The aroma of fresh bread enveloped Qian like a hug as he stepped inside. Warm air, thick with butter and sugar, wafted through the small bakery, where sunlight streamed in through the front window and painted a soft golden hue across the flour-dusted counter. Beyond, Haoyu was already there—rolling up his sleeves, humming something off-key as he shaped the dough with practiced hands. The bell above the door had just stopped tinkling when he looked up, his eyes narrowed into a grin.
"You're late," he said, still absorbed in his work.
Qian simply smiled, stuffing his cold hands into his pockets.
"The bread smells delicious today," he sniffed happily, a warm smile etched across his face.
"Always," Haoyu replied irritably, kneading the bread vigorously. "But I knew you'd come for the cinnamon rolls."
Ring! The shop door was opened by someone. He was wearing a white shirt decorated with red spots, black pants torn at the calves, and shoes smeared with red liquid. The man didn't look like a villager; he seemed to be from the city. He had blond hair and was probably around 188 cm tall. Qian felt uncomfortable at first, examining the man from head to toe. He realized something was very odd: the red liquid on his shoes had smeared on the floor. Qian shuddered and stepped back. He took something sharp and put it in his apron pocket.
"Welcome!" he gave the new customer a fake smile, the one he usually used to greet those customers, and it's always been like that.
It was nighttime, with minimal lighting. The bakery where Qian worked was located at the edge of the village, close to a forest. Rumor had it that the forest was home to a gangster base led by a mafia group. Qian often had to confront members of this group every night. But why hadn't he reported it?
Comments (0)
See all