Axolotl Translations

“Crash! Whoosh—BOOM!”

A thick, suffocating fog clung to the river, the water churning like a roused beast. Waves rose into towering walls, crashing against the ship with brutal force.

Each wave seemed more ferocious than the last, a monstrous predator toying with its prey. The Windwing was lifted high, then slammed back down with bone-jarring impact. It was a raw display of untamed power, a stark reminder of humanity’s fragility against nature’s fury.

Inside the cabin, chaos reigned.

A massive wave struck the stern, sending the three occupants flying. They slammed against the interior wall like ragdolls, with no time to react, no buffer against the blow.

Before they could recover, another rogue wave smashed into the bow, tilting the floor at a sickening angle. The once-steady U-shaped console became a treacherous, overturned surface, offering no handhold. One wrong move and they’d be tossed across the cabin like dice.

Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao, being taller, instinctively braced their legs and stretched out their arms, creating a human shield around Meng Gaoyang. They used their combined strength to wedge themselves in place, a desperate attempt to secure their footing.

But their precarious hold was short-lived.

Another wave, this time from the side, crashed against the hull.

Their fragile anchor gave way, and they tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Time stretched endlessly.

Only a minute or two had passed, but to Gu Mengran, it felt like an eternity. The relentless rise and fall, the dizzying swings, had his head spinning, his stomach churning. He was certain his internal organs had rearranged themselves.

If the river was this treacherous, the situation on land… he didn’t even want to imagine.

BOOM!

Another wave crashed down, a thunderous roar as it slammed into the Windwing with overwhelming force. Each impact was stronger than the last, as if the waves were determined to capsize the vessel.

The hull lurched violently.

Even with the anchor down, Windwing was shoved nearly five meters across the water. The entire vessel tipped dangerously, tilting a full 45 degrees, sending half the stern plunging into the river.

“WARNING! WARNING! CRITICAL TILT DETECTED! CRITICAL TILT DETECTED!”

“WARNING! WARNING! DECK FLOODING! DECK FLOODING!”

Inside the cabin, alarms blared, red lights flashed, and the warning system shrieked incessantly.

“No, no—this is bad! We need to take the helm! If this keeps up, the Windwing will sink!”

The ship continued its violent rocking, tilting further and further.

Gu Mengran fought back the dizziness, trying to steady himself, but before he could react—

His grandfather was already moving.

Meng Gaoyang, bracing himself against the console, pushed past him, attempting to crawl out of the cockpit.

“Grandpa!”

Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao grabbed him simultaneously.

The ship listed at a terrifying forty-five degrees, making it nearly impossible to stand, let alone steer. Another wave could mean disaster.

But the Windwing couldn’t sink.

It wasn’t just any ship; it was their home, their future. It represented the blood, sweat, and tears of Gu Mengran and his grandfather.

Gu Mengran set his jaw, ready to fight his way to the helm. But as he moved, he met Liang Zhao’s eyes.

Neither of them spoke.

IInstead, they shared a quick, knowing smile, then nodded in unison.

Military-grade coats, safety helmets, elastic cargo straps…

Gu Mengran grabbed a pile of supplies from his storage compartment, quickly distributing them to his grandfather and Liang Zhao.

The coats and helmets wouldn’t prevent a fall, but they would at least cushion the impact.

After ensuring his grandfather was secure, Gu Mengran looped one end of a bungee cord around his own waist and tied the other to Liang Zhao.

If one of them was thrown overboard, the other could act as a human anchor.

Now came the tricky part: reaching the helm.

With the ship at such a sharp angle, walking was out of the question. Fortunately, they were already positioned beneath the console. If they could just pull themselves up, they could reach it.

No time for hesitation.

Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao exchanged one final look, then launched themselves into action.

They both heaved upwards, hands scrabbling for purchase on the console.

Liang Zhao moved first, his hands finding purchase on the edge. With a display of raw upper-body strength, he hauled himself up and over.

Then, with a perfect, effortless pull-up, he landed lightly in front of the helm.

Height and regular training had their advantages.

Even though they acted at the same time, Liang Zhao reached the top effortlessly, while Gu Mengran was still struggling at the base, just starting to climb up.

With no time to waste, Gu Mengran swallowed his pride and grabbed Liang Zhao’s outstretched hand, using it to haul himself up.

As luck would have it, just as they reached the helm, the violent shaking ceased.

Gu Mengran checked the clock—three minutes. The tremors had lasted a full three minutes.

The engine roared to life, and the Windwing’s main systems kicked in. With a sharp turn of the rudder, the ship slowly adjusted itself, fighting against the tilt.

BOOM—

With a deafening crash, the Windwing’s starboard wing slammed back into the water, sending a violent shudder through the hull.

The cockpit fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of ragged breathing.

“Whew!” Meng Gaoyang gasped, crawling out from under the console. Panting heavily, he wiped his brow and muttered, “That was close… That quake was insane! The ship was completely empty, and it still almost got flipped!”

“The magnitude must have been off the charts… I don’t even want to think about what’s happening on land,” Liang Zhao murmured. Sweat streamed down his face as he leaned against the console, shrugging off his heavy coat and casually tossing his safety helmet aside.

Surviving the ordeal should have been a relief, but none of them felt like celebrating.

The earthquake had struck precisely as predicted, confirming Gu Mengran’s “prophetic dream” was unfolding—piece by piece.

The old man let out a heavy sigh, his expression clouded with worry. “Yeah… The Huang River is churning like a boiling pot. I don’t even want to think about what’s happening on land… Ai!”

“No signal at all,” Meng Gaoyang said, checking his phone and then turning to Gu Mengran. “Mengran, is it over? Was that the last of the quake?”

Wrapped in his military-grade coat like a thick blanket, Meng Gaoyang was drenched in sweat, but he dared not remove it—not until Gu Mengran gave the all-clear.

But he waited, and waited… and Gu Mengran remained frozen, silent and motionless, like a statue.

“Gu—”

Before Meng Gaoyang could call his name again, Liang Zhao raised a hand, stopping him.

The fog was thickening rapidly—yellow morphing into black, and the windows were now coated with a murky film. Visibility from the cockpit was near zero.

Yet, despite the impenetrable darkness, Gu Mengran continued to stare out the window, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight, unreadable line.

Was he lost in thought? Or…

“…Were you scared?”

Liang Zhao leaned closer, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Gu Mengran remained silent, simply shaking his head.

“Then what is it?”

Liang Zhao patted his shoulder, a faint smile playing on his lips, his voice calm and reassuring.

“Don’t worry. It’s over. We’re safe.”

“I’m not scared.”

Feeling stifled by the heat, Gu Mengran unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off, then casually removed his safety helmet. He turned to face Liang Zhao, a flicker of unease in his eyes. His hands hovered uncertainly over the control panel, as if searching for something to occupy them.

After a brief pause, he lifted a hand and fanned himself, a silent sigh escaping his lips.

“It was too risky. I just feel… like I was reckless—dragging you and Grandpa onto the river just to ride out an earthquake like it was some giant pendulum ride.”

“There was a way to avoid all this.” Frustration crept into his voice. “I should have planned ahead, cleared some space in the dimension, stored the Windwing inside, and we could have taken shelter in the—” He cut himself off with a cough, then quickly corrected himself, “somewhere safe. We could have waited it out there. You and Grandpa wouldn’t have had to endure all that.”

The more he spoke, the more agitated he became. He smacked his forehead in frustration.

Liang Zhao instinctively reached out to stop him but hesitated, his hand hanging in the air for a moment before slowly dropping back to his side.

“Don’t think like that,” he said steadily. “Natural disasters and crises—these are things we have to face. You can’t run from them forever. Instead of hiding, you should be helping us develop survival skills. What if you’re not around someday? We can’t afford to become too reliant on the dimension.”

“Not around?”

Gu Mengran’s head snapped up, his gaze shifting between his grandfather and Liang Zhao. His voice was firm, unwavering.

“That won’t happen. We’ll never be separated. We’ll always stay together.”

Liang Zhao chuckled softly, amused. “Alright, we won’t be separated. I was just speaking hypothetically.”

That brief exchange eased the tension in Gu Mengran’s chest, dissipating most of his frustration.

The fog remained thick. The signal was still down. They had no idea what was happening outside.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Gu Mengran noticed the high-frequency radio on the control panel—and his eyes brightened.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward.

VHF-CH16. The universal distress channel for maritime emergencies.

Gu Mengran adjusted the frequency and had barely lifted the radio when the line crackled with frantic voices.

“Earthquake! Earthquake! A massive quake just struck near Anchang Port! The Panshi has capsized—severe hull damage! Requesting immediate rescue! Mayday!”

“Can anyone hear us?! Traffic control! The ship is sinking—there are still people inside! Please, help!”

“Heshanda to all stations! Man overboard! We’ve lost people in the water!”

“Fuzhou’s engine room is flooding! The hull is—” A burst of static drowned out the rest.

“The fog is too thick! Will rescue even come?! We’re doomed. It’s over!”

Desperate voices. Pleas for help. The sounds of people fighting for their lives.

The VHF range was limited, meaning these distress calls were originating from Anchang Port and its anchorage.

Should they respond? Could they even do anything?

With the dense fog reducing visibility to near zero, with no coordinates, no safe way to navigate, would it even be possible to offer assistance?

The radio in Gu Mengran’s hand felt like a burning ember—too hot to hold, yet impossible to relinquish.

Just as hesitation took hold, Liang Zhao abruptly snatched the radio from his grasp—and silently placed it back on the control panel.

“We can’t save them.”

Just four words. Spoken flatly, devoid of emotion.

“But—”

“We haven’t even tried! How can you say that?!”

Gu Mengran opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Meng Gaoyang had shrugged off his military-grade coat and was striding toward Liang Zhao.

“What, is this your first time on a ship?! When you receive a distress call at sea, you respond if you’re able! If someone’s in the water, you pull them out! If they’re incapacitated, you help them! Have you forgotten the traditions our ancestors passed down?!”

The old man’s sharp tone made Gu Mengran anxious. The last thing they needed was an argument in the middle of a crisis. He quickly grabbed his grandfather’s arm, soothing him gently.

“Grandpa, don’t jump to conclusions. Let’s hear what Liang Zhao has to say first, okay? No need to shout.”

Despite the reprimand, Liang Zhao remained calm and composed. He patiently explained, “Grandpa Meng, the issue isn’t that we don’t want to help—it’s that we can’t. The fog is too thick, and the ship—”

“Fog?” Meng Gaoyang scoffed, interrupting him again. “Who the hell navigates by sight alone? What do you think radar, AIS, and satellite navigation are for? Decoration?”

“Grandpa!” Gu Mengran gave him an exasperated look, then gestured toward Liang Zhao. “Ignore him, please continue.”

Unfazed by the interruptions, Liang Zhao continued.

“Poor visibility is just one problem. The bigger issue is that the Windwing nearly capsized earlier. The aft deck was flooded, and the engine room is likely compromised. We haven’t even had time to assess our own damage. If we rush into a rescue without knowing our own condition, we could endanger ourselves—or worse, inadvertently harm the people we’re trying to save.”

It made perfect sense. Gu Mengran nodded in agreement.

Meng Gaoyang listened in silence, his anger slowly dissipating like air from a punctured balloon.

Grandpa Meng had been a fisherman his entire life. Assisting those in distress at sea was ingrained in him—a matter of principle, honor, and duty. Now, hearing the desperate pleas for help yet unable to act, he felt a burning frustration, unable to remain still.

Gu Mengran was equally affected. Ignoring the cries for help felt agonizing. But no matter how deeply he felt the pull to act, he couldn’t risk the Windwing on a rescue mission that could cost them everything—

Wait.

If the Windwing was too risky to maneuver… what about the diesel boat?

At this point, attempting to salvage sinking ships was out of the question. Even deploying the Windwing wouldn’t make much difference. But if they focused solely on rescuing people, instead of trying to save vessels… a small diesel boat might suffice.

An idea began to form in Gu Mengran’s mind—still nascent, not fully developed—but just as he was about to share it with his grandfather and Liang Zhao, the radio crackled to life once more.

“Zzzzt—Heng… zzt—Sheng has capsized, requesting %@#! Windwing, Windwing, can you hear me? Heng Rong Sheng has overturned! Requesting immediate rescue! Repeat, requesting rescue! Please respond!”

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