Chapter 7: Space (2)

Jiang Laidi still remembered that before his rebirth, he had been shopping for discounted frozen goods at the supermarket. There seemed to be some kind of commotion up ahead. Just as he heard shouting and the sound of gunshots, he lost consciousness.

Since gun ownership was legal in America, it wasn't uncommon for lunatics to open fire in schools or public areas. There were also various acts of terrorism. He had no idea what kind of situation he had ended up in.

Now, somehow, he was back in that very supermarket.

The spacious store was neatly arranged, showing no signs of the recent chaos. The cold air from the freezer units was still running as usual, but the place was completely empty—aside from him, not a single soul was around. Jiang Laidi instinctively reached out to touch the items in the freezer, but his fingers passed right through it. He couldn’t feel anything.

He raised his palm and looked at it. His current self seemed to be an intangible soul, his body translucent. Through his palm, he could faintly see the scene behind it.

What on earth was going on?

Drifting midair, Jiang Laidi floated along the supermarket shelves, heading toward the exit.

This supermarket was located on the basement level of a large building. It was the biggest supermarket in their area, spanning two entire floors. The first basement level sold snacks, grains, oils, and fresh produce. The second basement level was split—half was for personal care and cleaning products, the other half was the warehouse for storing goods. Because the supermarket had heavy foot traffic, they maintained a large stock of inventory. The day he had gone there was a restocking day, which was why there was a fresh produce sale in the freezer section—to make room for new arrivals.

He was now floating through the imported goods section. Everything there was absurdly expensive—items he normally wouldn’t even dare to glance at. And now, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t touch them.

Jiang Laidi felt a bit regretful. So many good things were laid out in front of him, yet he couldn’t move or use any of it. If only he could bring these things back to the real world—then his sisters wouldn’t have to go hungry.

Just as he thought that, in the blink of an eye, he was back in that dilapidated old house, lying beside Gu Dongmei, covered with a thin quilt. The room was filled with the sound of uneven snoring from several people.

He groped around and abruptly turned his head. Sitting beside him was a candy tin—the very one he had been staring at in the supermarket moments ago.

A rush of joy surged through Jiang Laidi’s heart. Could it really be like those fantasy novels he used to read? Had he gained a spatial dimension—and all the goods in that space had come with him to the 1960s?

He knew how terrifyingly abundant that supermarket's supplies were. With access to it, he could absolutely lead his sisters to a happy life.

Suppressing his excitement, he closed his eyes and focused intently—I want to go back, I want to go in. Carefully picturing the supermarket in his mind, the next second, he returned to that space, once again in his ethereal form. The candy tin that had been in his real-world hand fell to the floor with a soft clink.

Just as he suspected—not only could he bring things out of the space, but he could also take things into it.

Ignoring the candy tin on the ground, he tried controlling his spectral body to float upward.

Since the supermarket was on the basement level, he wanted to check whether only the supermarket had been brought over, or if the entire shopping center had come with it to the 1960s.

Unfortunately, the staircase from the basement to the upper floors was shrouded in a strange mist. He tried to pass through it but couldn’t—it was like an invisible wall. With a sigh of regret, he gave up on going upstairs.

Still, having the supermarket alone was an unexpected boon. Even without the upper floors, he wasn’t particularly disappointed.

Over the next while, he carefully explored the entire supermarket.

What he cared most about was grain and cooking oil. Americans didn’t eat much rice, but they consumed a lot of flour. Because the area had a sizable Chinese population, the store still stocked rice. From a rough estimate, each bag of rice weighed about twenty jin (roughly 10 kg), and there were more than a hundred bags just on the shelves. There was even more flour and coarse grains—two to three hundred bags, easily. And that didn’t even include the inventory in the warehouse.

He calculated that all this grain would be more than enough to support his entire family comfortably for quite some time.

In the 1960s, cooking oil was rationed monthly—each person received only about one or two liang (about 50–100 grams). Most households were severely short on oil. People were so frugal they wouldn’t even use oil for stir-frying unless necessary. Because of this, even fatty pork at the supply cooperatives required connections to buy—everyone longed for a little animal fat to satisfy their cravings.

The oil in this supermarket would probably last him a lifetime. The only problem was—it was too high-quality. Back then, most households used crude oil pressed from rapeseed, which was dark, full of sediment, and had a weird odor. If he took out the pristine, crystal-clear oil from the supermarket, it would definitely arouse suspicion.

Staring at the mountain of supplies, Jiang Laidi felt a headache coming on. How could he bring these grains and oils out in a reasonable way that wouldn’t make people suspicious?

He shook his head and continued walking, deciding to inventory everything in the supermarket before worrying about that.

With the most crucial needs—grains and oil—taken care of, he wanted to check out the fabric section next.

TR Note: In pre-reform China, "ticket culture" (票证时代) meant citizens needed ration coupons (粮票, 油票, 布票, etc.) to purchase essential goods. Money alone wasn’t enough. This system persisted until the early 1990s.

“New for three years, old for three years, patched and mended for another three”—that was the general state of things in that era. Some poorer families would even save their cloth tickets and secretly trade them for food. Their own clothes would be made from fertilizer sacks—cheap, sturdy bags originally used to store rice. Many families with limited labor would do this.

Back then, in county towns, nearly everyone’s clothes were patched. Having enough fabric to make a stylish Lenin-style jacket, like his aunt, was rare—like a blond, blue-eyed foreigner walking into a small Chinese town in the 1910s. No wonder Fan Xiaoyuan was so jealous when she saw that jacket.

In the Jiang family, the hierarchy was strict. The cloth tickets distributed each year were reserved for the men’s clothes. Grandma Miao was treated slightly better—she could get a new outfit every two or three years. But Gu Dongmei and the five sisters wore hand-me-downs refashioned from old clothes, many of them so patched up they were unrecognizable.

The second household's Aiguo and Aidang each got a new outfit every year, thanks to the fabric saved from the five sisters. Before leaving the Jiang family, Jiang Laidi never once wore a new set of clothes. It had long been a sore point. When Jiang Dani was about to get married, a widower had sent some cloth coupons to the family, but Fan Xiaoyuan had pestered and schemed until she took them for herself—then tossed an old rag of a dress to Jiang Dani as compensation. Poor eldest sister died without ever wearing a decent outfit.

In the U.S., many housewives enjoyed buying fabric to sew their own clothes. Some also bought fabric for curtains and crafts, so the supermarket had a dedicated fabric section. Every kind of material one could imagine was stocked there. Jiang Laidi knew that some people liked buying greige fabric (白坯布)—undyed cloth made from raw cotton yarn—to dye it themselves. In the 1960s, people had few options for clothing colors—usually just blue, gray, or black. The supermarket also sold various dyes, which could be used to color fabric in different shades.

Bolts of fabric were stacked on shelves in the fabric section, forming little mountains.

Jiang Laidi skipped over the bright and flashy ones with sequins and prints. What he was looking for was plain greige fabric. In one corner, he even found a pile of dusty indigo cotton cloth—which saved him the trouble of dyeing it himself.

This floor also had all sorts of snacks and beverages, spices and seasonings. There were ten massive freezers in the frozen section, stocked with frozen fish, meat, and pre-packaged meals.

He wasn’t yet sure if time was frozen in this space or if the supermarket’s backup generators were still running. If it was the latter, then food spoilage would eventually be an issue—another problem to solve.

Of course, this was something only time could prove.

Before he had time to check out the personal care section and warehouse downstairs, he was shaken awake. His mother had woken up in the middle of the night to nurse him.

The space wasn’t going anywhere. And besides, he was feeling hungry too. A baby’s belly empties quickly, and without the slightest guilt, he began nursing. Yet in his heart, a sweet worry lingered.

That nagging question from earlier floated back into his mind—With so much stuff in the space, how could he safely bring it out?

In the 1960s and 70s, material goods were wealth. How to use them safely and wisely to build a solid foundation for the future—that was key. In this life, he had an advantage no one else did. He couldn't afford to waste it.

After nursing, he was too tired to explore the space any further. Carrying this lingering concern, he drifted into a hazy sleep.

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Chapter 7: Space (2)