Author Archives: sandy

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.

☢️☢️☢️

Although Song Ganlan’s life was no longer in danger, she had lost her vision, and her mobility was severely limited. She could only stay in the supermarket to recuperate.

The other three players decided to go out and take a look at what was happening.

But as soon as they stepped beyond the supermarket’s protective field, they realized—
the pollution was gone.

Mingde Academy looked normal again… no, even more normal than before.

The sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the scenery beyond the campus was bright and pleasant. Flowers bloomed, trees swayed with life—it didn’t feel like a dungeon anymore, but an ordinary, peaceful world.

Suddenly, someone called to them: “Hey, you three! Teacher Lan Xuan’s lecture is about to start—hurry up and get inside!”

The thought Who’s Lan Xuan? had just flickered through their minds, but their bodies were already moving automatically toward the auditorium.

When they arrived, the front seats were full, so they could only sit in the back.

Soon, over three hundred students had filled the hall—both male and female.

Someone dressed like a teacher came by, reminding them to switch off their phones and strictly forbidding recording.

When everyone sat up straight, a middle-aged woman stepped gracefully onto the stage.

Her name appeared on the projector—
Lan Xuan, Expert in Traditional Cultural Education.

The PPT lit up with the lecture topic: “Female Virtue: The Foundation of a Harmonious Home.”

Lan Xuan began to speak.

At first, the audience seemed casual and distracted, but as she continued, they grew more focused. Even the three players found themselves captivated, nodding at what they thought were sound, reasonable lessons on “female virtue.”

Then, when Lan Xuan began discussing “negative examples,” she said, “Two of my students were once terribly unrefined and shameless, but after my guidance, they have learned to repent.”

The players craned their necks curiously. Who could those women be? Did they really think repentance erased everything?

And then—
An Yixiao and Duan Jing walked onto the stage, eyes vacant, expressions lifeless.

The three players froze as though struck by lightning, staring in disbelief.

And in that instant of shock, their consciousness snapped back to clarity.

We’ve been contaminated?! they exchanged looks of horror.

“What happened to President An and Miss Duan?”

“Don’t tell me Lan Xuan is the real final boss of Mingde Academy?”

“If even they couldn’t escape, what chance do we have left?”

Despair settled over them.

Onstage, Lan Xuan smiled and commanded An Yixiao and Duan Jing to kneel and confess their wrongs.

The two stood motionless.

Her smile remained, but her presence was suffocating—anyone still lucid could feel the invisible weight pressing down on them.

“What do we do?” one of the players whispered, fists clenched, ready to attack even if it meant dying.

Then An Yixiao moved.

Her knees bent slightly, as if she were about to kneel.

But the next instant, a gleaming longsword appeared in her hand—
its blade touching the floor before her knees did.

With a sharp crack, the sword sank into the ground like it was slicing through tofu.

The hall fell silent. The anomalies and corrupted students stared in disbelief.

One player, summoning every shred of willpower, leapt to her feet and threw a tool toward Duan Jing. “Miss Duan—wake up!”

A sickening squelch followed.

In the blink of an eye, she was swarmed by midges. They devoured her alive—flesh stripped from bone until only a skeleton remained, frozen in the act of throwing the item.

“Xiaoya!” the remaining two screamed, grief twisting their faces.

They had no time to mourn—the swarm turned toward them.

Onstage, An Yixiao and Duan Jing moved simultaneously, cutting Lan Xuan cleanly in half.

The midges covering the players vanished—only to surge toward Lan Xuan, reattaching her severed body.

But before it could fully knit together, An Yixiao’s next strike came down.

While they fought, Duan Jing and the surviving two players joined forces to clear the hall of mutated students.

“What’s going on?!” one player yelled.

Duan Jing shouted back, “It’s a long story—but Lan Xuan is the true source of all this. She was exposed online for her so-called ‘female virtue education’ and was mocked, cursed, and condemned—but she refused to admit she was wrong. Her obsession corrupted her.”

Their earlier act of having Zhang Xiaozhi report Mingde Academy had triggered her deepest resentment.

That was why they couldn’t graduate—and why they were all supposed to die here.

“What about you and President An just now—?”

“We fell into her trap while researching her,” Duan Jing said bitterly. “We were brainwashed by reading her books.”

Just looking at those textbooks had infected them.

Lan Xuan had even used the chance to read their memories, attacking their insecurities to make them “repent.”

Duan Jing’s anger boiled over. She screamed at Lan Xuan:

“So what if I’m extravagant? My family’s worth hundreds of billions—I couldn’t spend it all if I tried!

“If my future husband feels emasculated because I’m richer, he can get lost—or stay as my boytoy if he behaves, maybe I’ll give him pocket money!

‘Managing a household’? If I’m rich, why can’t I just hire a housekeeper? What makes him think he’s worthy of me waiting on him myself?

“Men care about face—so do I! What’s his pride worth, anyway? If his reputation tanks, nobody cares; if mine does, my company’s stock price drops!”

An Yixiao: …

In a faintly amused tone, she said, “Why are you so worked up? She’s not even upset yet, and you’re already breaking down first.”

Duan Jing went speechless. Then just sighed and gave up arguing.

*

Inside the supermarket, the two occupants had no idea what was happening outside.

Song Ganlan heard a faint jingling sound and asked, “Boss, that’s the Twin Bell, right?”

“You know it? One belongs to An Yixiao, the other’s tied to Duan Jing.”

Song Ganlan exhaled in relief. “Then they’ll find their way here safely.”

Zhou Li said, “Don’t jinx it.”

Zhang Xiaozhi blinked. “What’s a ‘jinx’?”

“It’s like this,” Zhou Li explained. “In dramas, when a soldier shows a photo of his family before battle, he’s guaranteed to die. When an overworked office drone says, ‘Once this project’s done, I’ll finally rest,’ that rest usually means forever. Or when the hero in a shōnen manga makes a wish—the plot immediately heads in the opposite direction.”

One human and one anomaly fell silent.

“…Please stop,” Zhang Xiaozhi muttered. “That’s scarier than the dungeon rules.”

Time dragged on. The wait—and her blindness—gnawed at Song Ganlan’s nerves.

Then Zhou Li’s voice came again. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Zhang Xiaozhi sighed. “I’m the one who exposed this school to the media. Hiding here only lets them keep their power. I have to go out there, accept interviews, and reveal everything. It’s the only way they’ll survive.”

Song Ganlan was alarmed. “If you go, the principal will tear you apart!”

“I’m scared,” Zhang Xiaozhi admitted softly, “but…”

She didn’t finish.

Zhou Li paused, then handed her a lollipop.

Zhang Xiaozhi smiled. “Thanks, Boss.”

She unwrapped it, popped it in her mouth, and walked out humming a tune.

Song Ganlan wanted to stop her, but no words came.

After a long silence, Zhou Li asked, “Do you see it?”

Song Ganlan opened her mouth, but Zhou Li added, “Oh—right. You can’t. Your eyes haven’t healed.”

Song Ganlan asked, “What do you see, then?”

Zhou Li replied, “A spark of fire in the darkness.”

*

The S-class dungeon [Mingde Academy], which had trapped over a hundred high-level players, was finally cleared.

When the name of the clearers spread through the public hall, An Yixiao’s rank rose to third place. Duan Jing, once ranked tenth among near-S-class players, officially advanced into S-class—landing at ninth.

The player previously in ninth place was bumped down, and the shift sparked mild outrage—mostly from his fanbase, since he was a handsome male influencer with a rabid following. His fans flooded the forums protesting that Duan Jing had “stolen his spot.”

But aside from that group, few cared.

Most players were focused on the newly released Mingde Academy clearance guide.

Some praised Lan Xuan’s so-called “teachings.” Others scoffed, wondering how such a “simple” dungeon could have trapped so many, leaving only five survivors.

Then came another shock—Duan Jing and Song Ganlan had left the Dali Guild and joined Blue Owl Guild.

Dali Guild had even become Blue Owl’s subordinate branch.

Other players: …

“They’re literally running their guild like a corporation now!?”

Blue Owl’s Chen Jiaoyan fired back at the jealous players from Carefree Guild: “At least it’s more civilized than your guild, which runs itself like a feudal slave kingdom.”

Another full-blown argument erupted.

*

At Blue Owl Guild HQ—

Duan Jing lounged in An Yixiao’s chair, the one symbolizing guild leadership.

Meanwhile, An Fengxuan stood nearby, glaring daggers at her sister, who was receiving medical treatment from Lü Chui.

“You sold me?! Are you even human?!”

An Yixiao snorted. “Working for the boss isn’t exactly suffering, is it?”

“You’re insane! It’s your debt—why am I the one repaying it? Don’t tell me you can’t afford a few million!”

“Boss doesn’t take our currency,” An Yixiao replied calmly. “And she doesn’t take game coins either.”

If it were real money, she could pay billions with ease.

“Besides,” she added, “most of that debt belongs to the guild, not me.”

An Fengxuan stormed out in a huff.

Duan Jing shook her head. “I’ll never understand you two. Couldn’t you just talk it out? You basically made her work to pay off your debt so she’d have protection under the supermarket, didn’t you?”

An Yixiao said lightly, “She’ll curse about it now, but she knows exactly what I’m doing.”

If she sold a few of her rare items, she could easily pay millions—tens of millions even.

But she chose not to.

It wasn’t about the money. It was because only this way could their connection to the supermarket remain unbroken.

What she didn’t say was that she wanted more than just protection for An Fengxuan—
she wanted her sister to have a chance to escape this world entirely.

[Author’s Note]
Second update. This dungeon is finally over. [dog emoji]

☢️☢️☢️

Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei were tormented by that remark to the point that they had no appetite at all.

From time to time, they glanced at Mu Xing, wondering to themselves whether what he had just said was merely coincidence… or deliberate.

But Mu Xing only kept his head down, eating his breakfast dim sum with great seriousness, and even asked the auntie to help him serve another bowl of porridge.

The housekeeper liked this polite and beautiful child, and seeing him enjoy her cooking made her overjoyed.

Zhu Wei carefully observed their interactions and felt that perhaps last night really was just an illusion.

Maybe she and Xiang Shen had simply been too exhausted recently?

Neither of them believed in ghosts or retribution. Afterward, though they spent every night in fear and caution, they never again encountered the strange things of the past few days.

Instead, they deprived themselves of sleep night after night, until they both looked haggard and worn.

Mu Xing asked a few words of concern, but even now, the couple still felt a lingering dread when they saw him, not daring to get too close.

That night, the two of them sat on the bed, all the lights in the room turned on.

They chatted idly, both on the verge of collapse—after all, they hadn’t truly slept for several days.

Even iron-bodied people couldn’t endure that, much less these two who had never suffered hardship.

Their heads kept nodding, and slowly, leaning together, they drifted off to sleep.

The lights crackled with a sizzle.

The room suddenly plunged into darkness.

They hadn’t really been in deep sleep, so the sound jolted them awake immediately.

Though there was clearly a wall behind them, both felt a chill of icy wind creeping from there.

The bedroom door slowly creaked open. They stared hard at the doorway, but no one was there.

“Daddy, Mommy, are you looking for me?” A clear, crisp voice spoke above their heads.

The two of them snapped their heads upward—only to see a person crouched on the ceiling, eyes glowing with eerie green light in the dark, and a deathly pale face.

Zhu Wei rolled her eyes and fainted on the spot.

Xiang Shen wished to faint too, but couldn’t.

“You… you…” He tried to sound calm, but the way his hands clutched the quilt betrayed him. “What exactly are you? We have no enmity, what do you want?”

Mu Xing was actually just standing at the doorway, watching them.

As for the “fierce ghost” they saw on the ceiling—that was nothing more than the form their own minds conjured up.

His soul illusion was much like how spirits bewilder people: both preyed on fear and weakness in the human heart, manifesting terrifying visions. The more the other side feared, the stronger the illusion became.

If these two had been truly upright, unafraid of ghosts or gods, then no matter how great his power, it would have been useless.

Mu Xing gave him a ghastly grin. “Who am I? I’m your son. Only, I’ve already died. I crawled out of hell to find you.”

“Why did I die, Daddy, don’t you know best?”

“You picked such a fine family for me, watched me be abused every day, yet only cared about recording data…”

He tilted his head with a smile. If Mu Xing had done this in the daytime, it would have looked infinitely cute.

But now, coming from this being that might not be human or ghost…

Xiang Shen thought: why couldn’t I just faint as cleanly as Wei Wei did?

He saw the thing on the ceiling stretch out a hand. That hand grew longer, reaching down from the ceiling to grip his throat!

Xiang Shen felt the hand choking him was as cold as ice, with a sticky, fishy stench that made him gag.

His mouth opened wide, but no sound came out.

Then came a child’s cheerful voice in his ear: “What do I want? Of course I’ve come to find my dearest Daddy and Mommy… to drag you down to hell with me.”

At last, Xiang Shen got his wish—he fainted.

*

The next morning, Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei couldn’t get up.

They were sick.

Running a fever. When the auntie had finished making breakfast and still hadn’t seen them, she knocked on the door, only to find the two of them burning up, unconscious in bed. She had no idea what had happened, and hurriedly called for an ambulance.

It was really a sickness of the heart. After a fever-reducing shot and some brief instructions from the doctor, they could have been discharged.

But neither dared to go back home. Standing at the hospital entrance, they looked at each other, both seeing terror in the other’s eyes.

“Maybe… we should stay in a hotel for a few nights,” Zhu Wei said. “I just feel like that…”

She couldn’t even bring herself to say Mu Xing’s name. “Something’s not right.”

Xiang Shen had just nodded when, without warning, a voice sounded at their ears, making their skin crawl. “Who’s not right?”

Zhu Wei and Xiang Shen nearly leapt several meters away, staring at Mu Xing who stood nearby.

“How did you get here!” Xiang Shen barked.

Mu Xing looked all innocent. “I heard from Auntie that Uncle and Auntie were sick. I asked for the hospital address and came by taxi.”

Xiang Shen looked at him, standing in the sunlight, casting a normal shadow, his eyes clear and pure—and finally let out a breath.

Then he heard the boy say mysteriously, “Uncle, Auntie, you were both perfectly fine last night. How did you suddenly come down with such a fever?”

“Could it be… you ran into something unclean?”

The sunlight was warm on their skin, yet Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei felt as though they had plunged into an icy abyss.

They stared blankly at Mu Xing. He blinked his eyes, as though he hadn’t said a word at all.

He smiled at the two of them. “Uncle, Auntie, go back and rest early.”

But that smile, falling into Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei’s eyes, looked nothing but eerie.

Forcing themselves to stay strong, they called a cab, sent Mu Xing back, and didn’t dare return home. They booked a hotel nearby instead.

Yet once the seed of fear is planted, it only grows larger.

That night.

Mu Xing made a video call to Director Mei.

Hearing that Brother Xingxing was calling, a crowd of children gathered around her, chattering:

“Brother Xingxing, we miss you so much!”
“When are you coming back?”
“Wanwan can already count from one to a hundred!”
“…”

Looking at these little cuties, Mu Xing felt that all the gloom from dealing with those two scumbags these past days had completely melted away.

He smiled brightly. “Soon, soon. Brother will be back very soon.”

Director Mei looked at him worriedly. “Xingxing, you…”

She thought that since Mu Xing had gone with his biological parents, he wouldn’t return anymore.

But Mu Xing made a heart shape with his fingers. “Director Mama, I told you, I’ll definitely come back.”

While the orphanage was filled with warmth and laughter, Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei sat in restless unease inside their hotel room.

Zhu Wei suspiciously looked around, whispering, “Tonight… that thing won’t come again, will it?”

Xiang Shen snapped, “Shut up! Don’t mention it!”

But just because you don’t speak it aloud, doesn’t mean you can stop thinking it.

Fear gnawed at them. They turned on a movie in the room, but Zhu Wei kept jumping at shadows—worried the screen would show something strange, afraid something lurked under the bed, too scared even to use the bathroom.

And in such times, the more you try not to think about something, the more your mind summons it.

Because what they would see depended entirely on their own fear and imagination.

They couldn’t even last the night in the hotel.

Frightened out of their minds, they phoned the police, screaming that they had seen ghosts in their room.

The next day, Mu Xing got a call from the police.

A kindly looking officer picked him up and drove him to the station. On the way, the officer gently asked if his father and mother had been acting strange lately.

After all, who else would call the police claiming their own son was a ghost?

And this child—they knew—was a treasure lost for ten years before finally being found.

Mu Xing shook his head blankly.

Seeing this, the officer didn’t press further. He hadn’t expected to get any clues from the child anyway.

At the station, Mu Xing was led in and saw Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei.

Where was their old composure now? After days without sleep, they looked haggard and filthy, bloodshot eyes wild with a touch of madness.

The moment Zhu Wei saw Mu Xing, she screamed, “You monster! What are you doing here? You even dare to come into the police station? Get out, get out! Officers, kill him! He’s a ghost!”

Mu Xing: “…”

He looked at Zhu Wei in puzzlement.

He truly was puzzled—how could someone so cold-blooded collapse so easily?

The little orb of light inside his spiritual sea sensed his confusion and was exasperated.

This mission target of his really couldn’t separate things properly.

Did he think he could measure ordinary humans by his own standards when it came to ghosts and spirits?

No matter the world, ordinary people always fear and revere the supernatural.

Mu Xing’s confused look, in the eyes of the police, seemed like a child dumbstruck with fear.

Their hearts softened with pity.

They had already investigated this couple. They knew Mu Xing’s past.

A poor child—born only to be adopted by scum, abused, then raised in an orphanage. Finally reunited with his parents, only to end up like this. Looking at them now… they didn’t seem sane.

And the mother’s words—what she said to her child—were far too cruel.

One officer barked, “Zhu Wei! Open your eyes. He’s your son! What nonsense are you spouting?”

Mu Xing gave Zhu Wei a small smile.

In the eyes of the police, that smile was a child cautiously trying to please his mother.

But to Zhu Wei, it was the grin of a vengeful ghost, mocking and taunting her.

He wasn’t even afraid of the police station!

He would kill her!

She shrieked, “He’s not my son! He’s a vengeful ghost! He’s a monster! He’s here to get revenge!”

Her words were outrageous. Another officer stood, took Mu Xing to a separate room, and seeing the boy standing silently and alone, pitied him all the more.

Outside, the officer said, “Send the couple for psychiatric evaluation first.”

But in his heart, suspicion had already taken root.

He hadn’t ignored Zhu Wei’s words.

A mother who had just found her long-lost child—shouldn’t she be full of guilt and love, caring for him in every way?

Why then did Zhu Wei react with such terror?

And what did she mean by, “He’s here for revenge”?

With those doubts lingering, the police began a thorough investigation into the couple’s whereabouts and actions over the past ten years.

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

Xu Tingfeng and his wife felt that Mu Xing was a little strange.

But Xiang Shen didn’t think there was anything wrong.

He himself was someone who disregarded family ties and blood relations; otherwise, he could never have made such a frenzied decision back then.

And seeing Mu Xing like this, he didn’t feel anything was amiss. On the contrary, because Mu Xing could stay so calm and clear-headed after hearing such news, he felt excited.

As expected of a genius.

Truly different from ordinary children!

The matter wasn’t dragged out for long. That very day, Mu Xing went with them to do a paternity test.

For reasons unknown, Xu Tingfeng and his wife did not leave but instead stayed in Donghai City with them to wait for the results.

The results came out quickly.

Mu Xing was indeed the biological child of this couple.

But when asked whether he wanted to live with his parents, Mu Xing refused without hesitation.

“I prefer life at the welfare home.”

Xiang Shen said gently, “I know you may harbor resentment toward us. It was indeed me and your mother’s mistake back then that caused you to suffer so much. Promise me, Xingxing, give us a chance, alright?”

Mu Xing didn’t reply.

Director Mei felt a bit anxious.

She knew better than anyone how calm and stubborn Mu Xing could be.

Yet inside, she was still glad that Mu Xing had found his biological parents.

Especially after seeing the couple’s appearance, identity, and careers, she felt that having such parents, and living in such a family environment, would be good for Mu Xing.

She tried to persuade him: “Xingxing, they’re not strangers. They’re your father and mother.”

But the child who was always the most obedient and well-behaved was inexplicably stubborn this time.

In the end, Director Mei suggested that Mu Xing spend the summer vacation living with Xiang Shen and his wife for a while.

Blood is thicker than water. Perhaps after just a couple of days, there would be no barriers between parents and child.

This time, Mu Xing agreed.

He got into the car with Xiang Shen and his wife. Director Mei gave him a phone, telling him to send the children at the institute a video every day.

Mu Xing didn’t tell the kids at the welfare home that he had found his biological parents, only that he had found a remarkable teacher and would study hard with them.

Xiang Shen and his wife lived in the capital, in a villa on the outskirts.

After bringing Mu Xing there, Zhu Wei took him out every day to buy new clothes, shop, eat all kinds of delicious food, and play at various theme parks.

The home was luxurious, spacious, with a dedicated aunt to take care of daily life.

Compared to his time at the Zhao family, or even the welfare home, this life was like heaven.

This was deliberate on Xiang Shen and his wife’s part.

They believed that any ten-year-old child, after experiencing such a difference, could never bear to give it up.

All the more so since between them, there was already an unbreakable blood bond, wasn’t there?

Sure enough, Mu Xing’s attitude seemed to soften compared to the beginning.

Though he still insisted on calling them Uncle and Auntie, he did smile a little more in this home.

The couple temporarily felt relieved.

But they didn’t know what Mu Xing had really come for.

This world had no spiritual energy, so Mu Xing couldn’t cultivate, but his divine sense was vast.

He left a trace of his divine sense on the two of them.

One day, when Xiang Shen took him out to eat and passed by a certain place—

Mu Xing asked curiously, “What place is this? The house looks so pretty.”

Xiang Shen glanced at it and smiled. “Pretty? I think it’s not as nice as where we live now. If Xingxing likes it, Daddy can buy you a house here.”

Mu Xing leaned on the car window for a look, seeming very interested.

*

That night.

Mu Xing quietly climbed out of bed.

Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei were already asleep.

He rose silently and went to the study. Darkness didn’t hinder his vision.

The study was filled with books, obscure theory texts. Mu Xing’s eyes swept quickly over them but didn’t find what he wanted.

The cabinet was locked. He used a small trick to open it.

Inside was a diary, recording certain things.

“I had quite a disagreement with Weiwei…”

“It sounds crazy, but we decided to do an experiment! We found a volunteer! The day after tomorrow, something carrying both mine and Weiwei’s genes will enter the volunteer’s body. Ten months later, we’ll have a pair of beautiful twins. Yes, I’m certain—they will be beautiful.”

“They’ve already been sent away, to the target we carefully selected after long consideration. Wish them luck.”

“From the current observations, I must admit that environment does influence human development more. But that child is still very clever.”

“Weiwei seems to have softened a little. Today I quarreled with her and convinced her. They are not our children, but two experimental subjects. An experiment must be approached with complete fairness and rationality. Next time, I won’t let her observe.”

“…”

It was an observation diary.

Mu Xing’s gaze swept coldly over the contents.

With this diary, combined with a police investigation, abandonment was a charge they could never escape.

But was abandonment alone enough to account for what they had done?

The original body was dead.

His death was tied to the Zhao family, but without the Zhao family, there would have been the Wang family, the Li family… Because even before he was born, this couple had already written him into a tragic script.

Outside, the wind suddenly picked up.

Soon, there was a crackling sound against the windows—it was raining.

During the day, the housekeeper had indeed muttered that there would be a storm at night.

Mu Xing put the diary back, silently walked out of the study, and tucked the gloves into his own drawer.

Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei were awakened by the noise outside.

Zhu Wei murmured softly, “Such heavy rain.”

Just as she was about to fall back asleep, she suddenly remembered—ah, there was now a child in the house.

“Wouldn’t Mu Xing be scared?”

Xiang Shen replied coldly, “How could a boy be afraid of this?”

As soon as he said it, their bedroom door creaked open.

The housekeeper didn’t live in, and at night Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei never had the habit of locking their door.

Somewhere a window must have been left open; a gust of cold wind rushed down the corridor and into the room, making the two, dressed in thin sleepwear, shiver.

“Xingxing?” Xiang Shen was startled, then quickly put on a gentle smile. “Why are you here? Were you scared?”

As he spoke, a flash of lightning split the night sky. The room lit up for an instant, and they saw Mu Xing’s delicate, expressionless face staring straight at them.

In the dead of night, with the storm raging, it was unsettling.

“I hurt so much,” he said softly.

Xiang Shen frowned. “What kind of pain?”

Mu Xing ignored him and went on, “Zhao Kangping beat me every day. My body was never free of bruises. Chen Yan didn’t hit me, but whenever she was in a bad mood, she punished me. In the winter, she made me wash clothes by hand and didn’t give me hot water.”

“I died suddenly in my twenties.”

“After I died, I saw you.”

“In your hearts, am I really your child?”

“Or just a failed experiment that didn’t meet your expectations and was destroyed early?”

“Aren’t you afraid of retribution? Hee-hee-hee.”

Another flash of lightning.

The couple felt a chill in their hearts.

Zhu Wei’s back turned cold. She grabbed her husband’s hand and forced a smile. “Mu Xing? Xingxing? Did you have a nightmare? Or read something strange? Mommy doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”

“How could you not understand?”

Their heads suddenly spun.

Another bolt of lightning struck, and before their eyes, the child’s body stretched and transformed into the figure of an adult man—Mu Xing grown up.

But behind him coiled ominous black mist, his face pale, not like the living.

The sight shocked them both.

Zhu Wei screamed and tried to turn on the light, but nothing happened.

The pale-faced man gave them a sinister smile. “Don’t worry. I crawled up from hell and hadn’t had the chance to find you yet. But you came to me yourselves.”

“Let’s take our time and play.”

“Father. Mother.”

Thunder roared. They instinctively shut their eyes.

When they opened them again, the figure was gone.

The door was shut, and the room was dark.

Zhu Wei was drenched in cold sweat. Her husband was just as stiff. After a long moment, she cautiously reached for the wall switch.

Click.

The warm yellow light filled the room, and their rigid limbs slowly thawed.

“Just now…” Zhu Wei swallowed hard. “Was that my imagination?”

Xiang Shen’s throat was dry. “I saw it too.”

They looked at each other, both stricken with unspeakable terror.

They didn’t even dare go next door to open the door and check on the child.

Outside the door, Mu Xing, who had just restored the circuit breaker, cheerfully returned to his room.

It had all been an illusion.

A new skill he had figured out—using his powerful divine sense to invade minds while they were unsettled, creating hallucinations.

No real physical harm, but to scare people, it was more than enough—especially those with guilty consciences.

He slept soundly that night.

In the morning, the housekeeper came to wake him.

As his door opened, Xiang Shen and Zhu Wei, who appeared to be chatting in the living room but were in fact watching the door the whole time, froze.

“Good morning, Uncle, Auntie,” Mu Xing greeted them.

Zhu Wei forced a smile. “Morning…”

At breakfast, Xiang Shen cautiously asked, “Mu Xing, last night… did you experience anything strange?”

“Strange?” Mu Xing grinned, showing his teeth. “Like getting up in the middle of the night to open your bedroom door?”

Xiang Shen: !

Under their horrified stares, Mu Xing lowered his head, bit into a shrimp dumpling, and chuckled. “I wouldn’t do something so childish.”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣