Dimensional Storekeeper

Chapter 238: Draft

A dry wind blew across the foothills.

Dust rolled like a tired sigh, brushing the hems of old robes and forgotten stones. The sun hung lazily in the sky—high noon, sharp shadows.

At the foot of Mount Qingze’s outer ridge, a narrow trail twisted through thick grass and thornbrush. Few travelers passed this way anymore. Fewer still without escort.

Yet today, someone walked alone.

A man in a patched-up robe.

A wide-brimmed bamboo hat shaded half his face, but even from a distance, one could tell—he wasn’t young. His steps were slow, but steady. Callused feet pressed the dirt like he was walking a familiar path, even if he wasn’t.

Strapped to his back was an old wicker basket… and inside, the faint rattle of what sounded suspiciously like glass bottles.

Eventually, the path opened.

A strange building sat between two spiritual trees, humming with quiet, modern energy—cold steel sliding doors, bright colors, and an air-conditioned breeze that didn’t belong in this part of the world.

The Dimensional Convenience Store.

The man stopped in front of the sign, head tilted.

Then he muttered.

“…So it wasn’t a hallucination.”

With a creak of his joints, he stepped forward.

The door slid open with a mechanical ding, and the sudden wave of chill air made him pause. His hand tightened slightly on the strap of his basket. His spiritual sense brushed outward, but what greeted him was…

Flavored chips. Sugary drinks. Ice cream.

And a bored-looking man leaning behind the counter with his chin propped on his palm.

“Yo,” Hao said, blinking at the stranger’s ancient getup. “Welcome. We’ve got noodles, soda, and existential disappointment in aisle three.”

The man stepped inside fully, blinking once.

“…Interesting aura,” he said.

“Thanks,” Hao said. “I also have three-for-one chicken cup noodles today.”

The man lowered his hat slightly.

“I am Grandmaster Wei Shentong. Former alchemy chief of the Southern Ember Sect.”

“Cool,” Hao replied, deadpan. “I’m Hao. Cashier.”

Wei Shentong glanced around the store slowly, eyes narrowing at the glowing fridges, the bright signs, and the rotating hotdog roller near the counter. He said nothing for a long moment.

Then.

“Do you… sell vinegar?”

Hao blinked.

“…Yes?”

“I will take one bottle,” the man said solemnly.

He approached the counter, placed a small gourd-shaped bottle on it, and then—

With an almost reverent gesture—he opened his basket.

Out came a neat stack of seven ancient pill bottles, three paper-wrapped talismans, and a dusty coin pouch.

“I will trade.”

“Crystals only,” Hao said instantly.

The old man furrowed his brows.

“I have a seven-cycle Pure Yang Essence Pill that has aged for over two hundred—”

“Nope.”

“…A Frostbane Talisman drawn by a Third Realm Ice Witch—”

“Not unless it turns into exact change.”

Wei Shentong fell silent again.

Then, sighing deeply, he pulled out three shimmering crystals from beneath the bottles.

He placed them down like it physically hurt.

“…One vinegar, then.”

“Right away, Grandmaster Bargainhunter.”

Hao turned, walked two steps, grabbed a bottle of malt vinegar, and handed it over.

The old man cradled it like a precious artifact.

And before Hao could say anything more, he turned on his heel and walked straight out the door.

“…Did he seriously hike here just for vinegar?” Hao muttered.

Then he paused.

He glanced at the shelf.

“…Huh. That was our last one.”

The next morning, a thick mist settled over the outer sect like an old quilt nobody asked for.

Some disciples were still groggy from yesterday’s “Convenience Store Festival,” their spiritual seas overtaxed from the cola-fueled sparring matches and one-too-many spicy cup noodles.

But not the girl currently crouched in front of the store, eyes gleaming with purpose.

Her name was Zhou Mian, a skinny little thing barely taller than the counter inside. She wore oversized robes that made her look like a runaway dumpling, and her hair had been tied into two short buns, crooked and uneven.

She looked about twelve.

She was fourteen.

And she had one goal in mind.

“Is it true?” she whispered, staring at the glass door. “That they sell the kind of ice cream that can soothe internal fire-qi burns?”

Hao, who had just unlocked the store and was still sipping from his morning lime fizz, paused.

“…You mean the soft serve vanilla?”

Zhou Mian nodded rapidly.

“I need it,” she said seriously. “For cultivation reasons.”

Her right hand was bandaged thickly, but charred edges peeked out from beneath. Spiritual qi pulsed faintly from the injury, unstable and angry. It was clearly fire-based, and more importantly, freshly self-inflicted.

“What did you burn yourself on?” Hao asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A technique scroll I wasn’t supposed to touch,” she replied proudly.

“…Of course you did.”

“It exploded politely,” she added.

Hao stared at her for a long moment before sighing and turning around.

“One cone. One per person per day. Three crystals.”

Zhou Mian lit up like a torch and immediately reached into her sleeve. A soft clink clink clink sounded as she pulled out three perfect shards, polished and warm to the touch.

“This store,” she whispered reverently as Hao handed over the cone, “is sacred ground.”

Then she bit into the ice cream like a starving beast.

A long pause followed.

Zhou Mian’s body trembled from head to toe.

Then—

“HNNNNNNGH—”

Her voice cracked halfway into a strange squeal-sigh, and she slumped onto the bench outside the store, cheeks glowing, a dumb smile spreading across her face.

“…It worked,” she breathed. “The fire in my dantian stopped trying to kill me…”

Hao sipped his fizz again.

“Yeah, that’s the intended effect.”

She blinked up at him with wide eyes.

“This could change the future of pill refinement…”

“No, it can’t.”

“A revolution in fire-body cultivation methods!”

“It’s just ice cream.”

Zhou Mian suddenly shot up and slammed her palms on the glass door.

“I need to come back tomorrow.”

“You can. Once a day.”

“And the day after that!”

“…Still once a day.”

“I’ll build an ice cream refining manual!”

“Please don’t.”

But the girl was already scribbling frantically into her little notepad with her non-burned hand, occasionally muttering phrases like ’dairy-to-spiritual-liquid ratio’ and ’cone stability in meridian conduction.’

Hao stared at her for a moment longer.

Then turned around and muttered under his breath.

“…This store’s becoming a magnet for lunatics.”

Kurome, curled on the windowsill in her cat form, opened one eye lazily.

“Says the biggest lunatic of them all.”

Hao didn’t reply.

Mostly because she wasn’t wrong.

The bell above the convenience store door chimed again.

This time, the one who stepped in was not drenched in sweat or panting with desperation like most first-timers. No. This man entered with a slow, deliberate gait, his long black robes rippling gently despite the lack of wind. His expression was serene—too serene. The kind of calm one only saw on weathered ascetics or final bosses right before the last battle.

Hao, halfway through counting his crystals, glanced up and narrowed his eyes.

The stranger looked… clean. Too clean for someone from the Molten Ashlands.

“Welcome,” Hao said slowly, setting down his crystal pile. “Need a drink? A snack? A soul-refining experience?”

The man didn’t answer at first. He simply walked forward, eyes calmly scanning each shelf of colorful mortal-world items. His gaze lingered on the shelf of Lime Fizz and Cola, then moved to the Peach Oolong Tea with something like recognition.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“This is the place Ji Yunzhi mentioned.”

Hao’s brows twitched. Ji Yunzhi? The crazy alchemist who once tried to cook cola into a pill and nearly blew off his eyebrows?

“You a friend of his?” Hao asked, tone wary.

The man smiled faintly. “Let’s say… his disappointed senior.”

Ah. That explained the energy.

“Didn’t expect him to leave the Ashlands alive,” the man continued. “Yet not only is he back, he now talks nonstop about peach tea and instant noodles. And about a certain mysterious store with ’truth-defying ice cream.’ I had to see for myself.”

“Well, now you’ve seen it,” Hao said, casually leaning on the counter. “You going to buy anything, or just judge our humble shelves with your superior Dao heart?”

There was a brief pause.

Then the man reached out and picked up a cup of Spicy Beef Instant Noodles.

He sniffed it once, then nodded solemnly.

“This scent contains harmony. Balance. Recklessness. Salt.”

Hao blinked. “…Yeah, it’s just MSG.”

“I’ll take five.”

Oh. Okay then.

The man, apparently satisfied, turned to leave—then stopped, eyeing the ice cream machine in the corner.

“That… is the one he called a ’cold divine test,’ yes?”

“One per person,” Hao reminded quickly. “Daily limit. No refills.”

The man walked up to it with reverence, as if approaching an ancient inheritance ground. He pressed the button, and as the vanilla swirl began to form, a small, nearly invisible pulse of spiritual energy rolled off him.

Hao’s hair stood up.

This guy wasn’t just some bored elder. He was dangerous.

The man accepted the cone, took one small bite—

—and promptly sat down on the floor.

“This…” he whispered. “This is the ice tribulation I failed in my youth.”

“What?!”

“No wonder I plateaued,” he murmured, staring at the cone like it held the secret to cultivation. “It was flavor. I lacked… flavor.”

Source: .com, updated by novlove.com