Axolotl Translations

Ruan Zhao clutched the jade pendant, his fingers trembling. His body was still shaking. The spirit hound lay dead before him, frozen in the very moment it had lunged. Bared fangs, blood-red eyes still burning with malice. Its massive body, like a fallen boulder, sprawled across the ground. A gaping wound in its chest oozed warm blood, pooling and seeping toward his feet.

Ruan Zhao staggered back half a step, heart pounding. The attack had come too fast, too sudden. He hadn’t even had time to react, let alone dodge.

If the jade pendant hadn’t activated, he would be dead, or worse. He glanced down. The once-lustrous jade had lost its brilliance, its surface now marred by fine cracks. At most, it could save him two more times, maybe less.

His legs felt like jelly. Every breath burned as dry lungs begged for oxygen, yet no matter how much air he gulped down, it was never enough. The sharp tang of blood clung to his throat. His vision flickered at the edges, darkening. But he couldn’t stop, not here, not now.

The footsteps behind him grew louder, excited voices shouting over one another. “I see her! She’s just ahead! Go! Don’t let her get away!”

Ruan Zhao took a deep breath. Then, without hesitation, he changed direction and ran. The hound was dead, its tracking ability gone. But before it had died, it had led his pursuers straight to him. Ruan Zhao knew the mountain paths well, but the enemy was too close. There was no escaping them.

Only one gamble left. His breath hitched. Then, he threw himself off the cliff.

The ground beneath him was still damp from yesterday’s rain, soft, but not enough to cushion the fall. Scattered rocks and jagged branches tore at him as he tumbled down. With what little spiritual energy he had left, Ruan Zhao shielded his vital points. Even as sharp stones bruised his skin, even as thorns scraped against him, he clenched his teeth, refusing to make a sound.

……

It felt like an eternity before he finally reached the bottom. For a long time, he lay still, dazed. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up. His dress was in ruins, torn to shreds, caked in dirt. His carefully arranged hair had come undone, now an utter mess.

With a quiet sigh, he reached up and pulled out the remaining hairpins. Silky strands cascaded down like a waterfall, spilling past his shoulders, the ends brushing against his waist. Against the backdrop of dirt-streaked skin, his delicate features stood out even more.

Was he safe now? Ruan Zhao lifted his gaze, scanning his surroundings. The night was pitch black.

The twisted, barren branches above him looked like monstrous hands, reaching, grasping, shifting eerily in the cold wind. He tensed, his breath caught in his throat. Heart hammering, he snapped his gaze away. He had to keep moving. He had to find a place to hide.

But the moment he took a step forward, his legs gave out beneath him. A sharp thud echoed as he crashed to the uneven ground.

Pain shot up his ankle. Ruan Zhao sucked in a breath. During the fall, he must have twisted it. Even standing was a struggle, let alone running.

Helpless, he curled up on the cold earth, hugging his knees to his chest, as if making himself smaller would keep the mountain wind at bay, as if it would grant him even the faintest trace of warmth.

A crushing wave of loneliness and fear filled his heart. He had no idea what to do next. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. Exhaustion weighed down his limbs. His arms and legs were crisscrossed with scratches from the branches, not a single inch of him untouched by pain.

Summoning the last of his strength, he tried to form a cleansing spell. But the moment he reached for his spiritual core, a dull, searing ache radiated through his meridians. Empty. There wasn’t a single drop of spiritual energy left in him. He was battered, drained. Even with the jade pendant’s protection, he wouldn’t last much longer. It was only a matter of time before they caught him. And if that happened… he wouldn’t get to see Chu Xinglan again.

When the flames devoured the Ruan estate, reducing everything to ashes, Ruan Zhao hadn’t cried. Forced to flee into the mountains, starving, thirsty, living off wild fruits to survive, still, he hadn’t cried.

But now, he wanted to. The hot sting of tears blurred his vision before he could stop them. They seeped through his thin robes, dripping onto the cold earth like scattered pearls on stone.

A muffled sob escaped, quickly swallowed back. His pursuers could still be nearby. Even if he wanted to cry, he couldn’t make a sound.

……

“Well, well.” The deliberate sound of footsteps reached his ears. A man’s voice followed, low, amused. “Look at what I found. A little rabbit, all alone… and so very good at running.”

Ruan Zhao froze, his breath hitched. Slowly, he lifted his tear-streaked face and stared in horror. A man stood before him, cloaked in black, unshaken, leisurely looking down at him as if he had all the time in the world. The blood drained from Ruan Zhao’s face.

“Y-you… how—”

The man cut him off. “You want to know how I found you?” His voice was smooth, almost mocking. “Or are you more curious why you never even heard me coming?”

“You have such a strong scent,” the man mused. “Even from far away, I could smell you.” He flared his nostrils slightly, a strange, fascinated look flashing across his face. “Tell me, are all Furnace like this? Or is it just you, smelling so uniquely… intoxicating?”

Ruan Zhao did not answer.

Chen Ci didn’t seem to mind. He crouched down, lowering himself to eye level with Ruan Zhao. His cold, detached gaze landed on a thin, pale arm, a crimson gash streaked across the skin. The fresh blood beaded up, glistening like red agate on white jade.

“So pitiful,” he murmured. “You’re even bleeding.” His tongue flicked across his dry lips. “They say the blood of a Furnace is a powerful tonic for cultivators… I wonder if that’s true?”

Ruan Zhao’s eyes, still misted with the remnants of unshed tears, carried a delicate trace of red at the corners. Even so, her expression was unwavering, her voice cold as steel. “You’re welcome to try.”

Chen Ci’s gaze stayed fixed on her, unblinking, transfixed, as if spellbound. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers hovering just above the slender curve of his neck. Then, abruptly, he withdrew. A low chuckle rumbled from his throat.

“A beauty’s request should never be refused,” he said lightly. “Unfortunately… I don’t have a second life-bound artifact to protect me if things go wrong.”

Straightening up, he dusted off his hands. Three cultivators in blue robes landed at his side. His voice turned sharp, commanding. “The three of you. Bring her to me.”

The men exchanged uncertain glances. Even without words, they all had the same thought: Why?

Anyone with eyes could see that Ruan Zhao’s spiritual energy was completely depleted. She was hanging by a thread. To a cultivator, she was no different from an ordinary mortal, completely powerless.

Their young master, at the peak of the Foundation Establishment stage, could subdue her with a single finger. So why bother sending them? Even with their doubts, they didn’t dare question his orders. They obeyed. One reached for her arm. The other moved to seize her shoulder.

In the blink of an eye, two blue-robed cultivators collapsed to the ground. A blinding streak of light had pierced cleanly through their chests, so fast and precise that they hadn’t even had time to scream. Their bodies hit the dirt, still warm, but lifeless.

The last remaining cultivator froze in shock. His eyes went wide with horror. Fear gripped his throat, and without thinking, he staggered back a step.

Suddenly, Ruan Zhao, who had seemed so fragile, so powerless, was something else, something that could kill without mercy, something that could strike before they even saw it coming. He didn’t dare move closer, didn’t dare die like them.

Shnk. Cold steel pressed against his back. A soft, sinister voice curled around his ears. “What are you waiting for?” Chen Ci’s blade dug in. “Disobeying my orders…?” His tone was mocking, dangerous. “Are you planning a rebellion?”

“N-No, Young Master!” The blue-robed cultivator’s voice trembled. “She… she has some kind of artifact! A defensive weapon!” He swallowed thickly, his throat dry with fear. “Anyone who gets close dies!”

Ruan Zhao’s jade pendant had already crumbled to dust in his palm. But he showed nothing. Instead, he lifted his chin, eyes sharp, cold, utterly unshaken. “If you’re not afraid of dying,” he murmured, “then come.”

The cultivator did not move. He couldn’t. The blade at his back pressed deeper, the tip piercing his robes, pricking skin. Chen Ci’s voice was quiet, almost amused. “Artifacts have their limits. They can’t protect her forever. Maybe,” he twisted the blade just slightly, letting it bite deeper, “by the time it’s your turn, it will have already run out.”

“Or perhaps…” The blade sank in, a sharp sting, blood welled up, warm, trickling down his back. “You’d rather die by my hands?”

The blue-robed cultivator paled. “Please—no—” His voice cracked. “Young Master, please don’t kill me!” Chen Ci’s moods were unpredictable, shifting like a storm on the horizon. If he wanted to kill, he would. And right now, he looked very willing.

The cultivator’s breath hitched, his body trembling. “I—I’ll do it!” he stammered. “I’ll catch her for you!”

Ruan Zhao’s gaze flickered toward Chen Ci. That glint in his eye, a blade just as sharp as the one he held. That killing intent, it wasn’t even directed at him, and yet, he still felt it, felt it sink like ice into his bones. A fear he couldn’t control.

It felt like a giant hand had clamped around his heart, tight, unrelenting, crushing the breath from his lungs. This man, this ruthless, merciless madman, even if he were to be captured, he could not fall into his hands. Never.

Ruan Zhao stumbled to his feet, his legs barely holding him up as he staggered backward. Then, he ran. But within seconds, they caught up to him. The blue-robed cultivator lunged, a predator closing in on its prey. Steel-like fingers clamped around his arm, digging in like a vice.

But there was no blinding light this time, no burst of pain. Only that touch, soft, unreal. Even through the fabric of his sleeve, his skin felt like the finest silk. The cultivator’s eyes lit up. His lips curled into a grin of triumph. He had caught her. He had won.

Just as he turned to claim his reward, shhhhk. The sword slid cleanly through his back, through his heart, right through. The blue-robed cultivator froze. His eyes flickered with shock, then dimmed.

And the one who had wielded the blade, the very master he served, stepped forward, calmly withdrawing the sword, like it was nothing. The cultivator crumpled to the ground, limp, lifeless. His last moments were filled with cold, mocking words.

“Dead men,” Chen Ci mused, “are always the most obedient. And the best at keeping secrets.”

A monster. Calling him a madman was an insult to madmen.

Ruan Zhao took a slow, shaky step back. Chen Ci took one step forward, then another, then another. His subordinates had already torn away the thorns. Now, it was his turn to claim the prize, the sweet, delicate meal he had been waiting for.

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