Axolotl Translations

[So… what exactly is our relationship now?] Qi Xingchen typed each word deliberately, his fingers pressing down with force.

Ruan Zhao thought for a moment before replying. [A sponsor and a kept lover? A stand-in and his benefactor?]

[Of course, if you prefer, you can just think of it as dating.]

Ruan Zhao was reasonable. [Pick whatever label you’re most comfortable with.]

Dating? Qi Xingchen stared at the word, his gaze burning into the screen.

This… wasn’t the kind of relationship he had imagined. His first love, the person who had stirred his heart for the very first time, the one he had fallen for—was only using him.

Using him as a substitute, a stand-in for a boyfriend who wasn’t even gone. He hadn’t even broken up with that person, yet Qi Xingchen had somehow ended up wedged between them, reduced to nothing more than a shameful third party.

And despite knowing the brutal reality of it all—he still couldn’t walk away.

No, he had thrown himself in, headfirst, like a fool.

Qi Xingchen wasn’t the most morally upright person, but he liked to think he was at least above average.

Accepting this… required him to wrestle down every last shred of guilt gnawing at him. Some of the red in his eyes began to fade. His fingers hovered over the holographic keyboard, nearly sparking from the sheer force behind each press.

Lying to himself, lying to Ruan Zhao—he typed out his reply.

[So that means we’re dating now.]

[And dating means spending time together.]

[Tomorrow, we’re going on a date.]

Ruan Zhao had planned to refuse. But then he thought about it—after everything Qi Xingchen had been through tonight, his nerves were probably stretched to their limit. If he pushed back too hard, who knew what might happen?

So instead, he decided to throw him a bone, something sweet to keep him calm.

Ruan Zhao: [Alright. You pick the time and place.]

Qi Xingchen: [Tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll pick you up from your place.]

Ruan Zhao: [Isn’t that too much trouble? Let’s just meet at the school gate like last time.]

Qi Xingchen: [Address.]

Ruan Zhao: [Did you not see my message? I said you don’t have to pick me up.]

Qi Xingchen, like a broken record, repeated—

[Address.]

Ruan Zhao had no idea why he was so insistent. But in the end, after much resistance, he reluctantly sent over his home address.

……

It was late.

After taking a shower, Ruan Zhao was ready to call it a night. He sank into his soft, cozy bed, lowered the air conditioning a little, then wrapped himself snugly in a thick comforter.

Just as he was about to close his eyes and drift off to sleep—his communicator, lying beside his pillow, lit up and rang.

A video call from Qi Xingchen.

Ruan Zhao raised an eyebrow. They had just spent over an hour chatting. Even their so-called relationship had been confirmed haphazardly through text—without a single phone call exchanged.

So… why was he suddenly calling him on video? Ruan Zhao hesitated for a moment before picking up. He tilted the camera upward, aiming it at the ceiling.

Qi Xingchen had probably just showered—his damp hair fell messily over his forehead, and his eyes, slightly reddened, looked as if they had just been rinsed with water.

He stared intensely at the screen, but all he could see was the delicate patterns etched into the ceiling. The camera remained still—clearly, Ruan Zhao had no intention of letting him see his face.

Neither of them spoke at first. In the end, it was Qi Xingchen who gave in, his voice low.

“…Where are you?”

Ruan Zhao’s tone was calm, but there was a hint of distance. “I’m about to sleep. Do you need something?”

Qi Xingchen: “Do I need a reason to call you?”

He sounded just like a boyfriend sulking over his girlfriend’s cold attitude—unreasonable, yet stubbornly demanding attention. “Aren’t we dating now? Do I not even have that right?”

His words came out sharper than expected, catching Ruan Zhao off guard. His expression darkened slightly.

“Of course, you can call me. But I can also choose not to pick up.”

Adjusting the camera, Ruan Zhao finally aimed it at his face, his voice turning cold. “If you’re upset, don’t take it out on me. No one forced you into this—you agreed to it yourself. If you regret it now, it’s not too late to back out.”

Qi Xingchen’s gaze froze on Ruan Zhao’s face. It was as if his eyes were tracing every detail—following the way light shimmered in his clear, youthful pupils, skimming across the elegant curve of his nose, and lingering on his lips, soft and full, like delicate flower petals.

As for what was being said, he wasn’t paying attention at all. His mind was completely occupied with one thing—

Why does he have to look so good? Why does everything about him fit so perfectly into his heart? Why is it that even his spoiled and willful personality makes him like him even more?

His heartbeat lurched, pounding in his chest like someone had secretly installed a motor inside. Any resentment he had felt—any anger, any frustration—vanished without a trace. At that moment, he realized something with piercing clarity.

It’s over. For the rest of his life, he was doomed to fall for Ruan Zhao.

They hadn’t even known each other that long. They had barely spent much time together. Yet, his feelings for him only grew stronger with each passing day, as if his entire purpose in this world had been to wait for Ruan Zhao’s arrival—to stand by his side, to be with him.

Twenty years. Qi Xingchen had lived twenty years without realizing one painful truth—he was a hopeless, pathetic, lovestruck fool.

And for Ruan Zhao, he was willing to abandon his moral bottom line, give in to his twisted concept of love, and become something disgraceful—a homewrecker, a kept man, a substitute. Too much. Every single one of those things was a personal nightmare.

……

Qi Xingchen’s gaze was too intense. Even through the screen, Ruan Zhao could feel his unwavering stare, and it made him uneasy.

He shifted the camera slightly to the side, revealing only the delicate curve of his profile. After a brief pause, he spoke.

“Qi Xingchen.” His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Otherwise, why would he suddenly call him on video? Why would he use that rigid, confrontational tone? Was it because he had just now processed what was happening—because he couldn’t accept it?

Maybe he couldn’t stand the idea of being kept. Didn’t want to be treated as a stand-in. Maybe the resentment was building up, and now he was trying to take it out on him.

And now—now he was just sitting there in brooding silence. Was he trying to find the words to back out?

Ruan Zhao lowered his gaze, concealing the emotions in his eyes. Another stretch of heavy silence.

Then—

“I’m not backing out.” Qi Xingchen finally spoke. His voice was deep, a little muffled. “I just… wanted to see you.”

There was a faint raspiness to his tone, and an edge of urgency as he added, “Turn the camera back. Let me look at you.” A pause. Then, more softly—more pleadingly—”Please.”

Compared to his sharp, cold tone from before, his voice was clearly different now—less aggressive, almost humble.

Because he had just taken a shower, he wasn’t wearing his colored lenses. His natural ice-blue eyes, still holding a faint trace of moisture, stared through the screen—fixed, unwavering.

The video quality was crystal clear. So clear, it almost felt like he was standing right in front of him.

Ruan Zhao could see it all—the faint redness in his eyes, the slight swelling of his eyelids—it looked like he had struggled while taking out his lenses, accidentally hurting himself. Something inside him softened. And when he spoke, his voice had softened too.

“So you called me… just to look at me?”

Qi Xingchen froze. For a brief second, he stumbled—”I… I can’t?”

Ruan Zhao clicked his tongue. “…Annoying.”

Even though he grumbled about how annoying he was, Ruan Zhao still turned the camera back toward his face. His brows were slightly furrowed, soft lips pressed into a thin line, an expression that carried a faint trace of impatience.

For a brief second, his beautiful eyes met the gaze of the man on the other side of the screen—then quickly darted away. He could feel Qi Xingchen’s stare moving across his face, and wherever that gaze lingered too long, his skin began to feel oddly warm.

Ruan Zhao touched his cheek, puzzled. What was there to stare at?

A moment passed. Then he asked, “Had enough? If you’re done, I’m hanging up.”

“Wait—”

Ruan Zhao raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”

Qi Xingchen’s eyes flickered, as if he was struggling to find the words. A few seconds later, after what seemed like a long internal debate, he finally spoke—his voice low and hesitant.

“The post I made… why didn’t you like it?”

“I posted it for you. No like, no comment…”

“Makes me lose face.”

His voice was flat, almost indifferent. But the reddish tint creeping up his ears completely betrayed him—as if the man who had just been shamelessly glued to Ruan Zhao’s face a moment ago… wasn’t him at all.

After promising Qi Xingchen that he would like and comment on his post, Ruan Zhao finally hung up the call.

Ruan Zhao’s social media was filled with countless friends. Even though he had been blocking and deleting people like crazy lately, he still had thousands of active followers. Every day, their posts piled up by the hundreds.

He also had a bit of an OCD problem—he couldn’t stand those little red notification dots without clicking on them. And so, after accidentally tapping into his feed yet again, his fingers started to ache from scrolling, yet he still couldn’t reach the bottom.

That was the last straw. With absolute resolve, Ruan Zhao muted the feature entirely—which meant, naturally, he never saw Qi Xingchen’s post notification.

It took a long while before he finally dug out Qi Xingchen’s update. The attached photo was of a clenched fist. The background was dim, the room unlit. Probably some attempt at creating a moody aesthetic.

Ruan Zhao looked closer—he noticed faint cuts and bruises along Qi Xingchen’s knuckles, some of them still oozing tiny beads of blood…

[1VS20…]

“…What does that mean?” Ruan Zhao frowned.

One person… against twenty? ??? Qi Xingchen fought twenty guys alone?! Since when was he that good at fighting?! So—did he win or lose? If he lost, he probably wouldn’t have posted about it. So that meant… he won.

Taking on twenty people alone, and all he got were a few minor cuts on his knuckles—which, judging by the look of it, were probably just from hitting too hard.

Ruan Zhao was stunned. His mind immediately started analyzing why Qi Xingchen was so insistent that he see this post. Was this some kind of intimidation tactic? Like—I can take on twenty guys alone. Beating you up would be nothing.

Did this guy have violent tendencies? Ruan Zhao thought about his sharp, elegant features, the graceful way he carried himself…

Doesn’t seem like it. He muttered internally. With zero energy to overthink, he left a random emoji as a lazy reply.

Qi Xingchen responded instantly. Almost like he had been camped out in the comments section, just waiting for Ruan Zhao to show up.

[Don’t you think I’m way stronger than those Alpha streamers you follow?]

Ruan Zhao answered honestly, [I’ve never seen them fight, so I can’t really compare.]

Qi Xingchen, clearly showing off now, replied: [I fought all Alphas. They were weak and stupid—not a single one could take me on. I knocked them all down.]

Ruan Zhao: [Impressive.] (throws in a thumbs-up emoji for extra laziness)

Qi Xingchen: [So… does that mean I’m stronger than your boyfriend?]

Qi Xingchen never sent the message. His gaze lingered on those few words, staring at them intently—before deleting them all, one by one. He already knew what answer he’d get, so he chose not to embarrass himself.

Ruan Zhao hesitated for a moment but eventually voiced the question weighing on his mind.

[Would you hit an Omega the same way you hit Alphas?]

[If I made you angry, would you hit me too?]

[And if you won, would you post about it like this?]

Qi Xingchen was completely caught off guard by the three rapid-fire questions. He had meant for his post to show off a little, maybe even impress Ruan Zhao—he never expected it to be misinterpreted like this. He immediately denied it outright.

[Of course not!!!]

The three exclamation marks were there for emphasis.

[Even if I had to hit myself, I would never hit you.]

He explained, [That was a training match. Yeah, we call it a fight, but it’s really just resistance training. In military school, it’s completely normal for everyone to spar—punching each other is just part of daily life. Even our instructors encourage it as a way to relieve stress…]

Ruan Zhao: [That’s a little strange.]

Ruan Zhao was afraid of pain. Naturally, he stayed far away from anything that could hurt him. So from childhood until now, he had never been in a fight. He couldn’t really understand why Qi Xingchen saw fighting as a way to relieve stress.

Qi Xingchen immediately reassured him: [If you don’t like it, I won’t fight anymore.]

Ruan Zhao froze for a moment. He hadn’t meant for Qi Xingchen to change himself just because of him. After thinking for a moment, he carefully replied: [That’s not necessary.]

[As long as you don’t hit me, I won’t mind.]

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