Qiao Xin withdrew her consciousness from the space and drove back to the furniture and building materials market. Appliances—refrigerators, washing machines, televisions, water dispensers, microwaves, induction cookers—she bought them all without hesitation.
For furniture like beds, mattresses, wardrobes, sofas, coffee tables, beanbags, loungers, and stools, she prioritized value over aesthetics, splurging only on the mattresses and sofas.
She raided the construction aisles: putty powder, latex paint, shell powder, wallpaper, floor tiles, ceiling grids, keel joists, and light fixtures. She even bought bags of cement and sand. Whether I need them or not, I’ll buy them now, she reasoned.
Her shopping spree continued with wood and iron doors. She didn’t forget the essentials for the space’s bathroom, picking up three-finger-thick steel doors for 8,000 yuan each—five of those—and ten interior wood doors, along with dozens of sets of locks and handles.
She bought large, uncut sheets of glass in various thicknesses, and the owner kindly gifted her several glass-cutting tools. She also swept up the inventory of stainless steel windows. Though these were usually custom-ordered, she didn’t care about the specific dimensions. She ended up with enough to build several villas for her and Lin Qing. Maybe I’ll never use them, she thought, but with so many eyes in the ancient world, it’s hard to explain building such things. Better to be prepared.
She borrowed a large delivery truck from the owner, and even then, it took six grueling trips to finish moving everything.
By the time she returned her van, she stopped at the store next door and bought an entire truckload of pipes, fittings, solid glues, liquid adhesives, and glutinous rice glue—she practically emptied their warehouse.
Some building materials were surprisingly cheap, while small accessories she thought would cost pennies turned out to be pricey. She mentally calculated the bill: she’d spent over 300,000 yuan, even after picking the budget options.
Qiao Xin checked the time: 2:55 PM. She didn’t have time to rest. She pulled two steamed buns from her bag and started driving while she ate. She had to pick up the piglets, calves, and lambs she’d ordered yesterday. She had missed a notification from the seller earlier and needed to get there fast.
At 3:50 PM, she finally arrived. A pungent smell hit her the moment she stepped out. Oh no, I didn’t stockpile masks or insect repellent. She pulled over and jotted a note in her phone memo to ensure she wouldn’t forget.
The owner tied the legs of the seven piglets and hoisted them into the van. Qiao Xin thanked him with a smile and hurried off; the next stop was at least forty minutes away.
Halfway there, she pulled over, ushered the piglets into the space, and used her mind to untie them before tossing them onto the hillside. She watched them trot off, shaking their little tails, before starting the engine again.
Forty minutes later, she reached the livestock ranch. When the owner offered to give her a tour, she politely declined; she had too much to do back in the city.
Two men drove the cattle and sheep out. The two spotted cows in the lead were particularly impressive, clearly sturdy milk cows. It took quite an effort to herd the dozen animals into the truck, and the owner threw in some grass and feed to keep them calm on the road.
An hour and a half later, she was back in the city. The “little darlings” had already been moved into the space, where they were happily munching on mountain grass.
She drove to the cake shop where she’d placed her order yesterday. The clerk recognized her instantly and hurried over with a smile. “Miss Qiao, your order is ready.”
“Great. Can you help me load it all into the van?”
“Of course!” The clerk maintained her professional smile and called over her colleagues. They helped move the cakes to the front seat of the van, as Qiao Xin hadn’t had time to clean the animal residue out of the cargo area yet. After buying out the rest of the shop’s stock, she left, feeling thoroughly satisfied.
Suddenly, her phone rang. “Hello, who is this?”
A man’s voice replied, “Hello, your parcels have arrived. Could you please come by to pick them up today? There’s quite a lot, and we’re running out of space in the shop.”
“Understood,” Qiao Xin replied quickly. “I’ll head over there later this evening.”
She hung up and drove straight to the pharmacy. Cold medicine, fever reducers, painkillers, cough syrup, anti-inflammatories, digestive aids, vitamins, calcium tablets, cardiovascular medication, treatment for bruises, chronic disease management, and standard geriatric medicine—she ordered the maximum allowable amount for every single one. She did the same for hemostatics, bandages, hydrogen peroxide, iodine, alcohol, disinfectants, face masks, and floral water.
She also had the resident pharmacist prepare herbal sachets to repel insects—unlimited supplies—and Qiao Xin ordered one hundred. At every subsequent pharmacy, she asked the pharmacists to prepare similar packs, along with herbal blends for cold and fever symptoms like runny noses and coughs. She stockpiled a massive amount of these.
She bought out the entire pediatric section: medicines for colds, fevers, coughs, and every other category. She cleared her medical insurance card for all of it. Checking the balance after the transaction, she saw over 50,000 yuan remaining, so she had the clerk check Lin Qing’s card, which held over 80,000.
Perhaps human health really adapts to the environment, she thought. As adults, we rarely got sick—at most a simple cold that vanished after two doses of medicine. That was why the money had sat untouched in their accounts, finally allowing her to hoard like this now.
She pressed on. Each shop was a repeat of the same scene: Qiao Xin buying with joy, and clerks selling with equal delight—their monthly performance bonuses were secured.
It was nine o’clock at night when she finally stopped. She drove back to her apartment complex and saw a mountain of parcels piled outside the delivery station—they were all hers.
She walked inside and recited her phone number. The courier looked at her with a mix of shock and confusion, gesturing to the exit: “Miss, those are all yours. And these, and these… they’re all for you.”
Qiao Xin gave a rare, bashful smile. The doorway was almost entirely blocked. She started moving boxes immediately, and the courier even called the manager to help. Fortunately, she had washed her van earlier, or she wouldn’t have known how to fit them.
Even after filling the front passenger seat, it wasn’t enough. Qiao Xin had to leave, grab a quick bowl of noodles at a small shop, and return for a second haul. By the end, the task was finally done.
Before leaving, she warned the courier and the manager: “I’ll have quite a lot of deliveries these next few days. I’ll come by in the evenings to pick them up.” Both men stared at her, their eyes wide. This woman is absolutely insane.
Collapsed on her sofa, Qiao Xin didn’t want to move a muscle, but she was soaked in sweat. Struggling to her feet, she showered and crawled into bed. She’d been sleeping on the sofa for days; tonight, she needed the comfort of her own mattress. Smelling the familiar scent of home, she drifted into sleep.
“Boss, how much for the tofu?”
“Two-fifty for a whole slab, three yuan if you want it cut,” the owner replied without looking up.
The market was a frenzy of activity. Everyone was rushing to buy or sell, voices clashing in endless haggling. Not a soul was idle. Looking at the scene, Qiao Xin knew this was a world she would soon never see again.
Tofu, bean curd sheets, bean rolls, bean sprouts—she bought every soy product by the thousand jin. Duck blood, lamb blood, pork blood, konjac, jelly noodles, vinegar starch, rice rolls, pre-made cold noodles, he-lao noodles, and yellow cold noodles—eight hundred jin of each.
Eggs, duck eggs, century eggs, salted duck eggs—five hundred of each, plus five hundred jin of quail eggs.
She ordered one thousand fruitwood-roasted ducks at twenty-five yuan each and five hundred roast chickens, scheduling staggered pickups with the owners.
Fried chicken, drumsticks, cutlets, popcorn chicken, chicken strips—even if they weren’t from a big-name franchise, the taste was just as good, and the price was half. She hoarded them greedily. She also bought plenty of marinade, batter, and shortening so she could make them herself once the stock ran out.
Cured meat, sausages, dried duck, cured pig trotters, dried fish… she missed nothing. Dry noodles—wide, thin, sheets, pasta—one hundred cases of each.
Qiao Xin had checked her list before sleep and realized she’d missed these, so she spent the morning back at the market for one final sweep. Once finished, she went pharmacy-hopping, planning to exhaust her medical card funds; she needed about 50,000 yuan more in medicine to call it complete.
In between, she squeezed in time to collect her roast ducks and chickens.
Finally, she contacted the owner of a gas station where she had once worked. She ordered 300,000 yuan of diesel and 200,000 of gasoline. It was a private transaction. Qiao Xin gave a vague excuse, and the boss, knowing better than to ask too many questions, didn’t pry. Qiao Xin certainly didn’t want to know how he would balance those 500,000 yuan worth of fuel on his books. They maintained a silent, mutual understanding.
They agreed to the exchange at 10:00 PM that night, at a remote warehouse on the outskirts of the city.