Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Supermarket Supply Run

“Whatever’s convenient?”

Xie Yu Chuan slowed, surprised.

It wasn’t the answer he’d expected.

He weighed his words carefully, then asked again—polite, indirect, almost clever.

“Does the Household God prefer rare treasures… or is the Household God more fond of pure tea and dew?”

Tu Hua heard the real question underneath: gold and silver, or incense and simple offerings?

She almost laughed.

No wonder the system had paired them as cross-era feeding partners. The man could read between lines like it was a hobby.

Xie Yu Chuan’s curiosity was honest.

He had grown up hearing about the Xie family’s Household God protector as if it were a fact of life. From their founding ancestor onward, every head of the family treated the year-end sacrifice as sacred duty.

When he was younger, he’d been stubborn and wild. He knew worship was important in the ducal manor—he just didn’t truly believe.

The rumors outside were constant. Once, as a reckless boy, he’d tried to investigate the matter himself and got punished for it. His father had tossed him into the ancestral hall to kneel, forcing him to apologize sincerely to the Household God before he was allowed out.

He’d been so hungry he’d stolen offerings from the altar when no one was watching.

Nothing happened.

No thunderbolt. No divine punishment.

That only made him bolder.

Later, when he was old enough to ride to war, his father and brothers still dragged him to the ancestral hall to report to the deity before he could march.

Whether he believed then or not, years of habit carved belief into him. He knew the rules of worship. He knew the proper steps.

But everything changed in the Imperial Prison.

There, he’d heard the Household God’s voice with his own ears.

There, he’d received items from her—out of nowhere, as if the world itself had opened a hand and dropped them into his life.

After that, the question stopped being whether she existed.

It became: what did she like?

And why did he care so much about getting it right?

He didn’t notice the fleeting thought that brushed his heart.

Tu Hua didn’t overthink his sudden interest.

If he had a chance to buy something, that meant his situation was… slightly better?

“You’re not in a position to worry about this,” she told him. “Don’t overcomplicate it. When things are better, we’ll talk.”

Xie Yu Chuan didn’t get a direct answer, and disappointment flickered.

He swallowed it.

He didn’t press.

On Tu Hua’s side, she checked the time. It was already past five.

On his side, it had to be near nightfall.

Great Liang’s weather ran colder than modern temperatures by several degrees. Last night, Tu Hua had noticed how thin the prisoners’ clothing was. When they slept, many curled into themselves like they were trying to disappear into warmth.

The Xie family’s clothing wasn’t much better.

One night or two, maybe they could grit through it.

Longer than that, sickness was only a matter of time. And with the Xie family’s group—old, young, servants, masters—if illness spread, Tu Hua didn’t even know how she’d handle it.

Better to prepare before disaster arrived.

After learning the hard way that her home stockpile was nowhere near enough, she decided to buy in bulk.

Fill the house. Then fill it again.

Her card had been drained by the system, but she still had ten thousand in cash set aside for emergencies.

Tu Hua changed clothes, grabbed the cash, and drove to the biggest supermarket in the city.

The market sat in the basement level of a sprawling mall, bright and packed with everything under the sun. Before shopping, she stopped at the ATM near the entrance and deposited the cash.

These days, electronic payment was easier—especially when you were about to buy enough food to survive an apocalypse.

The system, likely realizing her deposit was for supply shopping, didn’t even pop up to ask whether she wanted to recharge.

The Xie family had twenty-five people—direct line, collateral line, masters, servants. Food, clothing, medicine: the necessities added up fast.

And Tu Hua couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble was brewing on Xie Yu Chuan’s side.

She messaged him as she pushed her cart.

“Xie Yu Chuan, are you still on the road?”

His reply came quickly, low and steady.

“Yes. We’ve just passed through the town center.”

“Is it crowded?”

Xie Yu Chuan’s gaze swept the area. His attention snagged for a brief moment on a few people gathering too smoothly in the crowd—then he looked away.

Even as he watched the subtle shifts around him, he answered her gently.

“Yes. Very.”

Tu Hua started grabbing supplies. Whenever she thought of something and feared forgetting it, she dumped a quick note into her phone’s memo app.

Typing felt slow, so she used voice messages while shopping, one hand taking items from shelves, the other holding her phone like a lifeline.

Her cart filled fast.

Then faster.

Then became a mountain of packaged goods.

Enough that supermarket staff started noticing.

A tall young store clerk approached with a polite smile and long-suffering eyes that said he’d seen this kind of shopping frenzy before. He reached up and pulled down the spicy beef jerky she’d been eyeing, placing it neatly into her cart.

“Could you grab ten more bags of that? Thanks.”

The brand she liked was stacked high. The clerk didn’t hesitate. He grabbed bag after bag, then carefully arranged them so the cart didn’t spill over like a doomed tower.

Tu Hua, still holding down the voice button to talk to Xie Yu Chuan, tried to ask him to check the Xie family’s injuries during their next rest so she’d know what medicine to buy.

The clerk glanced at the overstuffed cart and, with genuine concern for physics, offered, “You’ve got so much it might fall out. I can bring you another empty cart. Want me to push this up to the checkout area for you?”

A voice message sent with a soft ping.

Tu Hua nodded quickly, grateful. “That would be amazing, thank you.”

“No problem. You keep shopping. I’ll bring it back in a bit.”

He wheeled her overloaded cart toward the front.

Tu Hua pushed her now-lighter cart toward the convenience food section.

Meanwhile, in Song Jiang Town, night settled in.

Lanterns flickered to life along the street, one by one, turning the long road into a ribbon of light.

To minimize trouble, Xiong Jiu Shan ordered the convoy to quicken its pace and pass through town faster.

Past the busy street, the road widened. One side led into a cluster of residences. The other opened into a broad space where carts, horses, and goods were often left temporarily.

Outside the lively district, the ground turned muddy, churned by wagon ruts and hooves.

Two streets away from Lai Yun Street stood the town yamen.

Xiong Jiu Shan still had to report.

He called to his subordinate, “Find a safe place for them to rest. I’m going to the yamen to see Your Excellency.”

He took a few men and went to knock at the yamen gate.

The remaining prisoners were driven out of Lai Yun Street at whip and shout until the whole convoy—every last body—made it into the open area outside.

As night deepened, some carts and horses moved out, leaving more empty space.

From the rear, Liu Kan strode up after barking orders down the line. He arrived at the front grinning and, with practiced ease, stuffed two warm stuffed buns and a handful of small silver into the lead escort’s hands.

“Don’t be too cruel,” he muttered with a laugh. “This Official doesn’t look like he cares, but he knows exactly what’s going on.”