Axolotl Translations

Qin Ge let out a sharp, humorless laugh, anger boiling over into something almost amused. His dark eyes fixed on Ruan Zhao’s indifferent expression, his voice squeezing through gritted teeth. “…You’ll regret this.”

Just as he said this, the fingers clutching Ruan Zhao were pried off, and several Alphas seized him, hauling him away like a criminal.

Even as they dragged him off, Qin Ge still turned to look back at him.

Ruan Zhao mouthed three words. “Serves you right.”

That’s what you get for messing with me.

A mischievous glint lit his eyes, like a smug cat flicking its tail, utterly delighted at having successfully retaliated against the villain who had wronged him.

Then, realizing that open gloating in front of a crowd wasn’t the wisest move, he instantly shifted his expression to a pitiful, aggrieved look—a seamless, almost theatrical transformation.

Qi Xingchen, standing nearby, had watched Ruan Zhao’s every flicker of emotion, every subtle shift.

Compared to the dazed, vulnerable figure from that night—the one who’d instinctively clung to him for safety—this Ruan Zhao was startlingly vibrant.

Ruan Zhao caught his gaze.

He turned his head slightly, meeting Qi Xingchen’s eyes.

For a fleeting moment, confusion flickered across his youthful face, his gaze utterly blank, as if he didn’t recognize Qi Xingchen at all.

…It made sense.

That night, he had been completely out of it, barely holding on to consciousness. Not remembering Qi Xingchen’s face was perfectly understandable.

And yet, Qi Xingchen couldn’t shake an odd, lingering frustration.

Perhaps it was because Ruan Zhao’s image had become stubbornly etched in his mind since that night at the hotel. No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t shake the memory—the tear-streaked face, damp with sweat, the flush at the corners of his eyes, the delicate tremor of his soft body.

He even dreamed of him.

Taking on the enforcement team’s duties had been an impulsive move, fueled by a quiet hope: that Ruan Zhao might appear at this event.

Yet the Omega who had haunted his thoughts so persistently… had no memory of him whatsoever.

That imbalance between them—the complete lack of recognition—left Qi Xingchen with an unfamiliar sense of defeat, as if he had already lost before the game had even begun.

Though his thoughts churned restlessly, his face remained impassive, his gaze steady and unreadable as he watched Ruan Zhao in silence.

Ruan Zhao genuinely didn’t recognize him. The man felt vaguely familiar, but he never once connected him to the person who had cornered him in the hotel.

With practiced politeness, he offered a faint, grateful smile for the earlier assistance.

But that was the extent of his gratitude.

Under Qi Xingchen’s unwavering stare, an unsettling feeling crawled up Ruan Zhao’s spine, his skin prickling with discomfort. Without lingering any longer, he turned away, slipping into the crowd, hoping to disappear among the sea of people.

“Wait.”

A cool, measured voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

Ruan Zhao pretended not to hear and squeezed further into the shifting crowd.

“…Your student ID is still with me.”

…Student ID?

Did he even have one of those?

“It’s the one you… left behind last time.”

“You left in such a hurry, I had no way to contact you, so I couldn’t return it.”

At first, Ruan Zhao was confused, unsure what he was referring to. But now, he understood completely.

His steps faltered.

He heard the man’s steady approach—calm, unhurried. He stopped just within reach, close enough to be heard, but not so near as to feel invasive.

Qi Xingchen reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, elegant card and held it out. “Be more careful next time. Don’t keep losing things.”

Ruan Zhao took it a beat too late.

A sudden wave of emotions washed over him, leaving him momentarily speechless. His face, however, reacted swiftly—flushing crimson. Half anger. Half embarrassment.

At the end of the day, both he and Qi Xingchen had been victims of someone else’s scheme. If anything, Qi Xingchen had suffered even more—because Ruan Zhao had barged into his room by accident, dragging him into the mess.

Had everything gone as it should, had he simply given him the inhibitor and walked away, he wouldn’t have harbored any resentment toward him. He wouldn’t have been angry.

But Qi Xingchen hadn’t done that. Instead, in that final moment, something seemed to seize control of him—he’d thrown Ruan Zhao onto the bed, teetering on the edge of turning a mistake into something far worse…

And just like that, Ruan Zhao’s role as the innocent victim didn’t seem so clear-cut anymore.

His fingers instinctively tightened around the card. The card’s sharp edges pressed into Ruan Zhao’s palm, leaving a faint, dull ache.

And then, he heard Qi Xingchen apologize.

“…I’m sorry.”

The words were unexpectedly sincere—steady, devoid of any perfunctory politeness.

Almost involuntarily, Ruan Zhao’s gaze lifted.

“That night, I wasn’t thinking clearly,” Qi Xingchen admitted. “I thought… you’d set me up, so I—”

He paused, the next words barely audible.

“…so I overstepped.”

“…I apologize.”

There were still plenty of people around. Ruan Zhao could feel their gazes lingering on him—watching, waiting. One moment, they’d stare at him, the next, at Qi Xingchen. They were eating up the drama in real time, though they clearly had no idea what was actually going on.

Ruan Zhao had no intention of airing his grievances in front of an audience. So—his eyes flickered with a warning. “We need to talk somewhere else.”

They finally moved away from the noisy crowd. The surroundings returned to silence, broken only by the faint chirping of insects in the grass.

Without the city’s light pollution, the sky stretched vast and clear, a canvas of countless twinkling stars. Bright and dazzling.

Ruan Zhao’s mind drifted back to his mission.

—To become Qi Xingchen’s stain.

The word “stain” was simple enough to grasp. A mark of filth, an unsavory event, an undeniable flaw—any of these fit the definition.

And to become his stain meant tarnishing his reputation through association.

The mission itself was clear enough… but where was he supposed to start? Now that was a good question.

At the moment, Ruan Zhao was clueless. His mind a tangled mess, devoid of any clear or effective plan. Despite everything they’d been through… he and Qi Xingchen were still, at best, familiar strangers.

If only Qi Xingchen had stuck to the original script—if Cheng Li had managed to snap a photo of him “mistreating” him—this whole mission would have been over by now. Ruan Zhao wouldn’t have to be racking his brain, trying to figure out how to get started.

He could, of course, ask the system to retrieve the surveillance footage from that night and leak it online, completing the part of the plan Cheng Li had failed to execute…

But the problem was, the footage showed nothing but the two of them entangled with each other—no evidence of mistreatment whatsoever.

If he uploaded it, people might just assume they were… a couple enjoying themselves.

“I’m really sorry.”

Qi Xingchen’s voice broke the silence again.

Ruan Zhao felt an odd sense of déjà vu—as if he’d heard this apology before. Someone else had done the same, always saying sorry to him, whether or not they were at fault.

For a moment, his expression softened, lost in thought. Looking at Qi Xingchen’s cold, distant face, it somehow… seemed less harsh.

“I’m not usually like that,” Qi Xingchen said. “I’m not that… reckless.”

Ruan Zhao remained silent.

Qi Xingchen interpreted his silence as lingering resentment. He added, “I’ve been set up like that before. They’d send people into my bed—Omegas in heat, attractive Betas, even other Alphas…”

“So, when I saw you in my room… my first instinct was to assume you were just another one of them.”

Ruan Zhao raised an eyebrow. “So, what? You kept them all, too?”

A hint of mockery laced his tone. A jab at Qi Xingchen—so easily falling into their traps, yet never pushing them away.

Qi Xingchen glanced at him, then quickly looked away. The tips of the man’s ears turned unexpectedly red.

He said, “No.”

He almost added, You were the first. But that felt… inappropriate.

Ruan Zhao paused, processing his words, before the implication hit him. He pressed his lips together, his voice sharp and cold. “Doesn’t change the fact you’re a scumbag. See a pretty Omega, pounce on them, and then start spouting all kinds of nonsense…” He still remembered every word Qi Xingchen had uttered that night.

Underage. Disgusting. Pervert. Bastard.

Ugh. Gross. Disgusting. Freak. Creep.

Ruan Zhao’s vocabulary for insults was limited, but in his head, he went through all of them.

Then he continued, “If it weren’t for—” He paused, nearly slipping up. “If I hadn’t fought back, you’d have gotten away with it.”

Qi Xingchen lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Ruan Zhao remained unimpressed. “Oh? A few apologies and your sins are wiped clean? Then what’s the point of having police?”

Qi Xingchen looked up. “…Do you want to report me?”

Ruan Zhao choked back a retort. “That’d be letting you off too easy.”

“If you want…” Qi Xingchen hesitated. “I could take responsibility for you.”

“…?” Ruan Zhao narrowed his eyes. “You’re an Omega. How exactly do you plan to take responsibility for me?”

Although the system had given Ruan Chao a basic understanding of the ABO world, he had never looked into it deeply. He didn’t know that same-sex couples were fairly common here.

To him,it was only natural that an O should be with an A. He viewed genders as puzzle pieces, only an Alpha and Omega could fit together to form a complete whole. So, when another Omega offered to take responsibility for him, Ruan Zhao thought it was some kind of joke—one that wasn’t particularly funny.

Qi Xingchen had a quarter of Isgolian blood in his veins, which gave him a striking pair of ice-blue eyes. Whenever his emotions fluctuated, his irises would darken, the color deepening into something richer.

And as soon as he spoke, Ruan Zhao witnessed the change.

Brilliant. Luminous. Mesmerizing.

As if a saturation slider had been pushed, adding layers of dark pigment until the blue became an abyssal black—like the ocean’s depths.

Above them, the moon slipped behind a veil of clouds.

The world dimmed instantly.

They stood too far from the streetlamp, its glow too faint to reveal Qi Xingchen’s expression. All Ruan Zhao could see were his eyes—those breathtaking, suffocating eyes.

Qi Xingchen looked a little intimidating.

“Most people assume I’m an Alpha. A few think I’m a Beta. But not a single person has ever questioned… that I might be an Omega.”

Qi Xingchen lifted his gaze slightly, his tone even. Yet somehow, Ruan Zhao still sensed danger.

Can I just say the system told me?

The system, feeling inexplicably targeted: [??]

System: [Just tell him you smelled his pheromones.]

Ruan Zhao blinked. “Because I smelled your pheromones.”

The scent lingering on Qi Xingchen was faintly familiar. He recalled it carefully, then spoke based on his memory.

“It’s the scent of mint and fresh snow.”

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