Axolotl Translations

Chu Xinglan cupped Ruan Zhao’s face, dropping a trail of soft, lingering kisses along the corner of his lips, his tongue gently tasting the warmth of those soft, rosy lips. Maybe it was just the mood—everything felt too perfect, too intimate for anything other than sweet, sticky words.

Chu Xinglan forced himself to hold back the urge to deepen the kiss, steadying his breathing. Without hesitating any longer, he finally spoke the words that had been sitting heavy in his chest these past few days. “Zhaozhao…” His voice was low, warm, and brushed against Ruan Zhao’s ear like a teasing caress, making his bones feel weak and tingly. Softly, he asked, “When are we getting married?”

The question hit Ruan Zhao like a sudden splash of cold water, shocking him straight out of his dazed, kiss-drunk state. He blinked, a soft, confused sound slipping out unconsciously.

Chu Xinglan thought he hadn’t heard clearly, so he repeated it—this time, not as a question, but as something quietly certain. “Let’s get married.”

Then, as if casually mentioning the weather, he added, “Next month on the eighth. Or maybe the sixteenth of the month after that…” He paused, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint smile. “Or… whichever day you like. You pick.”

Chu Xinglan looked perfectly calm on the surface, his voice as casual as if they were talking about how nice the weather was today, or how it might be a good day to sneak in two extra hours of sword practice behind the mountain. But if you listened carefully—there was a slight tremble in his voice. And his gaze stayed locked on Ruan Zhao, not daring to miss a single shift in his expression. His heart was nowhere near as calm as his face.

Ruan Zhao froze. He didn’t light up with joy the way Chu Xinglan had hoped. Instead, it was like something had thrown off his plans—catching him completely off guard. There was even a flash of nervousness, maybe a little panic. “…Are you serious?”

Chu Xinglan’s eyes darkened slightly. His voice was firm. “I’ve never been this serious about anything. If the Ruan family hadn’t fallen… if everything had gone the way it was supposed to, I would’ve brought you back by now. And then, just like we promised six years ago, we’d stand together beneath the Three-Life Stone and become Dao partners recognized by the heavens.”

Ruan Zhao: “……”

“…Don’t you think it’s a little rushed?” Ruan Zhao tried softening his tone, “I mean, we’re still so young. Maybe… let’s wait two more years? When you turn twenty, then we can talk about it.”

Two years? Chu Xinglan could barely wait two months. Ruan Zhao was just too eye-catching. He’d only been at Guiyuan Sect a few days—and already, so many people were looking her way.

The threshold of Ruyun Peak was practically worn thin from the endless stream of people coming and going. Chu Xinglan was all too familiar with the way those people looked at Ruan Zhao—because it was the same look he used to watch her with. Naturally, he knew exactly what they were thinking.

Even Ye Qingwei’s playful remarks about finding Ruan Zhao a new match stirred up a quiet panic in Chu Xinglan’s heart. It wasn’t that he ever doubted Ruan Zhao’s feelings for him. Ruan Zhao liked him—of that, Chu Xinglan was completely certain. Not once had he ever questioned it.

But… Ruan Zhao had grown up in the lower realm, in a remote little place like Lingyuan City, where he barely knew anyone, and even among those he did know, no one was especially remarkable. In a place like that, building a foundation by the age of twenty was enough to be called a prodigy. Those people, compared to Chu Xinglan, were like fireflies to the bright moon—completely different worlds. It made sense Ruan Zhao wouldn’t be interested in any of them.

But here… the Upper Realm was different. Guiyuan Sect was something else entirely. Guiyuan Sect was a gathering place for geniuses. Any one of the inner sect disciples here would be considered a peerless talent in the lower realms.

Even if Chu Xinglan was a genius among geniuses—the rarest cultivation prodigy in a thousand years, and the sole hope for ascension in centuries—those personal disciples of the elders weren’t far behind. They too carried lofty titles, their names known far and wide. A few of his senior brothers and sisters were even a full realm higher than him.

And that’s what made Chu Xinglan afraid. He was afraid that once Ruan Zhao met these people, he might not like him as much anymore. After all… Chu Xinglan wasn’t as gentle or understanding as Senior Sister Jiang Yu, not as charming and eloquent as Senior Brother Zhu Chuan, nor as steady and dependable as Senior Brother Yun Qianfeng. He was riddled with flaws. And he was scared—scared that when Ruan Zhao saw people better than him, his gaze would stray, his affections shift to someone else.

So Chu Xinglan was desperate to make their relationship official. Under the witness of the Heavenly Dao, to become true Dao partners—with their souls marked by each other, so no one else could ever take him away.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Chu Xinglan tightened his hold around Ruan Zhao’s fingers. His voice softened, with a trace of coaxing. “It’s just a simple ceremony. It won’t take much effort. If you don’t want anything grand, we won’t tell anyone. Just the two of us—signing the bond, that’s all.”

“…Everything between us would stay the same as it is now. Nothing would change.”

Ruan Zhao spoke slowly, one word at a time. “Nothing would change? Liar.” His eyes were clear and sharp, clearly not swayed by Chu Xinglan’s gentle coaxing. He cut straight to the heart of it. “So after we get married, you’ll be content with a few kisses and hugs like this? You’re telling me you wouldn’t pin me to the bed and dual cultivate?”

Chu Xinglan: “……”

Ruan Zhao looped his arms around Chu Xinglan’s neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear, his voice soft and tempting like a lure. “You know… our furnace bodies are soft, delicate, and sensitive. Just a little stimulation is enough to make us react. And our bodies… they give off this sweet, addictive scent when we do. Are you really telling me you could resist touching me?”

Chu Xinglan: “…………”

His silence gave Ruan Zhao exactly what he wanted—like he’d caught a weakness and taken control of the conversation. He immediately turned the tables, deliberately twisting the focus, his voice teasing. “I knew it—you’re not marrying me because you like me. Not because you love me. You just want my body.”

Chu Xinglan awkwardly denied it. “…I don’t.” But facing Ruan Zhao’s questioning gaze, he could only promise, “As long as you don’t want it, I won’t…”

He looked up, his gaze falling on Ruan Zhao’s porcelain-smooth face, a faint blush blooming on those delicate cheeks. His lips, still bearing faint teeth marks from earlier, were pink and slightly swollen. A wave of unbidden thoughts surged in Chu Xinglan’s mind, his body reacting almost instantly. Like being scalded, he abruptly looked away, stiffening as he forced himself to make a promise. “…I won’t touch you without your permission again.”

If he didn’t touch… then Ruan Zhao’s little lie could hold out for a while longer. But it was only delaying the inevitable. One day, it would come to light. And Ruan Zhao didn’t want to marry Chu Xinglan with that kind of secret between them. He didn’t want to lie to him. His voice softened. “Then… let me think about it. I’ll give you an answer in three days.”

Three days. After that, he’d tell Chu Xinglan everything. Whatever happened after that, he was ready to accept it.

……

After something like this, Ruan Zhao had no interest in sword practice. He returned Suiying to Chu Xinglan and wandered off alone beneath the cliffs, refusing to let Chu Xinglan follow, saying he needed some time to clear his head.

He wandered until he found a fruit tree, reaching up to pick the ripe fruits. As always, the biggest, reddest ones were at the very top. But now, unlike before, he didn’t have to clumsily scramble up, slipping from those delicate branches and falling hard, bruised and battered.

Now, with just a flicker of thought, Ruan Zhao could release his spiritual power and neatly cut through the branches overhead. The ripest fruits tumbled down in a scattered rain of red and gold. He bent down to gather them up.

Just then, the system’s voice suddenly piped up. [Zhaozhao… are you really going to marry Chu Xinglan?]

Ruan Zhao bit into a fruit. It was sharp and sour, making his entire face scrunch up in an exaggerated grimace. He forced himself to swallow the mouthful of astringent pulp and responded to the system’s question. [That depends. If he minds or not.]

Whether he’d care that his fiancée had suddenly… changed genders. If he didn’t mind, well—it wasn’t entirely out of the question. After all, he’d been raised with the idea that the two of them were destined to be together. It wasn’t a thought he’d ever seriously questioned, nor had he ever really regretted it.

Perhaps, hearing the faint trace of something it wanted in Ruan Zhao’s tone, the system fell silent for a moment. It didn’t doubt for a second that Chu Xinglan wouldn’t care about something so trivial. Only Ruan Zhao, caught up in it all, couldn’t seem to see through the other’s heart. But as an outsider, it didn’t feel it had the right to speak on Chu Xinglan’s behalf. And besides…

There was something far more important they hadn’t completed yet. The system’s voice came again, hesitant, stammering out something completely unexpected. [Th-then… before you two get married, how about… um… breaking up first?]

Ruan Zhao thought for a second that the sour fruit had messed with his brain, a clear ‘?’ floating above his head. [Why?]

The system floundered. It didn’t know how to explain that this was their primary mission in this world—a goal they absolutely had to achieve. If they failed, there’d be no reward points waiting for them at the end. Cornered, the system braced itself and cobbled together a half-baked excuse.

[I… I was reading the stars last night. I saw that Chu Xinglan is carrying the fate of the entire world… He’s the world’s Child of Destiny. You get what that means, right? Like those protagonists in those romance fantasy stories. And your fates, while closely tied for now, are ultimately meant to drift apart… Only if you separate will he be able to overcome his emotional tribulations, break the chains of fate, and ascend to the peak of the Dao.]

But Ruan Zhao only heard the first half of that. And he was stunned. Stunned to realize that Chu Xinglan was the true protagonist of this world.

He’d always thought… he was the main character. Otherwise, why would the senior system have chosen to reside within his body? Why would he have received such rare, almost unfairly powerful cultivation techniques? Why would doing nothing more than stealing a couple kisses from Chu Xinglan be enough to skyrocket his cultivation? Wasn’t that… the kind of cheat privilege only protagonists got?

His long-held assumptions were thoroughly shattered. Ruan Zhao clutched at his chest, a dull ache settling there. [Whatever.]

He tried to comfort himself. [If Chu Xinglan is the protagonist… I guess I can live with that.]

After all, what was his would remain his—and what was Chu Xinglan’s would one day be his too. In the grand scheme of things, did it really matter who was the protagonist and who was the supporting character?

But the system’s voice rose sharply, deliberately stressing its point. [That’s not the point, Zhaozhao.]

[The point is—you and Chu Xinglan have to go through a breakup. It’s a crucial part of this process.]

—Or we won’t be able to complete the mission.

Ruan Zhao frowned.

[And what if we don’t? What happens then?]

The system hesitated. Apart from the mission failing and their points being deducted, there wasn’t much else that would actually happen.

Ruan Zhao’s frown deepened as the system’s earlier words came back to him.

[If we don’t break up… our fates will just drift apart on their own?]

According to the original storyline—yes. Whether they broke up or not, they were fated to eventually walk out of each other’s lives, until they became complete strangers once more.

But now… the storyline had already collapsed beyond recognition, to the point even its creator wouldn’t recognize it. What might happen from here on out—even the system couldn’t predict. All it could do was give a vague, noncommittal answer.

[Maybe.]

Then it quickly added: [But look—it doesn’t have to be a real breakup. You just have to act like it. Stage a little performance, fake it for appearance’s sake.]

This kind of thing used to be Ruan Zhao’s specialty. Back in their earlier worlds, practically every mission involved putting on some elaborate act to fool the main system’s narrative checks. They’d become experts at it. Unfortunately, the current Ruan Zhao had no memory of that—so now it was up to the system to guide him through it.

The system went on: [After breaking up, you can always get back together.]

[You can even go ahead and get married later — that’s fine too.]

[But it has to be Chu Xinglan who proposes the breakup first.]

That was the one unshakable requirement for completing the mission.

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