Axolotl Translations

The last traces of cool air inside had completely vanished. Just as Liang Zhao had described—it was roasting on top, steaming in the middle, and boiling below. It was only 10:30 in the morning, the sun had barely been up for long, yet the cockpit was already unbearably hot.

Bright red strawberries and cherries sat untouched on the console, their usual allure lost in the suffocating heat. The old man at the helm was drenched in sweat, his tank top soaked through. Even Liang Zhao, still asleep, wasn’t faring much better—his breathing had grown heavier and more labored, despite being in deep slumber.

Meanwhile, Zheng Yijie sat beside the old man, furiously waving a palm fan. As he fanned himself, he made sure to give the old man a few extra swipes too. But his mouth was as restless as his hands—he fanned and complained at the same time.

“This is unbearable! I swear, I’m gonna die from this heat!”

“Who isn’t hot?” Gu Mengran lay lazily in a moon chair, dabbing his forehead with a damp tissue before exhaling a breath of scorching air. “Less talking, more drinking water. Just rest for a bit.”

Zheng Yijie, unconvinced, shot him a look. “Seriously? It’s like we’re being roasted alive! And you think keeping quiet will fix that?”

Before Gu Mengran could fire back, Zheng Yijie turned to the old man with an almost pleading expression. “Grandpa Meng, can’t we crack a window or something? At least let some air in!”

“Open a window?” The old man let out a hearty laugh. “Hah! Sure, why not? Go ahead—open a crack and see for yourself.”

Gu Mengran didn’t stop him. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and offered a friendly reminder, “Open the left side—unless you want all that ash blowing in.”

The wildfire was burning to their right, so opening a window on the left was definitely the better choice.

Zheng Yijie eyed him suspiciously, hesitating for a moment. But in the battle between reason and sheer desperation, desperation won. Still fanning himself, he got up and strode toward the left window.

Gripping the handle, he gave it a slight turn and gently pushed the window open just a crack.

Zheng Yijie stretched his neck forward, eagerly awaiting the refreshing river breeze to hit his face.

Instead, in the very next second, a wave of blistering heat slammed straight into him—like steam rushing out from a freshly opened pot lid. The scalding air wrapped around his face, making his skin sting as if it had been burned.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!”

He yelped twice in succession, scrambling to shut the window. Both hands flew to his cheeks, rubbing them frantically. Still shaken, he gasped, “That was insane! I might as well have dunked my head into a deep fryer—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside!”

Gu Mengran bit back a laugh. “Been living in a greenhouse too long, huh? Finally realizing how good you’ve had it? We’re the ones doing all the dirty, exhausting work.”

Whether it was the heat or embarrassment, Zheng Yijie’s face turned a little red.

But instead of getting mad at being teased, he glanced at the old man, then at Gu Mengran, pushed up his black-framed glasses, and grinned. “I’m not an ungrateful freeloader. I’ll repay you guys. Once I learn from Grandpa Meng, I’ll handle all the tough jobs myself.”

“Good kid! Glad to see you’re learning.” The old man beamed, practically grinning from ear to ear.

Hot. The small neck fan barely made a difference. Gu Mengran had originally planned to get some work done, but even sitting still was enough to make him sweat buckets—never mind moving around.

This wasn’t going to work. Sure, he could escape into his personal space for some relief and maybe plant a few more crops while he was at it, but his grandfather…

After weighing his options, Gu Mengran finally caved. Silently, he pulled an outdoor power station, an extension cord, and two large standing fans out of his space.

As the heat pressed down on them like an invisible force, Zheng Yijie’s eyes went wide at the sight of the gear. He pointed at the power station, his voice full of accusation. “You had this all along?! And you let us roast for this long?!”

Gu Mengran ignored him, staying focused as he plugged the extension cord into the power station and then connected the fans.

Both standing fans were set to the highest setting, sending powerful gusts of wind rushing through the cabin. Gu Mengran got up and adjusted their angles—one directed at Grandpa Meng and Zheng Yijie, the other at himself and Liang Zhao.

He also didn’t forget about the outdoor power station. Carefully, he placed it on a small folding stool and moved it into a corner where the fan’s breeze could reach it.

Zheng Yijie caught this small action and narrowed his eyes. His lips parted slightly as if he had just realized something. Chasing after Gu Mengran, he asked for confirmation, “Wait… is this thing dangerous?”

“Congrats, you finally used your brain for once.” Gu Mengran tilted his head back to enjoy the cooling wind and casually explained, “The temperature’s too high. I heard these things can explode if they overheat, so I didn’t dare take it out at first.”

Grandpa Meng let out a dry chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You heard? What century are you living in, still believing those old rumors? I’ve checked that power station before—it runs on lithium batteries. Sure, overheating can cause problems, but if it’s from a legit manufacturer, it can handle 200, even 500 degrees just fine.”

Gu Mengran felt momentarily silenced by his grandfather’s words and muttered under his breath, “Why does it sound like you’re calling me some superstitious old man?”

“Well, aren’t you?” Grandpa Meng teased. “Your thinking is even more outdated than mine.”

Feigning ignorance, Gu Mengran immediately shot back, “Then where were you earlier, Grandpa? You knew I had a power station in my space and still let us suffer in the heat all this time?”

Annoyed, Grandpa Meng barked, “Go take a damn nap! You still have to steer the boat tonight!”

After a full night’s sleep, Gu Mengran had zero drowsiness left in him. There was no way he was going to nap, but he also wasn’t in the mood to keep bickering with his grandfather. Instead, he silently sat down and retrieved two large stainless-steel basins from his space.

They still hadn’t stockpiled enough ready-to-eat food. Since there wasn’t much else to do, he figured he might as well make something that didn’t require an open flame—like air-dried beef jerky.

Gu Mengran took out a mix of beef cuts—tenderloin, shank, and hind leg—filling a large basin to the brim. Then, he filled another basin with clean water, sat cross-legged on the floor, and started washing the meat.

Wait… was he seriously doing this inside the driver’s cabin?

Zheng Yijie and Grandpa Meng both stared at him, dumbfounded. The old man, worried that Gu Mengran would make a mess, nearly spoke up to stop him. But when he considered the fact that he’d get to enjoy freshly prepared food without lifting a finger, he swallowed his objections.

Zheng Yijie, on the other hand, was just plain curious—curious about what kind of dish Gu Mengran could possibly make without fire or electricity. He craned his neck, peering over until he finally heard the words air-dried beef jerky. Instantly, his enthusiasm skyrocketed. Without hesitation, he ran over, eager to help.

With two people working, the process became much easier. Zheng Yijie took charge of washing the meat, while Gu Mengran retrieved a cutting board and knife, slicing the beef into uniform strips along the grain.

Before long, the basin was piled high with fresh beef strips, ready for seasoning. Gu Mengran reached into his space and pulled out ginger, scallions, garlic, dried chili peppers, Sichuan peppercorns, and star anise—everything fresh and ready to use. He added the seasonings one by one, then mixed everything thoroughly by hand before setting the meat aside to marinate for two hours.

When it came to cooking, his space was undeniably convenient. Even after all that prep work, the driver’s cabin remained spotless—clean and tidy, as if nothing had happened.

Since they couldn’t use open flames on the boat, lunch was kept simple with steamed buns.

After a short break post-meal, Gu Mengran checked the beef. Seeing that it had marinated long enough, he pulled out a roll of thin wire and called Zheng Yijie over to help. Together, they secured the wire along the upper edges of the driver’s cabin windows, then carefully folded each strip of beef in half and hung them up to dry.

To prevent excess marinade and moisture from dripping onto the floor, Gu Mengran laid down a layer of cardboard beneath the hanging beef once he was done.

Under the scorching sun and the relentless heat radiating from the mountains, the beef would dry out in just a few days—even with the glass shielding it. Of course, drying it on the deck would be even faster, but with all the floating smoke and dust, his carefully prepared beef jerky would end up more like smoked meat.

By the time he wrapped up, it was already past three in the afternoon. Exhausted, he sprawled out on a bamboo mat, letting the fan cool him off. Before long, he drifted into a light sleep.

The moment the chatterbox dozed off, the cabin became noticeably quieter.

Grandpa Meng glanced up at the beef strips hanging overhead, then shifted his gaze to Gu Mengran—who, in his sleep, had unconsciously inched closer to Liang Zhao. A faint, amused smile tugged at the corners of the old man’s lips.

Regardless of whether this kid was truly his grandson or not, having someone so energetic, optimistic, and full of life around was a rare blessing. Even in an apocalyptic world filled with despair, he somehow made the future feel a little less bleak.

But still… this boy was clearly carrying something heavy in his heart.

The alarm rang right on schedule. Gu Mengran groggily swatted at it to silence the annoying noise, forcing himself up from the bed. By the time he was fully awake, both Grandpa Meng and Liang Zhao were already having dinner, while Zheng Yijie was off in a corner—diligently doing push-ups.

Wait, what?

Blinking in confusion, Gu Mengran barely spared a glance at what his grandfather and Liang Zhao were eating. Instead, he stared at Zheng Yijie, his drowsy eyes flickering with a hint of barely noticeable panic.

“You… you’re not hot?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation. “And you do this every day?”

Sweat dripped onto the floor as Zheng Yijie pushed through another shaky, less-than-perfect push-up before collapsing onto his back. He wiped his face and looked up at Gu Mengran.

“Hot? Of course I’m hot! It’s unbearable!” he huffed, catching his breath. “But yeah, I’ve been doing this every day since we got on the boat. I’m way out of shape, though—I can’t even hit two hundred yet. Still working on it.

Gu Mengran patted his chest and let out a long breath. “That’s good, that’s good.”

Zheng Yijie frowned. “What’s good?”

“Uh… well, actually…”

Halfway through his sentence, Gu Mengran hesitated. The words felt too embarrassing to say out loud. He turned to Liang Zhao, silently pleading for help with his eyes.

He had assumed that Liang Zhao, always the reliable one, would step in and bail him out. But to his surprise, Liang Zhao simply curved his lips into a teasing smile, gave him a knowing look, and then… went right back to eating as if he hadn’t seen a thing.

Unbelievable!

Gu Mengran shot him a glare, feeling utterly betrayed, then turned back to the matter at hand.

What started as a joke had somehow been taken seriously. Sure, push-ups were great exercise, and in the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t a bad habit. But a joke at someone else’s expense wasn’t really a joke—especially if they didn’t find it funny.

Zheng Yijie was making a real effort to integrate into their group. They were teammates now. Gu Mengran wanted to tell him the truth but also didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his grandpa and Liang Zhao.

Making a quick decision, he slipped on his sandals, stood up, and waved at Zheng Yijie with an air of mystery. “Hey, come with me for a sec.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the hallway.

Zheng Yijie, still clueless, wiped his sweat and hurried after him.

The hallway was even hotter than the cabin. With no fans and not even the slightest breeze, it felt like stepping into a sauna at the peak of summer—so stifling that it was hard to breathe.

Gu Mengran didn’t plan to stay long. As soon as Zheng Yijie stepped closer, he quickly gathered his thoughts and blurted out, stumbling over his words, “So, uh… even if you do two hundred push-ups a day, you still… won’t awaken any abilities. It was just a joke at the time—I didn’t think you’d actually take it seriously.”

Zheng Yijie, who had been about to lean against the wall, froze on the spot.

Without giving him time to process, Gu Mengran continued, “Actually… none of us have any so-called abilities. The space thing was an unexpected accident, and Liang Zhao doesn’t have visions of the future. Everything we know really just came from a dream—a very normal but incredibly vivid dream before the disaster.”

Most people would feel at least a little angry after realizing they’d been pranked. But Zheng Yijie wasn’t.

He stared intently at Gu Mengran, not with anger or resentment, but with confusion and disbelief.

After a brief silence, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he quickly pressed, “Whose dream was it? Yours? And you only had it once?”

“Mine. Just once.” Gu Mengran nodded.

Zheng Yijie exhaled sharply, as if all the strength had been drained from his body. He slumped against the wall, his lips curling into a smile.

Then, fixing Gu Mengran with an intense gaze, he slowly and deliberately asked, “Gu Mengran… don’t tell me—you’re actually reborn?”

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