<VESSEL>Extinction Countdown 996: Sunset Angel

Shisan Bakery opened its doors.

Unlike the bustling shops nearby, Ye Shisan’s place stood quiet. No flower baskets, no red banners—just him, wielding a broom, dustpan, bucket, and rag, embarking on his first day.

The days that followed were light and joyful. In just a week, Ye Shisan transformed the shop inside and out. He commissioned a new sign, its lights glowing automatically at dusk—a wonder to a man out of touch with society for twenty years.

After securing the bakery, Secretary Hu slipped him a card loaded with a hundred thousand yuan, saying to call if he needed more. Ye Shisan never dialed.

The shop came fully equipped: a grand fridge, workbench, sink, separate prep basin, storage cabinets, vertical mixer, dough divider, proofing box, ovens, stovetop, and convection oven. There were even several sets of molds, whisks, rolling pins, brushes, sifters, spoons, measuring cups, scrapers, scoring knives, wheel cutters, piping bags, silicone mats, proofing cloths, and baskets.

With the shop polished to a shine, Ye Shisan stocked up on essentials—flour, yeast, eggs, sugar, other necessary ingredients—and began baking.

The first month, he sold a single loaf, only for the customer to storm back, cursing its inedible taste. It was that bad.

By the second month, his bread vanished by three each afternoon, pre-orders stacking up for its sheer delight. It was that good.

Tending his modest shop, Ye Shisan slipped into a long-lost ordinary life.

Yet sometimes, his gaze would linger on a customer’s tender neck—especially a young girl’s delicate skin—stirring an urge he fought to suppress. He clung to his meds, wrestling his desires.

When the impulse surged, he’d grab a crusty baguette, slicing it slowly with a knife, calming himself like an addict seeking solace.

Time raced by. Months later, the plum rain season arrived, the bakery’s quiet spell. The world turned damp and clammy, and business dwindled. Few braved the rain for bread.

Delivery orders persisted, but Ye Shisan found himself with more idle hours than before.

The drizzle pattered for days. One evening, after a full day’s work, Ye Shisan lowered the shutter to close up when he spotted a small, skinny shadow huddled under the eaves.

A timid girl, eight or nine, looked as if she’d tumbled into a mud pit and clambered out. Mud plastered her face and hair, long strands tangled with sludge around her neck. Her clothes, ragged and filthy, hadn’t been changed in days.

She caught Ye Shisan’s stare and hid one hand behind her back, clutching a soggy lump of dough, pulped by the rain.

It clicked—bread had been vanishing because she’d been sneaking in when he stepped to the back to fetch freshly baked bread.

But Ye Shisan felt no anger.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asked.

She stayed mute, big eyes locked on him, her hidden fist nervously squeezing the dough to a pulp.

Is she mute?

He picked up a slice of his masterpiece, a vanilla chocolate mousse. “Upstairs, you can take a hot shower. Clean up, then eat.”

Her eyes flicked to him, then fixed on the fragrant mousse.

Truth be told, the little mute left Ye Shisan stunned after she washed up.

Silvery-white hair cascaded over a delicate frame, her skin smooth as creamy jade, her gray eyes wide and luminous. In his oversized T-shirt, its hem grazing her slender, pale legs, she looked like a fairy straight out of a fairy tale.

Watching her devour the cake, Ye Shisan forced his gaze from her neck’s forbidden allure. “What’s your name?”

…Munch, munch, munch.

“Why’re you out here alone?”

…More munch, munch, munch.

“Where’s your home? Your folks?”

…Nonstop munch, munch, munch.

“Alright, you can stay tonight, but I’ll need to call the police…”

The words slipped out, and he cursed himself. With his record, police sniffing around could spell disaster. What if they pinned something on him? What if her parents accused him of abduction?

Before he could spiral, the girl heard “police” and burst into tears, cake crumbs scattering across the table. She dreaded the cops, clearly.

But this couldn’t stand—a man in his thirties housing an eight-year-old girl? Even if gossip didn’t spread, what if an episode struck and he harmed her?

Then he recalled Auntie Wang across the street, peddling pirated DVDs and chummy with the local office. She might know of missing kids nearby. He could coax the girl home, gently.

Mind made up, Ye Shisan tried again. “If you won’t talk, I’ll give you a name. Can’t keep calling you ‘hey,’ right?”

The silver-haired fairy glanced at him, wordless.

Noticing the vanilla chocolate mousse in her hand, he said, “I’ll call you Vanilla.”

To his surprise, she stared for a moment, then wailed anew.

“Chocolate, then? Mousse?” he ventured.

Each name made her sob louder. He doubled back. “Alright, Vanilla it is. You like that one, don’t you?”

She fell silent, stopped crying, and wolfed down the last of the cake in one bite.

Well, that’s a yes.

Ye Shisan chuckled, crouching to her level, extending a broad hand for a shake. “Miss Vanilla, pleasure to meet you. I’m Ye Shisan.”

Vanilla licked her lips, then flung her arms around him, crying silently.

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This work is a side story set within the V-Universe (VONVERSE), a fictional world developed by the author VON. It belongs to a newly invented literary genre: Transcendental Constructive Fiction (TCF) - also known as「超架空系」.

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[Where science bends, and myth constructs.]