Axolotl Translations

Everyone knew, the unknown virus was highly contagious. No exceptions. No guarantees. A torn protective suit. Contaminated fabric.

Gu Mengran’s steps halted abruptly. He stood there—rigid, frozen, utterly at a loss. It wasn’t fear of being infected by Liang Zhao—no, that wasn’t it. But his own suit was already covered in filth, possibly carrying the virus itself. He couldn’t risk getting any closer.

Inside the stifling helmet, a wave of suffocating heat pressed down on him. Like an unseen, searing hand, it clamped over his mouth and nose, stealing his breath. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Stay calm. Gu Mengran forced himself to steady his nerves. He parted his lips to speak—only to hear his own trembling voice: “Where is it torn? I won’t come any closer—just show me.”

Liang Zhao stopped retreating. He stood still—silent, unmoving—for a few seconds. Through the helmet and radio distortion, Gu Mengran couldn’t see his expression. But he could feel it. The hesitation. The unspoken weight.

Then, Liang Zhao slowly turned his body to the side. Revealing the left side he had been deliberately shielding. A tear. A gaping slash.

Gu Mengran had imagined several possibilities, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. The protective suit was completely split open, from waist to ankle. A clean, precise cut, as if sliced by a blade.

Beneath it, his black work pants were also slashed through, exposing a long stretch of leg—and just faintly—a streak of blood.

Gu Mengran’s heart clenched violently. His breath stilled. His hands, hanging at his sides, curled into fists. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, heavy— “You’re hurt? Is that your blood, or…?”

Liang Zhao hummed softly in response. His voice was gentle, almost casual: “Mine. Just a scratch.”

But, this virus didn’t necessarily spread through the air. More likely than not, it was transmitted through contact. With the high-pressure water cannons blasting contaminants at close range, and his protective suit completely torn, with a wound directly exposed—Liang Zhao’s risk of infection was astronomically high.

Gu Mengran’s rusty brain finally kicked into gear. After a brief moment of thought, he miraculously calmed down. Panicking would solve nothing. The priority was treatment and quarantine—worrying wouldn’t help.

Seeing that Liang Zhao’s leg wound wasn’t too serious, Gu Mengran pressed his lips together and issued clear, steady orders: “Disinfect, head inside, and prepare for quarantine. Don’t stress—we have plenty of medicine.”

Liang Zhao nodded slightly, responding with a simple, “Got it.”

The deck was filthy. Especially the area where they had just blasted the water cannons—a murky, sludge-covered mess that reeked like a sewer. And they themselves weren’t exactly clean either. Better safe than sorry.

To avoid bringing the virus back into the cabin, they had to wash up and disinfect properly before stepping inside.

Gu Mengran and Zheng Yijie’s protective suits were still intact, making cleanup relatively simple. Rinse down with a hose in a clean spot, remove the contaminated suits, take a thorough shower in a separate area, then finish with a full-body disinfection using medical alcohol before changing into clean clothes.

But Liang Zhao, as a direct contact case, had already resigned himself to being a potential carrier. He kept a strict distance from both Gu Mengran and Zheng Yijie, scrubbing down under the scorching sun on the open deck, carefully washing and disinfecting himself.

Finally, he asked Gu Mengran to grab him a fresh set of protective gear, which he put on before stepping back inside.

And it wasn’t just Liang Zhao who needed to be quarantined. The old man’s age made him too fragile to risk any exposure.

So, as they passed through the living area and reached the hallway, Gu Mengran glanced at Zheng Yijie, who was gripping the door handle. His voice dropped to a quiet murmur, “Stay in your room for the next two days. Don’t go out. If you need anything, use the radio.”

Zheng Yijie paused for a moment, withdrawing his hand from the door handle. He patted the radio at his waist and asked, “There’s no food in my room. What am I supposed to eat?”

Gu Mengran: “Grandpa will bring it to us.”

“Oh, okay.” Zheng Yijie replied, but he still didn’t move. Instead, he turned to look at the mess in the living room, which was left in chaos from the impact. He let out a long, frustrated sigh and then turned back to Gu Mengran. “What about the ship? The Windwing took multiple hits—we still don’t know the full damage. The deck’s filthy, and the cabin’s a wreck.”

There was too much to deal with. Gu Mengran, who had just barely relaxed, felt his brows knot again, a trace of resignation in his voice. “As long as the ship can still sail, Grandpa will keep it running. If something serious happens, he’ll tell us. As for the rest… forget it. People come first.”

Zheng Yijie nodded, pushed open his door, and stepped inside. A sharp click echoed as the door latched shut. Now, only two people remained in the hallway.

Gu Mengran turned to see Liang Zhao, still in his protective suit, keeping his distance. Without a word, Gu Mengran walked straight to his bedroom door and stepped inside. He knew—if he didn’t leave first, Liang Zhao wouldn’t move.

The morning had been one disaster after another. Physically drained. Mentally exhausted. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on Gu Mengran’s chest. The thought that Liang Zhao might be infected sat like a heavy stone, making it hard to breathe.

He knew nothing about medicine. But one thing was clear: this virus wasn’t chickenpox. It was worse. A mutated, more advanced version? Gu Mengran wasn’t equipped to figure this out alone.

Without taking another step, he closed the door, sat cross-legged on the floor, and pulled a laptop and USB drive from his storage space. Plugging in the USB, he opened a folder, quickly locating the pre-downloaded ‘Practical Family Medicine Handbook.’

Flipping to the section on herpes, he began reading intently— Herpes simplex, shingles, chickenpox…

After carefully comparing the symptoms, Gu Mengran concluded that the virus most closely resembled chickenpox. He didn’t dare waste time.

Following the treatment guidelines in the manual, he quickly began preparing medications: antipyretics, antiviral drugs, skin ointments, anti-itch medicine, and heat-clearing detox granules…

Fortunately, their pre-disaster stockpile was more than sufficient.

One by one, Gu Mengran matched the items to the handbook, and surprisingly, he had everything needed. Before long, the small cardboard box beside him was packed full.

He tossed the laptop back into his storage space, then retrieved medical alcohol, iodine, disinfectant, thermometers, and finally—a brand-new protective suit appeared in his hands. Without hesitation, he stood up and quickly put it on.

Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock.

Balancing one large and one small box, Gu Mengran rapped on the bedroom door next to his. A response came almost immediately—Liang Zhao seemed to be standing right by the door, his voice carrying clearly through the gap. “Just leave it outside.”

Did he think he was just dropping off supplies? The protective suit muffled sound, so Gu Mengran cleared his throat and raised his voice— “Open the door, Liang Zhao! I’m coming in!”

For a brief moment, the room fell silent. Then, faint footsteps approached, and Liang Zhao’s voice sounded more awake and resolute. “Mengran, I might be infected. I need to isolate for a while. Let’s meet again in a few days.”

“It’s fine, Liang Zhao. I’m wearing full protective gear.” Gu Mengran tried to reason with him, “I brought a lot of medicine. I have to explain how to take it, or you might get it wrong.”

Liang Zhao: “Just tell me now. I’m listening.”

Gu Mengran’s mind spun fast, and he put on a troubled expression, “But… but some of these medicine names are ridiculously complicated! I can’t even recognize some of the characters. How am I supposed to explain them properly?”

A pause. Liang Zhao seemed to be thinking. Two minutes later, he spoke calmly, “Write it down on a piece of paper. I’ll take the right medicine based on my symptoms. That way, there won’t be any mistakes.”

Gu Mengran: “…”

There was no way Gu Mengran was letting this door stay closed today. His eyes flashed with mischief as he quickly came up with an idea, “How about this—pull open the curtains. I’ll go out onto the deck and talk to you through the glass.”

“No way. It’s too hot outside, and it’s not safe.” Liang Zhao rejected the idea immediately.

Gu Mengran shrugged helplessly. “Well, if that won’t work and this won’t work, then what do you suggest?” He sighed dramatically before adding, “How about this? You crack the door open, and I’ll stand outside while we talk.”

Before he even finished speaking, the door cracked open slightly. Through the gap, Liang Zhao saw Gu Mengran in full protective gear, and only then did he relax a little. He pushed the door open a tiny bit more, just enough to stick his head halfway out and give Gu Mengran a pointed look, “Alright, talk.”

Over an hour passed. Liang Zhao was still wearing his protective suit. Gu Mengran’s brows knitted together. He braced his foot against the doorframe and stared at him incredulously, “Why haven’t you taken it off yet? Aren’t you hot?”

“I’m fine. The AC’s on.” Liang Zhao’s eyes stayed locked on the two boxes of supplies, silently urging him to get on with it.

Gu Mengran lifted one of the boxes and held it out, “Here, take this first. I’ll show you the medicines one by one.”

The door was barely open two inches—there was no way the box could fit through. Liang Zhao sighed, took a step back, and was just about to open the door a little wider when—BAM.

Gu Mengran suddenly thrust his knee forward, shoving the door wide open and slipping inside like a slippery eel.

“You—” Liang Zhao’s reflexes kicked in. He instinctively reached out to block him, but just before his fingers touched Gu Mengran, something flashed through his mind, his hand jerked back as if burned, and he immediately stepped away, widening the distance between them.

A sharp, pinprick-like pain stabbed through Gu Mengran’s chest. His eyes darkened for a moment before he forced a casual smile, “Relax. I’m wearing a protective suit. This thing’s top quality—I only buy the expensive ones.” He grinned, voice light, “As long as you don’t take a knife to it, there’s no way—”

Gu Mengran abruptly stopped mid-sentence—because he suddenly remembered how Liang Zhao’s protective suit got torn in the first place.

Shutting the door behind him, he swaggered into the bedroom, carrying both boxes of medicine. Liang Zhao stood off to the side, clearly unsure how to react.

Gu Mengran set the medicine boxes down on the nightstand, then turned back and beckoned him over. “Come on, it’s your own room. No need to stand there sulking. Take off the protective suit and sit down.”

“No need. I can see just fine from here.” Liang Zhao didn’t move an inch, keeping a solid four or five meters between them. Clearly, he still thought Gu Mengran was only here to drop off medicine and explain the dosages.

But Gu Mengran had no intention of leaving. He stared straight at him, voice dropping into a low, teasing threat, “Are you sure you don’t want to take it off? Need me to help you?”

Liang Zhao: “…Why do I have to take it off? I can still hear you just fine like this.”

“Because I need to treat the wound on your leg.”

“You—”

“Yup, I lied to you.” Gu Mengran didn’t even bother pretending anymore.

Their gazes met, and a faint warmth spread through Liang Zhao’s chest. Not daring to get closer to Gu Mengran didn’t mean he didn’t want to—but staying like this forever wasn’t a solution either.

After a moment, he stepped back toward the floor-to-ceiling window and wordlessly peeled off the protective suit himself.

The wound on his thigh wasn’t too serious—just like the tear in his protective suit, it had been caused by something sharp. The cut ran long and shallow, deeper at the top, shallower toward the bottom. Since he had already washed and disinfected it earlier, there was no fresh bleeding, though the edges of the wound looked slightly pale. The gauze Gu Mengran had brought wasn’t even necessary.

Instead, he carefully disinfected the wound with povidone-iodine, then peeled open two band-aids and stuck them on neatly.

Once he finished tending to the injury, Gu Mengran reached into the box and pulled out a mercury thermometer. After flicking it twice, he handed it over— “Here. Hold this under your arm.”

As soon as Liang Zhao tucked the thermometer under his armpit, Gu Mengran plopped onto the floor, sitting cross-legged. And just like that, his ‘medical consultation’ began.

“Feeling dizzy? Sore throat? Any weakness or nausea?” The barefoot doctor scrutinized his patient, expression grave.

Liang Zhao wasn’t exactly in a good mood, but seeing Gu Mengran acting so serious, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Doctor, unless I’ve caught the zombie virus, symptoms don’t show up this fast.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert? This virus isn’t chickenpox—you have no idea when it’ll hit.” Gu Mengran shot him an annoyed glare.

Liang Zhao’s smile deepened, a trace of amusement curving at the corner of his lips. “Alright, Dr. Mengran. But I don’t have any of those symptoms right now. Just…”

“Just what?” Gu Mengran pressed urgently.

“I’m a little hungry.”

Now that he mentioned it, Gu Mengran realized he was kind of hungry too. He had brought everything—except food.

Waving a hand dismissively, he said, “You’ll have to starve for now. I can’t grab anything while I’m still in this suit.”

“Alright.” Liang Zhao obediently nodded.

Five minutes later, time was up. Without hesitation, Gu Mengran stretched out a hand, signaling for the thermometer.

Liang Zhao compliantly took it out, but instead of handing it over, he lowered it to eye level to check the reading himself. And just like that, Gu Mengran watched the smile in his eyes slowly fade, bit by bit.

“What is it? What’s the temperature?” In one swift motion, Gu Mengran shot to his feet and reached for the thermometer.

Liang Zhao knew there was no avoiding it. He didn’t resist, letting him take it. Holding it steady between his fingers, Gu Mengran turned the thermometer slightly. The silver mercury line stopped at 38.9°C.

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