Axolotl Translations

Lower Realm, Canglan Continent, Lingyuan City.

Night had fallen. Stars scattered across the vast sky, a cold moon casting its pale light over the land. Silver beams filtered through the shifting silhouettes of tree branches, leaving dappled shadows on the ground. The wind whistled through, rustling the brittle limbs, like the grasping fingers of unseen specters.

The once-lively city had settled into a deep silence. Occasionally, a dog barked from the end of an alleyway, or a drunken man, slumped against the street, would mumble something incoherent. Beyond that—nothing.

And then—flames erupted into the sky.

A window creaked open. A man squinted, trying to make sense of the blazing inferno in the distance. A slight tremor shook his voice. “That fire… why does it look like it’s coming from the Ruan family’s estate?”

His friend, still deep in slumber, barely stirred. With a lazy sigh, he rolled over and grumbled, his voice thick with drowsiness, “Are you having a nightmare? Talking nonsense in your sleep? The Ruan family is one of the most powerful cultivation clans in Canglan Continent. They’ve even formed a marriage alliance with the Chu family from the Upper Realm. If anyone’s estate is burning—it sure as hell won’t be theirs.”

But before he could finish speaking, his friend grabbed him, yanking him up from the bed. With frantic force, he dragged him to the window.

“Look! Look!” His voice shook violently, his trembling hand pointing toward the horizon. “You’ve got sharp eyes—tell me if that’s the Ruan family’s land!”

The moment the man’s gaze locked onto the raging inferno, sleep vanished. Cold clarity slammed into him.

The fire was massive. It painted the sky in shades of hellfire red, illuminating half the city. Towering flames roared, devouring everything in their path. Even from this distance, he could feel the heat licking at his skin.

A phrase surfaced in his mind, unbidden—a moonless night. A perfect time for murder and arson.

But—that was the Ruan family’s estate! A clan protected by a Nascent Soul cultivator—who in this realm would dare provoke them?! Were they tired of living?

……

The fire burned for three days and three nights. Only when the Ruan estate had been reduced to a charred, hollow ruin did the flames finally die out.

For those three days, Lingyuan City held its breath. Doors remained shut. No one dared step outside, not even to take a single look. Everyone feared that the killers, once drenched in blood, would not stop at the Ruans—that once the clan was wiped out, the rest of the city might be next.

Then, at last, the rooster crowed.

Cautiously, the boldest among them began to creep toward the Ruan estate, driven by curiosity… or greed. Perhaps, in the chaos, there was something left to scavenge.

“Did anyone survive?” A man nudged a charred tree branch with his foot. “Judging by this—I doubt it.”

“Who exactly did the Ruan family offend? Their entire bloodline—hundreds of people—gone in a single night. Not a single survivor.”

“Who knows?” A man dressed in black snorted coldly. “If not for that highly gifted furnace catching the Chu family’s eye, the Ruans would’ve been wiped out long ago. They acted like bandits—arrogant, reckless. It was only a matter of time before someone settled the score.”

“Speaking of that furnace…” A cultivator dressed in white smirked, raising a brow at the man in black. “I hear she’s a stunning beauty. You think those killers really had the heart to slaughter her?”

The man in black scoffed. His voice dripped with contempt and ridicule. “A woman who survives on her looks alone? Pathetic.”

They searched the ruins for some time. Gold. Treasures. Artifacts. Manuals. But it seemed that, like the Ruans themselves, everything had turned to ash.

Just as they were preparing to leave—they saw her.

A young girl. Dressed in soft yellow robes, a delicate pearl hairpin adorning her head. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen. Her face, bare of any powder, was breathtakingly beautiful—yet her features still held traces of youthful innocence.

She sat in the very center of the ruins. Her fair skin was streaked with dust, her right earring missing, and her once-neat hairpin askew. She was disheveled. And yet—not even her tattered state could dull her beauty.

Just a single glance. That was all it took. The moment her light-colored, autumn-water eyes lifted, both men felt their breath catch—their hearts almost forgetting to beat.

“Th-this young lady…” The cultivator in white stammered, his voice shaky, his ears flushing red. Clearly, he had yet to recover from the sheer impact of her beauty. “Why… why are you here? Are you from the Ruan family?”

A good question.

Ruan Zhao brushed off the dust clinging to his robes and fell into deep thought.

He had merely gone to the nearby spirit mountains to collect herbs for alchemy. When he returned—the grand Ruan estate was gone. All that remained was a vast, charred wasteland.

Hundreds of Ruans. Every single one of them—gone without a trace. Not even a single living creature remained.

He had found a few scattered bones among the wreckage, but the number didn’t add up. In a secluded courtyard, there were faint remnants of a teleportation array—one that had been recently activated. It was likely that the Nascent Soul elder of the clan had sacrificed all his cultivation to send the survivors to the mortal realm.

But teleportation arrays to the mortal realm were one-way only. Any cultivators who descended would have their cultivation forcefully suppressed—returning would be nearly impossible.

It seemed… they had truly been cornered.

Ruan Zhao had spent an entire day and night sitting in the ruins. He had searched every inch of the wreckage. But there was nothing left of value.

The spirit stones and silver he had carefully saved over the years? All turned to ash.

With no resources to protect himself—and his family’s shelter completely gone—he needed a new plan.

His thoughts drifted to his fiancé in the upper realm.

But his cultivation had barely reached the Foundation Establishment stage. He hadn’t even learned how to sustain himself without food. And the only teleportation array to the upper realm? It was located in Jingzhou Sea, at the far northernmost edge of Canglan Continent.

What’s worse—he was a furnace physique. A walking prize for countless cultivation sects. He probably wouldn’t even make it out of Canglan before being captured and imprisoned.

What should he do?

Unconsciously, Ruan Zhao clenched his fists. His nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms, leaving behind faint, crescent-shaped imprints. A sharp sting shot through his hand—he let out a soft hiss.

His fingertips were covered in tiny wounds. Some of his nails had even cracked, the raw red of fresh blood seeping through the edges—injuries he had unknowingly sustained while rummaging through the ruins.

Ruan Zhao’s body had always been delicate and fragile. His skin—too soft. His cultivation—Foundation Establishment in name only. All of his spiritual energy was locked away in his dantian, completely unusable. The only power he could actually control was no more than a single strand of hair’s worth.

In other words—even a low-level Qi Refining cultivator could easily subdue him.

He had no choice. This was simply the fate of a furnace physique.

No matter how hard he trained—all of his efforts would only benefit others.

“Miss, are you alright?” A gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. The white-robed cultivator was watching him with concern.

Ruan Zhao hesitated, then slowly shook his head.

The man reached into his robes and pulled out a clean handkerchief, offering it to him. “There’s dust on your face. You should wipe it off.”

Kindness without cause—rarely comes without ulterior motives.

Ruan Zhao took a half-step back, his wariness obvious. He did not take the handkerchief.

The black-robed man narrowed his eyes, his gaze scanning Ruan Zhao’s face inch by inch—like a beast sizing up prey. Then, in a voice laced with suspicion— “If the entire Ruan family is dead, why are you still alive?”

Ruan Zhao’s expression remained neutral. “I never said I was part of the Ruan family.”

His gaze flicked to their empty hands, their fingers smudged with soot. In that instant—he understood exactly why they were here.

“I’m here for the same reason you are.” The girl’s voice was as clear and melodious as an oriole’s song, stirring an inexplicable itch in the hearts of those who heard it.

The white-robed cultivator let out a hearty laugh. “Well then, it seems we’re kindred spirits. Though this fire burned everything far too cleanly—I doubt there’s anything left for us to scavenge.”

Ruan Zhao hummed lightly in response, unwilling to linger. He turned to leave.

But behind him—a cold chuckle rang out.

The black-robed man sneered. “Zhao Er, when will you stop losing your wits over a pretty face?”

His gaze latched onto the girl’s delicate figure like a predator tracking prey. Eyes dark with something unreadable—his tongue flicked across his lips.

“You didn’t notice the mole on her neck?”

His voice slithered through the air, like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows.

“Other than a furnace, who else would have such an enticing mark?”

A single glance—and it stirred the deepest, most carnal desires within a man’s soul.

The white-robed cultivator’s expression shifted in shock. “What?! A furnace?”

Ruan Zhao’s heart clenched. He had been careless.

When the Ruan family still stood, just mentioning their name was enough—no one would dare so much as glance at him, let alone scrutinize his neck for any telltale marks. But now? His family was gone. And in the chaos, he had been so focused on searching for something—anything—to survive, that he had completely forgotten to hide his identity.

Ruan Zhao’s breath hitched. Then he ran.

Summoning what little spiritual energy he could—he bolted forward at full speed.

The two men chased after him. Like cats toying with a cornered mouse.

“Brother Chen, don’t you think this is a bit much?” Zhao Er hesitated, doubt flickering across his face as he ran. “She may be a furnace, but she’s still from the Ruan family—and she’s betrothed to the Chu family of the Upper Realm. If word gets out that we—”

“Who’s going to know, if neither of us say a word?” Chen Ci’s voice was calm, assured. “The noble Miss Ruan? She burned to ashes along with the rest of her family—three days ago.”

“And this one?” He cast a glance ahead—at the delicate, fleeing figure. “She’s nothing but a runaway disciple from some insignificant sect. What does she have to do with the Ruans?”

His voice softened—low and coaxing. “Besides—” He stepped forward. “Don’t you want to know what a furnace tastes like?”

“Even just once—” His words dripped like honeyed poison. “A single dual cultivation session, and your spiritual power will soar overnight. Keep at it long enough—you might even reach the Core Formation stage.”

“And if you ever get bored of her?” A smirk. “Just sell her. At a high price—to someone who can pay in treasures you’d never even dare dream of owning.”

Silence.

Then—Zhao Er said nothing more.

Ahead—their prey was slowing.

The distance between them was closing fast. Any second now, he could reach out—seize that delicate wrist—and pull her into his arms. Feel the soft tremor of her body. Breathe in the faint, lingering fragrance at the curve of her neck.

But then—she stumbled.

Ruan Zhao had barely covered a few hundred meters—and yet, he was already gasping for breath.

Vision darkening. Limbs weakening.

His speed faltered.

A bitter thought clawed at him. He wasn’t just weaker than a cultivator—he wasn’t even as strong as an ordinary mortal.

And finally—his body refused to move any further.

Panting, Ruan Zhao stopped. Then, he reached for his neck—and tugged free a jade pendant.

Smooth, cool—and etched with a single, unmistakable character: “楚”. A gift from his betrothed—Chu Xinglan.

Once, he had an entire chest filled with treasures like this—trinkets, keepsakes—all gifts from the same man. All carefully hidden beneath the floorboards of his room.

But when he had returned to the ruins of his home, digging through the ashes—not a single one remained.

Either they had been taken—or looted by those who had come seeking vengeance. The thought made his heart twist with regret.

They must have thought he was out of options.

That was why—they stopped.

The man in black slowed his steps. Each stride, measured—deliberate. Excitement flickered in his eyes. The thrill of a certain victory.

Ruan Zhao raised his voice. “Don’t come any closer.”

Chen Ci only smirked. A mocking arch of the brow. He thought it was just bluffing. With a rare trace of patience, he coaxed: “Don’t struggle. Someone as delicate as you—the softer you yield, the less you’ll suffer.”

Ruan Zhao’s brows furrowed. Then— “Disgusting.”

Chen Ci’s smile vanished. His gaze darkened—and in the next moment, he exchanged a glance with Zhao Er.

A silent signal. Then—both moved at once. One from the left. One from the right. Hands outstretched—aiming for his shoulders. To seize him—before he had the chance to resist. But—just before their fingers could even brush his robes—a burst of light shot out.

Piercing—blinding—

Blood trickled from their lips. And in an instant—both collapsed.

Ruan Zhao exhaled—then muttered, almost to himself: “I told you not to come closer.”

The jade pendant in his grasp still glowed—but faintly. It was an offensive artifact, yes—but only reactive. Only when he was attacked, would it strike back.

Now, its once-luminous color had dulled. Three uses left.

Without hesitation, Ruan Zhao crouched down. Slipped a hand into their robes—and pulled free their storage pouches.

A single wisp of spiritual sense—and he swept inside.

Empty. Or nearly. Between the two of them—all they had was thirty-some lower-grade spirit stones.

Ruan Zhao’s expression darkened.

Pathetic.

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