ZERO CUT

SIDE ROAD 03

An Extra
Me

Yan hired help. Somehow, she is busier.

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Cultivation comedy · mildly censored language

Bo attempts a crescent bun while Yan watches his hands from immediately beside him.

Yan: Today, I get an extra pair of hands.

Bo holds up a neatly sealed bun. Yan's finger arrives to inspect it.

Bo: Like this? Yan: Not like that.

Yan takes the bun from Bo's hands to pinch the edge herself.

Yan: Here. Like this.

Bo looks sideways at the instruction he has just received.

Bo: That was the same this.

Three almost identical crescent buns sit on the counter. The Master points uncertainly.

Master: Which one is wrong? Yan: It's obvious.

The Master studies a bun as if it were a complex magical artifact. The Egg waits beside him.

Master: Then I will eat the evidence. Egg: Coward.

Yan works furiously, jade afterimages of her arms juggling every job. Bo stands idle holding an empty tray.

Yan: I need another me! Egg: You'd hate her.

Bo raises his spoon and asks Yan a question. She waves without looking.

Bo: How much filling? Yan: Enough.

An absurd mountain of filling balances on Bo's spoon above a small wrapper. Yan points.

Yan: Not that much! Bo: Smaller enough. Got it.

Yan holds a tiny pinch above a bun, explaining with total confidence.

Yan: You just need a feel for it.

Bo braces both hands on his spoon and replies.

Bo: You keep grabbing it before I can feel sh*t.

Bo unties his apron.

Bo stands in his indigo shirt and charcoal trousers. His folded apron lies on the counter. Yan stops working.

Yan: You're leaving? Bo: I'm staying. Are you going to teach me, or keep checking if I'm already you?

Yan holds out an open palm, suddenly listening.

Yan: I thought showing you was teaching.

The Master holds up his own limp, lopsided dough creation. Yan watches.

Master: You showed me too. Egg: Is it in pain?

Yan points to the closed edge of a sample crescent. A wooden spoon, filling and wrapper sit beside it.

Yan: This much filling. A closed edge. Same size as this one.

Yan demonstrates slowly at Bo's working level.

Yan: Make three. We'll cook one and check it together.

Close on Bo watching the demonstration with concentration.

Bo: And I get to finish one? Yan: Yes.

Bo presses the edge of his bun closed with a wooden fork.

Bo: Can I use this?

Bo makes the next bun. Yan stands with her hands locked behind her back.

Yan: I use my fingers. Bo: Does it need your fingers?

Close on Yan physically holding herself back from intervening.

Yan: Don't touch it. Yan: Try it.

Yan breaks open the cooked bun. The filling stayed inside the fork-sealed edge.

Yan tastes the bun while Bo waits.

Yan: Good. Even filling. Edge held. Bo: Was that painful? Yan: A little.

Outside beside the canal, Yan holds a cup of tea. The Master and the intact Egg sit beside her. Bo works inside the bakery doorway.

Master: You could have tea. Yan: Five minutes.

Close on Yan holding her tea and glancing back toward the bakery.

Yan: Has it been five? Master: Forty seconds. Drink.

Bo independently passes a basket of finished crescent buns to the customer's grey-sleeved hands.

Bo: Here you go. Watch the steam.

Yan returns through the doorway, surprised and relieved.

Yan: Nothing's on fire. Bo: Except the oven. As requested.

One misshapen closed bun sits on a separate plate beside the completed order.

Bo: This one came out weird. Kept it back.

Bo offers Yan the odd bun. She holds her tea and laughs.

Yan: Good catch. That's lunch. Bo: Promotion already?

The Master presents his own much worse bun to the Egg. A wooden fork lies on the counter.

Master: Mine has character. Egg: That is a medical condition.

The intact Egg sits in its tray beside the wooden fork, with no hands to reach for it.

Egg: Fine. Teach me the fork.

A NOTE WHEN THE STORY CONTINUES

More chapters. Fewer good decisions.

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