Dimensional Storekeeper

Chapter 239: Draft

A strange rumbling echoed from the back alley behind the store.

It wasn’t thunder.

Nor a beast’s roar.

It was… gurgling.

Very, very distressed gurgling.

Then—bang! A wooden door slammed open, and a disheveled man burst out of what could only be described as a very unfortunate outhouse.

He staggered forward, trousers half-tied, expression twisted in panic.

“WHERE’S THE NEAREST STREAM? OR LAKE? OR PIT OF FLAMES?!” he cried.

No one answered.

Because no one else was there.

Except a broom leaning against a dumpster.

And a flickering sign hanging loosely above an inconspicuous wall crack:

[Emergency Dimensional Maintenance Hatch – Staff Only]

Too panicked to notice the fine print, the man sprinted straight into it.

The moment his slipper hit the boundary, space twisted.

There was a soft “pop.”

And he vanished.

—

Inside the Dimensional Convenience Store, the mood was peaceful. Quiet. Mo Xixi was lazily sipping a Lime Fizz on her beanbag throne, Kurome napping on the ice cream machine, and Hao was just about to restock the cola when—

THUD.

CRASH.

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“WHAT IS THIS PLACE?!”

Everyone turned.

Flat on his back near the shelf of canned drinks was a soot-covered man, hair fried, face wide-eyed with terror, pants still slightly unbuttoned.

Hao blinked. Mo Xixi choked on her fizz. Kurome opened one eye.

“…Did he just come out of the mop closet?” Hao muttered.

The man sat up like a resurrected zombie. “Is this… is this the afterlife?! No! No! I haven’t gotten revenge yet! I haven’t finished my training arc!”

He flailed, grabbed the nearest object—which happened to be a can of Peach Oolong Tea—and cracked it open in desperation.

He drank.

And then froze.

His eyes widened.

Spiritual energy surged faintly around him.

“What… what is this divine elixir?”

Hao walked over slowly. “You good, buddy?”

“I—!” The man stood, trembling, face lit with newfound hope. “I don’t know where I am, or how I got here, but this drink… this tea has cured my stomach fire! Even my internal dampness is gone!”

Mo Xixi, now curious, tilted her head. “Were you poisoned?”

“No!” the man cried. “Worse! I accidentally ate a triple-spiced fire pepper stew during my morning outhouse visit—my intestines were on the verge of cultivating their own will! But this—this tea… it brought me back!”

He bowed deeply. “Esteemed storekeeper! Tell me! What is this place?!”

Hao scratched his head. “Dimensional Convenience Store. Products from the mortal world. Cash or crystals.”

“I only have… half a fire crystal and two bath tokens,” the man said solemnly.

“Not enough,” Hao replied.

“Then I shall earn it!” the man declared, fire returning to his gaze. “From this day forth, I, Gou Daoyi, will visit daily, clean the outhouse in your name, and preach the miracle of Peach Oolong Tea across Scorching Soul City!”

Kurome gave a long yawn, then quietly meowed in approval.

Mo Xixi laughed for real.

And Hao, well… Hao already had a mop ready.

“Fine,” he said. “Welcome to the team.”

—

Ten minutes later, Gou Daoyi stood proudly outside the store, holding up a handmade sign.

It read:

“Miracle Peach Tea! Ice Cream of Immortality! Outhouse Openings into Heaven!”

Several passing cultivators slowed down, stared, and began whispering.

From behind the counter, Hao watched the scene unfold, lips twitching.

This wasn’t part of the marketing plan.

But maybe…

Just maybe…

It would work.

At first, Hao thought it was just the wind.

A low creak echoed from the back storage room, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—or someone—stumbling into a stack of cardboard boxes.

Thunk. Crash. Thud.

“…Not again,” Hao muttered.

He casually walked past the vanilla ice cream machine, peeked behind the shelf lined with Original Salted Potato Chips, and pushed open the half-closed door to the back.

There was a man lying face-first on the floor.

A thin, sunburnt figure in dusty robes, arms still extended like he’d tried to stop his fall halfway through the act of being very much launched inside. A cracked wooden toilet lid clung to his belt like a makeshift shield.

“Oh no,” the man wheezed. “Did I… survive?”

“You tell me,” Hao said, nudging him with the toe of his slipper.

The man groaned, then rolled over and gasped, eyes widening like he had just laid eyes on a dragon’s treasure hoard.

“Bright lights… strange magical shelves… glimmering cans of immortal essence…” He suddenly sat up. “IS THIS THE AFTERLIFE?!”

“No,” Hao said. “This is a convenience store.”

The man blinked.

Then squinted at Hao. Then looked around. Then back at Hao again.

“Wait. You’re not a ghost, are you?”

“No.”

“Are you dead?”

“No.”

“…Then am I dead?”

“No,” Hao said, already walking away. “You just accidentally fell into my store. Probably through the outhouse, I’m guessing?”

The man froze.

He slowly turned to look behind him.

Indeed, a faint shimmer of distorted space hovered near the toppled boxes—an unstable, outhouse-shaped portal that was already closing.

“I was just trying to relieve myself,” the man whispered, voice trembling. “And then… then the toilet ate me.”

Hao didn’t stop.

“Name?”

“Uh—uh! I’m Tu Fang! Disciple of the—well, former disciple, I guess—the Emberspire Sect!”

“Sounds familiar. You guys exploded, right?”

“…Unfortunately, yes.”

Tu Fang coughed and dragged himself upright, clearly doing his best to maintain a shred of dignity. He smoothed out his robes, only for more ash to puff out from the folds.

“I—I must say,” he said, straightening up and attempting a dignified air. “This realm… is truly otherworldly.”

“It’s a convenience store,” Hao repeated.

Tu Fang’s gaze landed on the glowing can of Lime Fizz nestled beside the ice cream cone machine.

His jaw dropped.

“That’s… that’s a Spirit Compression Vessel! No—wait, it’s even more advanced than that! Could it be…?”

He sprinted to the shelf, picked up the can reverently, then flinched as the cold metal met his skin.

“W-what is this?”

“Lime Fizz,” Hao said, ringing up a Peach Oolong Tea for a waiting customer. “Three crystals.”

Tu Fang patted himself down, only to pull out a single, nearly cracked spirit stone.

“I only have… this.”

“You can get a cup noodle,” Hao said.

Tu Fang looked at the can again. Then at his one stone.

Then at Hao.

“…Would you consider a temporary line of credit in exchange for undying loyalty and possibly minor errands?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Tu Fang collapsed dramatically to the floor, hugging the can as if it were his long-lost sibling.

“…So cold. So refreshing. So… out of reach.”

From the corner of the store, someone snorted.

A few cultivators chuckled.

Tu Fang’s eyes gleamed as he looked around.

“Wait… does that mean this place is… open to the public?”

Hao leaned against the counter and smirked.

“As long as you don’t break anything.”

Tu Fang’s grin widened.

Then he jumped to his feet, raised the can high like a sword, and cried, “Then mark my words! I, Tu Fang, shall return—with crystals!”

“Just use the door next time.”

“I SHALL!”

And with that, he marched out of the store—only to stop, turn, and bow deeply.

“…Also, where is the door?”

Huang San had just settled on the wooden stool by the ice cream machine, cradling his Peach Oolong Tea like it was a newborn phoenix egg.

“This corner,” he declared grandly, “is my cultivation sanctuary now.”

Hao gave him a look.

“You’re blocking the condiments counter.”

“I am absorbing the profound qi of vanilla,” Huang San replied seriously. “I believe this aroma may unlock a new meridian.”

Before Hao could respond, the store bell jingled.

Another customer stepped through the glowing glass doors.

This one wore a charcoal-gray robe singed with ember-like patterns at the edges, a red scarf wrapped tight around the lower half of his face. He had soot-streaked fingers, a utility belt of talismans, and eyes like polished obsidian—sharp and always scanning.

“Oh?” Huang San tilted his head. “New face. Looks like someone from Scorching Soul City.”

The man gave him a glance and then focused on Hao behind the counter.

“Dimensional Store, right?” he asked. His voice was low, slightly gravelly.

Hao nodded. “That’s what the sign says.”

The man reached into his belt pouch and placed two glittering orange crystals on the counter. They gave off a slight heat.

“Do these work?”

“Fire-aspected spirit crystals?” Hao picked one up, inspected it briefly. “Yep. Can be converted. Same rate as the usual.”

“Good.”

The man didn’t waste time. He walked straight to the freezer section, crouched down, and opened the sliding lid. He stared inside with unnerving intensity.

“…You got anything cold and spicy?”

“Cold and spicy?” Hao blinked.

“I’m testing thermal balance. Most food in my sector either burns your tongue or freezes your soul. Looking for something that fights on both fronts.”

Huang San gasped. “He’s insane! I respect it.”

After a moment of thought, Hao pointed toward the shelves. “Try the Spicy Chicken Noodles with a Vanilla Ice Cream chaser. Guaranteed tongue confusion.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

Then nodded.

By the time he sat across from Huang San at the tiny plastic table, steam was rising from the noodle cup while the ice cream cone stood perfectly still in its holder, untouched for now.

“My name’s Ren Mu,” he said, poking the noodles with his chopsticks.

“Huang San!” Huang waved cheerfully. “Regular customer, tea enthusiast, minor cultivator. My specialty is getting punched by fate.”

“…Alright.”