Axolotl Translations

With Liang Zhao right in front of him, pretending not to notice would just be plain rude.

Gu Mengran awkwardly turned around and forced out a stiff smile. “Uh… m-morning, Liang Zhao.”

Liang Zhao looked like he’d just crawled out of bed, his movements slow and lazy, still half-dazed from sleep. His eyelashes drooped slightly, and as he sniffed the air, his voice was unhurried.

“Smells good. You’re making braised meat?”

“Mm, just put it on the stove.” Gu Mengran nodded quickly and turned toward the kitchen. “Oh shoot, my memory’s awful—I almost forgot the salt! Let me just—”

“I got it.”

Before he could make a move, Liang Zhao effortlessly slid open the kitchen door and stepped inside. “Your foot’s still not fully healed. Try not to walk around too much.”

Gu Mengran: …

Helplessly, he watched as Liang Zhao added a hefty scoop of salt into each pot.

…Well. Hopefully, dinner wouldn’t turn into a salt bomb.

But after helping out, Liang Zhao didn’t leave. Instead, he followed Gu Mengran to the living room, plopped down on the sofa, and sat there in complete silence—just staring at him, brows slightly furrowed.

“…W-what?”

Under that intense gaze, Gu Mengran felt uncomfortable all over. He instinctively reached up, touching his cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.” Liang Zhao finally looked away, his expression unreadable.

Then, after a pause, he said, “That day—”

That day?! Again?!

Seriously, could we NOT bring that up?!

Before Liang Zhao could get another word in, Gu Mengran hurriedly cut him off.

“That day—I blacked out! I wasn’t conscious at all! The last person I saw was you, so, so… that’s why I didn’t want you to leave! Survival instinct, you get it, right?”

Liang Zhao hadn’t expected such a dramatic response. His furrowed brows relaxed slightly, a hint of surprise flickering across his eyes, followed by a soft chuckle.

“…What are you laughing at?” Gu Mengran asked, blinking in confusion.

Liang Zhao’s gaze held a trace of amusement as he said lightly, “Grandpa Meng told me you fainted from low blood sugar that day. Feeling better now?”

“Oh, that? Yeah, yeah, way better.” Gu Mengran nodded quickly, his tone just a little guilty.

Just when he thought it was just casual concern and breathed a sigh of relief, Liang Zhao’s tone suddenly shifted—calm, yet piercing.

“I lost touch with most of my old classmates after leaving school,” he said, almost offhandedly. “But this morning, I got in contact with Zheng Yifei.”

A stone dropped into still water, sending shockwaves through the surface.

Gu Mengran froze.

That day.

Liang Zhao wasn’t talking about the day he fainted—he was talking about the day they met again.

And if he had reached out to Zheng Yifei, that could only mean one thing—he knew.

He knew that Zheng Yifei wasn’t the one who told him about the ship.

His lie had fallen apart on its own. Now what? How was he supposed to explain?

His mind went completely blank.

Liang Zhao caught every flicker of hesitation and panic in Gu Mengran’s expression. By all logic, he had the advantage here—he had the truth, the upper hand.

And yet, for a brief moment, a flicker of regret flashed across his eyes.

Liang Zhao had been awake almost all day. His mind had been spinning with thoughts, but no matter how much he turned things over, he still couldn’t make sense of it.

But in the end, did the truth even matter?

Whatever the reason, whatever the truth—he wasn’t willing to shatter this rare moment of peace.

For someone like him, who had nothing to his name, what was there to scheme for?

“I just have one question.” He pushed down the turmoil inside him, lifted his gaze, and looked straight at Gu Mengran.

Knowing there was no escape, Gu Mengran let out a vague “Mm.”

What would he ask?

Why did you lie? Why did you bring me on board? Why—

“Before we met again… did you still remember me?”

Gu Mengran blinked.

Of all the questions he had braced himself for, this was the one he hadn’t expected at all.

A question so harmless, so unexpected, it almost felt irrelevant.

Yet, Liang Zhao’s intense, serious, almost desperate gaze told a different story. This question mattered to him.

For a split second, a flicker of hesitation passed through Gu Mengran’s eyes.

Then, as if he had come to a decision, he shrugged it off and flashed a confident smile.

“Of course, I remembered. Otherwise, why would I have invited you onto the Windwing?”

The tension in Liang Zhao’s body visibly eased.

“Liang Zhao.”

Gu Mengran shifted slightly, making room between them. Then, he patted Liang Zhao’s shoulder lightly, and said, his tone unusually serious—

“I know you have a lot of questions. But I can’t explain everything right now. Just give me two days. Trust me, just this once.”

“I never said I don’t trust you. I just…”

Liang Zhao lowered his gaze, looking away, and murmured softly, “I’m curious.”

“Curious about what?” Gu Mengran tilted his head, puzzled.

Liang Zhao’s lips curled into a small, amused smile. He lifted a hand and pointed toward the kitchen.

“Your braised meat.”

“Oh, crap!”

In the end, the braised meat turned out a little too salty.

Later that night, while waiting in the wheelhouse for the ship to pass through the locks, both Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao were dying of thirst—each downing at least five cups of water.

And then… came the endless bathroom trips.

At 1 a.m., Meng Gaoyang woke up, yawning as he strolled into the wheelhouse.

“Grandpa Meng.”

Liang Zhao spotted him from the corner of his eye and immediately got up from the captain’s chair. But before he could fully stand, Meng Gaoyang pressed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Sit, sit. I just came to check in.”

They were almost at the locks.

Gu Mengran was standing at the helm, his face practically glued to the glass as he watched with fascination.

Hearing the movement behind him, he turned around in surprise. “Grandpa, what are you doing here? Couldn’t sleep?”

The old man strode over, smirking like he was up to no good.

“Well, it’s the locks. Can’t quite trust you two kids to handle it alone. Just came to check in—not here to interrupt your little couple’s—”

“GRANDPA!”

Gu Mengran’s face went pale, then red in record time. In three quick strides, he lunged forward and clamped a hand over his grandfather’s mouth.

His grandpa and his big mouth—he had almost just…

Gu Mengran instinctively glanced at Liang Zhao—only to meet his puzzled gaze head-on.

To cover the awkwardness, he grinned sheepishly, then quickly dragged his grandfather aside to a corner of the helm.

“Grandpa, I’m begging you—please stop talking nonsense! Do you know how awkward that makes things between me and Liang Zhao?!” Gu Mengran lowered his voice, practically whispering his complaint.

Realizing his mistake, the old man scratched the back of his head and let out a forced laugh.

“Haha, yeah… so, uh… that braised meat was way too salty. My mouth is dry as a desert.”

“Grandpa Meng, here’s some water.”

“Oh, perfect! I was dying of thirst.”

The moment Liang Zhao spoke up, the old man slipped away like an eel, sliding right over to the helm.

Gu Mengran had no choice but to let it go, puffing out his cheeks in frustration as he shot his grandfather an exasperated glare.

At 1:30 a.m., Windwing was at the front of the line, slowly making its approach toward the lock gates.

From a distance, it looked like nothing more than an oversized door.

But as they drew closer, its towering structure loomed over them, and Gu Mengran stared in awe—almost forgetting to breathe.

The monstrous steel gate stretched high into the sky, its top completely out of sight. It looked like some colossal beast, crouched silently in the murky waters of the Huang River, radiating power and grandeur.

The Shaozhou Lock had three massive gates, forming a triple-stage passage.

With the path ahead cleared, the first miter gate slowly swung open, and Windwing, along with three other cargo ships, glided into the first guiding channel.

The guiding channel was like a giant box without a lid—water at the bottom, massive miter gates at both ends, and towering, impenetrable walls on either side.

Once all the ships had entered and settled into place, the downstream gate slowly closed behind them. Gu Mengran didn’t even need his grandfather’s explanation to realize—the chamber was about to be filled with water.

Because of the height difference between the upper and lower reaches of the river, the lock system existed to regulate and balance the water levels, allowing ships to pass safely.

Over the course of an hour, water poured into the first chamber, gradually raising the water level from 70 meters to 94 meters—a full 24-meter rise.

The process repeated in the second and third chambers until the guiding channel reached the same level as the upstream river. The last gate swung wide open, and Windwing slowly cruised forward, exiting the lock.

It had taken three full hours, but Gu Mengran watched the entire process from start to finish.

Far from feeling exhausted, he was completely exhilarated by what he had just witnessed—a breathtaking display of human ingenuity.

But despite its brilliance, in the not-so-distant future, this magnificent creation, along with the mother river that had nourished humankind for centuries, would disappear into the annals of history.

By the time Gu Mengran woke up at noon, the four retired deckhands had already taken their pay and left.

When they were onboard, their presence was barely noticeable.

But now that they were gone, Windwing—vast and spacious—felt eerily quiet and empty, with only three people left on board.

The yellow fog had gotten so dense that visibility was almost nonexistent, forcing ships to slow down. They should have cleared the Shaozhou lock yesterday morning, but instead, they had only just made it through early this morning.

And now, in less than a day, the world would change forever.

The weight of that knowledge sat heavily on Gu Mengran’s chest. He wasn’t in the mood for anything—just sat in the living room, staring into space, lost in thought.

It was already 1 PM, and he hadn’t even touched the stove.

Up in the pilothouse, his grandfather was starving and furious, getting crankier by the minute. His grumbling complaints filled the radio for a solid ten minutes before Gu Mengran finally dragged himself to the kitchen.

When a chef doesn’t feel like cooking, you eat whatever’s available.

He grabbed the leftover braised pork head and beef from the night before, sliced them up, then added some kelp and dried tofu skin for balance. That covered the vegetables.

A quick steam to reheat the dishes, a pot of fresh rice, and just like that—lunch was done.

When he brought the food to the pilothouse, his grandfather was already too hungry to complain.

But the moment he saw the dishes, his face fell instantly, lips curling into a pout. “Seriously? Braised meat again?”

Gu Mengran, completely absentminded, brushed him off. “Just eat. You were the one craving braised meat in the first place.”

Meng Gaoyang scoffed. “Yeah, but not for every damn meal! This is the third time already! What happened to all that enthusiasm you had a few days ago? You were making something different every meal, and now it’s just leftovers?”

“It’s just for today. Stop complaining.”

Even as he answered, his mind was miles away. He wandered toward the pilothouse window, staring out at the river where the yellow fog was growing thicker and thicker, his brows knitted tightly together.

The chatterbox had suddenly gone silent and looked deeply troubled. That’s when the old man finally noticed something was off. He glanced at Gu Mengran from the pilothouse and asked, “What’s wrong? Got into a fight with Xiao Liang? Why the long face?”

That caught Gu Mengran off guard, and despite his mood, he couldn’t help but laugh. He turned to his grandfather and shook his head. “You just won’t let this go, huh? You find a way to drag Liang Zhao into everything.”

“Well, serves you right for feeding me leftovers every damn day,” the old man grumbled as he picked up a piece of braised meat and popped it into his mouth.

Gu Mengran didn’t respond. The smile faded from his face as quickly as it had appeared. He turned back toward the river and let out a soft sigh. “Grandpa… do you remember what tomorrow is?”

“Tomorrow? Oh, right—doomsday!”

“…It’s not that extreme.”

Meng Gaoyang kept eating, his cheeks puffed out as he muttered, “Might as well be. From the way you talk about it, what’s the difference?”

“And yet you’re still eating like you don’t have a care in the world.” Gu Mengran teased softly.

The old man grinned and ate even faster.”What, you think skipping a meal is gonna stop the end of the world? Some things are just inevitable, kid. Can’t stop a storm from coming, can’t stop the sun from setting. Might as well eat while I still can.”

Gu Mengran leaned against the console, arms crossed, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Yeah… I get it. But, Grandpa… aren’t you scared?”

“What’s the point of being scared?” The old man took a sip of water to wash down the salty braised meat, smacking his lips as he continued, “We’ve done everything we can. We’ve prepared as much as possible. Now, it’s up to fate. Besides, Yuntian and Shaozhou don’t have any active volcanoes—it’s relatively safe. All we have to do is make it through that earthquake.”

That earthquake…

It wouldn’t be just another tremor—it would be a catastrophe. The river wasn’t safe. The land wasn’t safe. Even after all the planning, all the preparation, Gu Mengran still had no guarantee that he could keep his grandfather and Liang Zhao alive.

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