VESSEL - Extinction Countdown 995: Vanilla Sundae

Delicate skin, tender neck, veins pulsing with fresh allure…

Ye Shisan jolted awake, blood’s metallic tang flooding his mouth—he’d bitten his tongue. Light seeped under the bedroom door, and deep regret gnawed at him.

Why did you let her stay? For years, he’d had no dreams, yet now the sickness stirred again. Keep her here, and trouble’s certain.

He dragged himself off the cot in the dark, lit a cigarette without flipping a switch. The second floor held a bedroom and storage, but he’d given the bedroom to Vanilla, rigging a simple cot in the warehouse for himself.

In the gloom, the cigarette’s ember glowed faintly, then faded.

Tomorrow, she’s gone.

Rollin’ Records, run by Ms. Wang’s son, Wang Dachui, dealt in legit DVDs while offering phone screen protectors and other minor services on the side. But Dachui cared more for his band than the shop, leaving Ms. Wang to mind it.

Since Shisan Bakery opened across the street, Rollin’ Records’ business had oddly spiked. Simple reason: old folks didn’t eat much bread. It was young people—office workers, students—who did.

And these were the same folks chasing movies and shows. They’d grab a loaf after work or school, swing by the record shop, effortlessly boosting the local GDP.

To Ms. Wang, Ye Shisan was a prime bachelor. Not a top-tier mogul, but a man in his thirties running his own bakery, skills praised by all, raking in at least ten grand a month—decent, though not elite. Fair-skinned, tall, lean and clean-cut, he’d be a heartthrob in a suit and tie.

She’d offered to set him up more than once, but he always waved it off. It wasn’t that Ye Shisan didn’t crave connection; late nights, he’d ache for the warm days with his grandpa. But the beast within, lulled by meds, still lurked. He couldn’t risk it waking and tearing apart someone he loved.

Next day, Ye Shisan closed early, leading Vanilla to Rollin’ Records, tossing in a couple of fried radish cakes for Ms. Wang. Vanilla clutched a sundae, licking it with exaggerated zeal, as if she’d never tasted ice cream.

Before they reached the door, sharp-eyed Ms. Wang bounded out. “Shisan, shutting down early? Well, who’s this little gem?”

Vanilla transformed into a prim princess, clutching Ye Shisan’s sleeve with one hand, daintily nibbling her sundae with an orchid-finger pose, as if she were a court lady savoring a delicate treat.

Before Ye Shisan could speak, Vanilla flashed a sugary smile. “Hi, sister! I’m Uncle Shisan’s niece, Vanilla.”

Ms. Wang, pushing sixty, wasn’t called granny or auntie—she got sister. It sent her over the moon. “Vanilla, you’re a sweetheart! Come, sit! Love cartoons? Pick whatever you want—today’s on the house for you!”

“Thank you, sister! No wonder Uncle Shisan calls you the best!”

Ms. Wang’s grin bloomed like a flower. She nudged Ye Shisan. “Shisan, I’m smitten with your niece! Next time I see her folks, I’m begging to be her godmother!”

Ye Shisan gave a wry chuckle. This kid played me, faking mute.

The trip netted Vanilla a pile of cartoons, but Ye Shisan got no leads on her family.

Back at Shisan Bakery, Vanilla dove into her cartoons, all giggles, while Ye Shisan brooded for the first time.

“Vanilla, want Uncle Shisan to find your parents?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“They don’t want me. They don’t love me anymore.”

“You’re just a kid. What do you know about love…”

He stopped himself. Who was he to say kids didn’t feel love—or its absence? At seven, with his own parents, hadn’t he known?

Vanilla read his silence, her big eyes piercing him until the thirty-something man looked down.

“My mom doesn’t love me,” she said. “She wants to give me away.”

Ye Shisan thumped his chest. “Don’t worry, kid. Uncle Shisan’ll call the police. No way your mom’s giving you away.”

“I hate the police!”

Vanilla wailed, tears streaming.

Ye Shisan was out of moves.

And so, Vanilla stayed at Shisan Bakery. The bedroom and warehouse became the separate realms of a thirty-something man and a nine-year-old girl.

In the nights that followed, Ye Shisan clutched his phone, tossing restlessly on the cot, unable to sleep as questions swirled in his mind: Why had he softened and fed her? What had she endured? Why did she fear the police? Her parents must be searching, maybe having filed a report, yet why didn’t she want them? The relentless riddles throbbed in his head, urging him to just call the cops.

But her pitiful, innocent face tugged at him. He couldn’t.

He drifted off, his mind filled with Vanilla’s silvery-white hair—softandfragrant with a girl’s scent. —followed byer smooth face, delicate earlobes, the pulsing artery’s lethal allure in her neck…

Ye Shisan snapped awake.

He found himself in the bedroom, standing over a pink-sheeted bedwhere Vanilla slept, her cheeks marked with tear stains.

His right hand gripped a sharp boning knife.

Ye Shisan, you’re losing it again!

Cold sweat soaked him. He stuffed the knife into his jacketand crept out. With a surge of desperatestrength, he drove the blade into the wall, gaspingfor breath.

Ye Shisan, you damned monster.

Creak. The bedroom door opened.

Vanilla, clutching a bunny plushie, looked at him slumped by the door. “Uncle Shisan, I had a nightmare. Will you sleep with me?”

“No, I…”

“I know Uncle Shisan’s a good man. You’ll protect me, right?”

In that moment, Ye Shisan—a man in his thirties, tearless since six—curled up in his cramped, dark heart, sobbing his heart out.