Chapter 7
Chapter 7: Liquor and Medicine
“This is all I have for now,” Fu Chen An said. “If it’s not enough, I’ll bring more next time.”
“Alright,” Xiao Ying Chun said, checking the weight and the shine, then nodding once.
They didn’t discuss prices.
Xiao Ying Chun didn’t know the market. Fu Chen An did—and he also knew what wartime medicine meant.
Medicine in war was life. If you could get it, you paid whatever it cost.
At first, Xiao Ying Chun planned to buy bottled medical alcohol.
Then she pictured an army of ten thousand and went blank.
How much alcohol would that even take?
When she asked around at a few pharmacies, their tone turned sharp. “Why do you need that much alcohol? If you’re doing something illegal, don’t even think about it!”
Alcohol disinfected. Alcohol also burned.
Xiao Ying Chun swallowed her irritation. Fine. If they wouldn’t sell alcohol, she’d buy liquor.
She called Uncle Wu, the boss of a nearby distillery.
He’d been brewing in the urban village for more than twenty years, and because he didn’t cut corners, he had steady old clients and kept his prices low.
When Xiao Ying Chun asked for the strongest liquor he had, his voice lifted. “Double-distilled, sixty-degree. Fifteen yuan per jin—but if you buy a lot, I’ll charge ten.”
It sold badly because it was too strong, so it had been sitting for almost a year.
“I’ll take it,” Xiao Ying Chun said immediately.
“How much?”
“How much do you have?”
There was a pause, then Uncle Wu sucked in a breath. In the end, he delivered three hundred jin of double-distilled liquor by tricycle and took 3,000 yuan in cash.
With the liquor settled, Xiao Ying Chun opened Mei Tuan and started ordering medicine.
Yunnan Baiyao hemostatic powder. Spray. No-stitch wound dressings.
Anti-inflammatories and fever reducers, too.
Ibuprofen—one hundred bottles, one hundred tablets each.
Penicillin V potassium tablets—one hundred boxes of the cheapest brand.
Bandages, disinfectant gel, and everything else she could think of.
By the time she checked out, the total was around 50,000.
It would have to do.
She’d barely placed the Mei Tuan order when Uncle Liang arrived with another truckload.
He stared into the storeroom, then back at her, baffled. “Chun girl… you already handed off the first batch?”
Xiao Ying Chun nodded, smiling. “He paid. I let him take it.”
Uncle Liang hesitated, then said, “We’ve known each other for years. If you want, I can deliver it for you. Saves you moving it twice.”
His next words came quickly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “And don’t worry. I won’t say anything I shouldn’t. Not a single word.”
He was telling her he wouldn’t expose her—and he wouldn’t try to steal the business either.
Xiao Ying Chun shook her head gently. “Uncle Liang, I trust you. I know you’re trying to save me trouble. But this client is picky. He insists on picking up in person. Don’t worry.”
Uncle Liang’s mouth tightened, as if he’d convinced himself her caution was reasonable. With a sigh, he unloaded, settled the bill, and prepared to leave.
Before he did, he brought up Ge Chun Yu again. “I told those wholesalers the truth. They said they’ll come tonight to talk it over with you. You should prepare—just in case.”
Xiao Ying Chun nodded. “I will.”
After Uncle Liang left, the Mei Tuan orders began arriving—box after box, stacked with plastic buckets and medical supplies. Xiao Ying Chun carried everything into the storeroom.
She closed the front door.
Opened the back door.
Spacetime supermarket, open for business.
At dusk, Fu Chen An stepped in again.
The moment Xiao Ying Chun saw him, she jolted with alarm. “You’re back?”
Fu Chen An answered with a low “Mm” and walked straight to the counter.
He smelled strongly of blood. Dark stains marked his armor and hem. His face looked wiped clean on purpose, but his hair was a mess.
Xiao Ying Chun’s stomach dropped. “So the fighting started.”
Fu Chen An gave another “Mm,” eyes sweeping the room, restless and sharp.
Xiao Ying Chun quickly opened the boxes. “I bought medicine. It may not be what you’re used to…”
She held up one package. “Can you read this?”
Fu Chen An glanced at it and shook his head.
“I thought so.” Xiao Ying Chun grabbed a roll of price stickers from the counter. “I can’t write your script either, so I’ll read the instructions and what it’s for. You write it down and stick it on the bags, alright?”
Fu Chen An looked at her for a long moment. “Thank you.”
She read slowly, simplifying as she went—what each item was for, how to use it, what symptoms it matched.
Fu Chen An picked up the marker and began to write.
At first his grip was awkward, the pen too smooth, the ink too easy. Then he adjusted—and his strokes turned quick and decisive.
One label, one bag. One label, one bag.
Soon the supplies were sorted into neat bundles with clear markings.
Xiao Ying Chun pointed toward the plastic buckets. “Those are the strong liquor you asked for. Do you want to taste it?”
Fu Chen An’s gaze flickered. “No. We attack again tonight. Alcohol is forbidden.”
“Fine.” Xiao Ying Chun waved toward the supplies. “Take it all.”
Fu Chen An’s expression settled into something steady and intent. “If it works, I’ll come again.”
“It’ll work,” Xiao Ying Chun said, unable to hide her grin. “Follow the instructions and you’ll see.”
Fifty thousand yuan in medicine and liquor—sold for ten gold ingots.
If each ingot was worth 800,000…
Xiao Ying Chun’s head spun. She’d just made eight million in a blink.
Fu Chen An hauled everything out on the flatbed cart. Before leaving, he said he’d return the next day.
When the back door finally went quiet again, Xiao Ying Chun raced upstairs, locked the ingots in her safe, then reopened the front door.
Uncle Liang had warned her: wholesalers would come tonight to discuss Ge Chun Yu’s debt.
Outside, the heat still hung thick in the night air.
A tricycle vendor nearby blared through a loudspeaker, advertising watermelons. Xiao Ying Chun called out, “Boss! Two—the biggest and sweetest you’ve got!”
A familiar laugh drifted past. Grandpa Zhao, fanning himself as he walked, teased, “Little Ying Chun, your shop is closed every day. What kind of business are you running?”
Xiao Ying Chun waved him over quickly. “Grandpa Zhao, come sit. I bought two big watermelons—help me taste if they’re sweet.”
He hadn’t even sat down before she pressed a slice into his hand. He took one bite and smiled so wide his cheeks rounded. “Ay, ay. Little Ying Chun’s getting more and more sensible…”
Neighbors who often chatted with him drifted closer, greeting her, drawn by the watermelon and the open stools.
Xiao Ying Chun brought out plastic chairs, laughing with them, handing out slices.
But her eyes kept sliding toward the village entrance.