was the cave-dwelling of a goddess—an immortal who brought heavenly goods to the mortal world…”

Zhou had thought that story was just a sales pitch to raise prices and hadn’t taken it seriously.

But if Prince Wei himself had gone to seek guidance, perhaps it wasn’t just a tale.

“Should we send someone to investigate?” she suggested.

“And what would that accomplish?” Inspector Zhu asked.

“You really are dense!” Zhou snapped. “Once you know, you can act! Keep ignoring the world outside your window and someone will replace you soon enough.”

Fuming, she made a decision. “If you won’t go, then I will.”

“What for?” he asked.

“If it’s truly a goddess, then I’ll go to seek her blessing. That shouldn’t violate any official taboo.”

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll send guards to escort you.”

*

When Hua Xiangzhi returned home, her husband happened to come back from camp.

She told him about the bandits near Yangshan Pass.

He said, “A few days ago, a group of refugees actually delivered a captured bandit gang to our camp for punishment.”

“And what did you do with them?”

“What else? Executed them.”

Hua Xiangzhi sighed. “The world really is in chaos.”

“Chu is collapsing. Since we border Chu, of course things will grow unstable. Stay home more in the coming days,” he told her.

“I will,” she said. “But… I heard there’s an Immortal Village at Yangshan Pass, and that a goddess has appeared there.”

“I’ve heard that too. But she’s probably just another trickster, like all those fake witches.”

“This time feels different,” Hua Xiangzhi murmured—and said no more.

Her husband waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.

The next day, after bathing and dressing, Hua Xiangzhi prepared to go out.

Her husband caught a whiff of her scent and asked, “What fragrance is that?”

“It’s the lotion I used for bathing.”

“Huh?”

“A gift from Zhou Wanniang—she said it came from the goddess of the Immortal Village.”

Her husband paused for a moment.

Now he understood why she’d said this one seemed different.

☢️☢️☢️