Axolotl Translations

Ruan Zhao couldn’t understand why Qi Xingchenkept clinging to this issue. Their arrangement was simple—they each got what they wanted.

He needed Qi Xingchen to recreate the vague shadow in his memory. Qi Xingchen wanted his forgiveness. They both benefited. Why did everything have to be dragged into the open and spelled out?

And even if I did say it… you wouldn’t be happy about it anyway.

Ruan Zhao frowned, his delicate brows furrowing. His gaze landed on Qi Xingchen’s dark contacts, concealing his natural eye color, turning them into a polished, inky black. Just like that, the frustration in his chest subsided slightly—a reaction that caught him off guard.

Fine. I’ll coax him one last time.

Without hesitation, he dismissed Qi Xingchen’s suspicion that he was a stand-in for some past Alpha. “You’re overthinking it. None of the Alphas I know have eyes as beautiful as yours.” He paused deliberately, letting the words sink in, before adding, “Besides… if there really was someone like that, I’d find him directly. Why would I waste my time here with you?”

It was flawless logic, airtight—nothing wrong with it at all. But Qi Xingchen couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t that simple. Words, expressions, even a person’s gaze—all could be faked. But subconscious reactions? Those never lied.

Ruan Zhao often stared at him, lost in a daze, his gaze locked on his eyes, as if he was seeing through him, lost in memories from long, long ago. Whenever that happened, his mood would lift, and he would become a little more patient with him.

It was a first. No one had ever treated him like that. Even though he had indescribable, complex feelings toward Ruan Zhao, that didn’t mean he was willing to be anyone’s stand-in.

Besides— Ruan Zhao knew too many Alphas. And he’d been entangled with them before. Spending nights glued to live streams, watching their broadcasts. Lavishing them with gifts, falling for their sweet-talking lies. Those guys probably called him sweet little names too—“Ruanruan,” “Zhaozhao”—whispering them intimately.

Qi Xingchen wasn’t an Alpha. He wasn’t even a “proper” Omega. His underdeveloped glands meant he didn’t experience heat cycles like other Omegas.

He couldn’t be controlled by pheromones, forced to submit to an Alpha he had no interest in. With his superior physical abilities, his talent, and his relentless effort, he’d climbed to the top of the pyramid, looking down on everyone else.

He had never felt insecure about his so-called “flaws.” And he had never admired those arrogant Alphas. To him, they were nothing but weak, foolish creatures. And yet—

“Ruan Zhao.”

“Do you think… two Omegas… could ever be together?”

Ruan Zhao didn’t understand why Qi Xingchen’s thoughts had veered so far off track, but he answered seriously, relying on his understanding—or rather, the knowledge the system had drilled into him.

“Of course not.” The teenager’s tone was firm and unwavering. “An Omega and an Alpha are the ones meant to be together.”

……

Qi Xingchen left.

He didn’t even finish his meal. A small portion of rice was left behind. Ruan Zhao stared blankly at the leftover grains, as if lost in thought—or perhaps, as if his mind was completely empty.

After a while, he muttered under his breath, a soft complaint. “If he couldn’t finish it, why take so much? What a waste.”

He scooped the remaining rice into his own bowl. After forcing down a few reluctant bites, he realized he couldn’t eat anymore. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, he stealthily dumped the rice back.

……

Qi Xingchen had stormed off without a word, and the more Ruan Zhao thought about it, the less sense it made. Unable to restrain himself, he asked the system, [Did I say something wrong?]

The system was Ruan Zhao’s biggest fan. In its view, only others could be wrong—its host was always right. So, without hesitation, it answered, [Of course not! It’s Qi Xingchen’s fault. He’s just too sensitive.]

[But he asked if two Omegas could be together…] Ruan Zhao paused, a delayed realization hitting him. [Wait… I think I’m an Omega too.]

He hadn’t been in this world long enough to fully internalize his identity. So much so that he kept forgetting—he himself was an Omega.

[Does this mean I’ll have to marry an Alpha in the future?]

Of course not. Ruan Zhao already had a boyfriend.

Even though he’d lost most of his memories and all his emotions, he remembered they’d never broken up. So, there was no way he’d look for someone else.

Besides, his boyfriend wasn’t an Alpha. He wasn’t an Omega either. In fact, he didn’t belong to any of the three genders in this world. And yet, they were still together.

Ruan Zhao pondered. [If an Omega can be with someone who has no gender, then obviously, an Omega can also be with another Omega.]

[…So, I guess I really did say something wrong.]

The system didn’t quite know how to respond. Someone with no gender… was he talking about Gu Xingyan?

This… emmm… This was the problem with storing romantic plotlines across worlds—it messed with the host’s perception. The male lead from the last world didn’t even register as a real person anymore, just a genderless being.

To prevent Ruan Zhao from reaching any more “shockingly groundbreaking” conclusions, the system quickly changed the subject. [So, are you going to find Qi Xingchen and explain things to him?]

Ruan Zhao frowned. [No. He can think whatever he wants. If he doesn’t listen, that’s his problem. I don’t like him.]

Then, as if remembering, Ruan Zhao recalled what Ruan Ci had mentioned on the phone—the forum issue had been resolved.

Leaving the cafeteria, Ruan Zhao casually opened the school forum. As his brother had said, there was a flood of apology posts directed at him. But… wasn’t this a bit much?

Six out of ten posts were apologies, and judging by the usernames, they were all from the same people who’d mocked him earlier.

Ruan Zhao scrolled through them disinterestedly.

Then, he noticed an official school announcement. It contained all the evidence of Cheng Li’s actions—fabricating rumors with edited photos, hiring paid trolls, using fake accounts to manipulate public opinion, and deliberately smearing his reputation.

……

[After review and approval by the President’s Office Meeting, it has been decided that Cheng Li, a student from Class Three of the Arts Department, will be expelled. All related evidence has been handed over to judicial authorities for further processing.]

The comment section exploded.

[WTF! That’s the fastest plot twist I’ve ever seen!]

[Who’s this Cheng Li guy? Seriously disgusting. Spreading fake rumors like that? He’s rotten to the core.]

[Honestly, this kind of tactic is nasty but frighteningly effective. It’s like dumping a bucket of filth—impossible to wash off.]

[Exactly! If the truth hadn’t come out so quickly, I bet a lot of people would still believe Ruan Zhao had “moral issues” even after the controversy died down.]

[And what about all those people who were running their mouths in the forum before? The ones claiming to be his “classmates” or “neighbors”? Where are they now? Shouldn’t they have something to say?]

[Haven’t you seen? They’re all lined up in the other thread, apologizing one by one.]

Thank god I never blindly take sides or comment on these things. Otherwise, I’d be the clown right now.]

……

Feeling pleased, Ruan Zhao liked a few of the top comments. But as he scrolled, his finger slipped, and he accidentally opened his chat with Qin Ge.

[I never thought Cheng Li was that kind of person… He slandered you like that—why didn’t you tell me sooner?]

[He and I were just ordinary friends. I never reciprocated his feelings, and I had no idea he would do something like this because of me.]

[I’m sorry, Ruan Zhao. I should’ve managed my relationships better and not caused you trouble. This is my fault.]

Ruan Zhao didn’t bother replying. Qin Ge was essentially talking to himself. But after a while, he grew impatient.

[I had no idea what he was up to, and I never got involved. You blaming me for his actions is completely unfair. And at the networking event, you pretended not to know me—you humiliated me in front of everyone. My classmates all think I’m some creepy Alpha harassing Omegas! But even then, I didn’t hold it against you. So can we just call it even?]

……

Ruan Zhao scrolled through the chat.

It took a while to reach the end. Each message was longer than the last, like an endless essay.

He couldn’t be bothered to read every word, but he didn’t want Qin Ge spamming him to stay relevant. So, he deleted Qin Ge’s contact, blocked him, and shut off his light brain—out of sight, out of mind.

……

The next few days were peacefully uneventful. His life settled into a simple routine—class, apartment, repeat.

Qin Ge didn’t bother him.

Qi Xingchen didn’t come looking for him either.

That day seemed to have hit Qi Xingchen hard. So hard, in fact, that any small spark he might have felt for Ruan Zhao never had a chance to grow—it was snuffed out before it could ignite.

The system was a little worried about the mission. It feared Qi Xingchen and Ruan Zhao would go their separate ways, never meeting again.

If that happened, their mission in this world would be a guaranteed failure. A failed mission meant zero points—and they’d lose half their existing points as a penalty.

Ruan Zhao halfheartedly comforted it, telling it to relax.

Worrying wouldn’t change anything. But the system was still anxious. So anxious, it kept flying around him, hovering back and forth—from front to back, then back again—making sure he noticed its presence.

Ruan Zhao was trying to draw, but the system suddenly blocked his view. His hand slipped, and a long, thick black streak marred the canvas. The drawing wasn’t great to begin with, but now, with that ugly black line, it looked even worse.

Feeling irritated, he ripped the paper off the board.

Hearing the sound, the teacher glanced over, confused.

Ruan Zhao immediately straightened his back, pretending nothing happened. He held up his pencil and randomly waved it over the blank canvas, looking as if he were deeply focused on his work.

Once the teacher’s gaze finally moved away, Ruan Zhao let out a quiet sigh of relief. Annoyed, he grabbed the system by its tiny wings, stopping it from flitting around.

[Stay still and stop buzzing around me. I know what I’m doing. The mission won’t fail.]

The system’s digital screen lit up, showing big, shining eyes—twinkling like it was desperate for reassurance.

It wasn’t that it didn’t trust Ruan Zhao—its anxious little heart just needed some comfort. As long as Ruan Zhao said something, it would believe it.

Under the system’s expectant gaze, Ruan Zhao’s expression froze. After a brief hesitation, he forced a nod. [Of course it’s true.] Reluctantly, he gave in a little. [If it really comes down to it, I’ll find him.]

……

Aside from consoling a perpetually anxious system, Ruan Zhao’s days were comfortable and carefree. Qi Xingchen, however, was having a much harder time.

Hearing Ruan Zhao say, right to his face, that “Alpha and Omega are the ones meant to be together” and there was no way the two of them could ever be possible… crushed him. It was like a bucket of ice water, dousing any lingering hope. By the time he stumbled back to school, his mind was a mess.

And the first thing he did? He took off his colored contacts. But because he wasn’t used to it, he struggled a little.

His eyes burned red with irritation, and tears streamed down his face. In the mirror, a man stared back—his icy blue eyes, stirred by emotion, darkened into a shade like the deep sea.

But they still weren’t pure black… And there were no stars, none of the ones Ruan Zhao wanted to see.

Qi Xingchen had planned to throw everything away. He’d tossed the box and packaging into the trash, only to hesitate and retrieve it, hiding it somewhere out of sight.

He tried to stop thinking about Ruan Zhao. But Ruan Zhao was everywhere, infiltrating every corner of his mind.

Qi Xingchen went to the training grounds, seeking out Alphas for a fight. He needed to burn off excess energy, to stop himself from overthinking.

But they were too weak—even all together, they were no match for him. Still, they refused to back down, coming at him one after another. Only when they were too beaten to stand did they admit defeat.

Qi Xingchen wrapped bandages around his palm, layer by layer, then wiped blood from his lip with his thumb. Irritated, he glanced at the spectators below, speaking casually, almost bored. “Come at me. All of you.”

……

A sea of people surged onto the platform.

No one cared who they were fighting anymore—they simply grabbed whoever was closest and started throwing punches.

Perhaps this was just the tradition at military school. No matter the fight’s origin, it always ended in an all-out brawl.

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