Axolotl Translations

“Oh,” Shangguan Yu replied after a moment’s thought, “Thank you, but I’ve already found a caretaker, so there’s no need to meet.”

“I see,” the staff member hesitated briefly before asking, “May I ask which agency you hired them from? Please don’t take this the wrong way—it’s just routine market research.”

Shangguan Yu understood their reasoning, but…

He remembered what Zuo Zhou had said during his first visit: they’d made a private agreement, without involving an agency.

So, Shangguan Yu simply answered vaguely, “A friend introduced them.”

Sensing his reluctance to share more, the staff member tactfully changed the subject. “Alright then, congratulations, Mr. Shangguan. But if you need a caretaker in the future, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”

“Your request was quite unusual, actually. We went to considerable lengths to find a male caretaker who met your requirements. It was a first for us.”

“?”

Something about that statement didn’t sit right with Shangguan Yu. He asked, “Wait, are you saying this is the first male caretaker you’ve ever recruited?”

“That’s right. Most of our registered caretakers are middle-aged women, as most of our clients are looking for someone to handle cooking and housework. So, naturally, we have far more female caretakers who fit the bill.”

“For a male caretaker like the one you requested, we’d never arranged one before. This time, we specifically searched based on your criteria, which is why it took a little longer…”

The staff member continued, but Shangguan Yu had already stopped listening. Even after hanging up, his mind kept replaying one phrase: We’ve never arranged one before.

If that was true, then Zuo Zhou hadn’t been sent by the agency.

So how, exactly, had Zuo Zhou found his way into his home?

It wasn’t until nearly 6 PM that Zuo Zhou finally returned, carrying two large bags of groceries.

“Brother Yu,” he greeted with a bright smile as he came in. “I went grocery shopping after class and got a bunch of good stuff. I don’t have class tomorrow morning, so I’ll cook you a proper lunch. Eating pre-packaged food all the time is miserable.”

Shangguan Yu sat at the dining table, glancing up as he heard Zuo Zhou’s voice. His expression remained calm, unchanged.

A moment later, Zuo Zhou finished changing into his slippers and walked in, carrying the two plastic bags.

Setting them down on the table, he pointed to his jacket and laughed. “It feels like it’s getting warmer again. Walking back from the subway station in this jacket was way too hot.”

Zuo Zhou took off the black down jacket Shangguan Yu had bought him, carefully smoothing it before draping it over the back of a dining chair. He rubbed his hands together. “I got that yogurt you liked. Let me grab it for you—wait, I should wash my hands first.”

With that, he hurried off to the bathroom.

Shangguan Yu frowned slightly, looking at the two large bags of groceries. After a moment’s hesitation, he steepled his fingers on the table, as if he were about to speak.

“Oh, I also picked up some fresh edamame! You mentioned not having anything to snack on at night, so I thought I’d boil some up for a late-night treat…” Zuo Zhou chattered as he came out of the bathroom, drying his hands. “Brother Yu, what are you in the mood for tonight? I got a black-boned chicken and a couple of steaks. Which one sounds better?”

“Xiao Zuo, sit down for a minute,” Shangguan Yu said.

Zuo Zhou, oblivious to anything amiss, glanced at the clock, hesitating. “It’s already after six. If it’s important, can we talk while we eat? Steak cooks fast, but chicken soup takes a while. The longer it simmers, the richer the flavor.”

“It’s okay, I’m not hungry,” Shangguan Yu replied, tapping a finger on the table. He then gestured with his chin toward the chair opposite him, indicating for Zuo Zhou to sit.

“…Alright.”

Zuo Zhou sensed Shangguan Yu had something on his mind, so he nodded obediently and sat down opposite him.

Carefully studying Shangguan Yu’s expression, he asked hesitantly, “Brother Yu, is something the matter? You seem troubled.”

“Mm,” Shangguan Yu acknowledged with a slight nod and got straight to the point. “Ikea Home Services called me today. They said they never sent anyone to my place.”

After saying this, he pressed his lips together and quietly observed Zuo Zhou’s reaction.

As expected, a look of shock and unease quickly washed over Zuo Zhou’s face—a clear indication he’d been keeping something from him.

Shangguan Yu took a deep breath, trying to remain patient. “So, how exactly did you find my place? Be honest.”

Zuo Zhou’s eyes widened, his gaze becoming increasingly pitiful.

He stared at Shangguan Yu for a long moment without blinking, then his eyes suddenly reddened, and tears welled up.

Shangguan Yu, who wasn’t even trying to interrogate him—he just wanted an honest answer—was at a loss.

But just as a tear threatened to fall, Zuo Zhou abruptly lowered his head, his dark hair falling forward to conceal his face.

Before Shangguan Yu could speak, Zuo Zhou’s shoulders trembled slightly, and he raised a hand to wipe his face.

Even though he hadn’t seen it directly, the gesture was clear—Zuo Zhou was wiping away tears.

Wait… was he actually crying?

Shangguan Yu thought, Did I just say something incredibly harsh without realizing it? That can’t be right—I only asked how he found my place if it wasn’t through the agency. That’s not exactly an interrogation, is it?

“Don’t be like this,” Shangguan Yu said helplessly. “I wasn’t blaming you. I just want to know the truth.”

Zuo Zhou kept his head down, his shoulders hunched, looking small and vulnerable.

In a timid, almost inaudible voice, he mumbled, “I don’t dare say.”

“…Why not?”

Zuo Zhou shook his head and stayed silent.

Shangguan Yu exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to remain patient. He softened his voice. “Just tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll listen.”

“Really?” Zuo Zhou finally raised his head, though his eyes still flickered with hesitation. “But… I’m scared that if I tell you, Brother Yu, you’ll think I’m… some kind of weirdo.”

“…? Why would I think that?” Shangguan Yu sighed in exasperation. “Xiao Zuo, what exactly are you hiding from me?”

“I…” Zuo Zhou hesitated, looking at Shangguan Yu uncertainly, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally making up his mind. He bit his lip and confessed, “The time I found your place… wasn’t actually the first time I saw you.”

“?” Shangguan Yu blinked in surprise. As far as he could recall, that had been their first meeting.

“Then… when was the first time you saw me?”

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but the moment those words left his mouth, Zuo Zhou’s expression seemed to turn even more pitiful.

“Our first meeting was nine years ago.”

“Nine years ago?” Shangguan Yu repeated uncertainly, wondering if he’d misheard.

“Mm. I still remember the exact moment I first saw you, Brother Yu. But… you don’t remember me at all.” As Zuo Zhou spoke, he lifted a hand to dab at the corner of his reddened eyes, his voice soft. “It kind of hurts, you know.”

Shangguan Yu: …Why do I suddenly feel like the worst person in the world?

They sat in silence for a moment. Shangguan Yu, feeling a pang of guilt, pushed a few tissues toward Zuo Zhou, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Nine years ago… so that means you’re 20 now? You were only 11 back then?” He tried to work through the timeline in his head. “That would mean I was… 19…”

Shangguan Yu suddenly trailed off.

Nineteen. It had been his golden age.

He’d been young, full of ambition, stepping into Luocheng University with high hopes for the future. Back then, anything seemed possible. No amount of flowery words could truly capture the optimism and excitement he’d felt at the time.

If he could, Shangguan Yu wished he could freeze time in that moment forever. Then, he wouldn’t have to face the broken, weary, and powerless version of himself that existed now.

Lost in the tide of his own emotions, he had no energy left to think about the 11-year-old Zuo Zhou.

Sitting across from him, Zuo Zhou had been silently observing his expression. He quickly noticed the shift—how Shangguan Yu’s face clouded over with something painful and lost, something fragile and exhausted.

Zuo Zhou hated seeing that look on him.

He couldn’t let Shangguan Yu sink any deeper into that state. So, he spoke up.

“Brother Yu, do you remember now? Jiuru Township, Hope Elementary School…”

“?”

Shangguan Yu snapped back to reality at the sound of Zuo Zhou’s voice. And those last few words—so clear, so specific—sent a jolt through his memory.

“Jiuru Township… right, I remember. Back then, I volunteered with a university program. We went there to teach for a while. You…”

Shangguan Yu looked at Zuo Zhou, his voice hesitant. “Wait… were you a student at Hope Elementary? Did I… teach you?”

“Mm.” Zuo Zhou nodded. “Not only that—you also sponsored me. From the time I was eleven… until last year, when we lost contact.”

“!”

Shangguan Yu’s eyes widened in shock. His gaze swept over Zuo Zhou, as if trying to reconcile the young man before him with a memory long buried. Even after studying him closely, he still hesitated before speaking.

“So… you’re… Meiqiu?”

“…”

Zuo Zhou’s expression instantly became complicated—a mix of relief that Shangguan Yu had finally remembered him and sheer embarrassment at hearing that ridiculous childhood nickname.

“…That’s right. It’s me.”

Zuo Zhou had lost his parents at a young age. His grandmother, who had raised him, always called him her dear grandson. Technically, he never had a proper childhood nickname given by family.

As for how he ended up being called Meiqiu—“Coal Ball”—it was because, growing up, his family had struggled financially. His grandmother’s health was poor, and she couldn’t take good care of him. On top of that, he was a mischievous kid, always running around and getting himself covered in dirt.

Compared to other children his age, he always looked particularly scruffy—like a stray.

At some point, someone had started calling him Meiqiu, and the name had stuck. It followed him everywhere—at school, among neighbors, throughout the village. Soon, only his grandmother still remembered his real name.

By the time Shangguan Yu first visited Zuo Zhou’s home, he had been introduced to him as nothing but Meiqiu, the skinny, dark-skinned little boy with wide, curious eyes.

And now, those distant memories slowly resurfaced.

Nine years ago, when Shangguan Yu had just started university, he participated in a poverty alleviation program organized by his school. Along with his professors and classmates, he traveled to Jiuru Township to provide aid.

The original plan was for him to teach language, math, and other basic subjects at the local elementary school, helping alleviate the shortage of teachers in the impoverished area.

But on his very first day there, the principal mentioned something that caught his attention—an eleven-year-old boy in the village was about to drop out of school because his family couldn’t afford the tuition.

According to the principal, the boy was exceptionally bright. Although he had few friends at school—partly because he was always dirty—he excelled academically, understanding lessons easily and consistently ranking at the top of his class. It would be a real shame if he had to leave school.

Shangguan Yu couldn’t bear the thought of a child losing his chance to learn and change his future over what, to him, wasn’t even a significant amount of money. After some thought, he told the principal he was willing to sponsor the boy’s education.

And so, accompanied by school staff and village officials, Shangguan Yu visited the boy’s home for the first time.

The moment he saw Meiqiu, the nickname everyone used for the boy, he couldn’t forget him.

The child before him was frail and thin, living up to his name—covered in dirt and looking as if he hadn’t been properly cared for in a long time. Compared to other children his age, he was noticeably smaller and weaker. He was also incredibly shy and withdrawn, barely speaking or making eye contact with anyone.

Shangguan Yu could still faintly recall the feeling of kneeling on one knee and holding Zuo Zhou in his arms. The boy in his arms was so thin, so small—it felt like the slightest pressure might break him.

He remembered it so clearly because he had never held a child so frail in his life.

And that was precisely why it was so hard for him to connect the man standing before him—taller than him now, strong and upright, always smiling—with the frail little boy from his memories.

“You… you’ve changed so much…” Shangguan Yu murmured.

Zuo Zhou nodded. “That’s because you’ve always been there, supporting me from behind. You made sure I had food to eat, a school to attend—you brought me to where I am today.”

“There’s something I’ve written in my letters to you so many times, but I think this is the first time I’ve ever said it to your face.”

As he spoke, Zuo Zhou rose from his chair, bowed deeply, then looked straight at Shangguan Yu with unwavering sincerity. “Brother Yu, thank you.”

His gaze burned with gratitude, so direct and intense that Shangguan Yu didn’t quite know how to respond. He had done all of this simply because he couldn’t bear to see an innocent child lose the opportunity to learn. He had never expected such a formal expression of thanks.

And since his sponsorship had been part of the school’s charity program, all the money had been transferred directly to the account set up by the organizers.

The government ensured the school received regular payments for tuition and meal fees. The remaining funds were given to Zuo Zhou’s guardian—his grandmother—through the village chief, who used the money to take care of his daily needs.

Because of this structured, government-monitored system, Shangguan Yu never returned to Jiuru Township after leaving, nor did he see Zuo Zhou again.

At first, Zuo Zhou would send him letters every month or two, and Shangguan Yu would reply from time to time. But as his studies became more demanding—and later, as work consumed his life—he gradually stopped responding.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Shangguan Yu cleared his throat and averted his gaze, avoiding direct eye contact with Zuo Zhou.

A heavy silence settled between them.

The revelation had been so overwhelming that Shangguan Yu momentarily forgot what he was supposed to say next.

Zuo Zhou broke the silence. After carefully observing the mixture of shock and complex emotions on Shangguan Yu’s face, he spoke first—his voice both earnest and a little pleading. “Brother Yu, please don’t be mad at me. A year ago, when I got into Luocheng University, I really wanted to find you and thank you in person. But by then, you had lost contact, and the phone number you left with the village was no longer working…”

Shangguan Yu snapped out of his thoughts, realizing that Zuo Zhou was explaining why he was here—and why he had become his caretaker. His gaze slowly returned to Zuo Zhou.

“I couldn’t find you, and I was worried, so I had no choice but to look through the university,” Zuo Zhou continued. “I found out that you were once the president of the volunteer club, so I asked around—talking to different classmates and teachers—until I finally got in touch with someone who had been close to you in the club. His name is Sun Qing. He was the one who told me about… what happened to you, and where your family lived.”

Shangguan Yu remained silent, listening.

The “Sun Qing” that Zuo Zhou mentioned was indeed one of the few classmates he had been close to in the club—and also one of the few who knew about his accident.

So, if Zuo Zhou had heard it from Sun Qing, it was almost certainly true.

“After I learned your address, I wanted to visit, but no one was ever home. Later, Brother Sun told me that you had gone abroad for treatment and that no one knew when you’d be back. So I started coming by once a week, thinking that one day, you’d return…”

After his accident, Shangguan Yu had barely kept in touch with his old classmates, and once he left the country, he’d cut contact completely.

Everything Zuo Zhou said checked out. He wasn’t lying.

“So that day, you were just dropping by to see if I was home,” Shangguan Yu said, trying to piece things together.

Zuo Zhou nodded obediently. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you reveal your identity? Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”

“Because…” Zuo Zhou blinked, his expression slightly aggrieved, as if he felt wronged. “I did want to tell you. But when I finally saw you, I got too emotional. After all, I had been coming to your place for six months, and you were never there.”

“And then, the first thing you asked me was whether I was applying to be a nanny. So I thought… instead of being just someone you once sponsored and no longer remembered, maybe what you really needed was someone who could take care of you. So… I just went along with it.”

As he said this, Zuo Zhou deliberately emphasized the words ‘no longer remembered.’

“Brother Yu, please don’t be mad at me. And don’t think I have some ulterior motive. I came to find you every week simply because I wanted to see you. That’s all—nothing else, I promise.”

“Then what about after that?” Shangguan Yu asked, his tone steady. “I thought you were a nanny, so I let you stay. But why didn’t you tell me then? You’ve been living in my place all this time—why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I was scared.” Zuo Zhou blinked again, and his eyes instantly reddened.

Shangguan Yu pressed his lips together, his voice unconsciously softening. “Why were you scared?”

“Because I asked you once if you wanted to see people from your past,” Zuo Zhou answered honestly. “And you said you didn’t. You said you didn’t want anyone to see you like this—especially people who used to know you.”

Shangguan Yu’s expression froze for a moment. “I said that?”

Zuo Zhou nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what you said. So I didn’t dare tell you. I was afraid that if I did, you’d make me leave.”

Shangguan Yu had no memory of ever saying those exact words, but somehow, they felt like something he would have said. He fell silent.

Zuo Zhou studied his face carefully and said in a gentle voice, “Brother Yu, if you hadn’t come into my life back then, if you hadn’t saved me, I might already be dead—buried in some dark, hidden mine. Without you, I wouldn’t have the life I have now. I want to repay you. I want to stay by your side and take care of you.”

“Can’t we… just stay the way we are now? No matter who I am, no matter what happened today—none of that changes anything, does it?”

After saying this, Zuo Zhou gazed at Shangguan Yu with hopeful eyes, waiting for the answer he longed for.

Shangguan Yu furrowed his brow, feeling deeply conflicted.

On one hand, seeing the frail, malnourished boy from the past grow into a tall, cheerful young man filled him with a quiet sense of pride. It was because of a simple, unintended act of kindness that Zuo Zhou had become who he was today.

Zuo Zhou had worked hard and earned his place at Luocheng University—his future was bright. In that sense, Shangguan Yu felt like he had done something good.

But on the other hand… deep down, he still couldn’t bring himself to face people from his past.

Because he couldn’t bear for those who had once seen him walk and run… to now see him trapped in this wheelchair, unable to stand.

Call it cowardice or self-deception—whatever people wanted to say about him. But even after more than a year had passed since the accident, Shangguan Yu still couldn’t face this broken version of himself. He couldn’t bear the looks of sympathy and pity from those who had once known him.

Even though Zuo Zhou had never actually looked at him that way, Shangguan Yu couldn’t stop himself from believing that one day, he would.

What terrified him even more was the thought that, as time passed and Zuo Zhou saw more of his weakened, useless body, he would start looking at him with that same gaze.

And so, Shangguan Yu had chosen to shut himself off. It was the main reason—besides Wang Hao—that he had almost no friends left.

Especially when it came to Zuo Zhou.

The boy he had once helped had grown taller, stronger—more powerful than he now was. That stark reversal, from protector to protected, intensified Shangguan Yu’s self-loathing.

If he had his way, Zuo Zhou would remember him only as the man he’d met back in Jiuru Village—the one who stood tall, not the pathetic creature he’d become.

So, Shangguan Yu shook his head firmly. “Xiao Zuo, I won’t hold your hidden identity against you, but you can’t stay here any longer.”

Zuo Zhou’s face fell. His hands clenched into tight fists on the table, and his eyes reddened.

“Why?!”

Shangguan Yu didn’t want to lay his heart bare before Zuo Zhou. Instead, he chose to downplay the real reason. “You’re still in school. Your studies must come first. Your workload will only increase—you need to focus on your classes, internships, and gaining practical experience. You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

“But I want to! I’m doing this because I choose to!” Zuo Zhou’s voice rose with emotion, sharp and insistent. “I want to stay with you. I want to take care of you. I want to be here!”

Shangguan Yu’s lips pressed into a thin line. His expression hardened, and when he spoke again, his words were cold and merciless.

“But I don’t want that. And I don’t need it. …If this is about money, I can continue to support you financially.”

“…”

Zuo Zhou’s eyes widened in disbelief. His face, usually so warm, was now openly wounded.

The sight stung. Shangguan Yu felt a sharp, suffocating ache in his chest.

But he didn’t retract his words. This was the only way he knew how to protect himself.

So, he turned his head away, forcing himself not to look at Zuo Zhou’s expression.

The silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable.

After what felt like an eternity, Zuo Zhou finally moved. He stood and took two slow steps forward, stopping at the edge of the table—on Shangguan Yu’s side.

“Brother Yu, I don’t want to leave. I really don’t.” His voice was soft, almost gentle. But the bitterness in his tone was unmistakable.

“…But if this is what you want, then I’ll leave tomorrow.”

Zuo Zhou’s tall, broad figure loomed over Shangguan Yu, creating an almost suffocating pressure that made him tense instinctively.

Shangguan Yu steadied his breathing, his hands gripping the wheelchair’s armrests tightly. Forcing himself to relax, he finally lifted his head and met Zuo Zhou’s gaze.

“Mm.”

That was all he could manage. Even that single sound seemed to drain him. He didn’t dare speak further, afraid the slightest tremor in his voice would betray what he refused to acknowledge—he was, in some way, afraid of Zuo Zhou.

Not a conscious fear, but something primal. The instinctive wariness of a weaker being faced with someone younger, stronger, and far more powerful.

Fortunately, Zuo Zhou’s expression had softened, his usual composure returning gradually. He lowered his gaze, lingering on Shangguan Yu for a long moment before stepping back.

“Alright,” he said with polite restraint. “I’ll rest now. Tomorrow morning, I’ll move out.”

With that, he stepped back again, gave a slight bow, then turned and left.

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