Axolotl Translations

Gu Xingyan’s fingers were ice-cold, like shards of frost long forgotten in a freezer—utterly devoid of warmth.

Ruan Zhao strained against the grip, but couldn’t break free.

The other boy’s hold was like a vise.

Unwavering. Frigid.

A dull ache pulsed in his wrist, causing him to purse his lips in irritation.

Wait a moment—he was supposed to be the one tormenting Gu Xingyan. How had the tables turned?

This wasn’t how the scene was supposed to unfold.

Determined to regain control, he lifted his free hand and shoved Gu Xingyan’s chest, attempting to push him away.

But the boy remained unmoved.

Instead, he braced himself against the wall and straightened, slowly raising his head.

Only then did Ruan Zhao realize just how much taller Gu Xingyan was—at least half a head taller. He barely reached the boy’s eye level.

And though Gu Xingyan appeared lean, his shoulders were noticeably broader, his arms more defined. He possessed the kind of physique that suggested latent power.

For the first time, Ruan Zhao’s arrogant bravado wavered.

Maintaining his facade of bravado, Ruan Zhao snapped, “Why are you holding me? Let go!”

Gu Xingyan took a step closer. Then another.

With each measured stride, he advanced until Ruan Zhao was backed against the sink, the cold porcelain digging uncomfortably into his waist. A dull ache spread across his lower back. His chest tightened slightly—he was uncertain of Gu Xingyan’s intentions.

Was this retaliation for the torrent of insults he’d just unleashed?

His gaze flickered towards the door, just a few steps away.

Chen Feng and the others were still waiting outside. If he called out now, they’d burst in immediately and intervene.

Of course, that also meant Gu Xingyan would endure another brutal beating.

Ruan Zhao hesitated, then returned his attention to Gu Xingyan.

A malicious thought flickered through his mind.

If Gu Xingyan dared to lay a finger on him, he’d scream for help—loudly. And when Chen Feng and the others rushed in to subdue him, he wouldn’t stop them this time.

No, he’d simply stand by, observing coldly.

Perhaps he’d even join in with a few kicks of his own.

After all, he was merely a disposable villain, destined to push the plot forward.

Being vicious and cruel was only natural. Whatever he did, it would be justified.

Noticing the malicious glint in Ruan Zhao’s eyes, Gu Xingyan’s grip tightened.

A sharp pain lanced through Ruan Zhao’s wrist, crimson marks quickly blossoming on his pale skin.

He let out a small, involuntary gasp.

Then, Gu Xingyan spoke, his voice as frigid as ice.

“Do I know you?”

Ruan Zhao: “…?”

“Are you deranged? What do you mean, ‘Do I know you’?! What kind of drivel are you spouting?”

Sure, he’d only transferred here during the second half of his sophomore year, but he’d been Gu Xingyan’s classmate for nearly six months.

Moreover, the original Ruan Zhao had always been the center of attention—boisterous, arrogant, impossible to overlook. Nine out of ten students in this school had at least heard of him.

Yet here was Gu Xingyan, behaving as if he’d never even seen him before.

It felt like throwing a punch at a cloud—only for the cloud to dissipate with utter indifference.

Nevertheless, Ruan Zhao had a role to fulfill.

After a brief moment of stunned disbelief, he did precisely what his character dictated—he erupted in a fit of righteous fury. “What’s with this charade, Gu Xingyan? Do you honestly think feigning ignorance will absolve you? How utterly naive can you be?”

Ruan Zhao scoffed, forcing a confidence he didn’t feel. “Let me enlighten you—this is just the beginning. Those so-called ‘chat logs’? I can fabricate as many as I like. I can manipulate the truth at will, and no one will question me. Our classmates, the teachers—they’ll all side with me. No one will believe a word you say. If I chose to, I could crush you beneath my heel and ensure you never rise again.”

He delivered his threat and meticulously observed Gu Xingyan’s reaction.

For a fleeting instant, something seemed to shift—his gaze intensified, his presence grew even more oppressive.

Standing so close, Ruan Zhao could clearly see his own diminutive reflection in Gu Xingyan’s jet-black irises.

And just beneath them…

Deep shadows clung stubbornly to his lower eyelids, stark against his pallid skin—evidence of severe, chronic exhaustion.

The kind that only stemmed from weeks, perhaps even months, of barely sleeping.

Ruan Zhao lowered his voice.

“What, scared now? If you’re so scared, then hurry up and let me go!”

Gu Xingyan’s head was spinning. His vision blurred, distorting the contours of his surroundings.

Years of malnutrition, relentless pressure, and pushing his body beyond its limits had left him with a litany of minor but persistent ailments.

If he skipped breakfast—or didn’t eat sufficiently—his blood sugar would plummet, his stomach would clench into knots, a dull, persistent ache gnawing at his core.

But he had long since learned to endure it.

And he had never once allowed anyone to witness his weakness.

Gu Xingyan wasn’t sure why, but this episode was more debilitating than usual.

Bright spots danced before his eyes, and the pain in his stomach twisted like a blade, stabbing and turning relentlessly.

It was excruciating.

The voice in front of him dissolved into meaningless noise—sharp, incessant, like a bird chirping directly into his ear.

Too loud. Too much.

He simply wanted it to cease.

Driven by instinct, Gu Xingyan reached out and clamped a hand over Ruan Zhao’s mouth.

His brows furrowed, his voice laced with annoyance. “You’re so damn loud.”

Ruan Zhao’s eyes widened in shock.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other.

Then, in a low, chilling voice, Gu Xingyan added: “Can you just shut up for a second?”

Ruan Zhao: “……”

This… was entirely unexpected. He’d braced himself for anger—for Gu Xingyan to lash out, to curse him, perhaps even strike him. His nerves were taut, poised to summon reinforcements the moment things escalated.

But this? This scenario hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Gu Xingyan… simply thought he was being too loud? That was all?

Was his threat not sufficiently menacing? Or had his past actions not been cruel enough?

Impossible.

Ruan Zhao briefly imagined himself in Gu Xingyan’s position.

If it were him—if someone had spread malicious rumors about him, dragged him into a filthy restroom, shoved him onto the grimy floor, and then, as if that weren’t enough, stood there smugly, threatening him without an ounce of remorse—

He would be incandescent with rage.

Beyond incandescent.

He’d want that person dead.

And yet, Gu Xingyan didn’t appear particularly angry. He seemed more… annoyed, as if Ruan Zhao were merely a bothersome sound disrupting his tranquility.

Why? What had gone awry?

The system had explicitly stated that Gu Xingyan was the vindictive sort—someone who never let a slight go unpunished, who ensured that anyone who wronged him would suffer the consequences.

So why wasn’t he behaving as the system had described?

Ruan Zhao blinked, his mind reeling. Then, a more immediate concern struck him—

Gu Xingyan’s hand… the one covering his mouth… Hadn’t he just stepped on that earlier?

Ruan Zhao’s expression instantly darkened.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden surge of strength came from, but he shoved Gu Xingyan away without hesitation. Then, frantically, he scrubbed at his mouth with his sleeve. Again and again, scrubbing vigorously.

His lips reddened from the rough friction, stinging slightly by the time he finally stopped. But the unpleasant sensation lingered.

The mere thought of it made his stomach churn—Gu Xingyan’s hand had touched the filthy bathroom floor, had been stepped on by him, and then, that same hand had covered his mouth.

Repugnant.

He must have done it deliberately. There was no other explanation. If ever a person embodied the phrase “never forgets, never forgives,” it was Gu Xingyan.

He must despise Ruan Zhao so intensely that he devised this utterly revolting form of retribution. The thought sent a shiver down Ruan Zhao’s spine.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something.

Gu Xingyan remained leaning against the wall.

Silent.

Even the faint sound of his breathing, which had been somewhat labored earlier, had diminished.

Ruan Zhao turned his head fully. And what he saw… made him pause.

Gu Xingyan’s face was even more pallid than before. His lips were utterly bloodless. He looked as though he was barely maintaining his upright posture—as though, at any moment, he might crumple.

Cold sweat beaded on Gu Xingyan’s temples, dampening the strands of hair clinging to his face. The arm he braced against the wall trembled faintly, as if he were struggling to withstand something.

Ruan Zhao paused, then instinctively queried the system: [What’s wrong with him?]

The system replied matter-of-factly: [Probably a flare-up.]

[Flare-up? He’s ill?]

[Malnourished, anemic, hypoglycemic, stomach problems… He has a host of minor health issues.] The system’s tone was utterly nonchalant. [That’s what makes him the perfect “tragic yet resilient” male lead.]

Ruan Zhao hesitated. […But he looks to be in considerable pain.]

[Don’t concern yourself,] the system said dismissively, as if this were commonplace. [The male lead has the tenacity of a cockroach—no matter how much pain he’s in, he’ll endure it silently. He’ll recover.]

Ruan Zhao fell silent.

For a moment, he simply observed Gu Xingyan. Then, quietly, he looked away.

Witnessing his suffering made Ruan Zhao feel strangely uneasy. He wasn’t one to derive pleasure from others’ pain.

So, he resolved to leave. It was best to afford Gu Xingyan some space to recover independently.

After all, his mission wasn’t bound by a rigid plot. All he had to do was periodically remind the male lead of his existence—torment him lightly while he was still vulnerable, utter a few cruelties, commit a few petty acts of malice.

That was the extent of it.

Ruan Zhao reasoned he’d accomplished enough for one day. He’d not only hurled cruel insults at the male lead, but he’d also managed to exacerbate his precarious health.

If the system possessed a visible progress bar for mission completion, it would likely be soaring right now. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, Ruan Zhao determined his work here was complete.

His fingers brushed against the door handle, pressing down lightly.

Click.

The door, previously secured, swung open.

Just as he was about to exit, he paused.

For some inexplicable reason, he glanced back at Gu Xingyan.

Reaching into the oversized pockets of his school uniform, he retrieved a small, palm-sized bread roll and a few milk candies. The bread’s plastic wrapper was crumpled and creased, evidence of its prolonged confinement.

Gu Xingyan’s uniform was similarly rumpled.

And with his face contorted in pain, he somehow looked equally forlorn.

The resemblance was strangely compelling.

With a flick of his wrist, Ruan Zhao tossed the bread and candies onto the floor near Gu Xingyan’s feet. “Consider it a… peace offering,” he muttered before turning to depart.

The restroom entrance was cordoned off with a “Maintenance in Progress” sign to deter entry.

On his way out, Ruan Zhao nearly tripped over it. Irritated, he kicked it aside, sending it skidding into the corner. That’s when he noticed Chen Feng seated by the windowsill, engrossed in a mobile game.

Chen Feng appeared to be at a crucial juncture in his game. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his expression intense. His arms moved with exaggerated fervor, fingers tapping rapidly against the screen.

“Just a sec, just a sec—almost there!”

Ruan Zhao waited patiently for two minutes. Judging by Chen Feng’s expression, the game hadn’t concluded favorably. He muttered a curse under his breath and reluctantly pocketed his phone.

Leaping down from the windowsill, he landed silently, his white sneakers making no sound against the floor. He lifted his chin, gesturing towards the restroom. “…So, it’s all sorted?”

Ruan Zhao gave a small nod.

“He won’t bother you again, right?”

Something in the phrasing of that question made Ruan Zhao pause. His lashes fluttered slightly, a fleeting moment of hesitation crossing his face. “I… think so.”

Chen Feng was displeased with that response. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he frowned. “What do you mean ‘I think so’?”

Chen Feng turned his head towards the restroom. His sharp gaze seemed to penetrate the thin wooden door, as if determined to see the person concealed within.

He stared for a moment, but Gu Xingyan remained inside. A flicker of contempt crossed his features, as if he’d reached a conclusion—Gu Xingyan was simply a coward who preyed on those smaller and weaker than himself, like Ruan Zhao. But when confronted with individuals taller and stronger? He retreated entirely.

“Well, in that case…” Chen Feng patted Ruan Zhao’s shoulder reassuringly and promised, “If he ever bothers you again, just come to me. I’ll handle it.”

Ruan Zhao was slightly taken aback. His light-colored eyes fixed on the boy before him.

Chen Feng was simple-minded. He genuinely considered the original Ruan Zhao a friend.

But the original Ruan Zhao had never reciprocated that sentiment. To him, Chen Feng was merely a convenient tool—someone to fight his battles, shoulder the blame when necessary.

And, when necessary, someone to pin all the blame on.

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