Axolotl Translations

Gu Xingyan silently handed over the neatly transcribed notes. Ruan Zhao snatched them, his face a mask of annoyance. He’d planned to use this as an excuse to start a fight, maybe even boost his “menace score.” But flipping through the pages, he was stumped. The notes were thorough, well-organized, and the handwriting—clean and precise. Gu Xingyan had even mimicked his handwriting. No one would suspect they were written by someone else. They were…perfect. Ruan Zhao’s mouth snapped shut. He was speechless.

His mother was meticulous about his meals, refusing outside food. Every afternoon, their driver delivered a freshly prepared lunch. Today’s spread was as extravagant as ever—four dishes, a soup, and a delicate dessert. Ruan Zhao wasn’t a big eater. He wouldn’t manage more than a third. He picked up a shrimp, examined it, and slowly put it back. His mother had packed too much. He couldn’t eat another bite…but leaving so much felt wasteful.

Then he thought of Gu Xingyan. At the hospital, the guy had devoured enough food for three.

Gu Xingyan, it seemed, had brought his own lunch—a paper bag from his backpack containing…a pathetic excuse for a pancake. It looked dry, stale, and crumbling. Ruan Zhao could tell, just by looking, that it was awful.

But naturally, if it belonged to Gu Xingyan, he had to try it—just so he could give it back, making it awkward to eat or discard. Snatching it was easy. Gu Xingyan didn’t even resist. But the moment he held it, Ruan Zhao hesitated. Even through the bag, he could feel its dryness and stiffness. He briefly reconsidered. Was it really worth it?

In the end, he steeled himself. This was a minor sacrifice—one he had to make in the name of evil. He took a bite. Instant regret. The pancake was so hard he nearly broke a tooth. Grimacing, Ruan Zhao shoved it back as if it had burned him, clutching his jaw. “Take your brick and get away from me,” he muttered through clenched teeth. Never again.

Was that even a pancake? It could have been a projectile weapon. Ruan Zhao was convinced he could take out an unsuspecting pedestrian with it.

Gu Xingyan examined the small, crescent-shaped bite mark, noting the faint dampness. Calmly, he reminded Ruan Zhao, “You’re the one who wanted it.”

Ruan Zhao had his own logic. “Yeah, but you didn’t stop me.” Without hesitation, he grabbed the pancake back, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. “How can you eat this garbage? Makes sense, I guess—garbage food for a garbage person.”

Then, as if it were perfectly normal, he pushed his untouched lunch toward Gu Xingyan, tore open disposable chopsticks, and pressed them into his hand. “I’m stuffed. You can have it.”

Gu Xingyan looked up, his dark eyes fixed on Ruan Zhao with an unreadable expression. He always did this—staring silently, revealing nothing. His face rarely showed emotion—no irritation, amusement, or gratitude. But if he felt anything, it was probably annoyance. After all, Ruan Zhao reasoned, Gu Xingyan wasn’t a stray dog. Who would enjoy leftovers?

In every movie and novel Ruan Zhao had seen, protagonists shared one trait—a fierce sense of pride. They never accepted charity, or if forced, they took it as a deep insult.

So, in an effort to make himself seem even more villainous—like those antagonists who relentlessly cornered the hero—Ruan Zhao put on a menacing expression and ordered Gu Xingyan to eat everything, or face the consequences.

Gu Xingyan’s fingers tightened around the chopsticks. Then, without a word, he lowered his head and began eating.

Ruan Zhao assumed his threat had worked—thatGu Xingyan was afraid of him, which was why he had no choice but to eat his leftovers. Satisfied, he leaned back. He remembered the doctor’s advice: Gu Xingyan’s health was poor; he needed balanced, nutritious meals, especially protein, to recover. That rock-hard pancake had zero nutritional value. If Gu Xingyan ate like that daily, he’d be dead within a month.

Ruan Zhao’s gaze drifted to Gu Xingyan’s thin wrists. When will he gain some weight? He felt a strange sense of responsibility, like caring for a stray animal. Perhaps, by the time his task was complete, Gu Xingyan would have gained a little weight. The thought amused him. Almost instinctively, he reached out and patted Gu Xingyan’s head—like petting a small animal.

It wasn’t the soft fluff he’d imagined. Gu Xingyan’s hair was short and slightly coarse, prickling his palm. Ruan Zhao found the sensation uncomfortable, so he patted him only twice before withdrawing his hand quickly.

Gu Xingyan paused, his expression unreadable, though a hint of confusion flickered in his eyes.

Ruan Zhao narrowed his gaze and chuckled lightly. “You’re really obedient, aren’t you?” He paused, then lowered his voice teasingly. “Like a little puppy I’m training.”

But he knew the truth. Gu Xingyan wasn’t a dog. He was a wolf, patiently holding grudges. For now, he was biding his time, forced into submission, masquerading as something tame. But one day, that facade would shatter, and those fangs would sink deep.

—

The feeding continued. A few days later, Ruan Zhao was surprised to see that Gu Xingyan seemed to have gained weight. He even had the system scan him for confirmation.

System 0606 reported: [2.75 pounds gained.] Even the decimals were precise.

Ruan Zhao felt a strange, undeniable satisfaction, like tending a plant—carefully watering it until a tiny bud appeared. Small, but proof of thriving. With that thought, he grabbed the milk tea he’d just bought, pierced the lid, and placed it on Gu Xingyan’s desk.

Eat more sweets—gain weight faster.

When Gu Xingyan returned to the classroom, his gaze immediately fell on the milk tea on his desk. Ruan Zhao blinked innocently. “I took a sip, but it’s not my thing. Too sweet.”

Gu Xingyan’s voice was calm. “So, like before, you want me to finish it?” He’d lost count of how many times Ruan Zhao had used this excuse to pawn off unwanted food.

His blood sugar had stabilized, and even his chronic stomach pain had lessened. For the first time in a long time, he felt almost…normal.

It was early September, and the lingering summer heat was oppressive. Ruan Zhao’s drinks were always ice-cold, condensation forming quickly.

But…when Gu Xingyan touched the milk tea, it was warm to the touch. And if Ruan Zhao had sipped it, there’d be a trace. But the straw was pristine. Untouched.

It was obvious. This drink wasn’t for Ruan Zhao. But why lie? Why claim he disliked it just to give it to him?

For the first time, Gu Xingyan felt curious about Ruan Zhao’s motives. Was it sympathy? Did he pity him, assuming he was too poor to eat properly, and was this his way of helping?

Or…was it as he’d said before? Did he truly see him as…a pet? He vaguely recalled hearing that rich people sometimes had…unusual hobbies.

If that were true, everything clicked. Because he was his “pet,” he didn’t want him eating unappetizing food, so he always offered his leftovers. Because he was his “pet,” he’d buy him things when in a good mood, but to prevent complacency, he disguised it as unwanted before giving it away, like this milk tea.

Ruan Zhao had no idea his casual comment had sparked such a ridiculous scenario in Gu Xingyan’s mind. He happily watched him drink the milk tea, wondering if daily milk teas—a high-calorie drink—would accelerate weight gain.

Just then, the system chimed in: [Zhaozhao, feeding the protagonist is fine, but don’t forget your primary mission.]

Ruan Zhao replied confidently: [I know.]

[Every day, I yell at Gu Xingyan. I make him run errands, do my homework. Even when he’s napping, I wake him to fetch water…] He went through the list of all the terrible things he’d done, then considered it from Gu Xingyan’s perspective. [There’s no way he doesn’t completely despise me by now.]

The system couldn’t help but glance at Gu Xingyan, just in time to notice him staring at its host. His gaze was steady and unreadable, his dark eyes intense, almost repressed, as if he were consumed by some emotion. Is this hatred? It didn’t seem quite right.

The system sensed something amiss. As a new model, its experience was limited to theory from manuals. After a careful scan, it still detected nothing unusual. Yet, something about the situation made it uneasy. Hesitantly, it voiced its concern.

[ZhaoZhao, he’s been watching you this whole time.]

[Huh? He has?]

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