Axolotl Translations

Scrubbing the deck, disinfecting every corner inside and out, refilling Windwing’s water tanks with mountain spring water—Gu Mengran kept himself relentlessly busy, trying to keep his thoughts at bay.

But even after exhausting himself until midnight, after showering and collapsing into bed, his mind remained a whirlwind. Liang Zhao’s words from that afternoon buzzed around his head like a restless swarm of bees, preventing any semblance of calm.

Liang Zhao had remembered his past life—No, not quite. He had dreamed of it and retained some of those memories.

And the reason it was “retained” rather than “recalled” was because, as Liang Zhao explained, he had witnessed everything like a movie—an outsider watching events unfold—rather than unearthing memories buried deep within his own mind.

Yeah… that was already terrifying enough for Gu Mengran.

The good news: Liang Zhao only knew what the “movie” showed him—things like their initial meeting and the major events they’d experienced together. But the finer details of their interactions? Those remained blurry.

Which meant…

Gu Mengran still had some cover. He wasn’t completely exposed.

The bad news: While the cause remained unclear, it seemed inevitable that Liang Zhao’s memories would fully return sooner or later. And worse—there was a good chance he already suspected that Gu Mengran also had memories that didn’t belong to this timeline.

At first, Gu Mengran couldn’t understand—if Liang Zhao still hadn’t realized he’d been reborn and thought it was merely a strange dream, then why hide it?

Then, as he showered, it finally dawned on him—Liang Zhao was testing him.

Back when Liang Zhao first boarded Windwing, Gu Mengran had needed a plausible explanation. So he lied, claiming he had dreamed of the future, where he saw Liang Zhao and how he had saved him.

The more you say, the more mistakes you make. To avoid slipping up, Gu Mengran rarely mentioned that “dream,” always keeping his descriptions vague—framing it as fragmented glimpses of the future rather than a complete picture.

Two people having the exact same dream—there was no way Liang Zhao wouldn’t be suspicious. The seed of doubt had already taken root.

Clearly, he didn’t believe it was just some coincidence. He suspected that Gu Mengran knew more than he was letting on.

So—Liang Zhao used the information he had to test him.

The three fish had been obvious bait. Liang Zhao had thrown it out there, and the moment Gu Mengran seriously questioned him about it, he had essentially admitted he knew something—and that it mattered.

He had walked right into the trap.

Gu Mengran punched his blanket hard. “Damn it!”

The thought that Liang Zhao might remember everything from their past life filled him with a tangled mess of emotions—humiliation, awkwardness, and an odd, unsettling excitement. His mind was buzzing so much that he couldn’t sleep, no matter how late it got.

He refused to fall behind. Not even in front of Liang Zhao.

If it was inevitable that he’d regain his memories, then so be it. But rather than waiting for the hammer to drop, why not act now—while he still had a slight advantage? While Liang Zhao was still a little easier to deceive?

……

BOOM—

The sky churned with heavy storm clouds, black as ink.

Blinding silver lightning tore across the heavens, followed by an earth-shattering clap of thunder. Gu Mengran jolted awake, throwing off his blanket and jumping out of bed so fast he didn’t even bother with slippers.

Pulling open the curtains, he was met with a pitch-black sky, broken only by flashes of light as streaks of lightning ripped through the clouds. The river, churned by fierce winds, reflected the storm in jagged, silvery streaks.

Another bolt. Another deafening explosion of thunder. The sheer force of it rattled the air, sending a shiver down his spine. It was like the sky itself was cracking open, the echoes rolling endlessly like a stampede of wild horses.

And then—

Pitter-patter. Tiny droplets of water splattered onto the deck.

Gu Mengran slowly looked up. The sky, alive with lightning and thunder, suddenly split open.

Rain came pouring down in torrents—furious, relentless. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates of heaven, sending a waterfall crashing down in an unstoppable deluge.

Within minutes, thick white mist rose from the surface of the river, wrapping the Yellow River in an eerie, otherworldly veil.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

The storm had only just begun.

The rapid drumming of rain echoed over the Huang River, drowning out all other sounds—except for the occasional rumble of thunder.

Of course, there was one exception.

“It’s raining! It’s raining, everyone!” The walkie-talkie on the nightstand crackled to life, and somehow, Zheng Yijie’s booming voice managed to cut through the downpour with perfect clarity.

Gu Mengran turned back toward the bed and grabbed the walkie-talkie, but before he could respond, the old man beat him to it.

“What’s so special about rain? Our Mengran already said it’s gonna rain every day from now on. But hey, kid, you’re sounding pretty lively for someone who stayed up all night. How about you come take another shift in the cockpit?”

Zheng Yijie groaned. “Come on, Grandpa Meng, I just got off duty.”

“Just got off? Do you even know what time it is? You’re wide awake anyway, so come keep an old man company. It’s getting colder, too—how about we have hotpot for lunch?”

Piloting the boat alone was boring, so the old man was doing everything he could to rope Zheng Yijie into staying.

Zheng Yijie wasn’t having it at first—until he heard the magic word. Hotpot. He hesitated for a few seconds, then tried to negotiate. “Fine, but then I’m taking the late-night shift instead.”

“No problem, no problem. But first, go wake up Gu Mengran! It’s almost noon, and he’s still sleeping.”

At that, Gu Mengran finally realized something was off. He raised his wrist and checked the time—11:30 AM. It was so dark outside that if he hadn’t looked, he would’ve thought it was still the middle of the night.

A knock came at the door just as he finished washing up. He pulled it open, met Zheng Yijie’s gaze, and before the guy could say a word, cut him off with a nod. He’d heard everything. Without wasting time, he led Zheng Yijie straight to the kitchen to prep the ingredients.

Liang Zhao still wasn’t in any condition to leave his room, so with just the three of them eating, Gu Mengran kept things simple.

A few plates of premium beef and lamb, some fresh vegetables, tofu, and frozen assorted meatballs. Wide glass noodles, mushrooms—done. Hotpot ready to go.

Working together, they had all the ingredients prepped within half an hour. After tidying up the counter, Gu Mengran turned to find Zheng Yijie standing there, staring blankly. He raised his chin. “What are you waiting for? Take it to the cockpit.”

Zheng Yijie glanced over the countertop, then the stove, before shifting his gaze to Gu Mengran. His expression was confused. “Where’s the hotpot base? You’re not gonna stir-fry the spices first? Just boiling everything in water won’t bring out the flavor. I’m telling you, I—”

“Who said anything about hotpot base?” Gu Mengran turned on the faucet, washed his hands, and calmly dried them with a paper towel.

Zheng Yijie, a proud native of Chongqing, was baffled. “What do you mean? No hotpot base? Then what kind of—”

Before he could finish, a pot suddenly appeared on the clean countertop. A round, sturdy pot with a wide bottom and a narrow chimney in the center. Two small handles protruded from either side of the rim. A copper hotpot.

Zheng Yijie nearly exploded. He pointed at the pot, glaring at Gu Mengran in outrage. “Are you kidding me?! I stayed up all night, fought through exhaustion to prep all this food, and this—this is what you call hotpot?!”

“Why not? It’s literally called ‘copper hotpot.’ It’s just a North-South cuisine difference.” Gu Mengran shrugged innocently. “Besides, you were the ones who decided on hotpot. I just picked the flavor.”

Zheng Yijie made one last desperate attempt. He grabbed Gu Mengran’s arm. “Brother, Brother Mengran! I’m from Chongqing! I don’t even eat mild yuan yang hotpot, let alone this clear broth nonsense. Just stir-fry some seasonings, please!”

Gu Mengran pulled his arm free and gave Zheng Yijie’s shoulder a reassuring pat. With a perfectly straight face, he said, “Bear with it. Liang Zhao just recovered—he can’t handle spicy food. Give it a few days. Once we settle down at Fengjin Lake, you can eat whatever you want.”

Zheng Yijie wanted to turn around and leave. But the sight of those beautifully marbled, freshly sliced beef and lamb was just too tempting. After a long moment of hesitation, he gave in. Fine. He could always make himself a spicy dipping sauce.

The smokeless charcoal quickly brought the clear broth to a boil. Three pairs of chopsticks dipped slices of lamb into the bubbling water. Within seconds, the edges curled, and the tender meat was lifted out. The rich aroma of lamb spread through the cockpit, warm and mouthwatering.

Rainy days and hotpot were a perfect match. Lamb, then beef—one bite after another. The three of them were too busy eating to talk, the only sound in the room the quiet rhythm of chewing.

By the time they had polished off several large plates of beef and lamb, the very person who had scoffed at the copper hotpot earlier licked his lips and grinned at the old man. “Still hungry, Grandpa Meng? Should I go slice a few more plates?”

The old man saw right through him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If you wanna eat more, just say so. Don’t use me as an excuse.”

Hearing that, Zheng Yijie smacked his thigh and sprang to his feet. “Alright then, I won’t be polite about it!”

He bolted out of the cockpit like someone was chasing him.

Gu Mengran chuckled. Without a word, he calmly picked up his chopsticks, grabbed the last remaining piece of lamb from the pot, placed it into a takeaway container, closed the lid, and tucked the container neatly into his storage space.

The old man watched the whole thing unfold, then clicked his tongue and scoffed. “How considerate. Always thinking about Liang Zhao when you eat—just like a doting little wife.”

Gu Mengran said nothing, simply picked up a plate and began adding vegetables to the pot. In the middle of his busy movements, he spared the old man a sharp glare.

Meng Gaoyang pretended not to notice and awkwardly changed the subject. “Say… should we send some of this meat and vegetables over to Heng Rong Sheng? Here we are feasting while they’re stuck eating instant noodles. Feels a little unfair, don’t you think?”

Of all the possible topics, he had to pick this one.

Gu Mengran sighed helplessly. “And how exactly do we explain that? Just tell them we have a storage space? Grandpa, none of this food should even exist right now. There’s no way to justify it. Even if we claim it was homegrown, with the extreme heat we had recently, there’s no way we could’ve produced this much.”

“I—I know,” the old man admitted, rubbing his nose awkwardly. “It’s just… they gave us all that fuel, and now I feel a little guilty.”

After tossing a few vegetables into the pot, Gu Mengran set down his chopsticks and turned to his grandfather, his voice calm and understanding. “I get it. It’s hard to take without giving back—it feels like we owe them. But let’s wait a little longer. Once things settle down, I’ll find a way to give them something without raising suspicion.”

Hearing that, the old man’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Gu Mengran pressed his lips together, then gave a confident smile. “That’s a secret for now.”

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