Axolotl Translations

After overexerting himself yesterday, even a full day of lying around today didn’t help—Gu Mengran still felt off. His back ached, his arms ached, even his legs ached. He felt like he’d spent the entire day hauling bricks on a construction site. By the time evening rolled around, things only got worse. His shoulders were so sore that even the slightest bump made him wince. He couldn’t even finish his dinner.

Being hungry already had him grumpy, but what pushed him over the edge was—the game was apparently that addictive. After dinner and doing the dishes, Liang Zhao and Zheng Yijie were back in front of the TV, each holding a controller, totally immersed, having the time of their lives. Same living room. Same people. Completely different vibes.

Gu Mengran didn’t bother sitting on the sofa like he had earlier. He just stood between the dining and living room, staring at Liang Zhao without blinking. Two full minutes passed, and Liang Zhao didn’t even look up once. Gu Mengran let out a sarcastic snort and spun around to leave without saying a word.

His footsteps had barely faded when Liang Zhao, who had been completely absorbed in the game seconds ago, suddenly dropped his controller, sprang to his feet, and jogged after him. A chilly breeze swept by. The characters on the TV froze mid-game.

Not knowing what had happened, Zheng Yijie shouted, “Hey! Where are you going? Get back here—I was about to win!”

“Don’t run? If you don’t chase him now, you might win the game but lose your boyfriend! Hahaha…” The old man lounging on the couch took a sip of tea, clearly enjoying the drama.

“Ugh, so unfair! I was finally about to win a round…”

Gu Mengran stormed into the room, still fuming. As he was about to shut the door behind him, a foot suddenly wedged into the gap. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

Still burning with anger, Gu Mengran had planned to throw a few sarcastic barbs, but the moment he looked up and saw Liang Zhao’s sharp, handsome features, half his anger vanished on the spot. Wow… being good-looking really is a superpower.

Still, he wasn’t about to let it slide. He pulled a face, lips pouting as he snapped, “Why’d you come after me now? Couldn’t see me just a second ago, huh?”

“I saw you,” Liang Zhao said with a soft smile, trying to sound charming. “I was pretending not to, hoping you’d call me over first. Didn’t think you’d just walk off.”

“Pretending?” Gu Mengran glared at him. “I’ve been feeling miserable, and you’re in the mood to joke around?” He pressed a hand against the door to block him, but didn’t actually apply any force.

Liang Zhao’s smile faltered. He gently pushed, easily opening the door and immediately reaching out to feel Gu Mengran’s forehead. “Where do you feel unwell? Is your cold getting worse? Are you coughing—”

“No fever, no cold.” Gu Mengran brushed his hand away and muttered, “Just sore all over from working too hard yesterday.” Then he paused, suddenly realizing something. “Wait… you really didn’t notice I was feeling off?”

Liang Zhao shook his head honestly. “Nope.”

“Wow! You really weren’t paying attention, huh? I felt so crappy I barely touched my dinner, and you didn’t even notice.”

Liang Zhao raised a brow. “But you ate two bowls.”

Gu Mengran blinked, then shot back, “I usually eat three!”

“Mm, my bad. I didn’t notice. Sorry.” Liang Zhao chuckled softly. His palm still held traces of Gu Mengran’s warmth. Rubbing his fingertips together, he suddenly stepped forward and looked down into Gu Mengran’s eyes. “Still feeling sore? Want me to give you a massage?”

Massage? Gu Mengran’s face colored slightly. He looked away, trying to sound casual. “You even know how?”

“Give me a chance—I can learn.” Liang Zhao followed his gaze, smile unwavering.

The space between them shrank, inch by inch, until they were practically touching. But Liang Zhao’s eyes stayed steady—firm, sincere.

He’s really here to be a massage therapist? Gu Mengran didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. With a dramatic lift of his brow, he reached behind to close the door and said, “Alright then, Master Liang. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

No fancy prep needed for a massage. After a shower and drying his hair, Gu Mengran pulled back the covers, flopped onto the bed, and buried his face in the pillow, exposing his back.

A faint minty scent filled the room—the smell of Gu Mengran’s shampoo and body wash. It was fresh, clean, and cooling. But when Liang Zhao looked down at the relaxed figure lying there, completely defenseless, his body temperature inexplicably rose. He could touch him just by reaching out. And yet, he hesitated.

Liang Zhao slowed his movements, quietly sitting down on the edge of the bed. His long fingers, distinct at the joints, hovered for a second before finally landing on Gu Mengran’s pale nape, gently kneading. He rubbed his neck, pressed his shoulders—finally, Liang Zhao cleared his mind and committed to playing the role of a dutiful massage therapist.

His technique? Decent enough. Not much strength behind it, but passable. Barely a few minutes in, a muffled laugh came from the pillow. Gu Mengran muttered, “Did you not get enough to eat either? Why are you so weak… or are you doing this on purpose—ow! Hey!”

Before he could finish, Liang Zhao’s hand suddenly squeezed hard on the back of his neck.

He actually wasn’t using that much force—but Gu Mengran was already sore from overwork, muscles knotted with fatigue, lactic acid built up everywhere. A light press didn’t do much, but the moment Liang Zhao dug in just a little harder? That sting—sharp and sour—shot straight up his spine and blasted into his skull.

“Gentle! Be gentle, Liang Zhao! That hurts, ow ow ow!” Face buried in the pillow, Gu Mengran let out a tortured groan, his expression twisted in agony. But Liang Zhao didn’t ease up at all, as if he hadn’t heard a thing, continuing to knead the same exact spot with heavy, deliberate pressure.

“Liang Zhao!” The pain short-circuited his brain. Gu Mengran had had enough. He tried to squirm free, flailing like a fish out of water in a desperate attempt to escape the claws of this so-called massage therapist.

But Liang Zhao wasn’t about to let him go. One hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, the other doubled down on the neck and shoulders, pushing in with steady force while murmuring soothingly, “Okay, don’t move. Just relax. A proper massage helps loosen the muscles and clears out the lactic acid buildup.”

“Ughhh! That’s easy for you to say—it hurts!” Gu Mengran wailed in pain, but his mind stayed sharp. Fighting brute strength wasn’t working. So—all of a sudden, he went still. Face smushed into the pillow again, lying there like he’d given up entirely.

But his shoulders began to tremble, his back rising and falling in short bursts…

Was he… crying? “Mengran?” Liang Zhao froze mid-motion, his hands hovering uncertainly.

The person on the bed didn’t say a word, just shook even more. Alarmed, Liang Zhao leaned in, gently brushing his hand through that messy, fluffy hair. “Okay, okay, no more. I won’t press anymore. My technique’s terrible—I shouldn’t have messed with you like that.”

“%￥…” Gu Mengran mumbled something, sounding pitiful and wronged. But the pillow swallowed his voice, and Liang Zhao didn’t catch a word. He leaned in closer, ear practically pressed against the pillow. “What? Just now—you said…”

Before Liang Zhao could even finish his sentence, the supposedly half-dead Gu Mengran suddenly flipped over like a slippery little eel. His shoulders didn’t hurt, his arms weren’t sore—he moved like a gymnast, latching onto Liang Zhao’s neck without warning.

So much for being sad or crying. Gu Mengran was grinning ear to ear, practically beaming. Wrapping his arms tightly around Liang Zhao’s neck, he gave a little tug to pull him closer, the laughter in his eyes growing brighter by the second.

“What I said just now—was compensation. Your massage skills were horrible. I was in so much pain I think I deserve a little something for emotional damages.”

Liang Zhao let out a quiet laugh. Already lying on his side by the bed, he simply followed the pull and let himself stretch out fully, now face-to-face with Gu Mengran. His eyes reflected the warm, dim light as he looked into the other’s shining gaze. “Alright. What kind of compensation are we talking about?”

A hug? A kiss? Liang Zhao thought of all the small, sweet things Gu Mengran liked—being close, little touches. What he didn’t expect was—

“Don’t go tonight. Stay here.”

Gu Mengran said it without hesitation, smiling with soft eyes, his gaze steady and sincere. There was a quiet anticipation hidden behind those clear eyes.

For a second, Liang Zhao lost his focus, reached out, and gently brushed away the hair from Gu Mengran’s forehead, fingers lightly tracing his cheek.

“Mengran… That’s not really appropriate.”

“Why not? Brothers sleep together all the time. We’ve done it before too—remember at Zheng Yijie’s place?” Gu Mengran was smart enough to leave out the past life part this time.

But Liang Zhao still shook his head. “It’s different now.”

“What’s different?”

“Back then we were just friends. Now… I’m someone who’s trying to win you over.”

“Trying to win me over?” Gu Mengran burst out laughing, openly teasing him. “Is that so? ‘Cause I sure don’t feel pursued.”

Liang Zhao tapped him gently on the forehead, lips curling in a faint smile. “I’m still learning. Bit rusty. Can you give me a little more time?” As he spoke, he tugged Gu Mengran forward by the shoulder and pulled him firmly into his arms.

“Fine,” Gu Mengran murmured as he snuggled in, rubbing his cheek softly against Liang Zhao’s neck. “But you better pick up the pace—at this rate, you won’t catch me before next year.”

……

Like a prophecy come true, the water level of Lake Fengjin had risen halfway up the mountainside. The small island once nestled in the lake had long since disappeared beneath the waves, and Liang Zhao—he still hadn’t managed to catch up to Gu Mengran.

A year might not seem long, but in that time, people age, puppies grow into dogs, and relentless rainfall can completely transform a mountain lake.

In just one year, Lake Fengjin had expanded several times over. The banks were swallowed by floodwater, the lake shed its restraints and stretched with wild abandon across the forests and hills, merging into the rolling Lan River that flowed into the Huang River. What used to be a lake had become an endless sea.

The surrounding mountains, once tall and proud, looked like they’d been cut in half with an axe—barren peaks now soaked in icy lakewater. They stood their ground as best they could, but like ice cream cake at room temperature… they were destined to melt away.

Water rises. People age. Even steel, washed by time and rain, loses its shine. The Windwing, once so lovingly maintained and cared for, now floated with the current, its colors faded. The once-bright red and green hull had dulled, the deck and railings dotted with rust.

Thunder boomed. Rain poured in sheets from the sky.

Outside, the world was a blur of gray rain and rippling water. Inside, Gu Mengran stood by the window, head slightly bowed, a faint sadness resting in his eyes. “Time really flies,” he murmured. “Truly, the days slip past like flowing water, and—”

“GU MENGRAN! You writing poetry in there? Where’s the veggies you picked?!” Grandpa’s voice roared from the kitchen, cutting straight through the quiet moment.

Gu Mengran jumped, shoulders hunching. “Coming!” he called, and scurried downstairs.

Rounding the corner, he stepped into the first-floor hall, the earthy scent of soil immediately hitting him. A flash of vibrant green filled his vision—a small indoor garden bursting with life.

Foam boxes were neatly lined up across the floor. On the left, two rows of tomatoes. On the right, two rows of eggplants, already bearing fruit. The melons were still growing and not ready to harvest yet—but judging by the sheer number of fruits on the vines, yeah… this year’s yield was definitely looking good.

Further in was a large patch of potatoes. They were thriving—lush green leaves, thick and healthy, some vines even spilling out over the sides of their containers. Their tops were full and vibrant, almost like miniature jungles, looking more like clusters of decorative pothos than vegetables.

The cucumbers and string beans were still in the seedling stage, just beginning to send out vines. Liang Zhao and Zheng Yijie were standing on opposite sides of the planters, each balancing on a folding ladder with a wooden stake in hand, carefully building trellises for them.

And then… in the very back of the hall stood the most abundant crop—also the one Gu Mengran least wanted to see: chayote squash.

The trellis for the chayote had been set up a while ago, courtesy of Liang Zhao and Zheng Yijie’s solid craftsmanship. They’d constructed a curved lattice beneath the ceiling using wood and bamboo, creating a makeshift canopy. The vines had climbed up both sides, their leaves and fruits dangling through the gaps overhead. At first glance, it looked almost like a shaded garden arbor—something you’d sit under to escape the summer heat.

But the moment you looked up, there they were: dozens of fat, forearm-sized chayote, hanging low, practically smacking you in the face. The seed supplier hadn’t lied—these things produced. A single vine could load up an entire trellis.

Lately, they’d been eating chayote at every meal. Stir-fried, scrambled with eggs, cold tossed with dressing… Gu Mengran felt a headache coming on just seeing them.

And the worst part? This wasn’t even the full extent of it. No, this was just the surface-level supply. In the storage space, they’d planted a ton more—so many that even the pigs couldn’t keep up.

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