Axolotl Translations

In mere minutes, the distant flickering glow had erupted into a raging inferno. The brilliant orange-red flames spread inch by inch, devouring the mountainside, soon painting half the sky a fiery crimson.

No one was around to admire this “breathtaking sunset.”

Gu Mengran’s brows furrowed deeply as he watched the searing flames leap across the mountain ridges. Another catastrophic disaster.

First the earthquake, then the relentless heat—humanity barely had time to catch its breath. Now, a wildfire, and no one left to fight it.

Whatever had sparked it, the ongoing heatwave would only fuel its destruction. Unless the fire consumed everything in its path, there was no hope of stopping it.

The wind stirred the thick smoke, and the drifting haze made it clear—the fire was spreading straight ahead, in the same direction as the Windwing.

Fire climbed uphill, meaning it wouldn’t reach the banks of the Huang River anytime soon. But this was Gu Mengran’s first encounter with something like this, and for once, he was at a loss. He had no idea what to do.

Grandpa sat before the navigation chart, his expression grave but calm. Gu Mengran glanced at him, hesitated, then awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Grandpa.”

“What? Still thinking about mahjong?” Grandpa gave him a sidelong glance, then chuckled dryly. “Go ahead, bring out the tiles.”

Gu Mengran sighed, half exasperated, half amused. He smacked his forehead twice. “Come on, Grandpa, be serious. What do we do now? Do we pack up and head ashore, or…”

Sensing the gravity of the situation, Grandpa’s teasing faded. His smile vanished as he smacked his lips in thought. “We can’t go ashore. We don’t know if this fire was man-made or natural.”

“If it’s a natural wildfire, sparked by the heat, then this whole region is surrounded by mountains, packed with sun-scorched trees and dry brush. Who knows how many more fires could break out? If we land now and the flames close in, we won’t even know where to run.”

After finally enjoying a few peaceful days, Zheng Yijie had absolutely no desire to go ashore. He snapped his notebook shut and quickly agreed, “Yeah, I think so too.”

“But following a wildfire is just as risky.”

Standing to the side, Liang Zhao rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought. “The fire might not reach the riverbanks, but the temperature will definitely spike. It won’t be long before the heat rises sharply, affecting everything around us—including the already dwindling water level of the Huang River.”

“So, if we move into the fire zone, we’ll have the sun roasting us from above, wildfires steaming us from the sides, and the river practically boiling beneath us. Whether or not we can handle it is one thing, but the Windwing will be struggling under extreme conditions. It’s going to be a serious test of its endurance.”

The moment those words left his mouth, a heavy silence fell over the room. The tension in the air became palpable.

Aside from Zheng Yijie, the other three knew full well—at the end of the day, a ship was just a floating metal box. Sure, the Windwing was built from specialized steel, designed to withstand heavy loads and external impacts, sturdy and resilient. But much like a human body, beneath its tough exterior lay a delicate, intricate system.

Prolonged exposure to extreme heat would strain the engine’s cooling capacity, pushing it toward overheating and increasing the risk of mechanical failure. The cooling system would be running at maximum capacity, and critical components like the cooling pump would wear out faster, significantly shortening their lifespan.

Mechanical failures could be repaired. Damaged parts could be replaced. Those were minor problems—Gu Mengran had plenty of spare parts and repair tools stored in his space.

But the real danger? The heat would accelerate the evaporation of flammable liquids. If the seals failed, volatile gases could mix with air, creating an explosive compound. And if that led to ignition—game over.

The thought of the Windwing’s fuel reserves, measured in tons, made Gu Mengran shudder.

Going ashore wasn’t an option. But following in the wildfire’s wake? That was just as dangerous.

Land route, water route—neither was an option. So what could they do? Stop where they were and wait for the wildfire to burn out? That wasn’t realistic. In half a month, heavy rains would arrive, and even if they avoided the fire, they’d still have to deal with flash floods and mudslides…

“Damn, what a mess.” Gu Mengran ruffled his hair in frustration.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Grandpa’s expression turned grim.

But unlike Gu Mengran, he didn’t waste time agonizing over it. After a brief moment of thought, he patted the console firmly, his voice steady as he made the call. “We keep moving. It’s risky, but we have no choice. Wolves ahead, tigers behind—we can’t afford to stay put.”

“There’s really no other way.” Liang Zhao nodded in agreement. “Starting now, we go into full energy-saving mode. Shut down all non-essential systems except for the main engine. We need to reduce the strain on the cooling system as much as possible.”

Grandpa grunted in approval and added, “And from this moment forward, no open flames on board. Gu Mengran, head to the deck and cover key areas with steel plates—especially the fuel intake and anchor chain compartment. We need to make sure no stray embers from the wildfire drift in and start trouble.”

“Also…” Meng Gaoyang turned to Liang Zhao, his voice serious. “Go check the engine room. Make sure the engine and fuel tank seals are intact, and top up the coolant while you’re at it.”

Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao both responded with a crisp “Got it” before turning to leave the bridge.

Left with nothing to do, Zheng Yijie looked at Grandpa expectantly. “What about me?”

Grandpa shot him a glance, then jerked his chin. “Go grab a couple of thick blankets. Then get two bamboo mats from Gu Mengran. We’re sleeping here in the bridge for the next few days.”

“Huh? Why can’t we sleep in our rooms?” Zheng Yijie blinked in confusion. “I get the whole energy-saving thing—no AC, fine. But even if we take shifts and keep moving day and night, why can’t we go back to our rooms to rest?”

Grandpa Meng had initially planned to explain that keeping everyone together would make it easier to retreat into the space in case of danger. But then he remembered—Zheng Yijie still didn’t know about that particular function. Better not bring it up for now.

So instead, he gave Zheng Yijie a stern look and said, “Just do as you’re told.”

“Oh, okay.” Zheng Yijie obediently got up.

……

An hour later, the Windwing set sail once again, shrouded in darkness.

Returning from the deck, Gu Mengran was drenched in sweat, as if he had taken a swim in the Huang River. Not a single inch of him was dry—not even his underwear had been spared.

The oppressive heat was unbearable. Just standing outside doing nothing was enough to make sweat pour down in streams. The scorching waves of air felt like an invisible hand tightening around his throat, leaving him breathless, his chest heavy and stifled.

With all the air conditioning shut off, the indoor temperature was steadily rising. Thankfully, there was still a lingering hint of coolness inside. Rushing to his room, Gu Mengran took the fastest shower of his life, changed into fresh clothes, and finally felt human again.

The difference between heaven and hell… was that simple.

Apart from the main engine, which kept the ship moving, every other auxiliary system had been powered down—including the lights. Navigating in the dark, Gu Mengran made his way to the kitchen, retrieved the now powerless fridge into his space, and then, slightly out of breath, walked toward the bridge.

The rest of the ship was pitch black, but the bridge, illuminated by the central console, was anything but dim. The blazing wildfire outside surrounded them in a fiery glow, as if the sun itself had descended upon the night.

The makeshift beds were ready, with bamboo mats spread out right next to the control panel. Grandpa and Zheng Yijie were already lying down, while the captain’s chair was now occupied by Liang Zhao—his hair still damp from sweat.

So hot! As the temperature climbed, the air in the bridge grew stifling. Gu Mengran felt a tightness in his chest, as if something was pressing down on him. He quickly walked over to the control panel and plopped down on Zheng Yijie’s small folding stool.

“How are we splitting the shifts?”

Trying to steady his breathing, he looked at Grandpa and Zheng Yijie. “Am I taking the night shift with Liang Zhao? And you two handle the daytime?”

The fire outside was getting worse. Gu Mengran had already assumed they would need two people on duty at all times—one to steer and the other to keep watch, just in case something unexpected happened.

Before Grandpa could answer, Liang Zhao beat him to it. “I’ll take tonight. We’ve all had a long day. You should rest first and join me for the night shift tomorrow.”

“You’ve been just as busy,” Gu Mengran raised an eyebrow, amused. “And what if you start dozing off in the middle of the night with no one to talk to?”

Liang Zhao chuckled softly. “I know my limits. I won’t doze off.”

“Still, I’d rather not risk it,” Gu Mengran muttered under his breath.

Just as Liang Zhao was about to reply, Grandpa, still lying on his bamboo mat, let out an impatient tsk and said, “What’s there to fuss about? Xiao Liang takes the first half of the night. Gu Mengran, you sleep first, then set an alarm and take over for the second half.”

That actually made a lot of sense. Gu Mengran nodded in agreement.

His head was still spinning a little from running around outside, and to prevent heatstroke, he pulled a box of Huo Xiang Zheng Qi Liquid from his space. He downed one bottle himself and handed the rest to the others.

Without hesitation, Zheng Yijie and Liang Zhao took theirs and drank. Grandpa Meng, on the other hand, scowled, dragging it out as if he were being forced to swallow poison.

Gu Mengran glared at him. “I’m watching you. No sleep until you drink it.”

Grandpa let out a resigned sigh, then tilted his head back and downed the Huo Xiang Zheng Qi Liquid in one go.

After leaving out some instant food, dry rations, and bottled water, Gu Mengran set his alarm for the early morning, lay down beside his grandpa, and quickly drifted into a deep sleep.

But he didn’t make it until the alarm—he woke up from the heat.

Still half-asleep, he groggily wiped the sweat from his forehead, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep. But just as he was about to drift off again, a sudden clarity jolted through his mind. He instinctively raised his hand to check the time.

One glance—and he shot up like a spring.

“You’re awake? Hungry? Come eat something.”

A deep, cool voice came from beside him the moment he sat up. Gu Mengran stiffened, his back going rigid. Feeling guilty, he dropped his head, not daring to meet Liang Zhao’s gaze.

Seven o’clock. They were supposed to switch shifts. Instead, he had slept straight through until morning.

Gu Mengran smacked his forehead in frustration. He glanced at his grandpa and Zheng Yijie, both still fast asleep, and felt a bit relieved.

After taking a few deep breaths, he slowly—awkwardly—lifted his head and forced out a stiff smile. “Uh… sorry, Liang Zhao. I overslept. I swear I set an alarm, but it didn’t—”

“I turned it off.”

“—sound.” The last word got stuck in his throat. He blinked in confusion. “Wait… you turned off my alarm?”

Liang Zhao, casually nibbling on a biscuit, gave a light “mm.”

“Oh, great. And here I was wondering why it didn’t ring. So it was you! Why the hell did you do that? Pulling an all-nighter is dangerous, you know? You could literally drop dead from exhaustion! You—go. Sleep. Now.”

Now that he had the moral high ground, Gu Mengran became even more insistent. He slipped on his slippers, walked over to Liang Zhao, and poked him repeatedly in the arm.

Liang Zhao’s lips curved into a faint smile. Though exhaustion lingered in his eyes, a gentle warmth softened his gaze. His voice was calm as he said, “Got it. At least let me finish eating first, okay?”

Gu Mengran glanced at the biscuit in his hand. “Want some steamed buns instead?”

“Nah, ate too much yesterday.”

Gu Mengran didn’t push further, nor did he hurry to wash up. Instead, he shuffled to the window in his slippers.

Last night, the fire had been distant, its true scale obscured by fog. But now, in the broad daylight, the raging wildfire was terrifyingly close. Flames spread like a living beast, devouring dry grass and trees in an instant. Thick, black smoke billowed into the sky, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

A familiar chill crept up Gu Mengran’s spine. The scene stirred up memories of the suffocating yellow fog—an oppressive, inescapable dread. The sky was streaked with orange and black, the air thick and scorching, filled with the acrid stench of burning.

“We’re about to enter the wildfire zone,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the distant inferno. His fingers unconsciously traced the glass.

Sensing his unease, Liang Zhao put down his half-eaten biscuit and reassured him in a quiet voice, “Don’t worry. Grandpa Meng is an experienced captain. If he says we can pass through, then we can. Plus, Windwing isn’t carrying any cargo, so we’re running light—we’ll be fast. I checked the route. If all goes well, we should be through in a day.”

It was somewhat reassuring, but not enough. Gu Mengran let out a long sigh, his voice dropping lower. “The temperature’s rising fast, Liang Zhao. Last night, I went out on the deck and checked—it’s already close to 50°C.”

“I’m not just worried about this stretch,” he added. “We’ve still got over half a month ahead of us. And the road ahead… isn’t going to be easy.”

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