Axolotl Translations

Lunch rolled around, and no one managed to escape the all-encompassing net of chayote. Chayote and yam tonic soup for the spleen, chayote stir-fried with pork, chayote scrambled with eggs and black fungus… it was a full-on chayote feast.

The steaming dishes were laid out on the table, and everyone was already seated. Bowls in hand, chopsticks at the ready—yet not a single person moved. They sat there like shy guests at someone else’s house, hesitant to make the first move. Even the old man, who’d cooked it all himself, didn’t pick up a bite.

“Aye…” Gu Mengran sighed dramatically, his expression as green as the vegetables. He reluctantly fished out a chunk of yam from the soup, took a tiny bite, and chewed with the enthusiasm of someone eating cardboard.

“Aye…” the old man echoed with a matching sigh, eyes flicking back and forth over the spread. He hesitated for a long time before finally giving up and setting his chopsticks down. He turned to Gu Mengran. “So… how much chayote do we still have left?”

Without even looking up, Gu Mengran kept chewing and replied flatly, “Plenty. If we eat it every day, we’ll be good for at least another ten days, maybe half a month.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” Zheng Yijie’s hand shook slightly around his chopsticks. “Half a month? I already feel like—ugh!”

“Hey, hey, watch it! That’s harsh!” The old man gave him a side-eye. He’d meant to defend his beloved chayote, but after glancing around at the full table of green dishes… he gave up. He knocked on the table and declared, “Alright, after lunch, go harvest the rest of those squashes. Yank out the vines while you’re at it. We’ll plant something else.”

“Sort through the harvest—pick out the best ones to give to Heng Rong Sheng and Shijin Village. The rest… feed ‘em to the pigs and chickens. I’m done. I don’t want to see another chayote for a long time.”

Zheng Yijie, who had practically moved in with the neighbors lately, waved his hand. “Forget Heng Rong Sheng. They grew their own too. Way too many. No one can finish it all.”

This batch of chayote was high-yield, good quality, and big in size. The old man felt a bit reluctant to dump it all on the animals. Sure, they could store it in the space and it wouldn’t spoil, but they were seriously burned out. He looked at Gu Mengran, hopeful. “What about the village? Didn’t you give them some seeds too?”

“Yeah, they planted some,” Gu Mengran swallowed and replied slowly, “But the soil’s different over there. They didn’t produce nearly as much. Plus, there are more people in the village. They won’t mind having extra. We can send some over.”

Giving the chayote away seemed like the best solution. The old man finally let out a breath of relief. “Alright then, let’s eat. We’ll pick the rest after lunch. If the rain lightens up later, we’ll find a good time to deliver them.”

“Ugh, this table full of food… I just can’t bring myself to eat it.”

“What, your mouth too spoiled now? Bet if I starved you three days, you’d be chomping it down like gourmet steak.”

“Let’s just power through. Last chayote meal, I swear.”

……

The heavy rainfall had lasted an entire year. Drifting over an endless, barren lake, with nothing incoming and only food going out, life aboard the Windwing had remained surprisingly comfortable, all thanks to their homegrown vegetables and Gu Mengran’s game-breaking space ability.

Their neighbors on the Heng Rong Sheng were doing decently too. They’d planted lots of high-yield, filling crops like potatoes, sweet potatoes, and pumpkins. Not as luxurious as the Windwing, but no one went hungry.

Lately, Xu Xinghe and Zheng Yijie had taken a liking to fishing. They’d sit out on the deck with their rods for hours—some days came back empty-handed, some days with a decent haul. Either way, it added variety to their meals.

In contrast, things were still a bit rough over in Shijin Village, which hadn’t made it onto the water yet.

After lunch, the old man stayed behind to clean the kitchen, while the others each grabbed a pair of scissors and a woven sack and headed to the first-floor ‘vegetable garden’ for harvest duty.

Setting aside the fact that no one wanted to eat the stuff anymore, harvesting chayote was oddly satisfying. With a single snip, the fat, juicy fruit would drop into your hand with a satisfying thunk. Of course, the fun didn’t last long.

Once the main hall’s chayote were picked and the vines ripped up, Gu Mengran led Liang Zhao and Zheng Yijie into the space—and the cheerful, relaxed air on their faces instantly vanished.

The sky inside was its usual perfect blue—no wind, no clouds, just a pleasant warmth in the air. A gentle stream gurgled through the land.

Ducks paddled through it gleefully, glistening and sleek, quacking and splashing up waves of water. Hens and roosters wandered the area, chicks trailing behind, pecking at the soil with little taps.

Nearby, sheep lounged peacefully, cows dozed in the sun, and pigs—plump, round, with floppy ears—laid together like a squishy livestock cuddle pile. It was still the same land and the same animals—but they were a bit larger now.

What had once been lifeless yellow dirt was now completely transformed: green, lush, full of vitality. Cabbage, radishes, chives, chilies… Nearly every pre-disaster vegetable you could think of was here.

The fruit trees they’d planted had even grown into young saplings about as tall as a person. Sadly, it’d still be a few years before they’d bloom or bear fruit. A dedicated patch of land had been set aside for the animals.

The three of them walked in, feet sinking slightly into the yellow soil. As they passed a group of fat pigs napping contentedly after a good meal, Zheng Yijie slowed down, staring at one in particular. He muttered under his breath, “Man, they’re getting really fat. Should we butcher one?”

“What was that?” Gu Mengran, walking ahead, hadn’t quite heard and turned his head to ask.

Liang Zhao, stuck in the middle, played messenger: “He said the pigs are fat enough—it’s time to butcher one.”

“Don’t even think about it.” Gu Mengran let out a short laugh. “Those pigs are for breeding, okay? Big pigs make little pigs. Then we raise those, and eat them later.”

Zheng Yijie frowned and scratched his chin, clearly thinking hard. “Breeding? But… I vaguely remember reading that sows can get pregnant at seven or eight months. It’s been over a year—how come none of yours are pregnant yet?”

That stopped Gu Mengran dead in his tracks. He spun around so fast his nose smacked right into Liang Zhao’s shoulder. Without even rubbing it, he grabbed Liang Zhao’s arm to steady himself and blurted, “Wait—are you serious? I thought pigs were like cows and sheep—they need at least a year and a half to two years?”

Zheng Yijie twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Who told you that? Eight months is ideal for pigs!”

Gu Mengran turned to look at the lazy pigs lounging nearby. His usually calm face cracked, just a little. Over a year and not a single litter… Don’t tell him they were gonna run out of pork?

“So—so what now?”

Zheng Yijie shrugged. “How should I know? I’m not an expert—” Mid-sentence, he caught Liang Zhao’s sharp stare and coughed lightly before switching gears. “Ahem—anyway, you’ve probably got books on this stuff, right? Let me take a look later. I’ll study up.”

“Mm,” Gu Mengran nodded. “Whether we get pork in the future is riding on you.”

Zheng Yijie’s face fell. “Hey! Don’t put pressure on me like that!”

But back to business—five minutes later, the trio arrived under rows of trellises heavy with chayote. Since the space couldn’t accept dead materials, Gu Mengran couldn’t bring in wooden poles from outside. But that was no big deal for him—he just grew a patch of thick, purplish sugarcane and used it as support for climbing plants.

Harvesting without tools was no joke, though—it was slow and exhausting. Gu Mengran was tempted to just tear the whole structure down, but Zheng Yijie stopped him. “Leave it for now. Let the smaller chayote keep growing. We can use them as seeds.” Gu Mengran figured he’d leave the expert to it—and took his advice.

After three straight hours of hard labor, the cursed chayote was finally picked clean. Since they were already there, they went ahead and pulled up some cabbages from a nearby patch and fed the animals until their bellies were round and full.

By the time they got back to the cabin, it was already past five. The harvest had filled more than twenty oversized woven sacks—just of chayote. The four of them sat around the living room, sorting through the haul, and eventually picked out the three biggest, best-looking bags to send over to Shijin Village.

By evening, the heavy rain had lightened. A strong gust of wind swept through, pushing the thick, dark clouds away. The sky brightened a little, and the torrential downpour dwindled into a light, misty drizzle.

Talk about perfect timing—the moment they finished sorting the chayote, the weather cleared up. Seizing the opportunity, Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao threw on their raincoats, loaded up the goods, and hopped onto the diesel-powered skiff controlled by the old man. The boat bobbed its way down to the lake.

With a twist of the throttle, the little boat roared to life and shot forward, carrying several hundred pounds of chayote across the surface.

Time was hard to track on the main ship. Aside from the spreading rust on the deck, nothing ever really changed. But the moment they dropped down to lake level—sitting in the tiny diesel boat with their viewpoint lowered—it finally hit Gu Mengran just how long the rain had lasted. A full year. A whole year of endless rain.

The water level had risen dramatically. Within just a few minutes, they passed what used to be the tourist dock. Reception platforms, footbridges, those little signs for photo ops… all of it had vanished beneath the lake. If not for the lone streetlamp still standing—only the top of its head poking above the water—there’d be no trace anything had ever been there.

Back then, that was the end of the road. From there, you’d have to continue on foot. But now? Whether it was a blessing or a curse was hard to say—but it sure was convenient. You could drive the boat straight to the village gate.

Roads, hillsides, even the ruins left behind after the earthquake—everything was submerged. Shijin Village’s territory was shrinking, inch by inch. The diesel boat cruised forward with no obstacles in sight. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the Windwing itself could sail right into the village.

Not a single turn was needed. With smooth waters and good speed, they were nearly at the village entrance in just fifteen minutes. The rain had only just eased, and the lake surface was still veiled in a layer of pale mist. Sitting on the boat, Gu Mengran looked around, scanning for the staircase that led up into Shijin Village.

With visibility low and no real landmarks around, it wasn’t easy to get their bearings. Gu Mengran was fully focused on scanning the misty surroundings. He hadn’t even spotted the steps yet when, without the slightest warning, the diesel skiff—still cruising at full speed—suddenly lurched to a violent halt.

It felt like someone had slammed into them from behind. The jolt nearly launched Gu Mengran straight off the boat. Luckily, Liang Zhao reacted in time and grabbed his arm, yanking him back to safety.

Heart pounding, Gu Mengran sat frozen, trying to process what just happened. He clutched at his chest, still shaken, and turned to Liang Zhao with wide eyes. “What just—mmph!”

Before he could finish, Liang Zhao’s hand clamped over his mouth.

That’s when Gu Mengran finally realized—something was wrong. Very wrong.

He followed Liang Zhao’s gaze, eyes shifting through the rainy haze ahead. For five seconds, he stared. And then his pupils contracted sharply, his entire body stiffening like he’d been electrocuted.

There, on the open, empty lake… something massive loomed just ahead—so still, so silent, it had almost blended completely into the mist. But now that it had emerged, it dominated everything in sight.

A giant, white vessel. Nearly ten stories tall. Towering into the fog, its full height beyond the eye’s reach.

A cruise ship.

Even through the blur of rain and fog, the silhouette was unmistakable—Gu Mengran recognized it instantly. A massive cruise liner.

His body began to tremble uncontrollably. He clenched his jaw, biting down hard, and with shaking fingers pulled a marine binoculars case out of his space.

White and blue. The color scheme was all too familiar. So was the ship’s sleek, luxurious shape. For a fleeting second, he held onto a thread of hope—maybe it wasn’t what he thought it was.

But then his gaze landed on the name painted across the bow.

And just like that, the illusion shattered.

Yongyue.

The Yongyue.

The very same ship that, in his last life, had crushed his legs and left his face in ruins.

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