C3 The Grocery Store Starts Business!

"Oh, that smells amazing. If only there were some spices, even just a bit of salt would do."

Seated cross-legged by the campfire, Bao Guo finally got his wish to savor some roasted meat. It wasn't leopard meat, and heaven knows what kind it actually was, but it was a hefty chunk skewered on a stick as thick as a thumb. An auntie had handed it to him, and he dug in without hesitation.

As he happily munched on the unidentified meat, a group of tall Caucasians approached, bearing his helmet, freshly laundered clothes, and an oil-stained pot lid.

"#@#@#￥," the towering, bald middle-aged man at the front, well over two meters tall, performed an odd bow before Bao Guo, muttered something, and handed over the helmet.

"Have a seat, join me. We might not understand each other, but we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the future. Once I've had my fill, I'll fetch some salt for you. Uh, and maybe look into buying some cloth."

Bao Guo communicated with gestures and descriptions, and the bald man sat down beside him, grabbing a piece of the roast and eating contentedly on his own.

"Father, should we really give it back to him? That knife, it's crafted from pure metal. Not even the town's finest blacksmith, no, not even the legendary dwarf master craftsman from the great cities could produce such a thin blade. Are we truly going to return it?"

Anna whispered to the middle-aged man, her cheeks flushing as she stole glances at Bao Guo. Her father had just instructed her to attend to this distinguished young man until he chose to leave, and to fulfill any request he made without refusal.

"A fine knife is useless if we're not alive to use it. Have Allen bring the knife back to him. We can't covet anything of his. With his identity a mystery, keeping his belongings is just asking for trouble. Go retrieve it now."

No sooner had he spoken than Allen, with a pained expression, hurried to the village chief, cradling the snapped watermelon knife. He collapsed to the ground, sobbing, "Oh, I'm so sorry, village chief. I've caused a disaster. I just wanted to test the knife, only chopped at a tree, and it broke. I swear I didn't use it on stone."

"Pfft!" No words were necessary; Bao Guo could tell from the man's expression that he was upset about the ruined knife. He quickly gestured with his hands, reassuringly, "Don't worry about it. It's just a knife, not worth much. I'll bring back a better one for you guys later."

He nonchalantly grabbed the two pieces of the broken knife and tossed them into the roaring bonfire. Then, he unwrapped the black T-shirt from his waist, gave it a shake, and flung the remnants of the peculiar little creature—bones, fur, and innards—into the flames as well.

After dusting off his hands, he grabbed a large, juicy piece of meat from the circle of people roasting meat that was crackling and dripping with fat. He called out to them, "I'm borrowing a piece of meat. I'll trade you some salt for it later. I'm off."

Leaving behind a crowd of confused onlookers, Bao Guo, with a pot lid slung over his back, a helmet in one hand, and a steaming piece of roast meat in the other, dashed to the edge of the village. He skirted a towering thicket of brambles and, in a flash, returned to Earth.

...

"We've got plenty of salt, but how did I run out of Five Spice Powder? Grandma, these are essentials. I've got to head to the farmers' market and get this grocery shop going."

Mounting his motorcycle, Bao Guo sneezed three times. "Damn, it must be over 30 degrees Celsius there, and it's only about 20 degrees here at home. This temperature difference is going to give me a cold. Before that happens, I need to figure out what valuable things I can bring back to sell. I'm not keen on the idea of peddling roast meat for cash."

Bao Guo wasn't exactly sure what the grocery store sold. All he knew was that it was the kind of shop that existed before supermarkets sprouted up everywhere, offering a mix of farm produce, local specialties, and sundries. As supermarkets gained popularity, these small, all-in-one grocery shops began to disappear from public view.

Bao Guo's grandmother had run her grocery store for decades, but by the end, it barely turned a profit. She kept it open more out of sentiment than anything else, and hardly anyone shopped there anymore. In a small village of just over a hundred households with two stores already in business, his grandmother's shop was squeezed in between, leaving little room for him to make his mark.

"Ah, a grocery store? They're pretty rare these days. If you're looking to stock up, you'll have to trek through the entire farmers' market, picking up a little bit of everything. No need to overstock, though. There are rental trucks right outside; just load everything up and you're set. Not to be blunt, young man, but at your age, why open a grocery store? It's hardly profitable, and you might even lose money. It's just not a viable business anymore."

The spice wholesale shop owner imparted his wisdom to Bao Guo with a heavy heart. After all, the young man had just purchased nearly a thousand yuan's worth of spices, including three hefty bags of coarse salt. Even though such items weren't exactly legal to sell openly, well, who was watching? Only a fool would pass up the chance to make money.

Upon learning Bao Guo intended to run a grocery store, the owner couldn't help but scoff. What a laughable idea in this day and age! Why bother when anyone could simply hop on a bus to the supermarket?

"Thanks for the advice, boss. But really, I'm just keeping a memory alive. The old man ran the place for decades; it wouldn't feel right to shut it down abruptly. My mom wouldn't be happy, either. I just want to give them some peace of mind. Oh, and could I get ten more packets of the Thirteen Spices blend?"

"What a dutiful son you are. I wish my own kid was half as considerate. Listen, don't bother with the farming tools across the way. Head east, right next to the restroom, there's a little shop. The old fellow there is a seasoned blacksmith. He crafts high-quality, affordable tools. Best of all, he'll make any kind of blade you want, as long as you're paying. Heh, I don't usually share that tip."

Bao Guo's eyes sparkled at the prospect. Any kind of blade, made to order? Perfect. He thanked the shop owner, loaded his purchases onto the small trailer behind him, and made his way to the modest shop by the restroom.

Standing before the "Gold Phoenix Hardware and Sundries," Bao Guo couldn't suppress a wry smile. Why couldn't the old man spruce up the place a bit? In an era judged by appearances, it certainly mattered.

"Hello? Anyone here? I'm looking to buy some supplies." He called out several times before a robust old man with crow's feet crinkling around his eyes emerged. The man, easily in his sixties, had the cheerful demeanor of someone who smiles often.

"I'm here, I'm here. My apologies, I was just sharpening my axe. What can I get for you, young man?"

"What are your prices for these items?"

Caught off guard, the old man removed his gloves and began to explain, "Kitchen knives, scissors, all ten dollars each. The farm tools are ten dollars without a handle, add five dollars if you want a handle. Custom orders require a deposit."

Bao Guo passed the old man a cigarette and whispered, "I need a one-meter-long machete without a handle. I'll wrap the handle myself later. For a top-quality piece, what's the price per unit?"

Taking a drag from the cigarette, the old man squinted and inquired, "How many do you need? You're looking for blade blanks. I've got plenty I made for fun, unsharpened. I can give you a bit of a discount on those."

"Fine, I'll take them unsharpened, as many as you have, for the long haul." Bao Guo had figured there were at least two to three hundred able-bodied men in his village. How could this old man produce two to three hundred knives? Clearly, he was overpromising.

The old man gave him a skeptical look: "I've got over a thousand blade blanks. If you're serious about taking them all, I won't charge extra. Thirty-five for a long knife, twenty-five for a short one, and it's more for sharpened ones."

"Pfft, cough, cough, cough. How many? Over a thousand?" Bao Guo choked on his coughs. He was keen to buy, but funds were tight; his father had only given him a little over ten thousand dollars.

"Let me start with a hundred knives to show my customers, and maybe you could cut me a deal?"

"No can do. Scrap iron alone costs over three dollars a pound, plus there's my labor, electricity, and the alloy powder. The price is already rock-bottom. You won't find anyone cheaper, but I'll deliver the whole lot to you."

Biting the bullet, Bao Guo ordered a hundred blade blanks and arranged for the old man to deliver them directly.

By noon that day, the Old Liu Family Provisions Shop, which had been shuttered for over half a month, reopened for business.