Axolotl Translations

“Liang Zhao?”

A sharp voice rang in his ears. Liang Zhao snapped out of his daze to find Gu Mengran gripping his shoulder, looking at him with concern.

Raising a hand, Liang Zhao rubbed his temple and shook his head slightly. “I’m fine.”

It was like he had suddenly dozed off, completely unresponsive no matter how much he was called.

Gu Mengran had been startled. Seeing Liang Zhao finally snap out of it, he gave his shoulder another pat and quickly changed the subject. “Let’s not dwell on this. Listen, your dream was vague, right? But mine? Crystal clear. Aren’t you even a little curious about how we got along in the dream?”

Got along? Liang Zhao lifted his gaze slowly, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “I am.”

Gu Mengran withdrew his hand and stroked his chin, adopting an air of seriousness. “In the dream, you saved me—wounded, helpless, and on the verge of death. You nursed me back to health, fed me well, even found medicine to treat my injuries. At the time, I thought, wow, this old classmate of mine is really something. Handsome, kind-hearted… practically an angel in disguise.”

“And then?” Liang Zhao’s lips curved slightly as he asked with intrigue.

“Then?” Gu Mengran let out a dramatic huff.

His eyes narrowed as he glared at Liang Zhao. “You, Liang Zhao, are proof that you can never judge a book by its cover! The moment I recovered, you changed completely! Told me you wouldn’t keep a freeloader around and put me to work—laundry, cooking, shoulder massages, foot rubs—you treated me like a personal servant!”

He crossed his arms and huffed. “I actually thought you saved me because you recognized me. Turns out, you were just looking for a free laborer! Seriously, even in a dream, I was nearly—”

“Impossible.” Liang Zhao abruptly cut him off. His normally pale face flushed with intensity, his voice firm and unwavering. “I would never treat you like that.”

Gu Mengran froze, momentarily stunned. Then, with his chin lifted stubbornly, he argued, “Oh yeah? Says who? We barely interacted before that—you didn’t even recognize me.”

Something shifted in Liang Zhao’s mind. It was as if the alcohol had just started kicking in. Before he could think, the words tumbled from his lips. “I always remembered you. I never forgot you. Not even once.”

Silence fell between them. Both of them stilled, caught off guard by what had just been said.

Liang Zhao visibly tensed. His hands, resting at his sides, curled into tight fists. A flicker of panic flashed through his dark eyes, his breathing turning rough and uneven.

Their gazes met in midair. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still.

Before the silence in the room could become suffocating, Gu Mengran heard his own hoarse voice break through. “Why?”

His heartbeat pounded like a drum. He struggled to steady his breathing, to regain his composure. The question had slipped out too directly, too abruptly—but it was too late to take it back. Pressing his lips together, he hesitated, then cautiously added, “It’s been five or six years since middle school. We barely spoke back then, Liang Zhao. Why do you still remember me?”

The alcohol clouded Liang Zhao’s mind, dulling his usual restraint.

Under Gu Mengran’s expectant gaze, his last shred of rationality crumbled. Memories surfaced effortlessly, as if they had been waiting all this time. The corners of his lips curled up slightly, and in a soft voice, he said, “We did talk. We talked a lot. You used to be so lively, always full of energy. Back when we sat next to each other, you would always drag me into conversations during class.”

“Especially during your least favorite subject—Chinese. The teacher would be lecturing up front, and you’d be whispering away in the back. You could talk through the entire class without getting tired. You didn’t mind if I ignored you, but if you noticed I wasn’t listening, you’d secretly tug on my sleeve or poke my arm.”

“I rarely saw you between classes. You were always off playing basketball, going to the restroom with your friends, or heading to the snack shop in a group. Oh, and I actually got to taste Grandpa Meng’s cooking back then too—he used to bring you food, and you’d generously share it with me.”

Liang Zhao paused for a moment, his gaze steady and serious. “You probably don’t remember, but back then, I was quiet. I didn’t talk much, and I barely had any friends. If I had to describe it in colors, I was a dull, unremarkable gray. And you? You were like a beam of golden sunlight breaking through. So bright, so warm… impossible to forget.”

His words fell softly, like raindrops landing one by one on Gu Mengran’s heart. It was a strange feeling—memories that someone else had cherished, yet he had long forgotten. Even as he wracked his brain, only scattered fragments came to mind.

Back then, Gu Mengran hadn’t yet suffered under Gu Decheng’s control. He had been outgoing, cheerful, a chatterbox who could make friends with anyone. He had met countless classmates, had countless casual conversations—so many that he had never bothered to remember most of them.

Friends, classmates… none of them had ever seemed all that important. There weren’t any especially close friendships, nor any particularly bad relationships. To him, people had mostly been a way to pass the time, a means to stave off boredom. And among them… was Liang Zhao. Someone he had completely forgotten.

Guilt surged within Gu Mengran, growing stronger and stronger—so much so that he completely overlooked the ambiguous undertones of Liang Zhao’s last words. Drooping his head, he murmured an apology, “I’m sorry, Liang Zhao. I—I have a terrible memory. I’ve forgotten so many things.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” Liang Zhao shook his head lightly, a wistful, almost bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Sunlight was never meant to belong to me alone. You’re still you, you’re free. I should never have… never have foolishly thought I could claim it as mine. No matter wha—”

Gu Mengran didn’t hear the rest. His mind buzzed, suddenly blank. He stood frozen in place, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean… foolishly thought you could claim it as yours?”

As if all the alcohol-fueled courage had run dry in an instant, Liang Zhao averted his gaze, his long, dark lashes casting shadows over his downcast eyes. Voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “It’s nothing… I must’ve had too much to dr—”

“Liang Zhao?”

Gu Mengran’s heart skipped a beat. For a split second, he thought he had misheard. But no, this wasn’t a dream. Not an illusion. Liang Zhao was sitting right in front of him—real, tangible.

Gu Mengran’s fingers trembled slightly as he reached out, his hand coming to rest lightly on Liang Zhao’s knee. Slowly, carefully, he knelt beside the bed.

The distance between them vanished.

The faint scent of malt lingered in the air, wrapping around him. Gu Mengran felt dizzy, almost as if he were getting drunk too. His body moved on instinct—leaning forward, his forehead gently pressing against Liang Zhao’s lowered head, his eyes searching the depths of Liang Zhao’s in the dim light.

“That night, I wasn’t asleep.” He said it casually, as if it were just a passing remark. No specifics, no details. But anyone with a guilty conscience would know exactly which night he meant.

A single sentence. Liang Zhao’s expression shifted dramatically. His already-tense body went rigid, stretched taut like a bowstring ready to snap. Every muscle screamed of an impending escape, as if in the very next second, he would bolt from the room.

Gu Mengran didn’t give him the chance. His forehead brushed lightly against Liang Zhao’s, voice dropping to a soft murmur. “That night, you put a cooling patch on me… took my temperature. And then what, Liang Zhao? Why did you touch me?”

Caught red-handed like a thief in the act, Liang Zhao’s mind went blank. There was no excuse, no escape. All he could do… was admit guilt.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize. Look at me, Liang Zhao.” Gu Mengran’s hands wrapped around Liang Zhao’s stiff neck, like a heavy shackle locking him in place, forcing him to bow his head and meet his gaze. “Tell me why. I just want the truth.”

One sat on the bed, the other knelt on the floor. They were close—intimate, almost like lovers.

Yet, despite seemingly having the upper hand, Liang Zhao’s heart nearly stopped. And Gu Mengran, the one in control, refused to back down.

Five years. Over a thousand days and nights. And the person he had never been able to forget was right here, in front of him. A thin layer of sweat formed on Liang Zhao’s palms. It took every ounce of self-control to stop himself from pulling Gu Mengran into his arms.

Why? Why did he have to know? What answer was he hoping to hear? Liang Zhao wasn’t sure. But this—this was the one thing he couldn’t risk gambling on.

“Not saying anything? Playing mute now?”

Gu Mengran leaned in closer. Their foreheads touched, noses brushed, and when he spoke, his warm breath ghosted across Liang Zhao’s lips—like the lightest, accidental kiss.

Liang Zhao’s heart clenched. He was torn—desperate to push Gu Mengran away, yet equally desperate to pull him in.

In the end, hesitation won. He didn’t even have the strength to lift his hand.

Gu Mengran, however, refused to let go. He gently rubbed his nose against Liang Zhao’s, letting out a soft chuckle. “You know… I think I’ve already figured it out. Liang Zhao, do you like me?”

The last layer of pretense was finally ripped away. Liang Zhao had thought he’d be too nervous to breathe. But with the warmth of the person in his arms, with that trembling, raspy voice whispering against him—he gave in.

Closing his eyes, he surrendered. He raised his arms and wrapped Gu Mengran in a tight embrace, a single word slipping past his lips.

“Yes.”

That was all it took. Gu Mengran’s throat tightened. A sharp sting pricked at his nose, and a sudden mist blurred his vision.

Joy—pure, overwhelming joy—flooded his mind.

It felt like a pie had fallen straight from the sky, hitting him square on the head. He was dizzy with disbelief. Afraid Liang Zhao would notice something was off, Gu Mengran hugged him back with all his strength before the other could open his eyes.

His response was all the encouragement Liang Zhao needed. Liang Zhao held him even tighter, resting his chin on Gu Mengran’s shoulder as he leaned in, his voice urgent against his ear. “You’re not disgusted, right?”

Disgusted? Tears welled up in Gu Mengran’s eyes. He almost burst out laughing.

Burying his face in Liang Zhao’s shoulder, he mumbled, “Are you stupid? We’re already like this… how could I be disgusted?”

“Then… can you give me a chance? Can I pursue you?” Even with the person he liked nestled in his arms, Liang Zhao still placed himself in the role of a pursuer.

Gu Mengran thought he was just feeling insecure. He wiped his tears on Liang Zhao’s shirt, gathered some strength, and pulled away slightly to meet those deep, searching eyes. Then, summoning his courage, he said softly: “You don’t need to chase me, Liang Zhao. I… I already have you in my heart. Really. For a long, long time now.”

“A long time?” Liang Zhao repeated, almost to himself. “How long, exactly?” His voice was quiet, almost tender, but the smile in his eyes began to fade.

Still caught up in the joy of the moment, Gu Mengran didn’t notice the change in tone. He was about to launch into a heartfelt retelling of when and how he’d fallen for Liang Zhao—until a memory surfaced in his mind.

His confident gaze faltered. He looked away. Those memories of school had long since faded, and the time they’d spent together on the ship had only been a few months. There was no way he could’ve fallen so hard, so fast—not in this life.

There was no doubt. He’d fallen in love with Liang Zhao over time—in his past life. But Liang Zhao was still Liang Zhao. Gu Mengran had never separated the two versions in his heart, especially now that Liang Zhao was slowly regaining those lost memories.

But how could he explain that? What if Liang Zhao never fully remembered? What if he couldn’t accept that those memories belonged to him?

“Was it… in a dream?” Liang Zhao’s palm gently cupped his cheek, his touch soft, his tone even softer. But his words left Gu Mengran speechless. “You fell for the ‘me’ in your dream? Because ‘I’ saved you?”

The thing Gu Mengran feared most had finally happened. His breath caught. He scrambled to explain, words tumbling out in a rush. “No—it’s not just because you saved me. Liang Zhao, the dream and reality—they’re both you. Please don’t misunderstand. One day… you’ll understand everything.”

Liang Zhao looked at him quietly. “And if there hadn’t been that dream?” he asked. “If it was just me—the Liang Zhao who reappeared in your life a few months ago… would you still feel something for him? Even just a little?”

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