Axolotl Translations

As she spoke, Wei Qianlan visibly deflated, her entire demeanor dimming. It was as if an invisible weight had settled on her shoulders. She covered half her face with her hands, but the weariness in her exposed eyes was impossible to miss.

Something was amiss.

Gu Mengran hesitated, then gently asked, “Can I ask why?”

Wei Qianlan simply shook her head, remaining silent.

At that moment, Zhou Qin, who was sitting on the other side of the aisle, sighed softly. She offered a tired smile as she explained, “You’ve been with us this whole time, taking care of us, helping with everything. We’ve grown too reliant on you. But eventually, we’ll have to stand on our own. Consider this a way for us to start getting used to it.”

It was a reasonable explanation—one that left little room for argument. Yet, Gu Mengran couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.

Looking at the two women, their exhaustion palpable, their expressions dull and drained, a realization dawned on him.

With no parents in sight, the children were growing increasingly restless. Minor breakdowns occurred every other day, full-blown tantrums every three. And that was just from the perspective of someone who only had to drive, collect supplies, and listen to the noise from a distance. For the teachers, who had to care for them around the clock, it must have been a living nightmare.

Being a teacher was a job. But when that job became their entire existence, a relentless, 24-hour responsibility, even they had their limits.

Everyone was at their breaking point. Adults, children—none could endure much more of this journey.

They weren’t just seeking shelter. They were desperate for an escape.

They could have chosen differently. But the children had anchored them to this path.

Refusing their help wasn’t about independence—it was about cutting off their own escape route. They were afraid. Afraid that if Gu Mengran and the others escorted them to safety, they’d be tempted to abandon the burden they carried. And so, they made their choice.

To persevere.

Gu Mengran, understanding the weight of their decision, felt a deep respect for the two women. Still, he believed helping others shouldn’t come at the cost of their own well-being.

After a thoughtful pause, he looked up at them, resting his chin on his hand, and spoke deliberately, “Have you considered joining us?”

His unexpected proposal caught both women off guard. Wei Qianlan, snapping out of her daze, stared at Gu Mengran, her eyes wide with surprise. “Why bring this up now? We’re almost at Xinjing. Weren’t we just discussing how to get into the city?”

Her tone hinted at an unspoken question: Why now, of all times? If you really meant it, you would’ve asked earlier.

Gu Mengran knew she didn’t actually mean it that way, but the truth was, the idea had only just come to him. Feeling slightly guilty, he cleared his throat and admitted, “I just wanted to offer another option. In case you don’t want to stay in Xinjing, you’d have an alternative.”

Wei Qianlan lowered her gaze and shook her head. “It’s better this way,” she said softly. “Wandering around with a group of children isn’t a long-term solution. Everyone’s exhausted. The official base is the best choice—they should have people who can help us take care of them.”

“I wasn’t talking about the children.” Gu Mengran’s gaze shifted between Wei Qianlan and Zhou Qin, his lips curving slightly. His previously casual tone turned uncharacteristically serious. “You two.”

Both women looked utterly taken aback.

“You’re individuals. You don’t have to be bound to the children,” Gu Mengran said firmly. “If you want to leave—or come with us—you can drop them off at the base and move on. I’m sure the government will take good care of them.”

Of course, that was assuming they could bring themselves to leave.

For Gu Mengran, bringing people along on this journey was already an act of kindness. He didn’t believe he should be responsible for their entire lives after saving them.

But for the two morally upright teachers, leaving the helpless children at the base might feel selfish and irresponsible.

As expected, the moment the words left his mouth, Wei Qianlan immediately shook her head. “We appreciate the offer, truly. But we can’t just leave them behind.”

“A strange place, unfamiliar faces… After waiting so long to see their parents and families, only to learn they never will… And then, their teachers abandon them? They’d be devastated.”

“Can I say something?”

From the second row—where he had been eavesdropping the entire time—Zheng Yijie peeked over the seat in front. He asked politely, but before anyone could object, he turned to the teachers. “You should think about yourselves a little, don’t you? You’re their teachers, not their parents. Just because you saved them doesn’t mean you have to care for them forever. That’s insane. It was never your responsibility—don’t let it chain you down.”

Finally, someone speaking some sense. Gu Mengran nodded in approval.

Wei Qianlan was momentarily stunned. But then, in the blink of an eye, the exhaustion on her face melted away. The corners of her lips lifted slightly, as if she were silently thanking them for their sincerity. For the first time in a long while, a genuine smile lit up her pale face.

After a brief pause, she straightened her back, her voice steady as she said, “You’re right—caring for kids for so long is exhausting. Physically and mentally. Especially when they’re unruly and throw tantrums… it’s a nightmare.”

“The truth is, we’re not saints. We get tired, we get frustrated, and we’ve thought about giving up more than once. But you know, when your own kids misbehave, you just give them a scolding or a spanking—you don’t just abandon them.”

“It’s not just responsibility or sympathy. Our kindergarten was small, with few teachers. Zhou Qin and I have been with these kids since their youngest class, watching them grow up. They’re not our blood, but they’re family. And you don’t walk away from family.”

“We have no home to return to, and these children have no one to rely on. Zhou Qin and I have already decided—we’ll stay with them a while longer. Even if we part ways in the future, we’ll at least wait until they’ve adjusted. They deserve to know the truth and come to terms with this harsh reality.”

Zheng Yijie wasn’t about to let that go unacknowledged. The moment Wei Qianlan finished, he gave them both a thumbs-up, his voice filled with admiration. “Absolutely incredible, you two.”

Since they’d made up their minds—whatever the reason—it was only right to respect their decision. Pressing them further would just be rude.

Gu Mengran reached into the cardboard box by his seat and pulled out two water bottles, handing them to Zhou Qin and Wei Qianlan. With a soft smile, he said, “I truly admire your choice. You’re both remarkable.”

Zhou Qin’s face flushed slightly. She took a quiet sip of water.

Wei Qianlan, however, remained unfazed. She took a long swig from her bottle and waved him off. “Alright, enough with the praise. Any more, and I’ll have to find a hole to crawl into. We’re not that great. Honestly, staying at the government base is probably the best option for us, too.”

Everyone longs for freedom. But freedom only matters when you have security.

Wei Qianlan took a deep breath, a flicker of regret passing through her eyes. Then, slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze sweeping across Liang Zhao, Zheng Yijie, the old man in the driver’s seat, and finally, Gu Mengran beside her.

“Thank you. Thank you all for everything you’ve done. If it weren’t for you, if you hadn’t helped us escape Linhuai… I don’t know if we would have survived this brutal summer.”

Her slightly hoarse voice echoed through the vehicle, stirring something unspoken in everyone’s heart.

No one spoke. The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew heavy, thick with unspoken emotions.

Then, Wei Qianlan suddenly chuckled softly, breaking the silence. “Why the long faces? It’s just a thank-you. I can’t repay you guys, so all I can do is wish you a smooth journey and a safe arrival in Yinan.”

“Take care, ladies. Earth is round—maybe we’ll cross paths again,” Zheng Yijie mumbled, wiping a hand across his face.

Gu Mengran swallowed the tightness in his chest and forced a smile. “Let’s just hope we all get through this.”

Liang Zhao, usually a man of few words, hesitated before managing a simple, “See you, if fate allows.”

……

The night unfolded, draping the world in darkness.

They had arrived.

The bus pulled over onto a narrow road leading into the city. In the distance, scattered lights flickered faintly, like distant stars, dim against the moonlit sky but still visible.

With a clear destination and no need to wait for deeper darkness, the teachers immediately began gathering their belongings as soon as the vehicle stopped.

They didn’t have much—a few plush toys, interlocking floor mats from the kindergarten, the LEGO set Zheng Yijie had given them. Most of the supplies belonged to the children. The teachers carried little more than daily necessities; even their spare clothes had been provided by Gu Mengran.

The aisle was narrow, so Liang Zhao and Zheng Yijie stepped in to help, leaving no room for anyone else to pass.

Gu Mengran watched for a while. Only when most of the packing was done and the two had returned to their seats did he pick up the mountaineering backpacks he’d prepared and head toward the luggage compartment.

No words were necessary.

The moment the teachers saw the two overstuffed bags—so full they were bulging—their eyes filled with tears. They thanked Gu Mengran repeatedly.

Gu Mengran dreaded emotional scenes like this.

Quickly, he excused himself, saying he needed to say goodbye to the children, and made a hasty escape.

Retrieving a bag of fruit candies from his seat, he returned to the back of the bus, crouched down, and greeted each child. He reminded them to listen to their teachers, then handed out the candies.

Though they had traveled together for some time, the children had always been under the teachers’ care. They weren’t particularly familiar with Gu Mengran and the others. Even when they heard goodbyes and farewells, they showed no reluctance—just quietly clutched their candies and gave timid little “okay”s.

Except for Zixuan and Zihan, the social butterflies.

The two little ones had no concept of shyness. The moment they realized Gu Mengran was saying goodbye, they rushed over to him.

“Tour Guide Brother, aren’t you coming with us?” Chubby Zixuan clutched Gu Mengran’s finger, gazing up at him with wide, reluctant eyes.

Before Gu Mengran could answer, Zihan, leaning over the seat from the row ahead, chirped excitedly, “Big Brother, come with us! Your cooking is so good! I’ll tell my mom to give you a raise! And I’ll leave you a five-star review!”

Days of travel had worn the children down; they weren’t as energetic as they had been when they first set out.

But now, with the joy of reuniting with their families lighting up their faces, all their exhaustion seemed to vanish.

Yet, as Gu Mengran thought about the reality they were about to face, a bitter feeling settled in his chest. He couldn’t find the right words to comfort them.

Two pairs of bright, trusting eyes stared up at him, unwavering. Unable to bear it, Gu Mengran turned his head away and said quietly, “This is as far as I go with you. From here on, you’ll have to walk your own path. Listen to your teachers, be brave, and don’t cry.”

“Okay, Tour Guide Brother! We’ll book you for our next trip!”

“Goodbye, Big Brother! Goodbye, Uncle! I’ll miss you!”

“Kids, stand up.”

Zhou Qin, her eyes red-rimmed, rose from her seat and gently clapped twice.

Once all the children stood together, she turned to Gu Mengran and the others. Her voice, though soft, wavered slightly as she enunciated each word carefully:

“Say… thank you to Grandpa and the Big Brothers for taking care of us along the way.”

“Thank you, Grandpa! Thank you, Big Brothers, for taking care of us along the way!”

The children’s voices rang out in unison, clear and bright, echoing through the bus—lingering long after they’d spoken.

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