Axolotl Translations

Amidst all the misfortune, there was one small relief: the young man hadn’t been submerged long. Though unconscious, locked in a deep stupor, his chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm—he was alive.

Working in practiced unison, Liang Zhao and Gu Mengran each took a side—one lifting his torso, the other his legs—and carried him from the waterlogged cockpit onto the deck.

CPR, if unnecessary, could do more harm than good. Since he was unresponsive but breathing, they simply laid him on his side, ensuring his airway remained open.

Hygiene was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Liang Zhao held him steady while Gu Mengran knelt by his head, reached into his mouth and nose, and cleared out any obstructions.

Barely two or three minutes passed before—

A soft cough broke the oppressive silence.

The young man stirred, eyelids fluttering before a violent spasm of coughing seized him.

Liang Zhao gently patted his back, aiding the expulsion of the fouled water from his lungs.

Drawn by the commotion, the girl, who had been composing herself nearby, lurched forward, her pent-up tears finally overflowing.

“Xinghe! Xinghe, are you alright? Are you feeling better?”

“Cough—cough, cough, cough!”

His only response was another fit of harsh coughing.

His body trembled uncontrollably—hypothermia was setting in.

No dry clothes. Nothing to warm him up. Gu Mengran made a snap decision.

“Lie down and hold him,” he instructed the girl.

Body heat was still heat. And sure enough, the effect was immediate.

Within half a minute, Xinghe’s coughing subsided, and his eyes slowly fluttered open.

Having brushed against death, his chest heaved, drawing in the crisp air as if it were the most precious draught. Seeing Xingran’s tear-streaked face, his lips trembled, as if to speak—but no sound emerged.

Sensing his struggle, Xingran gently stroked his hair, her voice soft and reassuring.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, Xinghe. I’m fine. Don’t try to talk yet, just rest.”

A reunion after disaster—a scene that should be touching, but Gu Mengran had witnessed it too many times in his previous life to feel sentimental.

But time was a luxury they didn’t have. They had lingered too long on the Heng Rong Sheng, and other vessels were still in peril.

Meeting Liang Zhao’s gaze, Gu Mengran gave a silent nod. Without a word, they retreated, discreetly slipping away.

“Wait! Thank you—thank you so much!”

As they stepped off the deck, a clear, though slightly hoarse, voice called after them, thick with emotion and the residue of tears.

Gu Mengran turned slightly, offering a small, reassuring smile.

“You’re welcome.”

With that, they turned and departed.

Xingran, still flustered, hastily called out, “I’m Xu Xingran, and my brother is Xu Xinghe! You two are sailors, aren’t you? Is your boat nearby? Once he’s a little stronger, I’ll bring him to thank you properly!”

“No need. Just take care of him.”

Gu Mengran waved a dismissive hand, without turning back.

Leaving the Heng Rong Sheng, they boarded their own diesel-powered boat and immediately set off at full speed, transforming into an impromptu maritime patrol as they began a thorough sweep of Anchang Port’s waters.

Fortunately, they weren’t too late.

Guided remotely by Meng Gaoyang, the diesel boat sped through the thickening fog toward the designated location. Barely five minutes passed before desperate cries pierced the mist from the anchorage ahead.

“Help! Help!”

“Over here! Please, someone help us!”

“Someone’s fallen overboard! The Heshan Da is sinking! Is anyone out there?!”

…

Two people couldn’t rescue entire ships. Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao focused on finding survivors, their diesel boat weaving frantically across the water, never pausing.

Nearly three hours elapsed before their efforts yielded fruit—twenty-two souls rescued, including two children, barely five years old.

But the cost was immense.

Around eight vessels had capsized and sunk. Only four remained afloat, the Windwing among them.

And the grimmest tally?

According to the old man’s radar calculations, roughly sixteen ships had been docked at Anchang Port before the storm. At minimum crew capacity, that meant at least forty-eight people aboard.

Which left four ships unaccounted for. Twenty souls missing.

As darkness descended, the once-violent river began to settle, its chaotic waves becoming eerily still.

But the cries hadn’t stopped.

Their diesel boat glided through the fog, packed with grief-stricken survivors. Some people sobbed silently. Others wailed, their voices raw with loss.

Pain, sorrow, gratitude—an overwhelming tide.

Gu Mengran had witnessed too much despair—and received countless expressions of gratitude.

He should have been numb to it by now.

Yet, an overwhelming sense of helplessness surged within him, weighing him down like an anchor.

Even so, Gu Mengran refused to let emotion cloud his judgment.

Instead of bringing the rescued survivors aboard the Windwing, he and Liang Zhao made repeated trips, ferrying the displaced crew and their families to the docks.

He understood his limitations.

This was only the beginning. Life and death were governed by fate—he could only safeguard himself and his loved ones. He wasn’t a savior, and he couldn’t save everyone.

By the time they turned back, the afternoon had nearly vanished.

Their diesel boat sped across the water, reaching the Windwing just before nightfall.

Gu Mengran was utterly drained. His clothes had been soaked, dried, and soaked again, leaving his body aching. The moment he entered his cabin, he stripped off the damp fabric, took a quick, cold shower, and collapsed onto his bunk.

He was too exhausted to move a muscle.

Yet, his mind remained restless.

The Windwing’s deck had been flooded. Had the engine room been affected? Had any critical systems malfunctioned?

After barely five minutes, Gu Mengran forced his weary body upright, determined to find his grandfather and inquire about the ship’s condition.

But just as he reached for the door—

A knock.

“Liang Zhao?”

His grandfather never knocked—which meant it had to be Liang Zhao.

But when Gu Mengran opened the door, he found both Liang Zhao and his grandfather standing there.

His brow furrowed. His expression darkened.

“…What’s happened?”

“N-No, it’s nothing.”

The old man brushed past Liang Zhao and stepped inside, perching on the edge of the bunk. “The engine room took on a little water, but I took care of it. Nothing to worry about.”

Gu Mengran’s brow relaxed, but his gaze shifted between the two. “Then… what is it?”

“You alright?”

Liang Zhao remained in the doorway, watching him closely, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Gu Mengran blinked, completely bewildered.

“On the way back—”

“Come in. Let’s talk inside.”

Gu Mengran stepped aside, and Liang Zhao quickly entered, sitting beside the old man.

Resuming where he left off, he said, “On the way back, you seemed… off. Something troubling you?”

The old man remained silent. But the way his eyes flickered away spoke volumes—he was thinking the same thing.

Two pairs of eyes bore into him.

Strangely, Gu Mengran felt himself relaxing.

His body unclenched, the tension eased, and the pallor on his face subsided.

The volcano had erupted. The earthquake had struck.

Even though he had braced himself—even though the Windwing had weathered the storm—it didn’t lessen the suffocating devastation.

It was like a weight on his chest, pressing down relentlessly.

Of course, his mood was terrible.

But seeing the concern in their eyes, Gu Mengran forced a dry smile, attempting to brush it off. “What, do I look like some fragile little kid? I’ll get over it in a bit. No need to fuss.”

He immediately regretted the words. The moment they left his mouth, Meng Gaoyang’s shoulders slumped, as if an invisible weight had settled upon him. The light in his eyes dimmed, his entire demeanor visibly deflating.

“What’s wrong?” Gu Mengran’s chest tightened. He quickly moved toward his grandfather.

“…I misspoke.” The old man shook his head with a heavy sigh, his calloused fingers absently rubbing his side. His weathered face—a testament to time—was now clouded with deep remorse.

“The moment you two stepped off the ship, I was consumed with regret.” His voice was hoarse. “The waves were too treacherous… what if something had happened to you…” He exhaled sharply. “Ah.”

“These are different times. We can’t cling to outdated notions of honor. Your dreams are coming true. And from now on, things will only grow more challenging, day by day.”

“I’m an old man—it doesn’t matter what happens to me. I’ve lived long enough. But you two—” his voice faltered, “—you two are just boys. Your lives are barely beginning. If your safety depends on it, then perhaps… perhaps it’s not worth being the good guys anymore.”

The once-optimistic old man had withered. The change in his perspective was stark, absolute, and seemingly irreversible.

For the first time, Gu Mengran fully grasped the gravity of the situation. “Grandpa, don’t overthink it. Look, we returned unscathed.” He hastened to reassure him. “I’m just feeling a bit off because I’m exhausted. A little rest, and—”

“I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment.” His grandfather lowered his head, his voice heavy with an unprecedented weight. “I sent you out there. I made you take those risks. That was selfish of me. It won’t happen again.”

That wouldn’t do.

Without hesitation, Gu Mengran crouched before his grandfather, resting his forehead lightly against his knee. Softly, he said, “Grandpa, today we saved over twenty lives. Two of them were just children.”

“Grandpa, you know… it’s a strange feeling,” Gu Mengran murmured. “Reaching out to someone in their darkest moment, offering them hope… and in the end, a simple ‘thank you’ makes it all worthwhile.”

Of course, words alone might not sway his grandfather. So, without missing a beat, Gu Mengran glanced at Liang Zhao and gave him a subtle wink. “Right, Liang Zhao?”

Liang Zhao understood instantly. With a quiet nod, he murmured his agreement.

But Meng Gaoyang remained unconvinced.

The old man shook his head with a heavy sigh, his voice laced with frustration. “Reckless. It’s all too reckless, you foolish boys! This is only the beginning—disaster after disaster will follow. Do you truly believe you can save everyone? Trading your own safety for strangers’? I’d rather harden my heart than watch you throw yourselves into danger like that!”

“We’re not fools,” Gu Mengran chuckled, patting his grandfather’s knee reassuringly. His tone was light, yet firm. “Being a good person? That’s situational. If someone collapses at my feet, of course I’ll lend a hand. But risking my life for a complete stranger?” He shook his head. “Grandpa, I promise—I’m not nearly as altruistic as you think.” And he meant it. He wasn’t simply saying this to allay his grandfather’s fears—it was the truth.

Gu Mengran had already lived through one apocalypse. He had witnessed the worst of humanity, experienced firsthand what it meant to be abandoned, to be left utterly alone. He had learned a harsh lesson: kindness and empathy? They could be eroded to nothing, one betrayal at a time.

But Grandpa was different. He was a good man—a truly, genuinely good man. In his youth, he had once been heavily fined for a maritime rescue. Yet, even that hadn’t deterred him from helping others whenever he could. Now, he spoke of turning a blind eye, of refusing to help.

But Gu Mengran knew better. If someone lay dying before him—and he possessed the means to help—could he truly walk away? Could he live with that burden of guilt?

No. It would consume him.

In times of disaster, people invariably sacrificed something to survive: their conscience, their compassion, their very humanity.

But there was a distinction between living and merely surviving. And as long as he was able… Gu Mengran would safeguard his grandfather’s kindness.

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