Axolotl Translations

Perhaps it was because he felt Ruan Zhao cornered, utterly trapped with nowhere left to run, that Chen Ci no longer rushed. His gaze, cold and slick like a serpent’s tongue, slithered across her body with unhidden malice. Over her torn dress, her disheveled hair, the pale, bloodstained arms that still wept crimson, and finally, it lingered on her face.

Pretty. Young. Frightened. He took his time savoring it, the panic, the helplessness, how beautifully it bloomed when she was pushed to the brink.

“The Ruan family hid you well,” he drawled. “After all these years, I never once laid eyes on you.”

The mountain path beneath them was rough and uneven, and Ruan Zhao’s legs, already injured, barely held her up. Her foot slipped again. She fell, hard. Still, she forced herself upright, struggling to appear calm, even as her fingers trembled behind her back, so tight the knuckles turned white.

“You know who I am,” she said, voice firm despite everything. “So you should know that six years ago, the Ruan family and the Chu family from the Upper Realm arranged a marriage between me and Chu Xinglan, the young master of the Chu clan. He’s my fiancé. If he finds out what you’ve done to me, do you really think he won’t retaliate?”

Chen Ci laughed.

“Even the top clans of the Lower Realm aren’t worth a single finger of an Upper Realm family, let alone the renowned Chu clan. If Chu Xinglan hears of what happened here,” Ruan Zhao said coldly, “your entire family’s path to cultivation will be cut off. Forever.”

Chen Ci tilted his head, as though considering it. “You make a fair point,” he said slowly. “But here’s what people will know.” He knelt in front of her, his face inches from hers. “To everyone else, you’re just a servant girl at my estate, who stole a family treasure and went mad from fear after being caught. You babble nonsense, make up stories, even pretend to have ties to the Upper Realm’s Chu clan. And as long as I stick to that story…” His voice dropped, soft as a whisper, his eyes locked on her pale face. “Who’s going to say otherwise?”

Ruan Zhao’s voice trembled with fury. “You’re despicable. A coward hiding behind lies.”

The girl was clearly furious now. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, trembling breaths, eyes rimmed red with silent fury, a thin sheen of tears gathering. She looked nothing short of a wreck. Her pale yellow dress was smeared with dirt, speckled with broken twigs and dried leaves. Her long hair, once smooth and glossy, was soaked by rain, clinging to her porcelain face. Bruises, deep purples and angry blues, blossomed across the skin of her exposed arms and legs.

And yet, to Chen Ci, she had never looked more beautiful. The image of a fallen flower. A shattered doll. Helpless, yet radiant. A flicker of softness, rare and unfamiliar, stirred in his chest.

“Don’t count on Chu Xinglan to come save you,” he said softly, almost like a whisper in the dark. “Men like him, heaven’s chosen sons, they can have any furnace they want. If he says the word, beautiful cultivators with top-tier spiritual roots like you will line up from the Canglan Continent all the way to Yunlai.” His tone turned mocking. “You don’t really believe he’s still thinking about you, do you?”

He reached toward her face, just a touch. But she jerked away, refusing even that. His eyes darkened, but his voice stayed gentle, coaxing. “Come with me. Obey me. And I’ll treat you well.”

Ruan Zhao laughed bitterly, her voice like shattered glass. “Treat me well?” she spat. “You going to gift me a high-grade spiritual vein? Maybe collect some divine herbs and toss them at my feet like toys?”

Chen Ci choked. Spiritual veins existed only in the Upper Realm. Even the entire Canglan Continent didn’t have a single one. And in the Upper Realm, they were rare, precious beyond belief. Only a clan as powerful as the Chu family could afford to offer one as part of a betrothal gift, and even then, it was given to a supposed ‘furnace’ with no cultivation roots at all.

His face twisted. He leaned in, voice growing colder. “So what if that’s true? Right now, you’re in my hands. Whether you live or die, depends entirely on me.” He reached out again, this time to drag her into his arms, but a fistful of wet dirt and sharp stones smashed into his face with a crack.

“Get away from me!” she screamed. “Don’t touch me! Stay the hell away!”

The stones had sharp edges, some even laced with a trace of spiritual power. Chen Ci hadn’t bothered to dodge. Maybe he hadn’t expected the attack. Maybe he just hadn’t cared. A thin red line bloomed across his forehead. He wiped it with his hand and stared at the fresh blood smeared across his fingertips. His eyes darkened instantly, a dangerous shadow swallowing his expression.

“Well, well…” he muttered, voice low and cold. “Very good.”

Without hesitation, he lunged forward, grabbing the fabric over Ruan Zhao’s chest, clearly intending to tear it open. Her scent, a soft, delicate fragrance, hit him all at once. It made him dizzy, drunk. Chen Ci’s lips curled. His voice turned mocking, low, lecherous.

“You furnaces always play innocent, but your bodies tell the truth. That scent of yours, you’re practically begging for it. You just can’t survive without a man, can you…”

He never got to finish the sentence. A flash of silver pierced through his chest. The blade was long, narrow, and merciless. Crimson droplets slid down its edge, pooling at his feet in a slow, sticky splash. The strike had been clean. Precise. There would be no coming back from it. Chen Ci’s eyes widened in shock, desperate to see who had ended his life. Before he could focus, a surge of violent spiritual energy burst through his body, tearing through flesh and bone, reducing him to nothing.

Ruan Zhao felt the shift in the air. His lashes fluttered weakly, and slowly, painfully, he opened her eyes.

Beneath the pale moonlight, a young cultivator stood. Tall, poised, impossibly still. He wore pristine white robes, cinched at the waist with a jade belt, the cuffs embroidered with subtle, golden cloud patterns, a mark of noble lineage. He lowered his gaze, his expression calm and unreadable as his eyes fell on Ruan Zhao. His irises shimmered with a soft, pale gold, like sunlight breaking across rippling water. A lake kissed by spring.

And then, the wind stirred. The clouds moved. The cold, distant look in the boy’s eyes melted in an instant, replaced by panic, relief, and unrestrained joy. The aloof immortal had stepped down into the mortal world. He dropped to a crouch, almost clumsily, and reached out toward Ruan Zhao.

Ruan Zhao froze. The boy in front of him was a stranger, and yet, something in his eyes, in the shape of his brow, felt achingly familiar.

“Zhaozhao,” the boy said softly. “Don’t be scared. It’s me. I’m here.”

There was only one person in this world who ever called him that so gently. The tears he’d fought so hard to hold back spilled out all at once. He didn’t even take the offered hand. Instead, he flung himself straight into the boy’s arms. His thin arms wrapped tightly around his waist, as if to make sure he was real, not a dream, not a hallucination born out of fear and despair.

Chu Xinglan stiffened for a second, unsure what to do. Then, awkwardly, he reached out and patted Ruan Zhao’s back. His mouth opened to say something comforting, but all he could manage was a soft apology.

“I’m sorry. I came too late. I let them hurt you.”

“You weren’t here… they all bullied me,” Ruan Zhao whispered, his voice trembling with tears. “They wanted to lock me up. They wouldn’t let me go…”

He was a mess, his body smeared with blood and dirt. The filth clung to Chu Xinglan’s clean white robes, leaving behind stains from the chaos of the mortal world. But the boy, who had always been obsessively clean, didn’t flinch at all. He simply let Ruan Zhao cry into his sleeves, using them to wipe away tears.

“I smell blood,” Chu Xinglan murmured, his voice tightening. “Did they hurt you? Let me see.”

Ruan Zhao nodded silently. He tore the ruined fabric of his sleeve and let the boy see the injuries on his arm. The blood had clotted, but the bright red welts and blotches of bruises, blue, purple, angry, stood out starkly against his pale skin.

At first, Chu Xinglan had tried to keep his gaze respectful. But when Ruan Zhao suddenly ripped the sleeve open, his eyes flickered and darted away, he couldn’t look directly. Only dared steal a glance from the corner of his eye. Even his ears turned slightly red.

But when Chu Xinglan saw just how badly Ruan Zhao was hurt, all notions of propriety vanished from his mind. “Who did this to you?” The words slipped through clenched teeth, each syllable laced with killing intent.

“Was it him?” Chu Xinglan pointed to the lifeless body on the ground. A flicker of red lotus fire lit at the tip of his finger. In the blink of an eye, the corpse disintegrated into ash. Truly gone, scattered bone, scattered soul, not a single trace left behind.

Ruan Zhao blinked slowly, then looked at the boy beside him, expression calm and cold as ever. Moments ago, he’d been completely powerless against Chen Ci. Like a captured pet, humiliated, toyed with, watching helplessly as his tormentor crept closer. He hadn’t even been able to lift a finger in resistance. But that same Chen Ci, the so-called prodigy, was nothing more than a stumbling child before Chu Xinglan. One sword. That was all it took.

It struck Ruan Zhao with new clarity: even among geniuses, there were mountains, and there were stars. Chen Ci had reached the peak of Foundation Establishment before thirty. In the lower realms, that would earn him the title of a young genius. But next to Chu Xinglan, he was no more than a firefly next to the full moon. Two beings, separated by heaven and earth.

Without thinking, Ruan Zhao clutched tighter at Chu Xinglan’s wrist, as if holding onto the last thread keeping him alive. In a world like this, only Chu Xinglan could protect him.

Chu Xinglan examined the wounds carefully. His brows furrowed deeper and deeper, as though the pain wasn’t Ruan Zhao’s, but his own. “How did you get hurt like this?” he asked softly.

“I fell off a cliff,” Ruan Zhao replied, voice low. “I was trying to run away from them.”

“Does it hurt?”

Ruan Zhao’s eyes turned red again. He whispered, “Yeah… It does.”

A fragrant, sweet-smelling pill was pressed gently to his lips. Without hesitation, Ruan Zhao bit down and swallowed it.

“What is it?”

“Just a healing medicine,” Chu Xinglan said. “It’ll take the pain away.”

In the upper realm, this tiny pill alone could fetch over a million spirit stones at auction. Its power to mend flesh and raise the nearly dead made it priceless, a treasure beyond value. But to the heir of the Chu family, it was nothing more than a simple healing medicine, one meant to tend to his fiancée’s wounds.

Before their eyes, Ruan Zhao’s injuries began to scab and knit shut. The withered qi in his dantian surged back to life, filling his core with warmth and strength. He could feel every change in his body, so clearly, so tangibly. He looked up at Chu Xinglan, his voice earnest.

“Thank you.”

Chu Xinglan gently shook his head. “There’s no need for thanks… not between us.”

A quiet pause stretched between them. The atmosphere suddenly felt a little awkward. After all, it had been years since they’d last seen each other face to face. Though they had kept in touch through letters, one every fortnight, this was the first time in six years they’d truly met again. Chu Xinglan gave a small, polite cough and turned his gaze aside, ever the picture of restraint.

“Your clothes are torn… Would you like to change into something else?”

“I didn’t bring a storage ring,” Ruan Zhao replied. “I don’t have anything to change into.”

Chu Xinglan handed him his own.

“…?” Ruan Zhao sent a wisp of divine sense into the ring, and froze. Inside, neatly folded, was an entire wardrobe of beautifully made dresses, elegant, delicate, in every color and style imaginable. And beside them, hairpins, jewelry, and ornaments glittering like starlight, piled into a shimmering hill of gold and silver.

Ruan Zhao raised a skeptical brow. “Why do you have so many women’s clothes and accessories in your ring?”

Chu Xinglan answered without hesitation. “They’re for you.”

Ruan Zhao: “……”

“The styles of dresses and accessories in the upper realm are quite different from those in the lower realm,” Chu Xinglan said quietly. “I thought you might like them.”

And this was just the tip of the iceberg. The rest, far more in number, were stored in another spatial ring, larger in capacity, carefully curated over the years. His dowry for Ruan Zhao, gathered piece by piece, year after year.

Ruan Zhao gave a soft, nonchalant “Oh.” As if unmoved. As if unaffected. He changed quickly into one of the dresses, sweeping his hair up with a simple jade hairpin. Then he tapped lightly on the opaque barrier Chu Xinglan had conjured, signaling that he was done.

Chu Xinglan hurried to dispel the barrier, a little flustered. Ruan Zhao stepped forward, gathered his skirt in both hands, and spun in a slow, graceful circle in front of him. Tilting his head slightly, eyes curved like crescent moons, he asked with a teasing smile, “Does it look good?”

“It does.”

It looked better than anything he had ever imagined. Every time he bought a new gown or hair ornament, he’d picture, against his better judgment, what Ruan Zhao might look like wearing it. It wasn’t proper. It broke all the rules of gentlemanly conduct. He told himself not to, and did it anyway. And now, the image that had haunted him for years stood before him, real, vivid, breathing. Chu Xinglan suddenly found it hard to hold onto his sword.

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