Axolotl Translations

The boy’s tone was unhurried, his voice steady—but the slight upward lilt at the end of his sentence was like a tiny hook, deliberately fishing for praise.

They were still standing too close.

Ruan Zhao could feel the warmth of Gu Xingyan’s breath brushing against the sensitive skin of his cheek, sending a ripple of something unspoken through the air between them. Feigning composure, he began straightening his uniform. Gu Xingyan had crumpled it beyond repair—no matter how much he smoothed it, the wrinkles wouldn’t disappear.

Assuming Ruan Zhao hadn’t heard him, Gu Xingyan repeated his question.

In response, Ruan Zhao took a half-step to the side. Then, with deliberate care, he zipped up his uniform jacket—all the way to the top, as if sealing himself off. It was obvious he wasn’t in the mood to entertain him.

“Zhaozhao…” Gu Xingyan pressed closer, refusing to relent. “Did I not play my part well enough? Why aren’t you talking to me?”

Ruan Zhao covered his ears. “Don’t call me Zhaozhao. That’s my nickname. Only my family calls me that.”

He stretched out his words, emphasizing every word—“You. Are. Not. Allowed.”

Gu Xingyan, ever the opportunist, seized the moment. “Then just treat me like family.”

Ruan Zhao shot him a look, utterly baffled by the sheer absurdity of that statement.

Gu Xingyan didn’t share his last name, nor were they related by blood—how could he possibly be considered family?

But then… A thought flickered through Ruan Zhao’s mind, and his tone softened, laced with a coaxing edge. “If you keep being this obedient—doing whatever I tell you without question—then maybe, just maybe, I’ll allow it.”

There was no way he’d let Gu Xingyan off the hook so easily. After all, there would be plenty of times in the future when he’d need to make use of him. No harm in dangling a little reward in front of him.

Gu Xingyan’s response was immediate. “I’m not obedient enough already?”

“I do your notes and homework for you. I finish your leftover lunch. Even the test papers the teacher hands out—I’m the one who organizes them, or else you’d lose track of them by the next day…”

“Tell me, when have I ever disobeyed you?”

Ruan Zhao didn’t react. He didn’t answer the question either, just blinked in confusion, staring at him with a slightly dazed expression.

Gu Xingyan stepped closer. The space between them—which had just widened—snapped shut once again.

Ruan Zhao was forced back into that same cramped, narrow corner. Through the thin fabric of his uniform, he could feel the cool hardness of the wall pressing against him. Gu Xingyan, towering over him, looked down.

Gone was the feigned indifference and cruelty from before. Now, something else stirred in his gaze—something restrained, emotions surging just beneath the surface, on the verge of breaking free.

His eyes weren’t the deep, solid black Ruan Zhao had always assumed. There was something scattered within them, like tiny flecks of stardust drifting in the dark. And when the light caught them just right, it felt as if an entire universe had been set into motion.

Ruan Zhao found himself struggling to breathe.

A strange tension began to build.

Maybe it was because Gu Xingyan was revealing a side of himself he’d never shown before—one that made Ruan Zhao suddenly realize the boy in front of him was far from harmless.

He wasn’t that helpless kid anymore—the one who needed saving, who relied on him for food just to make it through the day. Or maybe, from the very beginning, Ruan Zhao had been wrong about what it meant for someone to be “pitiful.”

The hunter and the prey had suddenly switched roles. And now, the one who had once been at a disadvantage was pressing forward.

Gu Xingyan’s fingers inched closer. Instinctively, Ruan Zhao tried to move back. But the warmth of his fingertips grazed his cheek, smoothing down a stray strand of hair.

Then, a voice—low, deliberate—brushed against his ear. “Even a dog you raise wouldn’t be as obedient as me, would it?”

Ruan Zhao’s breathing caught.

He shoved at Gu Xingyan. Didn’t budge.

This guy actually compared himself to a dog… But what kind of dog traps its owner in a corner and refuses to back off?

No. This wasn’t a loyal pet—this was a wolf eyeing its prey. And a particularly ruthless one at that.

“Stop acting already. It’s over.”

“…”

“Gu Xingyan, are you even listening to me?”

Ruan Zhao pushed harder. Still, he didn’t move. His fingers curled, gripping the fabric of Gu Xingyan’s shirt, leaving it wrinkled and messy.

“I said it’s over. Move.”

Another long silence stretched between them.

Ruan Zhao’s heart pounded faster, a subtle unease creeping in.

When Gu Xingyan played the weak one, he could tease him however he wanted—push him around, boss him around like a little servant. He had been completely shameless about it.

But now… Now that Gu Xingyan had flipped the script, showing an unexpected dominance—Ruan Zhao didn’t quite know what to do. It was a textbook case of bullying the weak and fearing the strong. He embodied the phrase perfectly.

For a brief moment, he even considered ducking under Gu Xingyan’s arm and making a run for it. It wouldn’t look very dignified, sure—but it would be an escape. Just as he was debating it, Gu Xingyan suddenly spoke.

“Alright.”

Then, he chuckled softly and straightened up. “I’ll move.” His hands rested neatly at his sides, no longer reaching out, no longer touching. And when Ruan Zhao shot him a scrutinizing glare, Gu Xingyan merely lowered his gaze, his expression obedient—like he was seconds away from raising both hands in surrender just to prove how harmless he was.

Ruan Zhao gave him a sharp look. “Just now, you—”

“It was improv.”

Ruan Zhao: “…”

Did he really think I’d buy that? That I’d just believe whatever he said without question? Because that—that hadn’t felt the same as before. It was different. Like…

Ruan Zhao swallowed back his retort.

He had a feeling—a strong feeling—that if he voiced his true thoughts, the fragile balance between them would shatter, and something he really didn’t want to see would happen. That instinct—cautious, self-preserving—made Ruan Zhao wisely hold his tongue.

Instead, he stepped past Gu Xingyan and walked forward without a backward glance. But Gu Xingyan followed, sticking close behind him, his voice soft and coaxing. “Zhaozhao… Were you satisfied with my performance just now? Was it the kind you like? If I wasn’t bad enough, I can try harder next time.”

Compared to before—when he was still fumbling, needing Ruan Zhao to teach him how to act bad, how to be fierce—Gu Xingyan was clearly much more at ease now. He even knew how to improvise.

Ruan Zhao was this close to losing his mind. To shut him up, he bluntly answered in one go, “Yes, satisfied.”

But Gu Xingyan wasn’t done. “Since you’re satisfied, can I get a reward?”

Ruan Zhao: “…”

Shameless. Absolutely shameless.

If he dared to ask for a reward now, who knew what he’d dare to demand in the future?

Give him an inch, and he’d take a mile.

And once he started taking a mile—who knew what outrageous thing he’d try next? That’s how boundaries got chipped away. Bit by bit.

So… should he give him a reward?

Fine. Fine.

Ruan Zhao flicked his gaze toward him. “I’ll call you tonight.”

“And?”

“I’ll walk home with you after school.”

“And?”

“I’ll give you candy.”

“Hmm…”

Ruan Zhao’s patience snapped. He glared at him. “Don’t push your luck.”

Aside from pinching his cheeks twice, squeezing his chin, and muttering a few cold, unhinged remarks, Gu Xingyan hadn’t actually done much to him. Ruan Zhao wasn’t even sure if this counted as being put in his place.

He borrowed a small mirror from a girl sitting in front of him. Holding it up, he checked his reflection—there, just below his jaw, was a faint red mark, pressed into his skin by Gu Xingyan’s fingers earlier. It was already fading.

Ruan Zhao poked the spot with his finger, then pressed down harder, discreetly deepening the mark to make it more obvious. Then, with a wronged expression, he ran to complain to the system.

[System, system! Look! Gu Xingyan is so mean to me. He even hurt my face! He’s totally getting revenge!]

[…]

[And the things he said—horrible things—he practically crushed my self-esteem under his feet! I’ve never been so heartbroken!]

[……]

[He even refused to let me bite him! He threatened to break my teeth, one by one! He said he’d make me cry—and if I didn’t cry prettily, he wouldn’t let me go!]

[………]

[And he dragged up all the old stuff! Every single thing I ever made him do—he clearly had a grudge for ages!]

[…………]

Ruan Zhao was starting to run out of steam. [System, say something!]

The system hesitated for a long time before finally responding— [Zhaozhao… Am I… part of your act too?]

Act? Ruan Zhao blinked. [I’m not acting! I’m getting bullied here!]

The system: [……….]

Here’s the revised version with improved natural flow and tone:

[He’s so cold to me. He says awful things. He trapped me—weak and helpless—against the wall. He even hurt me…]

[He’s treating me so horribly. Doesn’t that prove he’s getting revenge on me?]

The system hesitated, its voice timid. [But… you both agreed to this. It’s just an act.]

Ruan Zhao pressed further. [Does the employee handbook say staff members aren’t allowed to act with the main characters of a small world?]

The system had a perfect score in theory exams and could recite the employee handbook backward. It knew for a fact that neither the main text nor the appendix mentioned any such rule. Because… well, no protagonist had ever schemed with a staff member before. The system’s silence spoke volumes.

[If there’s no rule against it, that means it’s possible.]

The system had no way to argue, so it could only whisper a reminder. [Once the mission ends, the final assessment will be handled by the main system. Even if… even if we think the same way, the results may not be what we hope.]

The worst-case scenario? He’d lose some points for low mission completion. It wouldn’t be anything worse than that.

Ruan Zhao returned the mirror to the girl in front of him. At first, he wanted to grab a few candies from his bag as a thank-you gift. But then he remembered his promise to Gu Xingyan—so, instead, he reached into his desk and pulled out a box of yogurt. The girl didn’t stand on ceremony. She smiled and took it.

The intense gaze that had been locked onto him this whole time—disappeared the moment he put the candy bag down and reached for the yogurt instead.

Ruan Zhao: “…” Seriously? Even this, you have to watch?

Remembering the promise he made earlier, he grabbed the bag of candy and dumped everything out, shoving it all toward Gu Xingyan.

“Here, here, take it. It’s all yours. Eat as much as you want.”

Gu Xingyan picked out one fruit candy and one milk candy, then carefully put the rest back into the woven pouch. His expression was completely calm and composed.

“Ruan Zhao.” With a piece of candy in his mouth, his breath carried a faint, sweet scent—like ripe peaches. “Turn your head. Let me see.”

Ruan Zhao turned, puzzled. “What for?”

Gu Xingyan reached out, gently brushing his fingers over the faint red mark on his jaw. The moment he saw Ruan Zhao frown slightly, he immediately pulled his hand back, worried that he had hurt him. “I didn’t mean to.” He thought he must have used too much force earlier, leaving such a visible mark on Ruan Zhao’s face. So he promised, “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Ruan Zhao’s gaze flickered slightly. “It’s fine.”

He figured that if he looked a little more miserable, it would be easier to fool the main system. After all, who gets revenge taken on them without at least a little injury?

But… he was also afraid of pain. He definitely didn’t want Gu Xingyan to actually go all out on him. Since he couldn’t think of a way to achieve both, he tossed the problem over to Gu Xingyan instead.

“You can be a little rougher with me. Make me look really pitiful… but without actually hurting me.”

Rougher. Pitiful-looking. No actual pain.

Gu Xingyan’s breath caught for a second. Because of the indescribable, almost obsessive feelings he had for Ruan Zhao. Or maybe… he was just the kind of person who desired too much.

Before he could stop himself, his thoughts strayed somewhere dangerous. His breathing turned heavy, like a fire was burning through his veins, threatening to consume the last of his self-control.

If Ruan Zhao’s expression hadn’t been so pure—so completely unaware—Gu Xingyan would’ve thought this was… some kind of invitation.

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