Author Archives: sandy

A strange sensation came from beneath Fu Qing’s hand, as if some force were pressing against the dagger, trying to push it outward.

Newly regenerated flesh was repeatedly sliced apart by the blade buried deep inside her body. From her fight with Skull, Fu Qing had learned that although these people had been transformed by the virus and enhanced in many ways, they still retained a small capacity for pain.

Yet the woman’s expression remained as calm as stagnant water.

Judging from her earlier speed, the woman moved almost as fast as the high-level zombies Fu Qing had encountered in the late apocalypse, though her combat ability lagged behind.

Fu Qing guessed that her evolution lay primarily in flesh regeneration.

The woman paid no mind to being pinned down. Remaining nailed to the ground by the dagger, she continued speaking.

“You’re from S City, aren’t you? Then you should know about the fire in the urban village eight months ago.”

Fu Qing frowned slightly.

Eight months ago meant around May, before her rebirth.

In her previous life, that May felt like nearly six years in the past.

She struggled to recall the incident.

There had indeed been a large urban village in S City. Ongoing financial disputes had delayed demolition for years. Buildings stood so close together sunlight barely reached the ground. Sewage flowed openly, trash bins constantly overflowed, and tangled electrical wires hung overhead like a web pressing down on everyone who lived there.

Late one night in May, a household fire started when an electric scooter was charged indoors. The flames spread rapidly. Fire trucks arrived but were blocked more than two hundred meters away by illegally parked cars and could not enter in time. The disaster became a major fire, leaving dozens dead or severely injured.

Looking at the burn scars on the woman’s face, Fu Qing understood.

She said nothing, and the woman continued on her own.

“The fire that night was enormous. They said most victims died from smoke and toxic gases. But not me. The flames followed clothes hanging on the balcony into my home. I’d worked all day and slept too deeply. When I woke up, the fire had already reached my blanket… and my legs.”

“When they rescued me, they said seventy percent of my body was burned. I wouldn’t survive a week.”

“That week was hell… If you had experienced that kind of pain, you’d lose your sense of pain too,” the woman said softly, touching her leg. “But I didn’t die. On the seventh day, He came to the hospital and saved me.”

“That was the day I was reborn. He turned me into a zombie. I no longer screamed day and night from pain, and I would never die from burns again.” Her voice grew increasingly excited. “He didn’t just give me a new life. He gave me power. In our organization, even rich heirs like Liu Yong have to kneel at my feet and beg for favor.”

Her smile widened as she coaxed, “Identity, status, wealth. None of it will matter in the new world. Even ordinary people like us can break free from the shackles of birth and rise to the top. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“The fire destroyed my flesh, so He granted me rebirth.”

“Those who suffered from being weak or small, He made their bodies indestructible.”

“And you? What do you desire? If you pray sincerely, He can grant you anything!”

Fu Qing realized that although the Zombie King was no longer human, it understood human weakness remarkably well.

No wonder those trapped in suffering and despair might cling to belief in it.

“What do I want?” Fu Qing let out a soft laugh under the woman’s expectant gaze. “I want every one of you erased from this world. Can it give me that?”

“You…”

Still straddling the woman, Fu Qing straightened, pulled the dagger free, and wiped the blood from its blade with her thumb.

“You’ve said so much, but I don’t think you’ve actually convinced yourself.”

She recalled the woman’s earlier reactions. The dagger piercing her eye had caused no response, yet losing her only unscarred hand had driven her into emotional turmoil.

“You crave respect. You crave equality. You want your efforts to matter. Even after becoming a zombie, you still long to be a complete human being.”

“But that’s something it can’t give you.”

A trace of pity appeared in Fu Qing’s expression. “I sympathize with you. But I’m sorry. I still need you to die.”

That faint pity seemed to completely enrage the woman.

“How can you be so… ungrateful?!”

Tremendous strength erupted from her thin body. With one hand braced against the ground, she surged upright. Her upper lip curled, faint fangs showing.

Fu Qing had already dodged aside before being thrown off. Watching the woman’s twisted face, she felt this was finally her true appearance. The woman must have truly wanted her to join, to keep up the façade for so long.

But why? Surely killing Skull alone wasn’t enough to convince them she had great potential.

“Die…!” the woman spat, so furious she could barely form words.

“I’d rather not,” Fu Qing replied.

The woman stopped talking entirely. She kicked off the ground and rushed forward at blinding speed, drawing a long blade from behind her waist.

“Would’ve been better if you started with this,” Fu Qing remarked as their weapons collided. “I hate wasting time talking.”

System: 【……】

It couldn’t help thinking that its host had been doing quite a lot of talking just moments ago.

When Lu Yan and Hao Zhenye noticed something wrong on the map and rushed over one after the other, Fu Qing and the hooded woman had already been fighting for five or six minutes.

Broken limbs were scattered across the ground. Just the two of them had managed to hack off three arms, seven hands, and more than forty fingers.

Since clothing could not regenerate, the hooded woman’s long sleeves had effectively become sleeveless.

Lu Yan stared in shock for a long moment before blurting out a solemn criticism, “This is really not environmentally friendly.”

Hao Zhenye, who should have known better than to expect anything sensible from him: “…”

The constant clang of weapons echoed through the forest. It was too dark for either fighter to bother with a light, so Lu Yan and Hao Zhenye could only track them by the sparks bursting from colliding metal.

Hao Zhenye was still debating whether he should step in to help when he suddenly noticed the space beside him felt empty. Turning his head, he realized Lu Yan had already bent down and started collecting the severed limbs on the ground.

Cradling two arms and a leg in his arms, Lu Yan frowned when he saw Hao Zhenye staring blankly at him. “Don’t just stand there. Help pick them up.”

Hao Zhenye: “…”

Was he idle? Shouldn’t the priority be helping the principal?

He hesitated and glanced toward Fu Qing. Aside from two tears in her clothes, she appeared completely fine. Only then did he reluctantly go help Lu Yan.

In the middle of fighting, Fu Qing even had the leisure to notice what they were doing. Passing by them mid-battle, she casually asked, “Need more?”

Lu Yan did not stand on ceremony. “If possible, yes.”

Fu Qing hummed in acknowledgment. Her blade flashed, slicing off half an ear.

Like shaving noodles off a block of dough.

Hao Zhenye could not help thinking that comparison.

Fu Qing’s dagger had long since bent from repeated chopping. Taking advantage of the woman’s momentary distraction, she pulled a military knife from Hao Zhenye’s lower back and raised it with a loud clang to block an incoming strike.

Hao Zhenye barely registered what happened before feeling the weight at his waist lighten. Reaching back and touching empty air, he silently retreated farther away to pick up fingers so he would not interfere with the principal’s performance.

Thank goodness he had not listened to Bai Tang’s provocation during the monthly exam and challenged the principal. He would have lost miserably.

The two stopped worrying about Fu Qing and quickly gathered most of the scattered remains. Fingers, ears, and eyeballs went into Hao Zhenye’s bag, while Lu Yan carried the arms and legs, looking like someone hauling home a bundle of baguettes from the supermarket.

He weighed each piece thoughtfully and finally confirmed his suspicion.

“Fu Qing! Her limb weight is decreasing. Regeneration consumes internal energy. The more times parts are severed, the lighter her overall body becomes.”

Then he muttered, “No matter how unreasonable things get, conservation of energy should still apply.”

Body weight affected many aspects of combat. In battle, it was a decisive factor.

Fu Qing did not respond. Hao Zhenye wondered if she had heard when she suddenly dashed forward, kicked off a nearby tree trunk for leverage, and launched a flying kick that sent the hooded woman five meters back into a tree with a heavy crash.

Hao Zhenye: “…”

Landing lightly, Fu Qing nodded. “I thought her blocking strength felt weaker just now. Turns out she’s gotten much lighter.”

The woman spat out a mouthful of blood, crimson mixing with her lipstick in a strangely alluring smear.

She stared at the three of them, eyes dark and unreadable, then suddenly turned and ran.

Fu Qing froze for a moment.

Just seconds ago the woman had fought to the death, yet now she fled without hesitation.

Fu Qing started to chase, but Lu Yan called out sharply, “Look over there.”

In the distant forest, a raging wildfire had ignited, flames lighting half the night sky.

“That direction. A runner-type infected escaped. The simulated zombies couldn’t catch it,” Hao Zhenye said after thinking for a moment. “It probably started the fire.”

Simulated zombies had operational limits, while the hooded woman’s group were clearly elite members of their organization. Not only powerful, they were fiercely loyal. Once captured, they committed suicide without hesitation. In the end, the only gains were the twenty tubes of blood Lu Yan collected and the hooded woman’s severed body parts.

Still, aside from injuries to Yu Cheng, Qin Yufei, and a few others, the students suffered no major losses, while several of the Believers had died. The clash was undeniably a major victory for Fangzhou.

“If firefighters run into a huge crowd of us in the forest, that’ll be impossible to explain. We should call the students back,” Lu Yan advised.

Fu Qing watched the direction the hooded woman had fled, then finally gave up pursuit and instructed the system to send a notice.

The examination would end early. All students were to gather immediately at the mountain’s base.

She also assigned several physically strong students to carry the corpses down the mountain and escort teams to guard them along the way.

The hooded woman was too busy escaping to interfere this time.

Given how elusive these enemies were and how much commotion tonight had caused, Fu Qing decided not to dispose of the bodies as she had before. Instead, she brought them back to the school for Zhao Yunxiao and Lu Yan to study.

As for whether storing them at Fangzhou was safe, she did not even consider the question.

With the system in place, before the apocalypse arrived, this was the safest location in the world.

It was already deep into the night. Everything slept. No one noticed the disciplined group descending the mountain.

Xu Mingyue had already driven Fu Qing’s car back, loading the limping student and the food-poisoned students first. After squeezing everyone closer together, she tossed three corpses into the vehicle with loud thuds.

“It’s a little cramped. Bear with it.”

The five students: “…”

After securing the bodies, Xu Mingyue worried that forest rangers might not notice the fire in time and called the fire department. Since she had no official identity and used a SIM card acquired through the system, she had no concern about being traced.

One group rattled back toward school packed together with corpses, while Fu Qing remained behind to finish cleanup.

After confirming every student had left West Mountain, she still circled near the fire site twice, ensuring no civilians were trapped. Just as she prepared to leave, urgent shouts from firefighters echoed nearby.

She climbed into a tree and watched fully equipped firefighters rush uphill carrying hoses.

If any of them had looked up, they would have seen a blood-stained figure standing among the branches.

Only after watching them disappear did Fu Qing finally relax enough to review the night’s events alone.

“System,” she suddenly called.

【I’m here.】

Rarely, Fu Qing seemed distracted, staring at the military knife in her hand, now bent from repeated strikes.

“In my previous life… did any zombie ever have regenerative flesh like that?”

【…In your previous life, until the moment of the host’s death, no zombie with similar abilities was ever discovered.】

Both fell silent at the same time.

An uneasy premonition slowly spread through them.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Sandy: I’m getting so stressed with these stupid mutants group ughh

Ding ding ding!

Ding ding ding!

Almost every few minutes, the system alerts rang out urgently.

System: [Student Fan Xingye has sent a distress signal from the southeast direction. Straight-line distance: 482 meters. Tap to view coordinates and notes.]

System: [Student Xu Chi has sent a distress signal from due west. Straight-line distance: 237 meters. Tap to view coordinates and notes.]

System: [Student Ke Xinyi has sent a distress signal from due west… no notes were left…]

Fu Qing’s interface was already filled with incoming distress messages from students.

Many of them had likely encountered the same mutant, but the fact that multiple signals were sent simultaneously showed just how urgent the situation was.

She organized the information and marked each location on the map with bright golden points.

A preliminary estimate suggested that at least six or seven mutants were currently rampaging across West Mountain.

With the campus intelligence network shared, she quickly saw nearby blue markers converging toward the golden ones, gradually forming an encirclement.

The students, fearless like newborn calves unafraid of tigers, or perhaps simply worried about their classmates’ safety, relied on their numbers and rushed toward the mutants one after another.

Fu Qing ordered the outer teams to hold position to prevent gaps in the perimeter, then dispatched simulated zombies toward locations teachers could not reach in time.

A real-time battle was forcibly turned into a strategy game.

Only a few minutes later:

System: [Student Sun Wei has canceled distress signal. Teacher Lu Yan arrived on scene. Infected individual subdued and committed suicide. Twenty tubes of blood samples collected before death. No student casualties.]

System: [Student Wang Huai has canceled distress signal. Teacher Hao Zhenye arrived on scene. Infected individual resisted violently and died during combat. Two students injured, require hospital transfer.]

System: [Student Fan Xingye has canceled distress signal. Three simulated zombies arrived on scene. Infected individual suffered critical injuries during combat and died. One student injured, hospitalization unnecessary.]

System: [Students Ke Xinyi and Xu Chi have canceled distress signals. Nearby students arrived to assist. Infected individual fled due to exhaustion. Pursuit ongoing…]

As reinforcements arrived one after another, reports of resolved crises followed in steady succession.

The system delivered updates smoothly, emitting cheerful buzzing sounds.

The fighting across multiple locations was so intense that its informational threads split into thousands of streams, distributed through student and teacher wristbands as it busily coordinated and relayed data. It did not even notice that its host had remained wandering within a single fixed area the entire time.

After committing the surrounding terrain firmly to memory, Fu Qing simply stopped, found a tree, and leaned against it with her arms folded.

The system lagged briefly, hesitating.

[…Host?]

At first, Fu Qing had struggled to accept the presence of a voice inside her head that could hear her thoughts.

But after realizing the system was not malicious and had worked hard to help her, her resistance gradually lessened. When bored, she would even chat with it to pass the time.

“Don’t you think this is going too smoothly?” she asked silently. “It feels… too smooth.”

The system sounded puzzled.

[Isn’t this proof of the students’ improvement?]

It began listing reasons:

[These infected individuals are even stronger than previously seen specially evolved zombies. They possess intelligence, and their evolution patterns and attack methods are far more unpredictable. In the apocalypse, countless people would die at their hands. The fact that the students held out without severe casualties must mean the past half year of training has paid off.]

[Besides, teachers and simulated zombies provided timely reinforcements.]

The system was optimistic.

But as it spoke, it suddenly realized something.

Up to this point, Fu Qing herself had not gone to support a single team.

She had only been dispatching simulated zombies and redirecting students while allowing Lu Yan and Hao Zhenye to handle most of the mutants.

“Haven’t you realized yet?” Fu Qing said helplessly.

The system abruptly awakened and opened the map.

Centered on Fu Qing, an empty zone had somehow formed.

No markers existed there. No students, no teachers, no simulated zombies, no mutants. For various reasons, all had either deliberately or unintentionally moved away from this area.

[What is happening?] it asked in shock.

Fu Qing straightened and brushed dust from her clothes.

“I’ve been thinking about why the person hiding in the tree didn’t attack Lu Yan and that poisoned student.”

“One of them was tied up and delirious. The other was focused on caring for the patient. It would’ve been easy to ambush them then. If the attacker were fast enough, they could have escaped before we arrived.”

“But that person didn’t act. They didn’t even move. Someone as alert as Lu Yan only sensed something vaguely wrong. Compared to the mutants currently rampaging through the forest, that level of caution was excessive.”

“So I think the person hiding in the tree wasn’t targeting the passing teacher and student at all.”

She paused.

“The real target… was someone in the nearby camp.”

The mutants were not attacking students randomly. On the contrary, while Fu Qing tried to trap them within an encirclement, they were deliberately drawing every source of reinforcement away from her position.

Both sides had a commander hidden behind the scenes. The difference was that Fu Qing stood in the open, while her opponent remained in the shadows.

So she chose to follow the opponent’s arrangement and draw the one hiding in the dark out into the open.

The winter night stretched endlessly. The system had no senses, yet even it felt a chill in the air.

A faint rustling of fabric came from the pitch-black forest. As if she had been waiting all along, Fu Qing calmly turned her head.

The woods were dense, moonlight reflecting off the snow. The newcomer wore a bright crimson hood, the only vivid color amid black shadows and white frost.

The bold, flamboyant appearance made Fu Qing raise an eyebrow in mild surprise. At that moment, the figure abruptly lifted her head.

Their eyes met, and even the system’s constant electric chatter faltered.

From her cheeks down to her neck, every inch of exposed skin was covered in twisted, grotesque burn scars. Translated on Hololo novels. Her entire face resembled weathered tree bark, shriveled and uneven, completely hairless. Her nose was little more than two holes. Only her lips were painted a vivid red, the color exaggeratedly extended outward from the corners like a clown’s smile.

Anyone could tell she had survived a fire that should have killed her. To Fu Qing, those marks looked less like scars and more like flesh that had forcibly regrown from a withered body, forming jagged ridges like colliding tectonic plates.

The last time she appeared, the woman had concealed nearly her entire body. The eyewitness auntie had remembered only the scar on the back of her left hand, and Fu Qing had instructed everyone at Fangzhou to search based on that clue.

Now it was clear that had been only a tiny fragment of the scars covering her.

Only the smooth, unblemished skin of her right hand revealed that she was no more than in her twenties or thirties.

The woman smiled, her split clownlike lips widening. “I’ve finally met you.”

Finally.

Fu Qing remained expressionless. “You wanted to meet me that badly?”

“Mhm.” The woman’s tone was gentle, but her voice was rough and hoarse, either from mutation like Skull’s or from damage to her vocal cords in the fire.

Yet outwardly she looked nothing like the other mutants who had appeared tonight. There were no obvious signs of zombification.

“After recovering Skull’s body, I’ve been searching for you.”

An ill-timed thought flashed through Fu Qing’s mind: so the guy wearing the skull mask really was named Skull.

She asked, “Why were you looking for me?”

West Mountain was far from peaceful tonight. Three mutants were already dead, and more were still fighting throughout the forest. Yet the instigator behind it all stood here as calmly as if she had only come for a casual conversation.

“Someone asked me to meet you. I was happy for the chance to fulfill His request. Unfortunately, over the past few months, I never found a suitable opportunity.”

“But tonight, you finally appeared. And I finally have the chance to ask you on His behalf.”

The woman looked at her with eager anticipation and extended a hand.

“A new era is coming. Haven’t you ever considered joining us?”

Fu Qing lowered her gaze. The woman had extended her uninjured hand.

Ignoring the question, Fu Qing tilted her head toward the forest. Powerful flashlight beams crisscrossed through the darkness like a midnight light show.

“Another one died,” she said, listening for a moment before smiling faintly and looking back. “Did you hear its scream?”

In truth, Fu Qing had heard nothing. The distance was too great. The system had relayed the update.

But she believed a mutant’s heightened hearing would not miss a companion’s dying cry.

The woman’s breathing suddenly quickened. After a pause, she seemed to restrain her emotions.

“To obtain you, these sacrifices are worth it.”

“Join us. If you’re willing, you’ll have a place in the new world that is about to descend.” Her eyes burned with fanatic devotion.

At last, Fu Qing’s expression changed. She lowered her eyes, as if recalling something. When she looked up again, her entire presence had transformed.

Gone was the calm façade. What remained was coldness and cruelty.

She asked softly, “Someone once said I outlived the last human on Earth by three months. Do you know what I thought about during those three months?”

She still hadn’t moved.

“I thought that if time ever reversed, and I met that woman who worshipped zombies again, then even if I had only my last breath left, I would kill her and drag her down to hell with me.”

“…You’re refusing me?” the woman said in disbelief.

She suddenly laughed strangely. “You still want to kill me. But you can’t.”

Fu Qing moved.

Sensing danger, the woman retreated instantly. Translated on Hololo novels. Her body, moments ago indistinguishable from a normal human’s, exploded with terrifying speed, blurring into an afterimage.

But Fu Qing’s blade was faster.

The woman felt a sudden chill in her arm as something flew into the air.

It was her only unscarred hand.

A clean cross-section remained at her wrist. Bone, tendon, and flesh severed at once. Blood sprayed outward, flooding her vision crimson as rage twisted her expression.

She tried to pull away, but Fu Qing gave her no chance.

The world spun. With a heavy crash, her back slammed into the ground, pinned beneath Fu Qing.

“You—”

The dagger plunged into her eye socket, shredding her brain. Her words cut off instantly.

She lay sprawled on the ground, limbs spread wide, expression vacant.

Then, from the severed wrist, countless writhing strands of flesh began to grow.

They squirmed and competed, expanding rapidly, regenerating the missing limb almost instantly. Only now, the new hand’s skin was no longer smooth.

“You see? I told you,” the woman said softly, the dagger still embedded in her face. Lying there, she gazed up at Fu Qing, an oddly tender expression appearing on her grotesque features.

“You can’t kill me. This is a miracle granted by the Lord.”

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Translator has something to day

Hey everyone! Quick update about the novel 🙏

It looks like this novel listing got merged with another translator’s version on Novel Updates, so a lot of the ratings and reviews I had before disappeared.

If you’ve been enjoying the story so far, I’d really appreciate it if you could take a moment to leave a 5-star rating again. It helps more readers find the novel and supports the work I’m putting into it.

Thank you so much for your support 💙

…

Lou Han was genuinely startled by Zhang Han’s unexpected reaction speed.

When the blade tip neared her face, he had clearly seen her pupils contract in fear, yet she shook it off almost instantly, managing to stay calm enough to call for help while escaping.

She was clearly not the ordinary person he had assumed.

—but so what?

Lou Han sneered inwardly. Since he was already exposed, he abandoned stealth altogether and leapt out of the bushes.

Zhang Han had already gained some distance when she suddenly heard heavy footsteps crushing fallen leaves behind her. She glanced back and nearly swore aloud in shock.

At first, the middle-aged man had seemed utterly unremarkable to her. Short, with clouded eyes and weathered dark skin carved by years of hardship, he looked like any ordinary laborer one might pass on the street, far less threatening than a zombie.

If not for the principal’s instruction to immediately report enemies, she might even have tried fighting him herself.

But now, that same forgettable man was charging toward her like some grotesque aberration, running on all fours at terrifying speed.

Every joint and tendon in his body seemed impossibly flexible. His soft-looking limbs pushed off snow, tree trunks, rocks, anything solid enough to grant leverage, rapidly closing the distance between them.

Like a crawling spider, except his head remained perfectly still, that weathered face staring expressionlessly at Zhang Han.

The sight delivered a massive psychological shock. Her footing faltered, and she tripped over an exposed tree root, crashing to the ground as Sun Wei shouted nearby.

Song Rushuang and the others were not far away, but Lou Han was closer. He struck again, the dagger thrusting forward. Zhang Han twisted and rolled on the spot, narrowly dodging once more.

The posture was ugly, but effective.

She was not good at fighting, but half a year of relentless physical training, weekly simulation pods, and monthly holographic exams had forced her into direct confrontations with hundreds of zombies. At the very least, she had learned how to survive.

As Zhang Han summarized it herself: survive first, then look for opportunities. As long as you stayed alive, the enemy would eventually make a mistake.

Eager to kill her before reinforcements arrived, Lou Han struck with great force. The dagger sank halfway into the mud. Seizing the moment, Zhang Han, lying on her back, kicked him hard in the shoulder.

It felt like kicking a stuffed doll. Translated on Hololo novels. She barely sensed bones beneath her foot and immediately realized the force had been dispersed.

He was unharmed. Instead, he used the moment to yank the dagger free with startling speed. Zhang Han scrambled to raise her hand axe just as the blade swung toward her.

Metal clashed against metal, numbing her arm, yet she couldn’t help letting out a surprised “Huh?”

“Hanhan!” Shen Qingqing rushed over, confirmed Zhang Han was unharmed, and immediately slashed at Lou Han with a firewood cleaver.

Lou Han, who had been crouched on all fours, suddenly darted aside like lightning. He sprang upright, dashed toward the nearest tree, and within seconds slithered up to the treetop like a snake.

Even his running looked unnatural, as though his body weighed almost nothing.

Sun Wei and Song Rushuang pulled Zhang Han to her feet, all four staring up at him warily.

Judging by his speed alone, Song Rushuang already knew they were no match.

“He’s faster than a mid-level zombie,” Shen Qingqing whispered. “A special evolution type.”

Basic classification divided zombies into three stages: low-level, mid-level, and high-level.

Mid-level zombies appeared roughly one year and three months after the apocalypse began. Their defining feature was the ability to climb, along with overall enhancements to physical attributes.

These mid-level zombies were not particularly difficult to handle. Their behavior patterns remained largely unchanged from low-level zombies, and students adapted to their increased strength within three months. With coordinated group hunting, they could be eliminated quickly. Some elite students could even defeat ordinary mid-level zombies alone.

However, as mid-level zombies became more numerous, humanity began discovering variants with special evolutions.

Some were gigantic brute types, larger, tougher, and stronger than others, like monstrous versions of the Hulk.

Others were small, thin-limbed runners with incredible speed.

There were also blind night-stalker types whose hearing was terrifyingly sharp.

These special zombies were extremely rare and usually solitary. According to Zhao Yunxiao, early human theories suggested such mutations stemmed from unique genetics or personal experiences prior to infection.

But later appearances of toxin-bearing zombies and ones with limbs hardened into blade-like weapons overturned that theory entirely.

Humanity could no longer explain zombies through biological science, and this realization drove many surviving scholars into psychological collapse.

The Lou Han before them was clearly one of these specially evolved “zombies.”

“A runner?” Shen Qingqing guessed.

“No. His joints are even more flexible than a runner’s. He’s a type we’ve never encountered,” Song Rushuang corrected.

Lou Han bared his teeth in a grin, revealing sharp, uneven fangs. Whether caused by evolution or natural structure, the sight churned their stomachs.

“You know more than I expected,” he mocked.

So Skull’s death truly had not been simple.

Song Rushuang said coldly, “More than that. We also know many things you don’t.”

Lou Han scoffed dismissively.

Sun Wei, who had remained silent until now, suddenly said in a low voice, “Done.”

She had already transmitted the four of their positions, along with an approximate classification of the zombie type.

Shen Qingqing and Song Rushuang’s earlier discussion had not been casual chatter. They were explaining details for Sun Wei, who was responsible for sending the report.

Her words acted like a signal. Without needing to discuss it, the four girls instinctively moved closer together, stopping at distances that allowed mutual support while still leaving room to swing their weapons freely.

This coordination was born from countless assessments and simulation pod exercises. Their goal was simple: hold out until reinforcements arrived.

Lou Han showed no concern that the four girls could cause him trouble and watched them with interest.

His abilities were best suited for forest terrain. Even if he failed to eliminate them quickly, he was confident he could escape.

Feeling the breathing, heartbeats, and warmth of her roommates beside her, Song Rushuang gradually steadied herself.

Gripping her blade, she focused completely on the attack she knew was coming.

Rustle—

Leaves trembled as Lou Han leapt down from the tree.

His figure expanded rapidly in her vision. His limb movements were too fast for the eye to follow. For a moment, Song Rushuang felt she was facing something that should not exist in this world, neither human nor beast, triggering an uncanny, instinctive terror.

Her nerves stretched to their limit. Every cell screamed.

Can’t win. I want to run.

But the sound of her roommates’ hurried breathing filled her ears.

She couldn’t retreat.

Gritting her teeth, she narrowed her eyes and finally caught the trajectory of Lou Han’s high-speed strike. She raised her blade to block.

Clang!

The weapons collided, but the tremendous downward force still pushed the blade three inches closer to her throat.

Just as blood seemed inevitable, Zhang Han slashed in from the side.

Metal shrieked as it scraped together. Lou Han was knocked aside, flipping once before landing steadily, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Knew it!” Zhang Han blurted. “I already thought it was weird I could block him one-handed! He’s fast, but his hits feel soft. His strength’s probably only a little higher than mine. That means his body durability isn’t that high either—”

Before she finished, the enraged Lou Han charged her again. Zhang Han raised her axe to block, but just before the blades met, his dagger flicked upward, sliding along the axe’s surface.

“So what if my strength is lacking? Humans can’t keep up with my speed!” Lou Han snarled.

The heavy axe could not adjust fast enough. Zhang Han’s neck lay completely exposed beneath the blade.

The other three felt their minds explode with alarm.

“Zhang—!”

“Move!”

Their shouts overlapped as a figure suddenly burst from a blind spot, slamming into Lou Han like a cannonball and sending him crashing to the ground.

The two bodies rolled several times across uneven snow. Dizzy, Lou Han finally broke free and flipped the attacker beneath him, raising his dagger high.

Then his hand froze midair.

The attacker beneath him had blood-red eyes, mouth wide open to reveal sharp canine teeth. Completely indifferent to the dagger above, it thrashed wildly, trying to bite him.

“You… you—” Lou Han stammered in shock and fury.

The thing beneath him was clearly a mindless zombie.

“If humans can’t keep up with your speed,” Lu Yan said calmly as he stepped through the foliage, “what about zombies?”

Seeing the four girls shaken but unharmed, he subtly relaxed. He motioned for them to stand behind him, then smiled faintly at Lou Han.

“Are you going to attack your own kind?”

Before leaving earlier, Fu Qing had modified the commands of all twenty simulated zombies, changing their target priority from students to zombies. They were dispersed evenly throughout the exam area, and teachers were granted control authority.

After receiving Sun Wei’s distress signal, Lu Yan, being closest, had rushed over with one of them.

He had adjusted it into a “runner-type” zombie, increasing speed while lowering defense, barely arriving in time to save Zhang Han.

Lou Han’s face darkened as he drove his dagger into the simulated zombie’s eye socket and rose from its limp body, thoroughly enraged.

Lu Yan sighed, pulling a surgical scalpel from the strap at his thigh.

“…Troublesome.”

*

Bang!!

Qin Yufei staggered backward after taking a punch to the shoulder, barely regaining balance. Half his body went numb as cold fear surged through him.

The punch had originally been aimed at his temple. If it had landed…

The man before him stood over two meters tall, broad-shouldered and massive like a wall. Yu Cheng circled from behind and stabbed toward the man’s side with a knife, but the blade sank only a few centimeters before locking firmly between dense muscle.

Yu Cheng: “…”

Realizing the danger too late, he failed to retreat and was kicked squarely in the chest by the brute-like man, sent flying as blood burst from his mouth.

“Yu Cheng!” Wang Huai and another roommate froze mid-charge, unsure whether to attack or check his injuries first.

Lying on the ground, Yu Cheng felt stabbing pain through his ribs with every breath. Tears streamed involuntarily as he gasped, forcing out, “Go… help Qin Yufei.”

Only one minute had passed since they sent the distress signal. They would not last much longer.

Through his fading awareness, he heard distant shouting.

“Over there!”

“Hey! We’re here to help! Hang on!”

Flashlight beams shook through the trees as figures rushed closer.

Nearby squads were arriving.

Just as Yu Cheng began to relax, Qin Yufei failed to evade the next attack. The giant man grabbed his collar and lifted him effortlessly with one hand.

A tall young man over six feet suddenly looked fragile, feet kicking helplessly in midair as oxygen deprivation turned his face crimson.

The massive hand pressed against Qin Yufei’s head, as if intending to twist it clean off—

Yu Cheng’s breathing quickened, eyes wide with terror. “No!”

Whoosh!

An axe spun through the night, gleaming coldly, carving across the man’s arm with tremendous force. Translated on Hololo novels. His hardened flesh split open instantly, blood and tissue tearing apart.

The man screamed in pain and released Qin Yufei, clutching his injured arm as he staggered back.

Hao Zhenye stepped forward through fallen leaves, his gaze immediately locking onto the man’s pale face.

A face bearing unmistakable zombie traits.

After nearly half a year, in a world that still seemed peaceful, he had encountered a real zombie again.

Hao Zhenye’s brows rose sharply. His chest heaved from sprinting, yet as he looked at the man, a slow grin spread across his face.

Perfect.

He hadn’t killed enough yet.

Yu Cheng suddenly felt that…at this moment, Instructor Hao looked far more like a dangerous beast than the monstrous zombie standing before him.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Previous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hadn’t expected an answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fortunately, no one else was around.

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

Zhou Li: …

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

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

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

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

Such a bargain!

It was far cheaper than gut sheaths or fish bladders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

So resistance was inevitable.

But every product existed for those who needed it.

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

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

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

That’s where condoms came in handy.

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

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

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

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

Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi found her reasoning sound.

Just then, a voice coughed nearby.

Startled, they turned—and saw Xian Sanniang smiling.

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

“Huh?” Qiao Siniang blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And unmarried people needed condoms just as much.

Qiao Siniang was dumbfounded.

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

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

Xian Sanniang nodded. “That’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Author’s Note]

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

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

—

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

☢️☢️☢️

Sandy: If you enjoyed this novel, I’d really appreciate a five-star rating on NU. Thank you so much for your support. Love you all ❤️

An Fengxuan’s curiosity about the new world faded within a single day.

She asked Zhou Li, “Boss, have you ever been outside?”

Zhou Li nodded. “I’ve stepped out before.”

Though in truth, the farthest she’d gone was less than twenty meters from the supermarket.

“What kind of world is it out there?” An Fengxuan asked.

Zhou Li thought for a moment, then combined what the system had told her about this world’s background with the gossip she’d heard from the refugees, and explained it to An Fengxuan.

“I knew it,” An Fengxuan said.

She’d guessed as much when she saw those gaunt customers in patched clothing—their standard of living clearly wasn’t high.

But then again, her own world was miserable too, so she didn’t have much room to judge.

When she saw customers using gold, silver, jewelry, and handicrafts to exchange for supermarket membership points, her eyes went wide.

“Boss, the supermarket takes those too?”

“Of course,” Zhou Li replied.

An Fengxuan slapped her leg. “Boss, why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“I did,” Zhou Li said. “I said I only take valuable things.”

An Fengxuan choked on her words.

Right.

In her world, gold and jewels had become worthless, so she hadn’t even considered them “valuable.”

Back then, the only things of worth on her were game currency and items, so she’d used items to exchange for points.

Later, she told An Yixiao about it, and the Blue Owl Guild spread the word—

So now, everyone believed that only items could be used to exchange for supermarket points!

An Fengxuan clutched her head in despair. “Argh—I’ve been a doctrinaire fool!”

Zhou Li quietly watched her have her little meltdown.

Thankfully, An Fengxuan snapped out of it quickly. “No big deal. Once I get back, I’ll tell someone from Blue Owl to pass the message to that An Yixiao woman.”

Even if An Yixiao didn’t lack low-tier items, why waste them when she could trade cheap jewelry for points?

After all, there were only two ways to get game items—clearing dungeons or buying them from other players.

Each item represented a dungeon cleared… and few dungeons ever had a zero-death rate.

Every item might well have cost a human life.

Still, because items were so valuable, anyone who used them for points usually had tens of thousands stored on their membership card.

Since the supermarket had no purchase limits in that world, many people bought up massive quantities of goods to resell later.

What puzzled An Fengxuan most was how freely An Yixiao had revealed that the supermarket’s tools were immune to corruption and worked flawlessly inside dungeons.

As a result, the supermarket’s detergent sold out in just one day.

Now, with nothing to do, An Fengxuan mentioned her thoughts while chatting with Zhou Li.

Zhou Li actually understood An Yixiao’s reasoning.

“Maybe President An thinks,” Zhou Li said, “that the more people know, the more will buy tools—and the better their chances of surviving in the dungeons.”

An Fengxuan fell silent.

She’d always been a lone-wolf player, used to fighting solo, so she didn’t have that kind of mindset.

Still, remembering how An Yixiao had transferred her debt just to give her the chance to leave that world, her heart felt heavy.

Zhou Li saw her drooping and assumed she was homesick. “You can go walk around nearby—see the scenery.”

She wasn’t worried about viruses or bacteria being carried from one world to another.

As long as someone passed through the system’s filter—whether boss or employee—they posed no biological threat to the world they entered.

—Though physically and chemically, they still could.

For instance, An Fengxuan’s combat power from the Infinite World remained intact here, and her items worked in every world—the home world, the ancient world, and the interstellar one.

Which was precisely why Zhou Li needed to train her properly—so her new employee wouldn’t go wild and wreck the place.

Hearing she could go out, An Fengxuan ran off happily.

But when she saw that outside was nothing but hills and forest, her excitement died instantly.

She remembered another dungeon she’d entered once—beautiful scenery, right before she’d almost died.

Now, staring at the landscape, that memory made her skin crawl.

She hurried back to the supermarket for safety.

Just as she returned, she saw Zhao Changyan talking with Zhou Li. She couldn’t understand a word, so she sat by the door, swatting mosquitoes.

*

Zhao Changyan glanced at the “new envoy” beside Zhou Li, feeling an unexpected pang of insecurity—like she’d been replaced.

Still, she kept her composure. “Boss, is that your true divine envoy?”

Her own “envoy” title had been self-proclaimed; this woman, brought by Zhou Li, was the real thing.

“She’s a supermarket employee,” Zhou Li explained. “My subordinate.”

Zhao Changyan remembered she’d once been one too—a temporary worker, as Zhou Li had put it.

She suddenly found her own pettiness laughable.

From the moment she’d sworn vengeance, she’d cut off the path to transcendence.

She was human—why covet a destiny that wasn’t hers?

Once she accepted that, her expression softened, the heaviness in her gaze lifting away.

After some small talk, she didn’t forget the other reason she’d come.

“Boss, do you still have any ‘Yunnan Baiyao’ in stock?”

Previously, to treat refugees suffering from an epidemic, Zhou Li had brought in a large batch of medicines and medical herbs—including Yunnan Baiyao aerosol spray and ointment.

Yunnan Baiyao was known as the “sacred medicine of trauma care.” Whether for bruises and contusions or for resolving blood stasis, stopping bleeding, detoxifying, and reducing swelling, it was remarkably effective.

Of course, it had even more applications, but since it was a prescription drug, most people rarely had the chance to use it.

However, the aerosol spray and ointment were over-the-counter versions, available in any pharmacy or supermarket. Their effects focused mainly on promoting circulation, dispersing bruises, and relieving pain and swelling.

Because of her military background, Zhao Changyan immediately saw how such a medicine could be used to its fullest potential.

—The army was desperately short of such drugs!

She had even considered asking Zhou Li to sell her the formula, but Zhou Li didn’t know it either. The packaging contained no ingredient list.

So Zhao could only have the military physicians study it on their own. When they couldn’t figure it out, she had no choice but to order more directly from Zhou Li.

Zhou Li found the order rather troublesome.

The Yunnan Baiyao formula was a state-level secret. The powder version required a prescription to buy. Although the spray and ointment were over-the-counter, purchasing large quantities at once would draw unwanted attention.

Still, it wasn’t an unsolvable problem.

If the only requirement was equivalent efficacy, she could find substitutes in the Interstellar World.

She had already tested this with An Yixiao—the results proved that even for humans from another world, interstellar pharmaceuticals worked just as well.

Her only headache was that Wolf Pharmaceuticals seemed to have taken an interest in the supermarket and had started threatening the city hall and the Richter family, refusing further drug supplies.

Hmm. It looked like she’d have to do some maneuvering in the Interstellar World.

If she could resolve the medicine supply issue there, she’d never have to return to her original world to restock again.

After thinking this through, Zhou Li told Zhao Changyan, “These medicines are special—even the supermarket can’t prepare large quantities.”

Zhao nodded. “I understand!”

To better play the role of a “divine envoy,” she had studied Taoist cosmology in depth.

She knew that Taoism had various branches—such as the Talismanic Sect and the Alchemical Sect.

The “elixir” of the Alchemical Sect referred to real pill-making and pharmacology.

—There were two branches: external alchemy, which involved refining substances in furnaces (popular before the Song Dynasty), and internal alchemy, the meditative path that replaced it in later centuries.

From Zhao Changyan’s perspective, it made perfect sense that Zhou Li didn’t rely on alchemical pills for her “cultivation,” and thus didn’t store many medicines.

She smiled inwardly. “Indeed, shortcuts lead to weakness. Once people get used to them, it’s hard to change.”

Ever since Zhou Li and her supermarket appeared, some people had grown dependent on external aid.

Farmers who ought to till the soil now thought: If the Celestial Dwelling sells grain, why bother planting it myself?

Water-carriers thought: If the Celestial Dwelling has clean water you can drink without boiling, why still fetch it?

Some even grew lazy and greedy, believing that if they chopped a few precious trees and sold the wood to the supermarket, they could earn thousands of membership points—why bother working hard?

Fortunately, such people were a minority.

Because the supermarket only appeared seven days a month—and imposed purchase limits—the villagers all felt a sense of crisis. They feared that if the goddess stopped descending one day, and they had no reserves, they would starve for failing to produce anything themselves.

Zhao Changyan, no longer troubled by basic survival, was in more danger of falling into that subtle trap of complacency.

…

She didn’t stay long in the supermarket, because Qiao Siniang had come in, leading several well-dressed noblewomen.

They were the wives of local officials and magistrates, and upon seeing Zhao Changyan, they naturally came forward to greet her.

Having been harassed by their endless chatter before, Zhao quickly excused herself and slipped away.

Qiao Siniang greeted her politely but not too warmly.

Some debts of gratitude were best remembered quietly; flaunting them in public—especially when status was unequal—would only make people think her obsequious.

After exchanging pleasantries with Zhou Li, Qiao Siniang led Madam Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi to the checkout counter and began explaining the products one by one.

Although her main sales were sanitary pads, shampoo, and body wash, she wasn’t about to overlook another highly promising market—barrier-type products, namely contraceptives.

[Author’s Note]

Qiao Siniang: “I’m an unmarried maiden introducing these to a bunch of married mothers—isn’t that a bit inappropriate?”

Zhou Li: “You’re discussing it right in front of me. Did I complain?”

☢️☢️☢️

Zhao Changyan could tell at a glance that the new divine envoy was no ordinary person.

First of all, her clothing resembled that of the small shopkeeper.

That alone proved she wasn’t from Dayue or the Chu Kingdom.

—If a woman from their lands wore such short-sleeved, bare-legged garments, with her hair loose like that, she’d feel unbearably self-conscious. But this “new envoy” looked perfectly natural and calm, as though she’d always dressed that way.

Second, when the new envoy looked at them, her gaze was full of curiosity—yet everything she did centered around the small shopkeeper’s lead.

And finally, everyone saw with their own eyes—the moment the envoy stomped her foot, the ground trembled.

If that wasn’t divine power, what was?

The crowd was so terrified that they all dropped to their knees in worship.

…

An Fengxuan: …

All she’d done was use her ability a little to keep order—just to scare them into quieting down.

How did it escalate into everyone kneeling?!

Zhou Li nearly burst out laughing.

She didn’t let it show in front of the crowd, though. Instead, she beckoned An Fengxuan inside and said, “They can’t understand what you’re saying.”

An Fengxuan was dumbfounded.

She asked, “Boss, but you can?”

Zhou Li replied, “I know a bit of the common tongue.”

The official language of the Ancient World was Zhongyuan Court Speech, so Zhou Li could understand that—but not the local dialects.

In the Interstellar World, the official tongues were Li language (of the Lirian people), the Federal language spoken in the Kepler language of the Kepler territories—so anything outside those three she couldn’t follow.

In the Infinite World, the region she’d appeared in mostly spoke Mandarin, so she could manage without the system’s translator.

However, for An Fengxuan—who came from yet another world—communication was a real problem.

The system didn’t automatically equip employees with real-time translation; Zhou Li would have to spend extra energy to unlock that feature.

Zhou Li refused flatly. “I don’t even have the energy to unlock minor language packs. You think I’m giving my staff translation privileges?”

Anyway, An Fengxuan’s job was security. She didn’t need to chat with the locals.

Zhou Li said, “Usually no one dares make trouble here, so just ease off a bit—don’t hurt anyone.”

“Understood.” An Fengxuan stood guard at the door like a temple guardian.

The villagers she’d startled were still whispering among themselves, unsure what the goddess meant by her silence.

Zhao Changyan was the first to step inside the supermarket.

Seeing the new envoy didn’t stop her, the others gradually rose from their knees and went about their own business.

After some time apart, Zhao Changyan was even more respectful toward Zhou Li than before. “I greet you, Boss.”

Zhou Li asked, “And where is that Gong Qiongxian?”

“Attendant Gong has returned to the capital. She sent me to transport the goods back,” said Zhao Changyan, producing the official Dayue court membership card and the related documents.

Orders of this scale didn’t require the representative herself to inspect and collect the goods, so once Zhou Li confirmed the paperwork, she told the system to “spit out” the items.

The spatial folding storage technology was applied to the vending machine, so Zhao Changyan had to assign workers to unload and stack the heavy rice bags, then check them one by one.

Since the vending machine area was occupied, the rest of the customers had to enter the store for manual shopping.

Watching them, An Fengxuan couldn’t help frowning—their efficiency was painfully low.

She said to Zhou Li, “Boss, they’re moving so slowly. Why don’t I help them, so they don’t all have to crowd inside to shop?”

Zhou Li asked, “And how would you help?”

An Fengxuan patted her “Elementary School backpack.” “I could load things into this, run them to the drop-off point, then unload.”

Zhou Li replied, “That backpack’s tiny. How many trips would you have to make?”

An Fengxuan was speechless.

Zhou Li added, “A single person’s strength is limited.”

An Fengxuan fell silent, thoughtful.

Then she remembered Zhou Li’s guiding principle—Zhou Li never took sides. In dungeons, she never helped players simply because they were human, nor opposed monsters for moral reasons.

Likewise, she didn’t favor the Blue Owl Guild just because of An Yixiao, nor did she bar other guilds from shopping.

Even now, watching soldiers haul 100-jin rice sacks, panting and sweating, Zhou Li didn’t offer them any easier method.

From the start, Zhou Li’s supermarket had always been a place that sold goods—nothing more. Officially, it didn’t intervene in anyone’s affairs.

Something in An Fengxuan’s restless, wide-eyed heart finally settled.

…

Even without An Fengxuan’s help, Zhao Changyan efficiently completed the handover.

Once she confirmed the goods were all in order, she oversaw the transport down the mountain.

This time, she didn’t rely on manpower alone.

When Gong Qiongxian had assigned her the task, she’d already arranged to build a pulley line using the slope difference between the mountain top and the foot of the hill.

Workers could control descent speed with gears and levers.

It was a crude setup, but since it only carried cargo—not people—even a snapped rope wouldn’t cause disaster.

Bag by bag, Zhao Changyan sent the rice down the mountain, where carriages and ox carts awaited.

Meanwhile, back in the capital, Gong Qiongxian received commendation from Emperor Feng Sheng.

Prince Wei, Feng Zhang, had already confirmed that the goddess truly existed. Since Gong Qiongxian had established contact with her, she was naturally valued all the more.

Gong Qiongxian declined the emperor’s rewards, admitting guilt for acting without explicit imperial approval—ordering ten thousand shi of rice and a thousand sacks of salt on her own.

But how could Feng Sheng possibly blame her?

He himself had approved her dealings with the goddess in principle, and besides, buying refined rice and salt was laudable enough.

What Gong Qiongxian didn’t mention was that the supplies weren’t for luxury feasts, but for disaster relief and pacifying the people.

While the emperor was in good spirits, opposition in court quieted down. Seizing the moment, Gong Qiongxian praised Zhao Changyan’s contributions.

The goddess, she explained, avoided interfering in worldly affairs to remain free of karmic ties—but she pitied humankind and thus sent a divine envoy—Zhao Changyan—to walk among mortals and handle worldly matters on her behalf.

“Why shouldn’t Dayue make good use of her?” Gong Qiongxian concluded.

Feng Sheng asked, “What is Zhao Changyan’s talent?”

“She’s skilled in military command,” said Gong Qiongxian.

At once, the eunuch Shao Chenshu objected. After all, Zhao Changyan was a woman—when had a woman ever led troops?

Gong Qiongxian silenced him with the example of Lady Xian, a legendary female general.

So Shao Chenshu went to Prince Wei, Feng Zhang, hoping the cunning eldest prince would side with him.

But Feng Zhang, recalling Zhao Changyan’s temperament, said, “The one commanding hundreds of thousands of Dayue troops now is Eunuch Wu Huaien.”

Wu Huaien was also a eunuch.

To Feng Zhang, eunuchs and women were alike—they posed no threat to imperial power.

Thus, he had no objection to Zhao Changyan commanding troops.

Shao Chenshu hadn’t expected that one brief trip to the immortal village would turn both Feng Zhang and Gong Qiongxian against him.

And what of Fan Yuxian—

“Wait,” said Shao Chenshu suddenly. “Where is Envoy Fan?”

Feng Zhang snorted. “Her? That fraud? How could she dare show her face again!”

Shao Chenshu blanched, cold sweat beading down his back.

Fan Yuxian was his protégé—the one he had personally helped rise in favor.

Both emperor and prince had once trusted her completely—how had she been exposed?

Feng Zhang recounted everything he’d witnessed: how the goddess had fought Fan Yuxian and utterly humiliated her.

Enraged, Emperor Feng Sheng ordered her arrest.

But Fan Yuxian had already fled—slipping away while Feng Zhang returned to the capital and Gong Qiongxian and Zhao Changyan were busy with official matters.

She escaped deep into the mountains and forests, where no one could find her for the time being.

Emperor Feng Sheng stripped her of office, then, citing Zhao Changyan’s merits, appointed her as Palace Envoy of the immortal village and Captain of the Palace Guard.

A captain was a mid-to-lower military rank in the central imperial guard, commanding about three hundred men.

Without a doubt, Zhao Changyan had replaced Fan Yuxian, earning the trust of both emperor and heir apparent.

The old power balance—where eunuchs and witch officials allied against the civil officials—shifted overnight into a new triad: female officials, eunuchs, and scholars—three powers now standing in equilibrium.

☢️☢️☢️

The Home World & the Ancient World

Last time, Gong Qiongxian had ordered a large amount of grain from Zhou Li.

So when Zhou Li returned to her home world this time, most of her restocking centered around food supplies.

Gong Qiongxian’s order totaled 1.18 million jin (approximately 590 tons) of grain. Bulk rice was packed in 100-jin bags, so she needed 11,800 bags in total.

Worried that such a massive shipment might attract government attention, Zhou Li discussed it with Gong Qiongxian and Zhao Changyan, and they agreed to replace some of the rice with flour, potatoes, and sweet potatoes.

Potatoes and sweet potatoes could be planted and also used as famine relief crops, and Gong Qiongxian believed they were worth promoting.

However, Zhou Li warned, they couldn’t replace rice as a staple food.

Because these crops were also vulnerable to disease, large-scale planting could trigger disasters like late blight, causing devastating agricultural losses.

The most famous example, she said, was the Irish Great Famine.

So, keeping their proportion to about 10–20% of total planting would be enough.

The final revised order became:

• 800,000 jin of rice (8,000 bags)
• 80,000 jin of egg noodles (10,000 boxes, 8 jin each)
• 100,000 jin each of potatoes, sweet potatoes, and corn.

Originally, Zhou Li thought she’d need to deliver in multiple batches—but then she received good news from the system.

“The spatial folding storage technology you requested has been approved. You may use it once per month, for up to 48 hours each time.”

The system explained that the technique consumed immense energy, and limiting its use to under 48 hours was the most efficient balance.

Not only did it save power, it also allowed Zhou Li to fulfill large multi-world orders in one go—and served as preparation for opening new world routes.

Overjoyed, Zhou Li still had one concern. “But with such a big order, won’t the authorities notice?”

The system couldn’t help her with that part.

Thinking it over, she opened the National Grain Trading Center’s official website—and there, she spotted an announcement from a local reserve grain company about a rice auction.

On a whim, she clicked on the link.

Normally, registration was required—but she found that the computer, or rather the IP address, was already registered.

It didn’t take a genius to guess—the registered user was her mother, Ms. Zhou Hao.

Zhou Li was stunned and immediately called her mother. “Mom, you’re a member of the National Grain Trading Center?”

The trading center used a membership system.

Both buyers and sellers had to submit documentation and be verified by provincial trading authorities.

Only licensed domestic grain, oil, and feed companies could trade there.

Her little family supermarket obviously didn’t qualify.

So how on earth had her mother pulled this off?

Zhou Hao made a puzzled sound. “Hmm? Why are you poking around there? Our shop doesn’t need bulk grain like that.”

Zhou Li stiffened—her mother was too perceptive.

But Zhou Hao wasn’t fishing for answers. She continued casually, “We once bought grain from nearby villages, so I got the necessary licenses for grain and oil trade just in case.”

Zhou Li was speechless.

Are those kinds of permits really that easy to get?

Mother, how many surprises are you hiding from me?

But even then, her mom hadn’t used a computer in ages—so how did the site log in automatically?

“That was me,” said the system.

“…Excuse me?” Zhou Li said. “Didn’t you say you couldn’t help me with this kind of problem?”

“I can’t solve your problem of moving 1.18 million jin of grain,” said the system matter-of-factly. “But if you want to legally purchase grain through the trading center, and you already have valid documentation and qualifications, I can handle the process for you.”

Zhou Li was silent for a moment, then asked, “So I can now buy grain and oil openly through official channels?”

“Yes.”

It felt almost too easy—but with that burden lifted, she could finally breathe again.

As for whether selling such a large amount of grain to the ancient world would deplete domestic reserves—there was no need to worry.

While the country strictly regulated grain import and export quotas, her total wasn’t significant.

Aside from Gong Qiongxian’s large order, her cumulative sales before this were less than 400,000 jin—about 200 tons.

The country mainly imported corn and soybeans.

For staples like rice and wheat, self-sufficiency exceeded 95%.

Even with domestic needs secured, China still exported nearly 2 million tons of rice annually.

Her total—200 tons previously plus 400 tons now—made 600 tons in all.

A 600-ton export wouldn’t make the slightest dent in the market.

Still, Zhou Li decided she wouldn’t take such large grain orders again—not out of fear of shortages, but because the spatial folding storage technology was incredibly expensive.

*

As soon as she arrived in the Ancient World, the system’s voice echoed urgently:

“Warning: remaining system energy supports only three standard interdimensional transfers and one emergency transfer. Frequent travel between worlds is not recommended!”

Zhou Li sighed. “Got it, got it. I’ll have them pick up the goods right away, then shut off the storage function.”

*

An Fengxuan came rushing down the stairs.

“Boss!”

Zhou Li rubbed her temples—her head was still buzzing from the system’s chatter. “What is it?”

An Fengxuan glanced outside.

Though the night beyond was pitch black, she could clearly tell the scenery had changed.

But her Boss looked completely unfazed—as if she’d seen it all before.

An Fengxuan calmed herself and asked, “Boss, since we’ve left the Public Hall, does that mean we’ve entered another dungeon?”

“This is another world,” said Zhou Li, looking at her.

Even though An Fengxuan had mentally prepared herself, hearing those words still sent a shiver through her chest; her pupils contracted slightly.

Zhou Li continued, “Although you’re an official employee and most likely immune to the viruses and bacteria here, I don’t recommend wandering around. I don’t take responsibility for collecting employee corpses.”

An Fengxuan recalled that whether in the dungeons or the Public Hall, the Boss never seemed to leave the supermarket.

She knew she wasn’t nearly as capable as the Boss—though her abilities and items still worked, someone who could travel freely between entire worlds was clearly far more powerful and mysterious—so she naturally decided not to go exploring.

“I understand… Boss, it looks like someone’s outside. Should I open the door?”

“No need. Whatever they need, they’ll buy from the vending machines. Go get some rest; we open for business at eight in the morning.”

How am I supposed to sleep after this? thought An Fengxuan.

She had just traveled to another world—without getting hit by a car or any freak accident. Wasn’t this exactly how romance-novel heroines started their stories!?

On instinct, she tried using her comms device to contact An Yixiao, but there was no signal at all.

So she went back to bed, pulled out a photo frame from her “elementary school backpack” (which An Yixiao had returned to her before she left), and set it on the nightstand.

It was the An family’s portrait.

Hearing faint noises outside, she leaned on the windowsill to watch for a long while, then eventually fell asleep under the starlight and moon.

*

Zhou Li had already informed the people of Immortal Village that she would “descend” for seven days each month—from the first to the seventh day.

Today was the first day of the month.

Zhou Wanniang and Hua Xiangzhi arrived again, this time bringing along their sisters-in-law and a few friends.

With soldiers escorting them, they no longer feared mountain bandits or thieves along the way.

Qiao Siniang traveled with them, taking advantage of the protection to return to Immortal Village safely.

—Though they’d learned to be cautious after a few close calls, they still worried whenever they went out for business.

Sometimes it wasn’t bandits or rebels that were dangerous, but desperate refugees with nothing left to lose.

Fortunately, after the Dayue court publicly announced the existence of the goddess, refugees passing through Yangshan Pass became much more restrained.

They feared that if the goddess witnessed their crimes, she might bring divine punishment upon them.

When Zhou Wanniang saw Qiao Siniang with them, she called her over and asked about the supermarket.

She had visited once before, but that time had been purely to meet the goddess. She hadn’t brought anything to trade.

Before she could return with proper offerings, the goddess and her “celestial dwelling” had vanished together—so she’d missed both the audience and her chance to shop.

This time, she had come prepared, bringing a large selection of fine goods as offerings.

Qiao Siniang explained, “The goddess doesn’t accept offerings from anyone. Lady Zhou should just exchange these items for points to use in shopping. As long as everyone buys goods from the celestial dwelling, the goddess will be pleased.”

Zhou Wanniang and the others found it odd.

Whenever they went to temples or monasteries, they always brought offerings and donated incense money—what the monks and priests called redemption or merit silver.

This goddess truly was different from the rest.

Chatting as they went, they reached Immortal Village and found empty houses to stay in for the night.

At dawn, the servants reported that the goddess had descended again and that the celestial dwelling had reappeared.

After washing up, everyone joined the villagers and made their way up the mountain in a long, bustling procession.

Zhao Changyan was among them.

Gong Qiongxian had already returned to the capital, leaving Zhao Changyan behind to deliver the ordered grain and salt back to the capital. That way, Gong Qiongxian could later take credit for the shipment—and use the opportunity to push Zhao Changyan into the military ranks.

In Dayue, most generals were eunuchs, so Gong Qiongxian had to return early to make arrangements.

Qiao Siniang saw Zhao Changyan in her official robes but didn’t approach her.

From the moment Zhao Changyan had left for the capital, their paths had already diverged.

Still, Qiao Siniang felt deep gratitude toward her for the guidance and help she had once given.

When they reached the mountaintop, everyone was greeted by the familiar sight of the celestial dwelling they hadn’t seen in so long.

But to their surprise—this time, there was someone new standing beside the goddess: a divine envoy.

☢️☢️☢️

Not long ago, many had suspected An Yixiao because of Han Xi’s words, but now public opinion had shifted toward the Blue Owl Guild.

Say what you will—An Yixiao’s character was the guild’s reputation. She simply wasn’t the type to pull something like this.

The Carefree Guild, on the other hand, had a far less stellar reputation.

If someone said Han Xi did it, people would probably believe them.

Seeing this, Han Xi could only shut his mouth.

“What do we do now?” An Fengxuan whispered to An Yixiao.

The solution was simple enough—An Yixiao could use her eerie left eye.

But tools were a player’s lifeline, their hidden trump cards. Once others knew all your tools, you lost your edge.

Her possession of the eerie left eye was still a secret.

She suspected the Carefree Guild had guessed she’d gained S-class items from clearing [Dawn Village] and [Mingde Academy], and they’d likely orchestrated this to force her into revealing another one.

Having already heard from An Fengxuan what the outside looked like from inside the supermarket, An Yixiao had a theory. “This must be a spatial displacement combined with visual deception tool.”

A tool couldn’t both shift the supermarket into another space and perfectly preserve the external scenery.

So it was more like a magic trick—the supermarket seemed gone, but it was still here. The tool just diverted anyone who tried to approach it into another area, while the illusion made them think they were still walking straight.

Because of that misdirection, no one noticed anything wrong.

And since no one actually entered that displaced zone, people inside the supermarket saw an unchanging view—no movement, no passersby, only still buildings.

In other words, to break the illusion, one had to “break the magician’s props.”

“Lin Huan, lend that item to Fengxuan,” said An Yixiao.

Chen Linhuan understood instantly. “Got it.”

She handed over the item, then dispersed the onlookers.

An Fengxuan blinked in confusion. “Why give it to me?”

Couldn’t Chen Linhuan use it herself?

“Because you’re the only official employee,” said An Yixiao.

The tool in question was a large-area offensive item. If Chen Linhuan used it, the supermarket might classify it as an attack, blacklist her, and retaliate.

But as an official employee, any action An Fengxuan took could be interpreted as protecting the supermarket.

That was something An Yixiao had figured out during her own shifts there.

An Fengxuan only half understood, but followed instructions.

The moment she activated the tool, she felt raw power surge through her veins—like she could topple a mountain with her bare hands.

“Yah!” she shouted, charging forward and leaping high before slamming her fist into the empty space before her with her eyes shut.

A thunderous boom shook the ground, rippling out thirty meters in every direction.

And with that single strike—the supermarket reappeared before everyone’s eyes.

The simplest way to break a magic trick was to smash every piece of the magician’s gear.

Watching the barrier vanish, Chen Linhuan said, “That was an A-class item—‘Illusion Bubble.’”

Han Xi’s face darkened, and An Yixiao smiled faintly. “Looks like we don’t need to guess who did it.”

Everyone’s gaze turned to Han Xi.

They all remembered—his nickname was The Magician.

Han Xi snapped, “Just because you say it’s ‘Illusion Bubble’ doesn’t make it true!”

“Save your excuses,” Chen Linhuan said coldly.

An Yixiao, calm and emotionless, announced, “Vice President Han Xi of the Carefree Guild came to the Blue Owl Guild’s territory to cause trouble. This is an act of war. Blue Owl Guild accepts. From this moment, all Carefree Guild members are banned from setting foot on our land.”

A guild war.

It wasn’t a small matter.

The territorial ban was trivial—the real danger came from blockades inside dungeons.

The Carefree Guild had once waged such wars to steal smaller guilds’ resources, forcing those guilds to disband while their tools ended up in Carefree’s vault.

But now, Blue Owl was united and had two S-class players on deck. Whether Carefree could still throw its weight around was another story.

*

Meanwhile, Zhou Li had just finished chatting with the system about new worlds and was heading to make lunch—since there hadn’t been any customers lately—when alarms blared.

“Warning: supermarket under attack by employee An Fengxuan. Defense system activated.”

“…What?” Zhou Li froze.

The new hire wasn’t even fully onboard yet—was she quitting by force?

Then she saw a huge shimmering bubble burst, and the noise of a crowd outside.

When she spotted An Fengxuan running toward the store, she muttered, “Not an attack—she’s clearing the trouble outside.”

The alarm faded, and the defense system logged the event.

“Boss!” An Fengxuan burst through the door.

“What happened?” Zhou Li asked.

An Fengxuan gave a quick summary.

When An Yixiao’s declaration about a guild war came through the comms, An Fengxuan gaped. “But she’s usually so cautious! Why would she start a guild war?”

“If someone’s already hitting you, not fighting back just makes you look weak,” Zhou Li said matter-of-factly.

Blue Owl had always been low-key, but that didn’t mean they lacked power.

If they kept quiet in the face of such provocation, it wouldn’t be humility—it’d be cowardice.

“Put up a notice,” Zhou Li said. “This shop will no longer sell to Carefree Guild members.”

Carefree’s interference had disrupted business and delayed her schedule—she had to respond.

The system asked, “What schedule did they delay?”

Zhou Li replied confidently, “If we lose half a day of sales, it delays stock turnover, which delays my resupply trip back to my home world—and that delays the next world jump.”

The system had no comeback.

*

An Fengxuan cheerfully posted the announcement outside.

Han Xi, face stormy, muttered, “Hmph, who needs that stupid shop anyway.”

To save face, he likewise banned Carefree members from shopping there.

When that message reached his guild, members exploded in outrage.

It was one thing to bully smaller guilds before—they were weak and easy prey.

But now? They’d picked a fight with Blue Owl!

An Yixiao ranked third, and Duan Jing was newly S-class.

That meant Carefree Guild was taking on two major guilds at once.

Why should everyone else pay for the egos of a few arrogant leaders?

They already had to turn in one item from each dungeon run and surrender part of their earnings. Sure, it was tolerable when strong players like Lin Ao carried them through difficult clears.

But outside dungeons, there was no benefit—only punishment.

So why should they share the fallout?

Withdrawal requests skyrocketed overnight.

Carefree’s expansion had always been reckless—they’d recruited anyone and everyone to claim the title of “largest guild.”

Of course, “largest” didn’t mean “strongest.”

They liked to call themselves “the number-one guild,” but Blue Owl never bothered arguing over such things.

And because The Game had no official guild ranking, “number-one guild” and “largest guild” were just bragging rights.

Now that members were quitting—only one percent at first, but still hundreds of people—the exodus gained momentum fast.

People were herd creatures.

On the first day, a hundred left—most of them those who already wanted out. But even the loyal ones felt uneasy.

On the second day, another hundred left—their confidence wavered further.

By the third and fourth days, they weren’t thinking about who stayed; they were wondering if leaving was the smarter move.

Whether they could still shop at the supermarket was no longer the deciding factor.

*

The Good Life Supermarket stayed open for three more days in the Public Hall.

Since it was nearly time to jump worlds again, Zhou Li posted a notice saying business would pause in a few days—anyone wanting to stock up had better hurry.

With An Fengxuan guarding the door, Carefree members couldn’t sneak in; she caught every one of them.

Meanwhile, under orders from An Yixiao and Duan Jing, members of Blue Owl and Dali Guild practically emptied the shelves.

Watching the revenue totals climb, Zhou Li thought, At least this trip paid off.

She told An Fengxuan to take mandatory rest while she returned to her home world for resupply.

Thanks to the special nature of the Infinite Planes, when the supermarket came back, only half a day had passed.

But this time, Zhou Li didn’t reopen.

Looking at the sky, she told An Fengxuan, “We’ll be leaving at midnight. Do you want to say goodbye?”

An Fengxuan paused, then said softly, “No need. I already have.”

In truth, she hoped they would leave soon—because the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to let go.

It had taken An Yixiao great effort to win her this chance, and it had taken her just as long to accept it.

“Then let’s go,” Zhou Li said to the system. “Head for the Ancient World.”

☢️☢️☢️

The Good Life Supermarket had just jumped from the dungeon back into the Public Hall.

From the system’s perspective, it needed to complete several large transactions before it could recover its operational costs, so it didn’t rush Zhou Li to depart for another world yet.

Still, it had already begun urging her to consider potential new worlds.

“One of next worlds has zombies,” the system informed her.

Zhou Li frowned. “…That dangerous? Is there anything valuable there?”

In novels, the valuable stuff was usually things like crystal cores—but those were tied to supernatural powers.

She couldn’t imagine who in the auction house would actually buy something like that.

“Gold, for instance,” said the system.

Zhou Li perked up. “So that world’s full of gold?”

“…No,” the system admitted.

Even with most of the population wiped out by a zombie virus, leaving only a few hundred million survivors, gold wouldn’t become more abundant just because there were fewer people.

Zhou Li asked, “Then what about pollution? Are there places where farmland or water sources have been contaminated—like no clean drinking water or irrigation?”

“You can investigate that world yourself,” the system said evasively.

“Figures,” Zhou Li sighed. “You said the same thing for the last few worlds too.”

The system continued, “Another approved candidate is a world of steam and magic. It’s somewhat like your Industrial Era, but with the addition of sorcery. And it’s… special.”

“Special like the Infinite Planes?” Zhou Li asked.

“No,” said the system. “This world reveres deities, and is divided into two major factions—the magic faction that worships the Old Gods, and the technology faction that follows the New Gods. Each has divine patrons behind the scenes.”

Zhou Li grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like an easy place to do business.”

If her supermarket appeared there, the tech faction might see its goods as the key to advancing science—and try to raise her as a symbol of progress.

That would instantly make her a target for the rival magic faction.

If she had to deal with constant holy wars and propaganda every day, how could she even keep the doors open?

“Anyway,” she said dryly, “what’s valuable in that world?”

“Magic stones,” replied the system.

Zhou Li stared blankly.

“Flying brooms. Magic wands,” it added helpfully.

She retorted, “What’s next—Voldemort and Harry Potter?”

“No,” said the system.

Zhou Li immediately lost interest.

Those items were probably useless in her main world—and even if they weren’t, she wouldn’t dare use them.

If people got too greedy and used magic irresponsibly, it could cause chaos across entire societies.

Still, on the bright side, the auction system probably prohibited trading overly dangerous items as a safeguard for inter-world balance.

She asked, “Any other options?”

“There’s one visa-free world,” the system said, “but it’s been flagged as high-risk by multiple inspectors.”

“What kind of high risk?”

“The evaluations describe it as being similar to some countries in your world. Misconduct includes things like breaking agreements, seizing assets, or scamming visitors. For example, when a field agent arrives, they might detain the supermarket for ‘missing permits’ or issue huge fines for ‘tax violations.’”

Zhou Li was speechless.

“Very accurate description,” she muttered.

“Any employees ever scammed there?”

“No,” said the system, “but inspectors run simulations to assess each world’s risk level.”

“Then why not blacklist it outright?”

“Because it still has business potential. Excellent agents know how to manage risk. We hope you’ll become one soon.”

Zhou Li forced a professional smile, though inwardly she was dismayed.

All three worlds sounded terrible.

Still, since she hadn’t yet earned enough in this one to break even, there was no rush to leave.

*

“What’s going on today? The store’s been open an hour, and not a single customer?”

The supermarket was unusually quiet.

Zhou Li began to suspect the system had secretly jumped the shop to another world without her permission.

“I’ll go take a look, Boss,” said An Fengxuan.

Since they were still in the Public Hall and close to Blue Owl Guild headquarters, Zhou Li figured she’d be safe and nodded.

But moments after An Fengxuan stepped outside, she vanished.

Zhou Li blinked. “…Did someone use an item to conceal the supermarket?”

It was just like when the S-class anomaly Wang Hui had “hidden” the shop back in [Dawn Village].

Because it didn’t directly threaten the supermarket or Zhou Li, the protection system hadn’t triggered, and no warning appeared.

Outside, An Fengxuan suddenly found herself facing a crowd—and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Young Miss!” someone shouted.

She turned to see Chen Jiaoyan running toward her.

“Who are you calling ‘Young Miss’?” An Fengxuan frowned.

But Chen Jiaoyan grabbed her arm in relief. “You’re still here!”

“…Huh?” An Fengxuan was confused. “I became the supermarket employee, but the shop’s still here. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The supermarket’s still here too?” Chen Jiaoyan gasped.

“What are you talking about? It’s right—” An Fengxuan turned, then froze in shock.

The supermarket was gone.

Chen Jiaoyan followed her gaze—and saw nothing.

Panicked, An Fengxuan ran toward the spot, but no matter how far she went, it was just empty ground.

“H-how can this be? It was right here a second ago!”

Maybe the Boss and the store had jumped to another dungeon while she was outside?

“No,” said Chen Jiaoyan. “The supermarket vanished right after closing last night.”

“Impossible! I was upstairs resting all night—I could still see Blue Owl HQ from the window!”

When they compared notes, the truth dawned on both of them.

They said together, “The space around the supermarket’s been isolated!”

During the [Dawn Village] dungeon, Lü Chui had seen an S-class anomaly separate the supermarket from the village entirely.

He’d logged that in the strategy archives, so most Blue Owl members knew it was possible.

Now that they realized the store hadn’t disappeared but been sealed off from perception, everything made sense.

But unlike Wang Hui’s crude attempt in [Dawn Village], this time there wasn’t the slightest flaw to exploit.

“Where’s An Yixiao?” An Fengxuan asked.

“She thought the supermarket had left too, so she went to recover from her injuries,” Chen Jiaoyan said.

“Forget it then,” said An Fengxuan. “Don’t bother her—I’ll figure this out myself.”

But as she spoke, An Yixiao appeared.

Looking at her sister, she said coolly, “Did you even pay attention during employee training?”

“…What?” An Fengxuan blinked.

“Others might not be able to find the supermarket,” An Yixiao said, “but as an official employee, you should.”

“I was forced into this job, okay?!” An Fengxuan protested. “I barely understood what was happening!”

Knowing her sister’s shortcomings, An Yixiao didn’t scold her further. She simply studied the empty space in front of her.

When Blue Owl members learned the supermarket hadn’t left but had been sealed away, they rushed over, buzzing with speculation.

“Who did it?”

“Who else? Must be Carefree Guild. If they can’t have the Boss, they’ll destroy her.”

“Hey, don’t make baseless claims,” came a calm voice. It was Han Xi, arriving with his men. “All our guild’s items are logged and registered. If someone used a spatial device, we’d know—and we don’t have one.”

An Yixiao gave him a sharp, knowing smile. “How impressive, Vice President Han—so quick to point out it’s a spatial item.”

Han Xi’s face twitched. “Isn’t that obvious? If it were just an illusion, walking forward would make you hit something. And it’s not a cloaking item—if the supermarket were hidden, people inside couldn’t see out.”

Quietly, An Fengxuan whispered to her sister, “I could see out from inside—but not the people outside.”

That sounded more like a visual distortion than true spatial isolation.

Another guild player asked, “Why would anyone do this?”

Han Xi replied, “Probably to block the supermarket from contacting the outside world—and monopolize its secrets.”

That implication was dangerously pointed. After all, only Blue Owl had direct ties to the supermarket—so the accusation was that they had hidden it, pretending to be innocent.

“So Blue Owl’s the thief crying thief?” someone muttered.

“Who’s talking nonsense?!” Chen Jiaoyan shouted furiously.

Han Xi met An Yixiao’s cold gaze. “Sometimes it’s better to divert suspicion than suppress it, President An.”

An Yixiao’s lips curved faintly. “A clever plan. Kill two birds with one stone… maybe four.”

“Four?” asked An Fengxuan.

“One: divert blame to Blue Owl, making people think we’re hoarding the supermarket’s secret. Two: send a warning to the Boss. Three: test whether she or I have hidden power. And four—sow discord.”

Ever since the [Mingde Academy] dungeon clear, rumors had spread across the Public Hall that the supermarket could “resist corruption, ignore game rules, and shelter players.”

That alone made it a coveted treasure.

If treated as an ultra–S-class artifact, it would naturally spark a scramble.

And because the Boss showed favor toward An Yixiao and operated near Blue Owl territory, jealousy was inevitable.

So this scheme aimed to drive a wedge between the Boss and Blue Owl—maybe she’d relocate to another guild.

At the same time, it would pit Blue Owl against the broader player base, turning them into villains while distracting everyone else.

An Yixiao said evenly, “Knowing the Boss as I do, I’d never do something like that.”

Duan Jing then pushed through the crowd.

“You guys really don’t get it,” she said. “The Boss isn’t ordinary. She can ignore the rules and move freely between dungeons. Even if you sealed this space, you can’t trap her. When it’s time for her to appear in a dungeon, she’ll appear.”

That revelation set off another wave of shocked chatter.

Han Xi sneered, “Then you do have motive—to drive her away, so the rest of us can’t shop here.”

“Use your pig brain for once!” Duan Jing snapped. “Who’s bought the most membership cards here? Who trades the most items for points? Blue Owl! Why would we hurt our own profits?”

The crowd fell silent.

“She’s right,” someone admitted. “Blue Owl members have the most points saved up. They’d lose the most if the supermarket disappeared!”

☢️☢️☢️

After clearing the [Mingde Academy] dungeon, An Yixiao returned to the Public Hall.

Because the system could track her position, the small supermarket followed her back as well, reappearing near the Blue Owl Guild headquarters.

The last time the supermarket had appeared, it had come and gone abruptly. This time, as soon as it showed up again, players who had been keeping watch immediately reported the news to their respective guilds.

Within just a few hours, representatives from the top five guilds had arrived.

Though some members of the Blue Owl Guild were unhappy about it, An Yixiao explained that the Boss didn’t like people interfering with her business. So they refrained from kicking the other guilds out.

An Yixiao didn’t bother to mention more details.

After all, if those guilds ended up offending Zhou Li and got themselves blacklisted by her, that would only benefit Blue Owl.

“Besides,” An Yixiao said calmly, “there are still plenty of smart people in this world.”

Duan Jing, who had been gloomy ever since losing so many companions in the dungeon, was distracted by this and tossed a toy in her hand with a faint smirk.

“Sure, there are smart people,” she said, “but some of them have been in power too long—used to bossing around low-level players and ordinary folks. They’re not stupid, but sometimes, cleverness backfires.”

…

“I’m Han Xi, Vice President of the Carefree Guild.”

Inside the Good Life Supermarket, Zhou Li had only just transitioned back to the Public Hall when she was immediately surrounded by a wave of “enthusiastic” customers.

Outside, members of Blue Owl were explaining to new allies from Dali Guild how to earn supermarket points and shop, but Zhou Li had already made a tutorial video—a PowerPoint turned into a looping presentation on a tablet.

Even so, most people still preferred to ask her directly.

She was already tired of answering the same questions over and over.

But lately, she had been reflecting on her own behavior. She might face similar situations in future jobs—dealing with repetitive questions and irritating clients—and she would need patience to handle them well.

So she treated this as early job training.

Hearing the man speak, Zhou Li asked politely, “What kind of service would you like to process today?”

Han Xi blinked.

She continued, “Membership registration, points redemption, or bulk orders? The counter currently only handles those three services.”

“…I’m here to invite you to join the Carefree Guild,” Han Xi said stiffly.

Zhou Li replied matter-of-factly, “Sorry, that’s not one of the available services.”

Han Xi frowned, assuming she didn’t understand how powerful his guild was.

He puffed himself up and said, “The Carefree Guild is the largest and strongest guild of all. We have two S-rank players. Our guild master, Lin Ao—known as ‘Proud Sky’s Chosen’—is ranked third…”

Zhou Li interrupted before she could stop herself. “Isn’t An Yixiao ranked third?”

Han Xi froze, face darkening.

After clearing two S-class dungeons in a row, An Yixiao had jumped from sixth to third.

There couldn’t be two players in the third slot, so Lin Ao had been pushed down to fourth.

They clearly weren’t used to being knocked from their usual high position.

Zhou Li realized she’d just poked a sore spot for no reason.

Exposing that truth did nothing except humiliate the Carefree Guild.

“I’m not a player,” she said lightly. “I won’t be joining any guild.”

Han Xi bristled, but since she wasn’t being openly hostile, he forced a smile and said, “That’s fine. Our guild welcomes all—players and non-players alike. Join us and you’ll be treated as an honored guest, with full access to guild resources.”

Zhou Li silently wondered if he was deaf. She had just said she wasn’t a player—what would she need with their resources?

And his pitch sounded nice on the surface, but she knew how it would really go: the moment she joined, the supermarket would effectively become Carefree Guild’s supermarket, and its goods their “resources.”

“I’m not joining any guild,” Zhou Li said flatly. “If you’re only here to recruit me, please leave. You’re interfering with my work.”

Her time was far too precious for meaningless social chatter.

Han Xi’s temper finally began to boil over. The moment she dismissed him, his face turned purple with rage.

“Whatever Blue Owl can give you, Carefree can give too!” he snapped.

Zhou Li looked up from her counter. “An Yixiao personally watches the door for me. How far is your ‘Proud Sky’s Chosen’ willing to go?”

He hadn’t even shown his face.

Han Xi choked on his words.

Who does she think she is? he fumed silently. As if our guild master would lower himself for a shopkeeper!

But he couldn’t say that aloud—it would burn every bridge.

The supermarket’s origin was mysterious, and rumors claimed it could shield players from corruption and act as a safe haven inside dungeons.

If that was true, it was worth any cost to seize it. Han Xi suspected the supermarket itself was a special item, and that its ability to travel between dungeons came from the shopkeeper’s innate skill. If so, it could be taken.

But since they didn’t yet know her full capabilities, he couldn’t risk open conflict.

Thinking quickly, he said, “Our guild master is currently inside a dungeon. When he clears it, he’ll come invite you personally. His offer will be far better than mine.”

“No need,” Zhou Li replied calmly. “It won’t matter who asks—I’ll still refuse.”

Han Xi tried to argue again but was promptly driven out by Chen Jiaoyan and the other Blue Owl players.

“Hey, can you not? If you’re not here to get a membership card, don’t block those who are!”

“Yeah! The Boss doesn’t want to talk to you. Take a hint and scram!”

“With all this time you’re wasting, the Boss could’ve processed five more memberships already!”

Han Xi’s face turned the color of raw liver. “You—!”

But since this was Blue Owl’s territory, he didn’t dare cause trouble.

He decided he’d return to Carefree Guild and rally their members to “teach Blue Owl a lesson.”

He left with his tail between his legs.

Zhou Li considered it a minor incident and soon forgot about it.

Cheerfully, she gathered up the items left behind, kept what she could use, and listed the rest for auction.

By the end of business hours, the supermarket’s profits had risen sharply again.

Just as she was finishing her bookkeeping, the door opened—and An Fengxuan walked in.

“Boss,” she greeted.

“Oh, it’s you,” Zhou Li replied.

An Fengxuan approached, her emotions a mix of excitement and frustration.

“Did you need something?” Zhou Li asked.

“How much does An Yixiao still owe you?” An Fengxuan asked.

Zhou Li handed her the ledger.

Despite An Yixiao’s frequent absences during work hours, Zhou Li had still counted full attendance pay and deducted part of the debt.

An Fengxuan then pulled out a bottle cap. “How much is this worth?”

At first Zhou Li thought it was just a “try again” prize cap—but it turned out to be a rare item.

[Try Again (B-grade)]Year: Unknown
Date of Origin: Unknown
Owner: An Fengxuan
Starting Bid: ???
Buyout Price: ???
Note: Congratulations! This cap grants one opportunity to re-enter a recently cleared dungeon and reset it entirely.

A rather useless item, really. Who would want to replay a dungeon they’d barely survived?

Still, for perfectionist players chasing flawless clears, it had niche value.

“It’s priceless,” Zhou Li said.

“Priceless” could mean it was extremely valuable—or worth nothing at all.

An Fengxuan sighed, then smiled faintly. “That makes sense.”

Zhou Li blinked. “You seem troubled.”

Taking a deep breath, An Fengxuan asked, “Boss, could you transfer An Yixiao’s debt to me?”

Zhou Li nodded. “Sure. Ready to work it off?”

Seeing Zhou Li’s calm expression, An Fengxuan realized the Boss had already known about An Yixiao’s plan.

Of course she had—nothing happened without her approval.

Without it, An Yixiao couldn’t have arranged something like this.

Once An Fengxuan agreed, Zhou Li brought out the labor contract originally signed with An Yixiao, along with a supplemental agreement for debt transfer and employment handover.

“You should think carefully,” Zhou Li warned. “Once you become a formal employee, you’ll no longer count as a normal player.”

Technically, An Yixiao being an “employee” hadn’t prevented her from entering dungeons. Zhou Li had bent the system rules to save her life, not to make her an actual staff member.

But making An Fengxuan official—that was at An Yixiao’s request.

…

Back in the [Mingde Academy] dungeon, An Yixiao had made that request.

She had said, “Boss, I know you’re not from our world—and I know you have the power to bring people from here to other worlds.”

The words had startled Zhou Li, though she kept her expression neutral.

An Yixiao continued, “I woke up once during treatment.”

She was always cautious—trusting no one completely, even among allies.

So even while near death and under anesthesia, her danger sense remained sharp.

When she was being moved into the medical capsule, that sense had briefly jolted her awake.

Though it lasted only seconds before the sedative pulled her under again, she had gathered bits of information from the surroundings—and from Zhou Li’s conversation with the ‘doctor.’

After recovering, she never asked about it directly, fearing she might offend the Boss.

But the more she observed Zhou Li, the more her suspicions solidified.

So she came up with the idea: to ask Zhou Li to take An Fengxuan away from this world.

Seeing that An Yixiao already knew her secret, Zhou Li had spoken plainly.

“I can take her,” she said, “but she’s still part of this world. In another world, she might be rejected by that world’s fabric. She wouldn’t be able to leave the supermarket. She’d appear free from this cage, but she’d actually just enter another one.”

…

Now, Zhou Li gave An Fengxuan the same warning.

“The supermarket and I won’t stay here forever. We’ll travel—to many places, through many worlds. You can think of those worlds as different dungeons. But as a stowaway, you might be rejected by the world itself, so you can’t step outside the store.”

In truth, formal employees were considered extensions of the supermarket and thus unlikely to be rejected by other realms’ governing laws.

But since people from this plane possessed innate abilities and artifacts, bringing them elsewhere could cause catastrophic imbalance—a “dimensional collapse.”

So Zhou Li had to restrict her staff.

And the best restriction was simple: keep them inside the store, like she did.

*

An Fengxuan didn’t object, so the transfer went smoothly.

The system anchor that had been bound to An Yixiao was moved to her.

She didn’t feel a thing.

“Where will I live?” she asked.

Zhou Li brought her upstairs to a guest room.

It was spacious—about twenty square meters—but sparsely furnished: a bed, a nightstand, and a pre-made wardrobe, taking up half the space. The rest was piled with merchandise, leaving only a narrow walkway to the door.

“Make do with this,” Zhou Li said. “Sheets, duvet, and pillowcases are in the closet. Toiletries—you can grab from the store.”

An Fengxuan stared blankly.

So this is the benefit of owning a supermarket…

Zhou Li added, “Before we leave, you can arrange your own accommodation if you want. Just clock in on time. You’ll have four rest days per month, plus some fixed off days. On those, the supermarket closes, and I’ll send you back here.”

She couldn’t take Fengxuan to her original world, so during supply runs back to that realm, she planned to let her employee rest.

An Fengxuan suspected the Boss did secret things on those “fixed off days,” things she didn’t even share with staff—so she didn’t pry further.

☢️☢️☢️