Axolotl Translations

The room was shrouded in darkness. Qi Xingchen hadn’t turned on the lights. His hands trembled slightly, drained of strength. A deep ache spread through his arms, muscles burning from overexertion.

The bandages were wrapped too tightly. A simple knot had become an unyielding mess, impossible to untie. With his teeth, he bit through the fabric, tearing a small opening. A sharp ripping sound echoed in the silence as the bandage split. His fingers were swollen, joints reddened. Some areas were rubbed raw, blood seeping through the broken skin.

Qi Xingchen lowered his lashes, watching the wounds in silence. Before they could heal, he took a photo. He uploaded it to social media, carefully setting it so only Ruan Zhao could see. Then, he added a bold, cocky caption: 1 VS 20.

He hadn’t counted the Alphas who stepped onto the platform, but judging by the chaos, he estimated he had fought at least twenty. And in the end, he was the only one standing.

With quiet, hidden intent, he tapped the post button. He wanted Ruan Zhao to see. To understand. That those Alphas he admired—Qi Xingchen could take on twenty of them at once, barehanded. That even outnumbered and surrounded, he could walk away unscathed. Save for a few minor scratches on his fingers.

An Alpha who couldn’t even beat an Omega…

Qi Xingchen’s thoughts turned dark and twisted. What was the point of their existence? They might as well pack up and die, leave the world to someone more deserving. That way, maybe people would finally shut up about how Alphas and Omegas were “meant for each other.”

Of course, he never planned to say any of this aloud. His goal was simple—to make Ruan Zhao see. To make him understand that those high and mighty Alphas—they were neither impressive nor useful. They didn’t deserve to stand by his side. They weren’t worth his attention.

……

One minute later. Qi Xingchen glanced at his post’s dashboard. No likes. No notifications. Five minutes later. He casually opened his chat app. Not even a single red dot.

An hour later. A notification sound. He clicked instantly.

Only to realize—it was just a browser push notification…

“Fuck.” Qi Xingchen cursed under his breath.

The browser notification was a recommendation from a streaming app. Qi Xingchen barely glanced at it—until a memory surfaced. That phone call between Ruan Zhao and his brother. The fact that Ruan Zhao followed tons of Alpha streamers. The fact that he willingly spent money on them.

By the time Qi Xingchen snapped out of his thoughts, he’d already downloaded and installed the app on his optical computer. His fingers hovered over the search bar.

“Alpha male streamer.”

The platform instantly pulled up dozens of live channels, ranked by popularity. He clicked into one at random.

There weren’t many viewers—just a few dozen. And because Qi Xingchen was just a nameless account, a meaningless string of numbers, with no VIP badge or signs of spending money—the streamer greeted everyone… except him.

……

Qi Xingchen lit a cigarette. The tip glowed faintly between his fingers, the ember flaring and fading as wisps of smoke curled through the air. Drifting up, swirling toward the ceiling, then slowly fading into nothing.

He wasn’t a smoker. But the bitter scent of tobacco helped take the edge off.

On the minimized screen—the Alpha streamer was still putting on a show. A show of what, exactly? A show of working out.

The Alpha streamer wore a tight white tank top, clinging to the broad planes of his chest and sculpted abs. His shoulders were wide, his waist narrow, forming a picture-perfect V-shaped physique.

First, he ran on the treadmill. Then, he switched to push-ups. Sweat quickly soaked through the thin fabric, leaving damp patches at the neckline and across his chest, the material clinging to his skin in faint, flesh-toned smudges.

…What exactly was he trying to do?

Qi Xingchen didn’t get it. All he saw was an Alpha male streamer running for ten minutes, doing maybe fifty push-ups, and already dripping sweat. That kind of workout? Qi Xingchen wouldn’t even consider it a warm-up. Not a strand of his hair would get wet.

“So weak.” He offered the observation with a blank expression—then swiped up, moving to the next stream.

This one had a slightly larger audience. The chat was more active, too. Dozens of messages flooded the screen within seconds. The streamer was busy thanking viewers for gifts. His voice was low and husky, a deliberate rasp—

“Thank you, baby.”

“Appreciate you, baby.”

Every few words, he let out a deep, throaty chuckle, like he was holding back something sinful.

Qi Xingchen: “…?”

“What, did he swallow a flip-flop?”

Expressionless, he scrolled to the next stream.

……

The streamer was chatting with the audience—and then, out of nowhere, he started taking off his clothes. The more gifts he received, the faster the clothes came off.

“…Disgusting.”

……

Now, the streamer was dancing. He wore a ripped-up shirt, full of strategically placed holes, doing a provocative dance routine.

The camera followed his every move, zooming in on his chest and abs, lingering suggestively.

The chat exploded—a wall of excited screams flooded the screen:

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!”

Like they’d witnessed something rare and breathtaking.

“……”

……

Qi Xingchen went through more than a dozen Alpha livestreams. With each one, the furrow between his brows deepened. By now, he’d identified a pattern. A very clear, undeniable pattern.

Which was—they would do anything to sell their bodies. Absolutely anything. In every way possible. At every opportunity. As much as they could get away with.

“Using such cheap tactics to attract attention… they can only fool those naive little Omegas.”

With a blank face, Qi Xingchen uninstalled the app—and reported it on the way out.

Qi Xingchen couldn’t see what was so special about these Alpha streamers. Their methods were cheap, tacky, and downright embarrassing—nothing remotely impressive. Even the Alphas he beat into the ground at the training grounds were less pathetic than this.

And yet… Ruan Zhao liked them.

Was it because they showed more skin?

……

He flicked the burnt-out cigarette into the trash, walked to the window, and let in fresh air.

Then, he switched on the overhead fluorescent light.

The brightness was harsh—blinding him, forcing him to squint.

……

It had been two hours since he posted his status.

Not a single like. Not a single message.

He was starting to wonder—had Ruan Zhao… deleted his contact?

Qi Xingchen tapped on Ruan Zhao’s profile and hesitated—then sent a single period.

No red exclamation mark. The message went through.

Qi Xingchen froze. Then, on instinct, he tried to unsend it. In his panic, his fingers fumbled—and he hit delete instead.

Qi Xingchen: “……”

Unbelievable.

……

Meanwhile—Ruan Zhao had just finished dinner when he got the message alert.

He cleaned up his table, then let his little robot assistant handle the rest.

Before walking away, he reached out, patted its head, and praised, “Good job! You’re such a hardworking little robot.”

The robot’s display screen lit up—with a shy, smiling face.

The system, after witnessing everything: [……]

Jealousy makes people lose their minds.

[Zhaozhao.] It floated over to Ruan Zhao, discreetly nudging the little robot aside before nestling its round head into Ruan Zhao’s soft palm. It gave a small nuzzle.

[I saw that Qi Xingchen messaged you. Do you want to reply?]

Ruan Zhao unwrapped a fruit candy and popped it into his mouth. “No rush.” He slowly finished the candy, then unwrapped a milk-flavored one, savoring it before finally opening his chat with Qi Xingchen.

There was nothing there. Just a single, lonely period.

One, two, three, four, five… five whole days without a word from Qi Xingchen, as if he’d vanished. And now, after all that waiting—all he got was a punctuation mark. Probably sent by accident.

……

This was not what Ruan Zhao expected.

For the first time, a tiny sense of urgency crept into his chest. He knew Qi Xingchen liked him—probably more than just ‘liked.’ But that flicker of affection, instead of growing deeper over time, was starting to fade…

That couldn’t happen. He’d always thought this was a sure win, but unexpectedly, things had taken a turn.

If this stalemate continued—the mission’s outcome was starting to look… uncertain.

To regain control of the situation—Ruan Zhao graciously lowered himself to send a reply. A single question mark.

……

Qi Xingchen had been waiting for a long time.

So long that his heartbeat had involuntarily sped up, his palms damp with nervous sweat. But after all that waiting—all he got was a question mark.

What was that supposed to mean? Was it a sign he was interrupting Ruan Zhao? Or… had Ruan Zhao already forgotten him after just a few days?

Neither answer was acceptable to Qi Xingchen. His mind flashed to those Alpha streamers. To their attention-seeking, shameless tactics.

……

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Ruan Zhao had yet to receive a response. He felt completely ignored. A mix of annoyance and unease stirred in his chest. His fingers flew across the keyboard. [So if I ignore you, you’re just going to ignore me too? Do I have to say it out loud, admit I was wrong, and apologize first?]

He stared at the message. It sounded too harsh—almost like an accusation. After a moment, he deleted it. Instead, he typed: [I ignore you, you ignore me too, huh?]

Why did it sound like he was pouting? He and Qi Xingchen weren’t close enough for this kind of back-and-forth.

Delete…

[Sorry, I was wrong. Two Omegas can be together too.] But Qi Xingchen never apologized for disappearing that day. Why should he be the one to say sorry first?

Delete…

[If you don’t want them, just give the colored contacts back.]

……

Just as Ruan Zhao was struggling with what to say—Qi Xingchen finally responded.

A single message. An image.

The lighting was dim, the background unclear. Ruan Zhao couldn’t tell what the photo was. He tapped to enlarge it. Turned his screen to the brightest setting.

Then—his fingers froze. A faint flush crept up behind his ears. And then, as if a wave of heat surged through him, his entire face turned a deep shade of red.

Ruan Zhao’s eyelashes fluttered—light and delicate, like the wings of a restless butterfly.

Displayed before him—was a photo of a man’s abs. A shot taken from above, angled downward. No dramatic posing, no perfect lighting—just a casual snap.

A long, elegant hand had lifted the hem of a dress shirt, revealing—a sleek, toned expanse of muscle. Not the exaggerated, bulging kind—but lean, defined, and visually irresistible.

Six sculpted abs lined up perfectly along his taut waist, radiating the raw power of a grown man. And just below—a teasing glimpse of his V-line, disappearing beneath the loose waistband of his pants…

Ruan Zhao took one look and nearly flung his device across the room.

He held out for a few seconds, but in the end—face flushed red, he blurted out, “What the—?! Is Qi Xingchen insane?!””

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