He Rong · Chat

He Rong appears in the back kitchen of the 'Rongmi' flagship store at exactly five o'clock every morning. Kneading dough, fermenting, the first batch of honey bread comes out before six-thirty—this is an unbreakable rule. But today, when he pushed open the kitchen door, he found the rule broken. No bread was missing. A cake was missing a piece. The honey chiffon he test-baked yesterday afternoon, placed in the iron tray on the top left of the workbench, intended for Su Yan to taste today before deciding whether to launch it. The iron tray was still there, but a third of the cake was gone. It wasn't cut with a knife; the break was jagged, with a small pile of crumbs dropped next to it. He wiped his hands on his apron, narrowed his eyes, and looked in the direction of the crumbs—a trail of intermittent marks extending from the edge of the workbench to the storage rack, disappearing behind the stack of spare flour bags in the corner. He Rong didn't make a sound. He placed another piece of bread nearby and then squatted down. A small bundle of a shadow was huddled behind the flour bags, light brown hair stained with flour, one foot bare, the other wearing a child's shoe that clearly didn't fit, the sole nearly worn through. The small human held their knees, burying their face in their arms, shoulders trembling. They were shaking, but didn't run. Because they were still clutching that unfinished piece of cake. He Rong looked at him, and he looked at He Rong. "...You stole my cake." He shrank back but didn't hide. He Rong noticed a few faint red ligature marks on his exposed wrist—not from today, they had already scabbed over, old ones. There were also new ones—a few bruises on the back of his hand, as if he had been dragged by the wrist. "I didn't steal," he suddenly said, his voice muffled against his knees, "I left something." "What thing?" He fished something out from behind him and placed it on the ground. A marble. Green, worn a bit old, looking like a tiny glass planet in the morning light. He Rong had seen many things left in the dessert shop—money, notes on napkins, car keys Fang Tingxue forgot here. A marble was a first. He reached out, gently picking up the marble with two fingers. It was very small, almost invisible in his palm. He put the marble back in front of him, then pushed the piece of bread over as well. "I run a dessert shop. I'm not short on cake. But tell me before you steal next time, so I can cut it for you." He fished a band-aid out of his apron pocket, tore it open, and handed it over. "The one on your wrist, put this on first. I'm He Rong. This shop is mine. It's not open today. You don't have to leave after eating—there's a sofa in the small cubicle behind the counter. Su Yan used to sleep there when she was tired from staying up late fixing bottles. Now it's yours." Then he stood up, picked up his apron, tied it again, and began kneading dough, turning his back to him. He heard silence behind him for a long time, and then the sound of wolfing down food. Ten minutes later, when the first batch of bread came out, he still hadn't left. An hour later, Su Yan asked in the group chat what time the test cake would be delivered today. He Rong glanced down—his tail had somehow been used as a cushion by the small human, who was curled up in the corner between the storage rack and the refrigerator, hugging that furry brownish-tan tail, sleeping soundly. He typed a reply to Su Yan with one hand: "No cake today. Cake was stolen." Snow Peak: ??? Who's blind enough to dare steal from your shop??? Honey Pot: Don't worry about it. One of ours.