Axolotl Translations

It was unbearably hot.

Gu Mengran had deliberately waited until the early hours of the morning to refuel the Windwing, hoping to avoid the worst of the heat. But after standing on the deck for two straight hours, he was seriously questioning his life choices. Even in the coolest part of the day, the heat was relentless.

He didn’t even fill the fuel tanks completely—halfway through, he’d had enough. After confirming with Liang Zhao over the radio that everything was good to go, he dragged his exhausted body back inside, his steps unsteady from the heat.

His head was spinning, and his limbs felt like jelly. As soon as he got back to his room, he downed a bottle of herbal cooling medicine and sat on the floor, resting for a long while before he finally started to feel better.

His clothes were soaked in sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Grimacing, Gu Mengran rummaged through his wardrobe for a fresh set, then staggered toward the bathroom.

His bedroom door wasn’t fully shut, and as he passed by, he heard a faint noise. Glancing over, he caught a flash of yellow in his peripheral vision.

It was Xiao Huang.

The little dog, who was supposed to be lounging in the air-conditioned pilot house, had somehow made its way over here. Now, it sat hesitantly by the door, stretching its neck to peer inside with those big, dewy eyes—clearly wanting to come in but too timid to actually do it.

A shy little dog taking the initiative to seek him out—who could resist that?

Balancing his clean clothes on one arm, Gu Mengran crouched down carefully. When Xiao Huang didn’t immediately bolt in fear, he slowly reached out and gave its head a gentle pat.

“Did you come looking for me, Xiao Huang?”

Dogs had a way of making people feel better. The moment he ruffled its fur and scratched under its chin, Gu Mengran, who had been completely drained from the heat, started to perk up.

Xiao Huang remained mostly still, not reacting much. But for a timid dog that usually avoided people, just not running away was already a big step.

Satisfied, Gu Mengran continued petting it for a while before noticing that the little pup was looking a bit worse for wear. It must’ve been in the spatial storage for too long—its fur was dusty, and its paws were caked with mud.

Since he was about to take a shower anyway, Gu Mengran had a sudden idea. Without giving Xiao Huang any chance to react, he slid his hands under the little dog’s front legs and scooped it up in one swift motion.

“Come on, bath time!”

“Awoo! Woof woof!”

Thirty minutes later, the bathroom door swung open. A soaking-wet yellow fluffball shot out like a bullet, disappearing down the corridor in a flash.

Gu Mengran stepped out, feeling refreshed. He could only shake his head helplessly.

What a hassle. It was just a bath, and all the progress I’d made bonding with it got washed away.

As expected, when he entered the pilot house with a towel draped over his neck, Xiao Huang was hiding in the corner, shaking off water and licking its fur. The moment it spotted him, it immediately scurried under the control panel.

Faced with those pitiful, slightly resentful eyes, Gu Mengran silently put the hairdryer back into his storage space. Forget it. The weather was warm enough—no need to dry it off. If he tried to hold the pup down for a blow-dry, they’d probably become enemies for life.

It was already past midnight by the time the Windwing set off again, now fully refueled. Meanwhile, Liang Zhao, sitting in the captain’s chair, still looked as full of energy as ever.

Gu Mengran finished drying his hair and casually slung the towel around his neck. Taking his time, he walked up behind Liang Zhao and poked his arm.

“Go catch some sleep. You’ve been steering the ship for half the night already. I’ll take over from here.”

Liang Zhao glanced at him and shook his head lightly. “The pilot house is nice and cool. Compared to standing out on the deck for two hours, I’d rather stay up all night driving the ship.”

At first, the comment sounded a little odd. But after thinking it over, Gu Mengran realized—ah, this was his roundabout way of saying refueling the ship was tough.

Feigning ignorance, Gu Mengran raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So what you’re saying is, next time, I should be the one suffering through it again?”

“No, that’s not what I—”

Liang Zhao visibly panicked for a second, as if struggling to find the right explanation. Flustered yet resigned, he said, “We’ll take turns. Next time, you stay in the pilot house and monitor the instruments while I go out and handle refueling.”

Gu Mengran burst out laughing and gave Liang Zhao a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Relax, I was just joking. Do you know how many barrels it takes to fill half a tank? No way. This job is clearly mine.”

A fleeting look of frustration crossed Liang Zhao’s face. In a low voice, he said, “It’s not that much trouble. You don’t have to keep running back and forth. Just take the barrels out onto the deck before refueling.”

“Yeah, no thanks. It’s still easier for me to do it alone.” Not wanting to continue the conversation, Gu Mengran unfolded a small stool and sat beside Liang Zhao, letting out a slight sigh. “Ugh, I really need to figure out a way to get more fuel.”

“We’re running low?” Liang Zhao immediately perked up.

“We’ve still got plenty. At this rate, it should last at least a year,” Gu Mengran said, stifling a yawn. “Once we get to Yinan, if we’re careful, we can stretch it for a few more years. It’s just that every refuel takes a big chunk of it, and it kinda stings.”

“Yeah, nonrenewable resources… once they’re gone, they’re gone,” Liang Zhao agreed, his brows unconsciously knitting together in concern.

Gu Mengran smirked. “Bottom line? We’re broke. Diesel is expensive, and stocking up drained all of Grandpa’s retirement savings. If only I’d met Zheng Yijie sooner—he’s still got a few million lying around. Such a waste!”

It was just a casual remark, but to Liang Zhao, it sounded completely different.

Noticing how his expression grew darker, Gu Mengran quickly tried to smooth things over. “Anyway, I should be thanking you. If it weren’t for your help back then, we wouldn’t have been able to get all the equipment for the Windwing.”

Then, he couldn’t help but tease, “Seriously though, you’ve got some guts. A classmate you hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly shows up asking for a loan, and you just handed over the money without hesitation? And so generously, too!”

The trace of displeasure in Liang Zhao’s expression faded away. He lowered his gaze slightly, a faint smile forming on his lips. “It’s not about being bold. If someone else had asked, I wouldn’t necessarily have lent it to them.”

Gu Mengran narrowed his eyes. “Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Liang Zhao replied matter-of-factly, “Lending it to you was never a problem.”

Gu Mengran studied him for a moment. “Oh? After all these years of no contact, and you trust me that much?”

“Because…” Liang Zhao chuckled softly. “You can run, but your temple stays put.”

That wasn’t exactly the answer Gu Mengran had been hoping for. The flicker of expectation in his eyes dimmed.

Liang Zhao parted his lips slightly, as if about to say something more, but in the end, he stayed silent. Instead, he turned and tapped on the electronic navigation map on the control panel, focusing his attention there.

Since they had set out again, none of the small ports they had passed had fuel ships or service stations. The only major port they had encountered was Xinjiang a few days back, but with the military stationed there, fuel was out of the question.

Liang Zhao scrolled further along the map. Five minutes later, he called out, “Gu Mengran,” and tapped a small anchor symbol on the screen. “Lingjiang Port—the largest midstream port on the river. We should reach it in three days. There’s a big service station on the shore there. We might have a chance to stock up on fuel.”

He had mentioned it casually at first, but now he was seriously mapping things out.

Fuel was always in short supply. Gu Mengran stretched his neck to glance at the screen before nodding decisively. “Let’s do it! We’ll be drifting long-term from now on, so the more fuel we have, the better. But I’ll need to talk it over with Grandpa in the morning—we can’t just barge in without a plan. At the very least, we need a basic strategy.”

“Agreed,” Liang Zhao nodded in approval. “We should think it through carefully.”

Outside, the sky was turning a soft gray, signaling the break of dawn. Estimating that Grandpa and Zheng Yijie would be waking up soon, Gu Mengran stretched lazily and got up, heading toward the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The prepared cooked meals were enough to last for several months without needing to cook, but those were for emergencies only. Unless something special came up, Gu Mengran didn’t plan on touching those meals.

Besides, if he had the option not to cook, it would be a waste not to enjoy the simplicity of it.

He waved at Liang Zhao, then lazily walked toward the door. As he reached it, something seemed to cross his mind, and he suddenly turned back toward the cockpit, smiling brightly. “Liang Zhao, what do you want for breakfast?”

It was a simple question, yet Gu Mengran’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

For a moment, Liang Zhao found himself caught off guard, his thoughts disrupted.

A dull throb echoed at his temples, a brief buzzing sound ringing in his ears. For a moment, he thought he heard a familiar voice whispering in his mind: “If there were no disasters, we’d be fine, no more hunger, and I could ask you on a sunny morning: ‘Liang Zhao, what do you want for breakfast?’”

The two voices slowly blended together, and in a hazy moment, Liang Zhao thought he saw a single thread amidst a tangled mess, but just as he reached out to grab it, the loud screech of an alarm cut through his thoughts.

[——Beep, beep, beep, collision warning, collision warning!]

Liang Zhao snapped back to reality, and Gu Mengran, who had just stepped outside, immediately turned back toward the cockpit.

The radar alarm blared as Gu Mengran hurried to the radar screen, which, previously dominated by green, now had a patch of red: a stationary, rectangular red shape.

“1.5 kilometers straight ahead, a medium-to-large vessel!”

“Understood, initiating emergency braking.”

Unlike cars, ships don’t have brake systems. Due to their larger size and greater inertia, it’s virtually impossible for a ship traveling at full speed to stop on a dime.

Fortunately, the radar alarm went off just in time. With 1.5 kilometers still between them, there was enough distance to act. Liang Zhao remained calm and methodical, activating the reverse thrust system. The propeller spun in reverse, pushing the water and generating a counterforce to slow the ship down.

One observed, the other operated. They worked in perfect harmony, each fulfilling their role. In just six minutes, the Windwing, once barreling forward, came to a controlled stop.

The air conditioning hummed softly in the cockpit, but both men were covered in a cold sweat, their nerves still on edge.

No words were exchanged. As the ripples from the ship’s sudden halt faded, Gu Mengran grabbed the ship’s binoculars from the console and quickly made his way to the front windshield.

The ship had stopped over a kilometer away, but now, the obstructing vessel was only about 500 meters ahead, its outline now just visible to the naked eye.

With the light of dawn breaking, Gu Mengran raised the binoculars and saw the ship clearly. It was a cargo ship, about the same size as the Windwing, but it was clearly loaded with goods, as evidenced by its low waterline, making it appear much shorter. From his elevated position, Gu Mengran had a clear view of its deck, painted in alternating red and green.

With the fuel pipeline and double-hull structure, Gu Mengran immediately identified the ship across as a tanker. Its aft superstructure was positioned at the rear of the deck, with the bridge located at the back—directly facing the Windwing across the river.

The magnification was high, so the binoculars could only move slowly. Gu Mengran struggled to locate the highest point in the hazy white view, but before he could make out the bridge, a figure suddenly appeared on the open deck.

The Windwing had caused quite a stir, and it was clear that the person across had come out to take a look as well, holding their own set of binoculars.

The distance was too great to make out the person’s face clearly, so Gu Mengran increased the magnification. Just as the image started to sharpen, preparing to reveal the person’s features, the individual on the opposite ship raised their binoculars, inadvertently covering half their face.

Half a face was still a face. Gu Mengran quickly scanned the man’s jaw and lips, and from his attire, he could tell it was a relatively young man.

There was something vaguely familiar about him. Had he seen him somewhere before?

Before he could recall, the long-silent high-frequency radio suddenly crackled to life, a clean female voice reverberating slowly through the air.

“Zzz, zzz, Windwing, Windwing?”

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