Axolotl Translations

Huangjiang was out of reach for now. The flood that had nearly swept them away had been a wake-up call—until the thick fog cleared and visibility improved, the only way forward was on foot.

The sky was already dark, and the murky fog turned dusk into midnight. The winding mountain path had no villages, no shops—nothing but wilderness. After stepping out of the space, the three unanimously decided to set up camp and rest for the night.

They found a relatively flat patch of ground and pitched a tent. Gu Mengran pulled out an air pump and a stack of brand-new, unopened inflatable mattresses from the space, then started pumping with steady determination. The ground was too hard, and sleeping bags were too warm—inflatable mattresses were the perfect compromise.

The first time using them was a hassle, but once they left the air in and packed them back into the space, setting up next time would be much easier. The temperature had risen noticeably, and even just inflating a mattress left Gu Mengran sweating. But the moment he pulled back the tent flap and stepped outside, it all felt worth it. His somewhat sour mood brightened instantly.

The overgrown wasteland had transformed completely. A simple triangular tent stood by the roadside, with a neatly arranged folding table and chairs in front. A portable power station sat on the table, its signal light blinking softly. Two outdoor lamps hung from the tent’s edges, casting a warm glow that pushed back the night.

This was their new reality. If they had to live like this every day from now on, they might as well make it as comfortable as possible. After barely escaping death and spending the whole day on an empty stomach, Gu Mengran refused to settle for instant food. With the campsite already set up, he might as well go all in.

Rolling up his sleeves, he took out a gas canister, a set of cookware, and some plates—and got to work cooking.

When hunger hit, there was no time for fancy dishes. A pot of steaming rice, a freshly chopped chicken, three potatoes, and three thin-skinned green peppers—washed, prepped, and tossed straight into the pot. Dried Sichuan peppercorns, dried chilies, ginger, scallions, garlic, and star anise—followed by half a block of hotpot seasoning. When sizzling in hot oil, the aroma alone was enough to make even a shoe sole taste good.

After blanching the chicken pieces, Gu Mengran stir-fried them until evenly coated, then poured in dark soy sauce and cooking wine before adding enough water to cover the meat. With the lid closed, there was nothing left to do but wait. And stew over his own choices.

Cooking fresh meals every day on the Windwing wasn’t a problem. But now? After a full day of travel, setting up a makeshift stove in the wild just to cook dinner? Yeah. Suffering. Gu Mengran regretted everything.

If only he had been more diligent back on the Windwing, he wouldn’t be stuck here now. He should have spent his downtime making extra meals to store in his space—grab-and-go, no hassle, no wait time. Maybe even skip reheating altogether. A major miscalculation. Too late now. With no other choice, he let out a long sigh, his head drooping in resignation.

“Gu Mengran.” A shadow fell over him, and a slightly hoarse voice sounded behind him. Gu Mengran acted like he didn’t hear a thing, not even sparing a glance.

But Liang Zhao didn’t seem to mind. He crouched beside him, his nose twitching slightly as he inhaled the rich, spicy aroma. Then, in a near-flattering tone, he said, “Smells amazing. Your cooking is incredible—it’s just like a restaurant’s.”

“I think I smell hotpot. Did you add seasoning?” Liang Zhao’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. No matter how much he tried to ease the tension, Gu Mengran remained silent, ignoring him completely.

Still unaware of how serious the situation was, Liang Zhao shifted his gaze from the crackling fire to Gu Mengran’s face. Lowering his voice, he said sincerely, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly today, but—”

“But you were just trying to protect me. You didn’t want to drag us down,” Gu Mengran suddenly looked up, eyes blazing as he cut him off. “So that’s why you let go of my hand right before the flood hit? Why you were planning to die alone—is that it?”

Gu Mengran had felt it. Just before the raging flood struck, he had touched Liang Zhao. But instead of holding on, Liang Zhao—convinced there wasn’t enough time—let go without hesitation. If Gu Mengran hadn’t realized what he was trying to do—if he hadn’t grabbed onto him with all his strength and pulled him into the space at the last second—Liang Zhao wouldn’t be sitting here right now. He wouldn’t even have a body left to find.

Fury simmered in Gu Mengran’s chest. After pulling Liang Zhao into the space, he had refused to speak to him. If not for his grandfather insisting on seeing him, he might have locked Liang Zhao up for two days just to cool off. Gu Mengran never bothered hiding his emotions, and his anger was plain as day.

Liang Zhao didn’t argue. He held Gu Mengran’s gaze, silent for a few seconds before apologizing again. “You’re right. I panicked. I forgot you had the space.”

“Oh,” Gu Mengran let out a sharp laugh. “So if I didn’t have the space, that would have made it okay?”

Gu Mengran spiraled deeper into frustration, his whole body shaking with anger. His eyes turned red in an instant. “I know you, Liang Zhao! You say all the right things—you promise we’re a family—but when it really matters, you still treat yourself like an outsider! The moment danger appears, your first instinct is to sacrifice yourself! Do you think you’re some disposable pawn?!”

Just the thought of Liang Zhao dying sent a violent tremor through Gu Mengran. He quickly turned away, wrenching off the lid of the pot and aggressively stirring the chicken to mask his unraveling emotions. The sizzle of hot oil meeting the pan filled the silence, smoke curling into the thick night air, mirroring the heavy tension between them.

Liang Zhao’s brows furrowed deeply. His hand—hanging at his side—lifted hesitantly before resting lightly on Gu Mengran’s shoulder, offering a gentle pat. “If I had a choice, I’d want nothing more than to live—a good life, with you and Grandpa Meng.” His voice was steady, gentle, but firm. “I’m not some self-sacrificing hero. It’s because you’re my family that I can’t bear to put you in danger.”

He sighed. “I acted on impulse today and made you worry. Next time, I’ll think before I act.” Leaning in slightly, he lowered his voice, his tone soft with reassurance. “So… can you stop being mad now?”

Liang Zhao had humbled himself. But Gu Mengran wasn’t ready to forgive so easily. He understood. Rationally, he knew that if their positions had been reversed, he would have made the same choice. But this was Liang Zhao. He had already lost him once before. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—watch him die again.

The fog around them felt suffocating, pressing heavily against his chest. Gu Mengran felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Gu Mengran took a deep breath, then another, struggling to steady his emotions. Sniffling slightly, he turned to Liang Zhao. “I have no right to interfere with your choices, and I have no reason to be angry. But what about me? If something happened to you, what am I supposed to do?” His voice wavered. “Live on carrying the guilt, or… follow you in death?”

Die. Follow you in death. The words struck like a bullet, hitting their mark with deadly precision.

Liang Zhao staggered, nearly losing his balance. A sharp ringing filled his head—a deafening, mind-numbing buzz. It was as if someone had grabbed him by the collar, yanked him backward, and shoved him underwater. Ice-cold waves engulfed him in an instant, squeezing the air from his lungs, dragging him down, down, down.

The world around him blurred, twisted. In the blink of an eye, the fog-covered wasteland was gone—replaced by an endless stretch of ocean. The wind howled. Waves rose like towering walls, crashing mercilessly. His thoughts blurred, his body sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss.

And then—hands. A pair of hands, reaching, grasping, pulling him out of the water with everything they had. A voice, raw and filled with anguish, suddenly rang in his ears: “Liang Zhao! Hold on, don’t—don’t die! Don’t leave me alone! You—you promised me… If it hurts too much, if it’s really too much, then go, Liang Zhao. But—but don’t go too fast, okay? Slow down. Wait for me. Just wait for me—I’ll be right behind you.”

…

“Liang Zhao? Liang Zhao! What’s wrong?!”

The distant cries blurred, overlapped, and fused with reality. Liang Zhao snapped back to the present.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground—gasping, heaving, like someone who had just scaled a mountain. His chest rose and fell violently as he sucked in mouthfuls of fresh air. Sweat gathered on his forehead in fine droplets, slipping down like rain. But he had no time to care. His head whipped around frantically, scanning his surroundings as if searching for something—confirming something.

He was back. The ocean was gone. The murky wasteland stretched before him, the same as before. The tent’s dim glow. The sizzling pan, steaming with heat. And—the hand extended toward him. Gu Mengran. His face was etched with worry.

The heavy weight on Liang Zhao’s chest vanished. His breath evened out slightly, and in one swift motion, he grabbed Gu Mengran’s wrist and pulled him into his arms.

Gu Mengran yelped, caught off guard. He instinctively tried to push away. “What are you—”

“No.” Liang Zhao’s arms tightened, unyielding. Like a drowning man clutching onto a lifeline, he refused to let go. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, as though speaking more to himself than anyone else. “Don’t. Don’t follow me. No matter what happens, you have to keep living. Don’t ever throw yourself away for someone else.”

Gu Mengran froze. For a moment, he thought Liang Zhao was just responding to his earlier outburst. But the way he was holding on—like something fragile, like something irreplaceable—made Gu Mengran’s heart clench.

He exhaled softly, then wrapped his arms around Liang Zhao in return. His hand patted Liang Zhao’s back twice, lightly. “You, me, Grandpa… the three of us, we can’t afford to lose anyone.” His voice was gentle but firm. “I can’t accept losing either of you. Liang Zhao… you mean so, so much to me.”

A long silence followed. Then, finally, Liang Zhao spoke—his voice quiet but steady, carrying the weight of a promise. “I understand. I promise—I won’t throw my life away so easily ever again. I’ll stay with you. With you and Grandpa. We’ll survive together.”

Warm breath brushed past his ear, making Gu Mengran instinctively shrink back. Liang Zhao, however, seemed to take it as a sign that he was trying to pull away. His arms tightened around Gu Mengran’s waist, holding him even closer, leaving no space between them.

Something felt off. This wasn’t right. Gu Mengran frowned slightly. He was curled up in Liang Zhao’s embrace, yet there was nothing intimate about it. Instead, there was a strange weight in the air.

He gave Liang Zhao’s shoulder a light squeeze and asked in a hushed voice, “What happened just now? You were drenched in cold sweat without saying a word—you scared me.”

“I’m fine,” Liang Zhao murmured. His chin rested against Gu Mengran’s shoulder, and in the depths of his gaze, something tender, almost wistful, melted into the darkness. “I just… had a nightmare. A terrifying one.”

Gu Mengran blinked. “You weren’t even sleeping. How did you have a dream?”

“It’ll pass in a bit. Just give me a moment,” Liang Zhao murmured, not really answering the question. His grip remained firm, as if only by holding on could he truly ground himself. His racing heart finally began to settle.

“…At least get up off the ground first?” Gu Mengran suggested.

“No need. Just give me five minutes. Five minutes.” His voice was hoarse, like someone who had just dragged themselves out of a nightmare but hadn’t fully shaken it off.

Gu Mengran still didn’t fully understand, but being held by Liang Zhao didn’t feel bad. So he let him.

A few feet away, inside the tent, Meng Gaoyang peeked through the gap in the fabric, watching the two locked in an embrace. He grumbled, scratching his head in frustration. “Tsk, quit flirting, you two! My roast chicken better not burn!”

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