Axolotl Translations

“What happened? Who beat you up? Your eyes are so puffy, they look like walnuts.”

Early that morning, Gu Mengran had just emerged from his bedroom, heading for the kitchen in search of food, when the old man, cup of tea in hand, silently blocked his path.

Gu Mengran froze, then rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, avoiding the question. “Really? I didn’t even notice when I washed my face just now.”

Meng Gaoyang narrowed his eyes, tilting his chin slightly, as if he could see right through him. He leaned in close to Gu Mengran’s ear and whispered, “Weren’t you watching a movie in the living room last night? What happened? Liang Zhao turn you down?”

“How did you—wait, you were up last night?”

Any lingering disappointment Gu Mengran had been feeling instantly vanished. His eyes widened as he stared at his grandfather, lowering his voice. “Grandpa, please, I’m begging you—don’t go spreading rumors like that. What if someone overhears—”

Before he could finish, Liang Zhao walked out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl. As he passed through the hallway, he glanced sideways—just in time to lock eyes with Gu Mengran, who was anxiously scanning the room.

Thankfully, Liang Zhao didn’t linger. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before heading straight to the dining area.

Gu Mengran hissed under his breath, “See? What did I tell you? Walls have ears! Grandpa, you need to stop being so nosy. Shouldn’t you be navigating the boat or something?”

“Hey! Look who’s talking.” The old man scoffed, half amused, half exasperated. “What did you say yesterday? We handle the boat, you and Liang Zhao handle the kitchen. And yet, here you are, sleeping in like a slug. If we waited for you to make breakfast, we wouldn’t be setting sail until noon.”

“It’s only 8:30—don’t exaggerate.” Gu Mengran rubbed his nose, feeling a twinge of guilt. “So, uh… who made breakfast today?”

“Who else? Liang Zhao,” Meng Gaoyang scoffed.

“How was it? Did it taste good?”

“It was… acceptable. Edible.”

No wonder he was in such a bad mood, Gu Mengran thought, shrugging indifferently. “I told you yesterday—I was supposed to help Liang Zhao, not replace him. So, technically, I did my part.” And with that, he dashed off.

“You little brat!” the old man grumbled after him.

After breakfast, Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao cleaned the kitchen before tackling the next meal preparations.

Since they’d indulged in a seafood feast yesterday, today’s meal would be something more comforting and homely.

Dried mustard greens, green beans, and shiitake mushrooms were set to soak in water. Gu Mengran grabbed the stainless steel basin used for the shrimp yesterday and filled it halfway with pork belly—marbled with fat and lean.

Washing and mincing the meat fell to Liang Zhao, while Gu Mengran pulled out another empty basin, poured in a generous amount of flour, washed his hands, and settled on a small stool to knead the dough.

Kneading, proofing, resting—then rolling out the wrappers, mixing the filling, and wrapping the buns. The two worked nonstop, and by the time the steaming basket was lifted to reveal a batch of oddly shaped buns, the sun was high in the sky.

They packed an assortment of buns into storage, leaving some to cool in the kitchen before freezing them. That way, anyone could steam them in the morning for a quick and easy breakfast—most importantly, no one had to wait for him to wake up!

Naturally, lunch became a full-blown bun feast, with them sampling their own creations.

In the afternoon, Gu Mengran kneaded another batch of dough and used a dumpling mold to quickly wrap a fresh batch of dumplings.

The dumpling mold was handy, but it had one drawback—the dumplings it made weren’t sealed tightly enough, making them prone to falling apart when boiled. In the end, Gu Mengran decided to take advantage of the steamer still being out and turned the rest into steamed dumplings instead.

Cooking wasn’t physically exhausting, but it was mentally draining. When you were in a good mood, it could be a pleasure; when you weren’t, it was pure torture.

There was still plenty of time left in the day, but Gu Mengran lacked the energy to cook anything else. He was tempted to retreat to his room for a nap, but when he noticed Liang Zhao’s slight unease—clearly sensing the cold shoulder—he felt a pang of guilt.

It was true. Apart from the occasional “wash this” or “cut that,” he’d barely spoken to Liang Zhao all day.

Dwelling on the past only made himself miserable. It wasn’t Liang Zhao’s fault—not in this life, at least. This life was different. He had a home, his grandfather, Liang Zhao. Everyone was here. Everyone was safe. He should be content. The past was the past—it couldn’t be erased, but it shouldn’t be dredged up either.

The usually talkative Gu Mengran had been silent, and Liang Zhao had noticed. He seemed to think he’d done something wrong, tiptoeing around all day, working quietly without a word.

Just like now—the kitchen was spotless, but instead of leaving, Liang Zhao stood awkwardly to the side, patiently awaiting Gu Mengran’s next instruction.
Except there was none. Gu Mengran left the kitchen without a word and headed straight for his room.

Unsure what else to do, Liang Zhao followed him, step for step.

When they reached the bedroom door, Gu Mengran gripped the handle. Liang Zhao hesitated, brows slightly furrowed, lips parting as if to speak—perhaps to ask what was wrong, perhaps to offer comfort—but in the end, he remained silent.

He stood there, lost in thought—looking so ridiculous yet so heartbreakingly earnest at the same time.

Of course, Gu Mengran noticed. So, just as he was about to step inside, he turned back to Liang Zhao. His pale, weary face softened with a faint smile as he asked gently, “Tired? Want to do something else?”

“Not tired. Very interested.”

Like a big dog receiving praise from its owner, Liang Zhao’s eyes lit up instantly, his invisible tail practically wagging at lightning speed.

After checking in with his grandfather via walkie-talkie, Gu Mengran invited Liang Zhao inside. Then, he retrieved a large pile of fresh cabbage and sweet potatoes from his space and led Liang Zhao to another section.

Sometimes, the impossible happened—like today, when the animals in the space finally received their “breakfast.” The scene quickly devolved into utter chaos.

The chickens, ducks, and geese squeezed to the front, pecking furiously at the cabbage. Young piglets, calves, and lambs weren’t about to miss out—some nervously nibbled on sweet potatoes, while the bolder ones snatched leaves, even braving chicken pecks just to get a bite.

After all this time, the animals had grown considerably. Despite their differing habits and instincts, they surprisingly coexisted peacefully, with no major conflicts.

Xiao Huang, however, remained as timid as ever. Unlike other dogs that would rush over, tails wagging, the moment they saw their owner, he stayed curled up in a corner, keeping his distance, staring at them with large, innocent eyes.

But no matter how shy, puppies still needed companionship. Now that they weren’t constantly on the move, maybe it was time to bring him onto the boat.

Yeah, I’ll bring him out later, Gu Mengran decided on the spot.

The visit wasn’t just to feed the animals—now that life was settling down, he couldn’t let this vast, empty land go to waste.

The space couldn’t bring in non-living objects, which meant animal feed was out of the question. Gu Mengran had never bothered preparing any, so the little guys had been living entirely off the leafy greens and root vegetables he had stockpiled.

But as they grew bigger, their appetites grew with them. If he didn’t start planting soon, his supplies would be completely wiped out.

Gu Mengran already knew what he wanted to plant, and he had the seeds ready. He reached into his beach shorts pocket and pulled out a few colorful seed packets, nodding his chin towards Liang Zhao.

“Come on, let’s get started while we still have time. Every little bit counts.”

With that, he turned and started walking. Liang Zhao quickly caught up, falling into step beside him.

Sensing Gu Mengran’s improved mood, Liang Zhao glanced at the handful of seed packets and frowned slightly. In a low voice, he asked, “Since we can’t bring tools in, how are we supposed to till the soil? The ground isn’t rock-hard, but it’ll still be slow going without tools.”

Gu Mengran smirked, deliberately keeping him in suspense. “Don’t worry, it’s not a problem. You’ll see soon enough.”

“Then… what about the animals?”

“Hm? What about them?”

Liang Zhao hesitated, then chose his words carefully. “If we don’t fence off the chickens and ducks and let them roam free, won’t they just dig up everything we plant? All our work will be for nothing.”

The space was vast, about the size of two soccer fields, a completely open expanse. With no barriers, the animals could wander wherever they pleased, just as Liang Zhao pointed out.

Gu Mengran sighed. “I’ve thought about that too. I even considered building a pen to keep them contained, but we can’t bring in materials, so that’s out of the question. We’ll just have to plant on the far side and hope for the best.”

He gestured towards the land farthest from the stream, then glanced back at the chickens pecking at vegetable leaves, clinging to a shred of optimism. “We feed them and let them roam near the stream, so… maybe they won’t wander too far?”

Realistically, that was wishful thinking. Even if the seeds didn’t catch their attention, once the crops sprouted into bright green seedlings, it would look like an all-you-can-eat buffet to animals raised on leafy greens.

With no better solution in sight, Liang Zhao murmured an agreement and said, “Let’s plant a small batch first and see how it goes. Hopefully, they’ll behave.”

As they chatted casually, they reached the far side of the space.

The moment Gu Mengran tore open a packet of seeds, Liang Zhao’s gaze fixed on him, observing his every move with hawk-like intensity, unwilling to miss a single detail. He was eager to see how Gu Mengran planned to plant without any tools.

In his palm lay small, round seeds, a mix of reddish-brown shades. Gu Mengran double-checked the packet to confirm—yep, cabbage seeds. Then, squatting down without hesitation, he carefully pinched three seeds between his fingers and dropped them into a natural crack in the soil.

And then… he pinched another three, shifted a couple of inches to the side, and repeated the process.

Liang Zhao’s brows furrowed deeper and deeper. He stood there, utterly perplexed. He didn’t question Gu Mengran’s common sense, but he seriously doubted the viability of this planting method. His lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but before he could, Gu Mengran turned to him, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“Get ready to witness a miracle.”

With that, he dropped another handful of seeds, then slowly stood up and took two steps back.

Not even five seconds passed before something shifted. The once dry, compacted soil beneath them began to move.

It was as if they were in a farming simulation game—where seeds hit the ground and, magically, the earth loosened on its own. The hardened clumps of dirt softened and turned over, as if an invisible hoe had tilled the soil, transforming the barren ground into rich, fertile farmland.

Gu Mengran had scattered seeds three times, and now, in their place, three neatly formed plots of lush, dark soil had appeared—each about the size of a paving stone, perfectly square.

---

Previous Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter