Axolotl Translations

Ruan Zhao woke up from the heat.

An unfamiliar restlessness, deep and unsettling, spread through his body, a wildfire consuming every limb. His blood felt like it was simmering, every cell tormented by an unbearable heat… The little moisture left in his body was on the verge of evaporating completely.

A soft moan escaped his lips, barely a whisper. He blinked, trying to focus, but his vision was blurred, swallowed by darkness. Everything was shrouded in an impenetrable obscurity.

He struggled to sit up from the soft bed. Even this simple movement drained him of all his strength, his trembling arms barely able to support his weight.

“So hot…” he gasped.

He tugged at his shirt, pulling it open to reveal skin flushed a delicate pink from the rising heat. But the slight relief was fleeting, the unbearable warmth continuing to seep through him. He wanted to tear his clothes off, to shed every layer.

But he was wearing a button-up, and his trembling fingers were too weak to manage the tiny buttons. Defeated, he let his hands fall away.

Why was it so hot? What was this feeling?

…Water. He needed water.

The reaction of his body didn’t seem to be just thirst—there was a stranger, deeper restlessness stirring within him…

Ruan Zhao exhaled a wave of scorching heat and stumbled off the bed, his legs unsteady.

Before he could reach the door, the electronic lock clicked, a sharp ding echoing in the room. The door swung open, flooding the darkness with harsh hallway light. Ruan Zhao instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he swayed, losing his balance.

A pair of strong arms caught him, preventing his fall. The person holding him radiated a natural coolness, their scent clean and refreshing. Where their skin touched his, it felt like smooth ice, soothing and strangely enticing. In his fevered state, Ruan Zhao couldn’t resist the urge to lean closer, to nuzzle against the cool touch.

He bit the tip of his tongue, the sharp sting jolting his mind back into focus. The arms that had instinctively reached out to cling now weakly pushed against the man’s chest, creating a small, fragile distance. His voice, slurred and thick, barely formed the words, “Let… go…”

His fingers curled slightly, unintentionally creasing the man’s crisp shirt in a way that felt almost intimate. His voice was soft, dripping with warmth, like liquid honey clinging to every syllable—subtly seductive without meaning to be.

To an outsider, his actions didn’t seem like resistance. If anything, they resembled a coy reluctance—one that invited pursuit.

Qi Xingchen let go as instructed.

Ruan Zhao collapsed onto the floor.

The impact was jarring, his knees hitting the ground with a painful thud. Sharp pain shot through him, and tears welled up, spilling down his cheeks like scattered pearls.

He lifted his gaze, his vision blurred, but he could still make out the man’s face. Early twenties, tall and slender, with pale skin. His features were striking: brows and eyes like a crisp, moonlit sky, almost too beautiful to be real.

The unfamiliar man stood over him, looking down with detached indifference. His dark lashes cast faint shadows over his eyes, but the coldness in his gaze was unmistakable—icy and distant, as if he were observing something insignificant.

“Who are you?”

“Why are you in my room?”

His voice was cool and sharp, devoid of emotion, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Ruan Zhao’s condition was worsening. He saw the man’s lips moving, forming words with precise movements, but they were lost to him, faint, muffled, incomprehensible.

A sudden wave of grievance washed over him. His damp lashes clung together, heavy with sweat and tears, and the strands of hair framing his face stuck to his skin, soaked through. An indescribable tension filled the room.

In the suffocating stillness, only the sound of his quiet, trembling sobs could be heard—helpless, fragile, and tinged with a faint plea.

A faint scent, lily of the valley laced with a cloying candy sweetness, filled the air. At first, it was a mere whisper, barely perceptible. But within moments, it intensified, becoming thick and overwhelming, sweeping through the room like an unstoppable tide, demanding to be acknowledged.

Just as the scent threatened to seep beyond the walls, Qi Xingchen seemed to realize something. His expression flickered, then he swiftly shut the door.

He stepped toward Ruan Zhao. Then, without hesitation, he crouched down and grabbed Ruan Zhao’s face between his fingers. His sharp gaze swept over the youth’s delicate features, scrutinizing every inch.

“You’re an Omega?” he asked.

Forced by the pressure of his grip, Ruan Zhao tilted his head upward. His light-colored eyes were soaked in misty moisture, lashes trembling violently—like a butterfly caught in a storm, its wings struggling against the relentless wind. A single tear escaped his lashes, landing on the back of Qi Xingchen’s hand.

For a moment, Qi Xingchen stiffened, as if burned. A flash of displeasure, or something akin to it, crossed his face. His brows furrowed, and his voice was cold.

“You’re in heat.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. A strange Omega had somehow appeared in his room, conveniently at the peak of their heat cycle.

Ruan Zhao didn’t say a word, he only lifted his delicate face, gazing up at the man with those wet, misted eyes, as if he had suffered some kind of grave injustice.

It was difficult to shake the suspicion that this was an elaborate scheme, a carefully crafted seduction. Qi Xingchen activated the room’s ventilation fan. As the air began to circulate, the cloying sweetness finally started to fade.

“Wait here,” he said. “The hotel should have inhibitors.”

Just as he was about to check the bedside drawer, the delirious Omega brushed against the center of his palm, like a kitten seeking comfort.

“So cool…” The boy’s flushed cheeks were tinged with the heat, his skin soft and delicate—like the finest silk. It felt as if the slightest pressure would leave a mark, or worse, ruin him.

Qi Xingchen’s eyes darkened. Without hesitation, he withdrew his hand, his voice icy.

“Get a hold of yourself. Look at me properly. I’m not an Alpha. And I would never touch an Omega who throws themselves at me.”

Alpha? Omega? These unfamiliar words stirred something in Ruan Zhao’s muddled mind, briefly cutting through the haze. Was he… reciting the Greek alphabet?

But after Alpha, shouldn’t it be Beta…?

“Alpha…”

“You need an Alpha to take care of it?” Qi Xingchen caught the faint whisper and raised an eyebrow. “There’s one staying right next door. Want me to send you over?”

Ruan Zhao didn’t respond. The heat continued to surge through his body, unrelenting. His consciousness was slipping away; he could barely keep his mouth open, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Qi Xingchen regarded him expressionlessly. The boy’s frame was delicate, his skin pale as thickened cream. Even with minimal force, two deep red fingerprints had already bloomed on his cheek.

In his current state, if he were to go next door to find that Alpha… it wouldn’t end well. He’d likely cry all night.

The thought crossed Qi Xingchen’s mind with cold detachment.

Inside the bedside drawer, inhibitors and scent-blocking patches were neatly stored in a semi-transparent case. To use them, a payment was required—swiping a card would unlock the box. The price was more than ten times the market rate.

It was nothing to Qi Xingchen. He pressed his wrist against the scanner, allowing the system to verify his identity. The amount was deducted from his account instantly.

Click.

A fresh vial of inhibitor and a stack of scent-blocking patches appeared in Qi Xingchen’s hand. He gave the vial a small shake, watching the liquid swirl and combine, before turning to Ruan Zhao.

The frail Omega was completely unresponsive, his body trembling slightly. Sweat clung to his flushed face, his brows tightly furrowed, a silent testament to his torment.

Qi Xingchen felt nothing. His sharp features remained blank, his gaze cold and detached. An Omega who had schemed his way into his room, deliberately throwing himself at him… providing an inhibitor to prevent some other Alpha from marking him against his will was already an act of undeserved kindness. As for whether he was suffering or not, that was of no concern to Qi Xingchen.

Tearing open the packaging, Qi Xingchen removed the syringe’s cap. With his free hand, he lifted the boy, whose body had gone completely limp, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling down the collar, exposing the swollen gland at the nape of his neck.

The small bump was flushed red, pulsing faintly as the rich scent of lilies wafted out in waves. Too sweet, cloyingly so.

Qi Xingchen’s fingers trembled for a fleeting moment. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, suppressing the strange itch that suddenly arose within him. His gaze lingered on the swollen gland, searching for the precise spot to insert the needle.

Here, perhaps…

His fingertip barely grazed the edge of the gland. Instantly, the boy, cradled against his chest, reacted. His pale fingers clenched Qi Xingchen’s shirt tightly, his body trembling as muffled sobs escaped his lips.

“D-Don’t… don’t touch…”

Qi Xingchen spoke in a low, indifferent tone. “Stay still, and it’ll hurt less.”

His detached attempt at comfort did little to soothe him. He continued to cry, his delicate face a tear-streaked mess, droplets pooling at his chin and slipping down, one after another.

Qi Xingchen said nothing more. The cold tip of the inhibitor pressed against the swollen gland. A sharp sting followed as the needle pierced his skin.

Ruan Zhao was shaking too violently, and it was Qi Xingchen’s first time administering this kind of injection. Most of the liquid spilled. Only a fraction entered his body.

……

It hurts…

It’s unbearable…

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

The fever raging inside him didn’t subside. Instead, his most sensitive spot had been handled with rough, unfeeling hands. Ruan Zhao felt like he was being torn apart.

For as long as he could remember, he had never been treated so cruelly.

“It’s all spilled…” Qi Xingchen murmured to himself, glancing at the liquid staining his fingers. “Should I give him another dose?”

Too much might be harmful…

He lifted Ruan Zhao’s face, trying to assess his condition, to see if he’d improved at all. But the boy shrank away from his touch, pressing himself desperately against Qi Xingchen’s chest, burying his small face in the fabric.

Qi Xingchen’s entire body stiffened. Omega bodies were soft, warm. Even their sweat carried a sweet, intoxicating scent.

A new scent, cool as mint laced with frost, seeped into the air. The two pheromones tangled and blended, twisting around each other.

Qi Xingchen pulled Ruan Zhao away from him. His ice-blue gaze fixed on the boy’s face. His eyes were beautiful, slightly upturned at the corners. Beneath them, a single crimson mole stood out against his pale skin. His nose was delicate, his lips small and soft, like blooming flower petals.

…Dead center in his strike zone.

“…Forget it.”

He loosened his tie, tugging it off. Then he peeled off his wrinkled, sweat-dampened coat and tossed it aside before gathering the trembling boy in his arms and placing him on the bed.

The dazed Omega had no idea what was about to happen. But instinct screamed danger. His limbs flailed as he tried to crawl away.

Qi Xingchen’s eyes darkened, deep as the midnight sea. With a firm grip on the boy’s ankle, he yanked him back.

“Running? Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked. “And now you’re scared? Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?”

His fingers pressed against the Omega’s soft lips, watching them deepen into a vivid, intoxicating shade, as if they might bruise and spill color with the slightest pressure. Noting his youthful features, Qi Xingchen raised an eyebrow.

“…You’re not underage, are you?” That would be troublesome.

He hooked two fingers inside the Omega’s mouth, parting it slightly. The rough pads of his fingertips brushed against the soft flesh within as he examined his teeth, checking their development. Satisfied, he narrowed his eyes, murmuring to himself, “No, you’re not.”

“Save some of those tears for later,” he advised, watching Ruan Zhao’s uncontrollable crying. His voice was almost considerate. “You’re going to need them.”

His palm pressed lightly against the boy’s abdomen, then slid upward, stopping at a particular spot. With quiet implication, he added, “You’ll feel it… right about here.”

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