Axolotl Translations

Chu Xinglan only spared a fleeting glance, then quickly looked away. He didn’t dare linger. The gold light in his eyes shimmered brighter for a moment, glimmering like fire beneath glass. His long lashes trembled slightly before he lowered them, hiding the storm behind his gaze. The sword in his hand turned into a streak of light and vanished at his side.

Ruan Zhao took out another item from the storage ring, a delicate hairpin, strung with tiny pearls and swaying tassels. He held it out to Chu Xinglan. “There’s no mirror here,” he said, calm as ever. “I might put it on wrong. Can you help me?”

Chu Xinglan froze. After a long pause, his ears flushed red, and he muttered a quiet, “…Okay.” His sword-calloused fingers had never touched things like this. His movements turned stiff, awkward.

When he bought these trinkets in the past, he would toss them into the storage ring, box and all, never opening them, never once imagining he’d have to use one. Now, he held the hairpin carefully by its edge, as if afraid it might break at the lightest touch.

“Where do I put it?”

“Here,” Ruan Zhao said, gesturing to the spot.

……

“A little more to the left… no, forward a bit… You need to push it in firmly, or it won’t stay—”

“No, not like that, you’re messing up my hair.”

“So clumsy.”

Ruan Zhao reached out and took hold of his hand, guiding him gently, step by step. Chu Xinglan’s hand was much larger than his, long-fingered and lean, with faint calluses along the palms and fingertips from years of wielding a sword. Ruan Zhao’s soft palm rested against the back of his hand, his slender fingers weaving between his knuckles, then closing slowly, securely. Following his guidance, the hairpin slid into place, anchored in his hair, its tassels swaying with a soft chime.

“There,” Ruan Zhao said. “It’s done.”

Ruan Zhao’s movements, though a little deliberate, a little clumsy, carried a clear trace of flirtation.

After the fall of his clan, and the exposure of his identity as a furnace, he had become prey on all sides, just a breath away from becoming someone’s possession in chains. He had no power to protect himself. Though his cultivation was technically at Foundation Stage, his strength didn’t match. Anyone who practiced cultivation could overpower him, step on him, grind him into the dirt.

Only now did Ruan Zhao understand, truly understand, what it meant to live in a world where strength ruled all. The cultivation realm was merciless. The weak were prey, the strong devoured. He was like a child carrying priceless treasure, wandering through a crowded marketplace. Without someone powerful to shelter him, he was bound to attract wolves.

So no matter what it took, he had to hold on to Chu Xinglan. Cling tightly to his protection. Let him leave a mark, his mark, on his body and his fate. Only then would those with greedy eyes be forced to hesitate. Only then would they think twice before striking.

……

Perhaps what he’d done earlier had crossed a line. Chu Xinglan’s pale ears were now completely flushed. The moment Ruan Zhao released his hand, Chu Xinglan drew back so fast his fingers blurred, like a phantom streak of movement.

Ruan Zhao blinked. He thought, maybe Chu Xinglan was disgusted. Maybe he didn’t want to touch him. Maybe that recoil had been rejection.

He couldn’t help leaning in again. He wanted to see the boy’s expression more clearly, wanted to know what he was really thinking. The space between them disappeared, even their breaths tangled together.

“Zhaozhao.”

The boy’s voice was clear and cool, but carried a hint of nervous urgency, and something more fragile beneath it: a flicker of hope. He didn’t quite understand what Ruan Zhao was trying to do, but under that unwavering gaze, his chest warmed with something dangerously close to happiness.

“Zhaozhao,” he called again. This time, the voice was lower. Rougher. More uncertain. And Ruan Zhao answered each call, one by one.

Bathed in moonlight, he could finally see it clearly, those sparkling eyes like stars in a night sky, and cheeks dusted faintly red.

With a face like that, how could it possibly be rejection? Ruan Zhao pushed forward with his mission of seduction. Softly, he asked, “It’s been so many years. Did you ever miss me?”

Chu Xinglan gave a quiet hum. “Yes. I did.”

How could he not? He thought of him during morning sword practice. Thought of him when he joined Guiyuan Sect. Thought of him the day he won his first sect tournament. Thought of him when he pulled Star-Tempered from the Sword Tomb…

Every turning point in his life, Chu Xinglan thought: If only Ruan Zhao were here beside me. But at the same time, he wanted to become someone better, stronger, brighter, before seeing him again.

“And did you miss me?” Chu Xinglan asked softly.

“Of course I did,” Ruan Zhao answered without hesitation. “I thought about you every single day. I wondered when you’d come for me. The artifacts you sent, and all those boxes of letters… They’re all gone. I searched through the ruins for so long, from morning to night. My nails tore. I bled. But I couldn’t find anything. The jade pendant I always wore… it turned to dust protecting me. I don’t have anything left now. Just you.”

His voice wavered, thick with emotion. By the end, he had thrown himself into the boy’s arms again, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist, burying his face in his chest like a frightened kitten afraid of being abandoned.

“Take me away from here,” he whispered. “Let’s never be apart again.”

“Mm.” Chu Xinglan hugged him back. Not too tight, afraid to hurt him, afraid to cross a line, but his fingers circled gently around Ruan Zhao’s waist, as if holding the most precious thing in the world. He whispered, “We’ll never be apart again.”

……

After taking the healing pill, Ruan Zhao didn’t just regain his spiritual energy; the exhaustion he’d built up these past few days from hiding and running vanished completely. He followed a few steps behind Chu Xinglan, then, with a quick thought, stepped hard on the hem of his own skirt, and with a soft cry, stumbled forward.

The boy reacted instantly. In the blink of an eye, he turned and caught him by the waist, pulling him smoothly into his arms. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Ruan Zhao’s eyes flickered with a faint gleam. “It’s just… it’s so dark. I couldn’t see the road, so I tripped.”

A soft orange flame flared up in Chu Xinglan’s palm, glowing brightly, brilliant and steady. It chased away the shadows like they never existed, illuminating even the smallest lines on the nearby tree bark. “How about now?” he asked.

Ruan Zhao paused. His curiosity got the better of him; he slowly reached out and touched the flame. It wasn’t hot at all. Just pleasantly warm.

“If you like it,” Chu Xinglan said gently, “it’s yours.”

As if the flame understood, it floated over to Ruan Zhao’s side. It circled him a few times, even nudged his shoulder affectionately, then swelled in size, casting a warm, glowing light around him, as bright as daytime. Surprised by the sudden, thoughtful gift, Ruan Zhao stood there in a daze for a moment before remembering his original goal. He pressed his lips together and tried again.

“My legs are so sore. I’m really tired. I don’t think I can walk anymore.”

Chu Xinglan nodded thoughtfully. “Then let’s rest here for a bit. Once you’re feeling better, we can keep going.”

“…” Ruan Zhao didn’t know if he was pretending to be dense or if he was actually just that slow. He’d already hinted this hard; how could Chu Xinglan still not get it? Guess it was time to stop playing around.

“…I don’t want to walk,” he said, looking him dead in the eyes. “I want you to carry me.”

The air seemed to freeze for a moment. The only thing moving was the cool night breeze, rustling through his hair and brushing his cheek with a soft tickle. Several heartbeats passed before he finally heard Chu Xinglan’s voice, low and hesitant.

“This… it wouldn’t be proper.”

Ruan Zhao raised an eyebrow. “What’s not proper? You were just hugging me like your life depended on it, arms wrapped around me so tight I could barely breathe. And now you’re suddenly acting like some noble gentleman, fussing over etiquette?”

“And aren’t I your fiancée?” he continued, voice edging with mock outrage. “You won’t even agree to this tiny little request, what kind of husband are you supposed to be? Using rules as an excuse already… What happens after we’re married? You’ll just ignore me completely?”

Faced with this storm of logic and guilt-tripping, Chu Xinglan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. In the end, he gave in. With a deep breath, the boy knelt slightly, lifting his snowy white robes, and crouched in front of Ruan Zhao.

“…Climb on,” he said quietly.

Satisfied, Ruan Zhao lay against his back, wrapping his slender arms loosely around Chu Xinglan’s neck. The warmth of his body, the closeness, it all quieted something in his heart. The last trace of unease he had about his place in Chu Xinglan’s heart vanished. He reached for a lock of the boy’s dark hair and began braiding it, fingers deft and playful. Then, bored, he undid the braid… and started over.

Step by steady step, Chu Xinglan carried him through the woods, over brittle branches, through patches of damp soil, his stride strong and unwavering. Ruan Zhao leaned in closer, lips almost brushing his ear.

“Chu Xinglan,” he whispered softly.

The boy stiffened beneath him, his whole posture tensing, a rare flicker of resistance. “Don’t call me by my full name,” he said, voice low and firm.

“Then what should I call you?”

“Call me brother.”

Ruan Zhao grinned. “Alright.” Then he leaned in, breathing a warm puff of air against the boy’s ear, and sweetened his voice like honey melting on the tongue, “Brother,” he murmured.

“Brother Chu.”

Chu Xinglan froze mid-step.

The crisp chirping of insects echoed through the forest, piercing the stillness of the night like needles against silk. Ruan Zhao’s voice, much quieter than those chirps, struck like a heavy hammer against Chu Xinglan’s heart, each word pounding deep, making his chest tighten, his breath hitch. Chu Xinglan drew in a long breath and kept walking forward.

The exhaustion in his limbs had already been washed away by the healing pill, but the weariness of the spirit, that didn’t vanish so easily. And ever since finding Chu Xinglan, Ruan Zhao had finally been able to let go of the strain he’d been carrying.

That taut thread of survival he’d held tightly for days, at last, slackened. He rested against the boy’s back, soothed by the steady warmth radiating through his robes, his breath growing slower, deeper, until he drifted off to sleep. Still holding the half-braided strand of hair in his hand.

And ever since Ruan Zhao called him brother, Chu Xinglan’s heart had been pounding uncontrollably, louder than during his most intense sword training, faster than the moment he’d landed the final strike in his strongest technique. He did his best to keep his voice calm and measured. But even so, he couldn’t help adding a soft request: “From now on… you’re only allowed to call me that. Don’t ever call anyone else like that again.”

The only answer he received was the quiet rhythm of sleeping breath, and a few murmured sounds, soft, incoherent.

…Asleep?

Chu Xinglan immediately softened his steps. With his cultivation, he could’ve crossed this mountain in mere strides, shrinking space with every step, just like he had when he first heard of the Ruan Clan’s downfall. He had rushed across continents without pause, through teleportation arrays, three days and three nights without rest, until he finally arrived in Lingyuan City. Until at the very last moment, he reached her. His fiancée.

Now, Ruan Zhao lay light as a feather on his back, peaceful, unguarded. The only sound was the faint tinkling of the hairpin in his hair, a gift from Chu Xinglan, its jeweled strands brushing against each other in the wind, soft and musical like chimes in the night.

……

Ruan Zhao didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. It felt like forever. It felt like no time at all. He was jolted awake by a sudden clamor, loud voices, angry shouts, the air humming with turbulent energy.

A ring of cultivators had surrounded them, weapons drawn, spiritual tools in hand, each face tense, fingers twitching, ready to unleash deadly strikes at a moment’s notice.

One of them shouted, voice sharp and clear: “Fellow cultivator, that girl on your back stole the Chen Clan’s ancestral treasure!”

“Our young master has ordered us to bring her back, alive, if possible. Dead, if necessary.”

They waited, blades at the ready. But the boy in white acted as if none of them existed. He didn’t so much as glance at them. The lead cultivator’s face darkened.

“If you insist on protecting her,” he growled, “then don’t blame us for what happens next.”

Still nestled against Chu Xinglan’s back, Ruan Zhao blinked in confusion, disoriented by the noise, his half-lidded eyes catching flashes of light.

Cultivation energy collided midair, a storm of glowing talismans and spiritual force erupting around them like fireworks. A warm palm rose to cover his eyes. “Zhaozhao,” came the boy’s voice, low and calm. “Close your eyes.”

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