Axolotl Translations

As soon as Gu Mengran finished speaking, a gust of wind howled through the windows, amplifying the silence in the living room. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Gu Mengran repeated the story he’d told his grandfather, this time embellishing it slightly, omitting any mention of his late mother and grandmother. He stuck to his original explanation, framing the entire narrative as a dream—a dream foretelling an impending disaster.

Ten minutes ticked by. Liang Zhao remained utterly unresponsive. There was no shock, no disbelief, not even a dismissive scoff. He simply sat there, calm as always, as if they were discussing lunch plans rather than the end of the world.

His expression was unreadable. But a subtle shift had occurred: he’d gone from lounging back lazily to sitting upright, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, thumbs rubbing nervously against each other. He was clearly deep in thought.

The heavy atmosphere was suffocating. Gu Mengran couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Liang Zhao, yet he was desperate to know what the other man was thinking. Volcanoes, earthquakes, endless rain… it all sounded too absurd to be true. Would Liang Zhao even believe him? More likely, he’d think Gu Mengran had lost his mind.

Gu Mengran stole a glance. Then another. Finally, he cleared his throat, just to break the silence. He was a bundle of nervous energy, fidgeting beside Liang Zhao, who remained completely unfazed, lost in his own thoughts.

Gu Mengran’s anxiety deepened, all traces of humor vanishing from his face. He looked up at Liang Zhao, his expression now dead serious as he launched into an explanation. “I know, I know—a dream proves nothing, but this… this felt different. It felt so real, like I actually lived through it. Words can’t really capture it, but… could you just try to believe me? I swear I—”

“Why me?” Liang Zhao finally spoke, his dark eyes locking onto Gu Mengran’s with a sharp, searching gaze. He didn’t question the disasters. He didn’t ask about safe locations. His only concern was this: “You went to all this trouble to find me, to convince me… just so we could escape together?”

Gu Mengran hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Well… yeah, I guess you could put it that way.”

“Then why me?” Liang Zhao turned slightly, a frown creasing his brow as his jet-black eyes flickered over Gu Mengran’s profile.

Realizing his tone had been too sharp, he softened it slightly. “If the world really does go underwater, Windwing is probably the best place to be. But you could have brought your family. Your friends. People who could actually help you survive. So why… out of everyone… did you choose me?”

It was a simple question, yet Gu Mengran was completely stumped. Why had he chosen Liang Zhao? The answer was obvious—because of his past life. But how on earth was he supposed to explain that?

Gu Mengran had spent days agonizing over how to broach the subject with Liang Zhao, how to answer his inevitable questions. But of all the things he’d imagined Liang Zhao asking, this wasn’t even close.

Liang Zhao’s gaze burned into him, almost scorching. Gu Mengran licked his lips, trying to deflect. “That’s not important. What matters is tomorrow—tomorrow, the earthquake will—”

“It’s very important.” Liang Zhao’s brow furrowed, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the coffee table. A flash of something almost obsessive, a silent warning, flickered in his eyes. If Gu Mengran didn’t answer, this conversation was going nowhere.

“…Fine,” Gu Mengran sighed, surrendering. “Because of the dream. The same dream. In it…I almost died. So many times. And every single time, you saved me.”

“I mean, yeah, we haven’t really talked in years, but that dream… it felt so real. You saved me over and over—how could I not bring you? I’d never forgive myself.” He had no prepared excuse, so he could only tell the truth. His tone was deliberately casual, like he was making a lighthearted joke. But he carefully omitted any details of how they interacted in those “dreams.”

Liang Zhao’s gaze remained fixed on him, searching, probing, as if looking for a flaw in his story. Finally, he looked away, murmuring as if to himself, “Because of a dream.”

“…Yeah,” Gu Mengran breathed, relief washing over him.

Finally. Topic closed!

There was something naturally oppressive about Liang Zhao’s presence.

Gu Mengran wiped at the nonexistent sweat on his forehead, finally feeling like he could breathe properly again. But the issue wasn’t resolved yet. He glanced at Liang Zhao again, trying to decipher his inscrutable expression.

After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “You’ve been questioning me this whole time…but what about you, Liang Zhao? Do you believe this dream is real?”

Liang Zhao’s gaze met his squarely. “I don’t know,” he replied. “But I believe you.”

The words hit Gu Mengran right in the chest. A surge of warmth flickered through him, only to be instantly extinguished by a wave of frustration. All his carefully prepared explanations were suddenly irrelevant. He blinked, momentarily speechless.

“…Then why do you look like you don’t care at all? Shouldn’t you at least ask me when the volcano will erupt or the earthquake will strike?”

Liang Zhao tilted his head. “Alright. When’s the eruption? When’s the earthquake?”

“…Tomorrow!”

“Mm. Got it.”

Gu Mengran sighed heavily. Why was talking to this guy so draining?

“You’re always like this,” he muttered. “Acting like nothing matters, like you couldn’t care less whether you live or die. Liang Zhao, you’re honestly the most apathetic person I know.”

Liang Zhao had been this way before, too. Though in his previous life…Gu Mengran had been even worse.

Liang Zhao glanced sideways at him, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You learned all that about me from just one dream?” He chuckled softly. “I have no attachments. No family. No responsibilities. If disaster doesn’t strike, I’ll just keep drifting. If it does…I’ll probably keep drifting anyway. It really doesn’t make a difference.”

He paused.

“But now…it’s different.”

Gu Mengran’s fingertips trembled slightly as he placed a hand on Liang Zhao’s shoulder. His tone turned serious.

“You’re not alone, Liang Zhao. If you want…from now on, Grandpa and I can be your family.”

Liang Zhao was momentarily taken aback. He swallowed, his throat bobbing slightly, then let out a soft, almost inaudible chuckle.

“Mm. Okay.”

“Since we’re family—” Gu Mengran drawled, a teasing smile playing on his lips. His hand slid from Liang Zhao’s shoulder down to his wrist, gently taking his left hand. “Then I guess it’s only fair I show you what our family’s been hiding.”

Before Liang Zhao could react, Gu Mengran’s fingers intertwined with his, their hands locking together. The warmth of another’s touch sent a jolt through Liang Zhao. He barely had time to register what was happening when—a blinding white light exploded before his eyes. Instinctively, he squeezed them shut.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, like being launched onto a roller coaster at top speed. When the light finally subsided, Liang Zhao’s head cleared—and he realized they were no longer in the living room.

He had no idea what had just happened, but seeing Gu Mengran standing there unharmed, he unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief. Then, he quickly took in his surroundings.

A vast, desolate wasteland. Somehow—for some reason—they had been transported from the Windwing to this barren landscape.

The ground beneath them looked as though it had been freshly tilled by colossal machinery—soft, level, and eerily smooth.

Above them, the sky was a deep, artificial blue, almost painfully vibrant. No wind. No clouds. And most strikingly—no trace of the yellow fog that had choked the outside world. The air here was surprisingly clean. But apart from the endless expanse of tilled earth stretching to the horizon, there was nothing else. Not a single blade of grass.

Liang Zhao was still trying to make sense of everything when—the sound of rushing water mingled with faint rustling noises drifted in from the right. He turned—and his pupils contracted. A flock of farm animals—utterly incongruous in this desolate wasteland—had materialized before him.

Just then, a low chuckle sounded beside him. Liang Zhao frowned and turned back to find Gu Mengran watching him with a half-smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well, well. Now that’s a rare sight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tense before.” Gu Mengran grinned, unable to suppress his mirth. “So? Not bad, huh? Welcome to my secret base.”

He lifted his hand to gesture proudly—but froze mid-motion, realizing he was still holding Liang Zhao’s hand. For a beat, neither of them moved. Then, they released each other simultaneously. An awkward silence hung in the air.

Gu Mengran casually turned away, rubbing the tip of his nose as if nothing had happened. Thankfully, Liang Zhao was far more preoccupied with this strange place than the brief moment of tension.

“You’re telling me this is your secret base?” he asked, eyeing him skeptically. “Where exactly are we? And more importantly—how did we get here?”

Gu Mengran cleared his throat, suddenly adopting a serious expression. “That,” he said, “is the other thing I needed to tell you.”

Then, without missing a beat, he launched into a torrent of nonsense. “After I woke up from that dream, I came down with a terrible fever—nearly burned to a crisp. But after that day, I somehow ended up with…this.” He gestured vaguely. “Basically, it’s…a pocket dimension, or something like that.”

Gu Mengran had been itching to tell someone about this. His grandpa was elderly—he’d only dared mention the storage space. He’d kept the planting space to himself, afraid it would be too much for the old man to take in. But Liang Zhao was young. Young people were much better at handling the unexpected.

Once Gu Mengran started talking, there was no stopping him. He launched into a full explanation of the two spaces, detailing their functions, uses, and current supply stockpiles. Not a single detail was left out.

And, as expected—Liang Zhao remained unfazed. If Gu Mengran knew one thing about the man, it was his nerves of steel.

Even faced with a literal pocket dimension, Liang Zhao reacted exactly as he had in their previous life, asking only a few pointed questions before immediately grasping the space’s primary purpose: farming.

The two men strolled side-by-side along the edge of the space. Reaching the stream, Liang Zhao crouched down, scooped up some water, and sniffed.

“No strange smell,” he observed. “Is it safe to drink?”

“Yeah,” Gu Mengran confirmed. “After the disaster, surface water gets heavily contaminated—” He paused, then smoothly changed tack. “I mean… in the dream, we relied on this stream for drinking water.” The stream water was pure as spring water, which was precisely why Gu Mengran hadn’t prioritized hoarding large quantities of it.

Liang Zhao gave him an unreadable, subtle glance before casually raising the water to his lips.

“Hey!” Gu Mengran reacted instinctively, slapping his hand away. The water splashed onto the ground.

Liang Zhao turned, a question in his eyes.

Gu Mengran chuckled, then pointed to the ducks and geese lazily paddling in the stream. “It’s filthy, my friend,” he said, grinning. “If you want a drink, go upstream.”

Liang Zhao’s gaze followed the wandering farm animals. After a moment of observation, he asked, intrigued, “These guys—did they come with the space?”

“The space isn’t that generous,” Gu Mengran scoffed. “Other than the soil and water, I bought everything else myself.” His voice turned matter-of-fact. “Grandpa always says, no matter how much you hoard, supplies run out eventually. The only real solution is self-sufficiency.” He gestured toward the livestock. “So, I stocked up on poultry and livestock to raise and breed. Figured I’d get a breeding program going so we’d have a steady supply.”

Gu Mengran had a lot to say, and he rambled on without a second thought. Liang Zhao, as always, listened quietly. When Gu Mengran finally paused for breath, Liang Zhao raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? But didn’t you just say you never told Grandpa Meng about this space?” His gaze sharpened slightly. “If he doesn’t know about it… how exactly did he tell you to ‘focus on production’?”

Gu Mengran’s heart skipped a beat. Damn. Had he just exposed himself? He let out a forced chuckle, waving it off. “Ahaha, you know, he’s always saying that kind of stuff. Just a random comment, nothing serious.”

Before Liang Zhao could dig deeper, he changed the subject completely. “Anyway! Taking care of all these chickens and pigs every night is a pain in the ass. And now I have to start farming too? Nope. Not happening.” He pointed a finger at Liang Zhao, looking serious. “You have to help me!”

Liang Zhao clearly noticed the forced change of topic, but he didn’t question it. He just smiled. “Sure.”

Honestly, there wasn’t much left to see. It was just dirt—nothing particularly exciting. After a full loop around the space, they’d seen what needed to be seen and said what needed to be said. It was time to head out.

Just like before, exiting the space required physical contact with Gu Mengran and his explicit permission. Liang Zhao was half a head taller, and his hands were noticeably larger than Gu Mengran’s. They’d already held hands once to get in, so it should have been no big deal.

But the moment Liang Zhao’s warm grip wrapped around Gu Mengran’s left hand, Gu Mengran felt a rush of heat creep up his ears. Without a word, he awkwardly took Liang Zhao’s hand—but just as they were about to go, a sudden thought popped into his mind. Something important. Something he hadn’t considered until now.

“Uh…” Gu Mengran glanced at Liang Zhao, his lips moving as if he were trying to decide whether to speak.

Noticing his hesitation, Liang Zhao turned. “Hm?”

Gu Mengran felt his face flush. After a moment of internal struggle, he finally managed, “The money I owe you—”

Liang Zhao chuckled, cutting him off. “The world’s about to end, and you’re still thinking about that?” Amusement laced his voice. “Besides, you’re the one who got me on the ship. You saved my life, in a way. If anything, I should be the one who owes you.”

Gu Mengran shook his head. “Not really. With your skills, I’m sure you would have survived just fine on your own.” He hesitated, then added softly, “I just… wanted to help you live a little better.”

“You have that much faith in me?” Liang Zhao’s gaze dropped slightly, a fleeting softness flickering in his eyes before vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

Before Gu Mengran could answer, Liang Zhao spoke again. “Actually, I have one more question. You’ve been hiding this from me for days, afraid I wouldn’t believe you.” He met Gu Mengran’s gaze. “So why tell me now?”

Gu Mengran shrugged. “The disaster hits tomorrow. Tonight’s the perfect time. Even if you think I’m crazy, I can still convince you to stay one more day. Because once the apocalypse starts tomorrow—” He smirked. “That’ll prove I was right.”

“And why would I stay an extra day if I don’t believe you?” Liang Zhao teased.

Gu Mengran huffed and smirked. “Because, Liang Zhao, no matter how strong you are, you can’t fight off four hands with just two.” A playful glint entered his eyes. “You’re already on my pirate ship. Think you can get off that easily?”

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