Axolotl Translations

Ruan Zhao’s acting wasn’t exactly convincing—and as for Chu Xinglan, he didn’t have a shred of acting talent to begin with.

No matter how willful, unreasonable, or downright difficult Ruan Zhao behaved—even throwing a tantrum over something as small as the color of the tassel hanging from Chu Xinglan’s sword—Chu Xinglan never showed the slightest hint of impatience.

If he came back a little late from night practice, Ruan Zhao would stand there with his arms crossed, his face cold, accusingly asking if he’d been seeing someone else.

And yet, even with all that, Chu Xinglan still couldn’t manage a single flicker of frustration. It made Ruan Zhao feel like he was putting on a one-man show. No matter how much he fussed and made trouble, the other would always accept it all with endless patience.

This wouldn’t do. As much as Ruan Zhao was getting tired of acting, if Chu Xinglan refused to show even a sliver of irritation, how was he supposed to naturally steer the conversation toward breaking up later?

He’d have to turn it up a notch. He needed Chu Xinglan to get angry — just once. Needed him to catch the hint, bring up breaking up first, and put an end to this exhausting charade.

Leaning against the doorframe, Ruan Zhao began today’s performance. He rubbed his face, making sure to fix a properly angry expression. His delicate brows drew together, pale eyes clouded with quiet displeasure, the corners of his mouth tugging stubbornly downward.

Arms crossed tightly, he gave Chu Xinglan a long, unfriendly once-over. The boy had just come back from sword practice, his breath still a little uneven. But the moment his gaze fell on Ruan Zhao, his eyes lit up like stars, quietly glowing with warmth and anticipation.

If it had been any other day, Ruan Zhao would’ve run right into his arms, burying himself against his chest, clinging to him and murmuring sweet, sticky words.

Then Chu Xinglan would take something out of his storage ring—a treat he’d picked up from town, just for him. Sometimes it’d be a delicate box of pastries or candied fruit. Other times, it was food packed from a restaurant, or snacks bought from a little street stall.

Never the same thing twice—always something new, always something to look forward to. Every time Chu Xinglan left the mountain, he’d come back with something for him.

And all Ruan Zhao had to do was wrap his arms around his waist, press his face against his chest, soften his voice, call him “brother” a couple of times… And Chu Xinglan would fill his hands so full of treats he could barely hold them all.

Ruan Zhao wondered absentmindedly what Chu Xinglan might have brought him this time. His thoughts drifted, and without even realizing it, he took a couple of steps toward Chu Xinglan—just a little more and he would’ve thrown his arms around him again.

Habits… habits are dangerous.

Catching himself just in time, Ruan Zhao quickly pulled back, patting his face to reset his expression into something suitably angry. Then, without thinking, he snapped out a cold question. “Why are you back so late? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?”

Chu Xinglan: “…” Here we go again.

Not getting the usual soft, warm hug like he always did, the boy’s eyes dimmed just a little—but he quickly tucked the disappointment away and joined Ruan Zhao in his act.

Lowering his gaze, he apologized, the words coming more naturally now. “Sorry, Zhaozhao. I didn’t mean to. I’ll be back earlier next time.”

“This time wasn’t enough for you, huh? Planning for a next time already?” Ruan Zhao raised his voice, seizing on the flaw in his wording. “So what—next time you’ll just sleep outside and not come back at all?”

Chu Xinglan: “…”

Ruan Zhao kept going, making up grievances out of thin air. “I knew something was wrong with you. You’ve been coming home later and later, and you’re getting more and more impatient with me. No matter what I say, you just stand there with that face like I don’t even exist… Do you have any idea how awful that feels?”

Chu Xinglan: “…I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you can say? Anything else?”

What else…

“I was wrong,” Chu Xinglan added after a beat. “It won’t happen again.”

But Ruan Zhao was far from satisfied. That wasn’t the answer he wanted. He could only press on, unreasonable as ever. “Even your apologies feel half-hearted.” He stepped forward, closing the distance until Chu Xinglan was practically backed against the wall.

The boy was much taller than him, his lowered gaze giving the feeling of someone looking down from above.

Ruan Zhao reached out and covered Chu Xinglan’s eyes with his hand, feeling those long, fine eyelashes brush softly against his palm, flickering like tiny brushes— it tickled a little.

But he didn’t pull his hand back. Instead, he used it as an excuse to press on. “I don’t like it when you look at me like that.”

“That kind of high, distant gaze… like I’m something you could crush with a flick of your fingers. Like you were born without emotions… like nothing in this world is worthy of being held in your heart…” His voice gradually softened, and some guilt inevitably crept in—because he knew he was lying. Words he could only get out while hiding those eyes.

“You’re the pride of heaven, the most promising disciple of the Guiyuan Sect, a once-in-a-century cultivation prodigy. And me? I’m just a regular person from the lower realms. Average talent, nothing special, with a furnace body that attracts all the worst kinds of people… Whether it’s family, status, or ability—you and I, we’re worlds apart.”

Ruan Zhao hesitated for a moment, but finally forced out the last part. “Chu Xinglan… have you been thinking all along that I’m not good enough for you? That you’ve been wanting to…”

Break up with me.

He let his hand fall away. And stared directly into Chu Xinglan’s eyes. The boy’s dark pupils shimmered faintly with a thread of beautiful, pale gold. Whenever he lifted his gaze, that gold would flicker—like the finest gemstone, brilliant and captivating.

Even though he knew it was all just an act, and that these words weren’t what Ruan Zhao truly felt, Chu Xinglan still looked a little hurt. That glint of gold dimmed, like a little dog with its tail drooping low.

Ruan Zhao noticed the change. A part of him ached to throw his arms around him, touch his eyes again, and softly explain that he’d never thought any of this—that he was just forced into this situation.

But now wasn’t the time to be comforting. Good—there was a crack in the wall now. The breakup could happen smoothly. He secretly winked at Chu Xinglan, signaling him to hurry up and say it—to get this over with.

Chu Xinglan understood too. He took a deep breath, pushing down his complicated emotions, and carried on with the performance. Guessing at what Ruan Zhao wanted, he tested the waters. “You know… I’ve never thought that way about you—”

No. No no no. Wrong! Wrong line! Ruan Zhao mouthed urgently at him—This is where you break up with me!

Chu Xinglan silently asked with his eyes: “Right now?”

Ruan Zhao silently mouthed back, Yes — now. Once we finish this… It’ll be over.

The system, having seen through all their under-the-table tricks and whispered exchanges, quietly fumed: [………]

Okay—it knew these two had a great relationship, knew they couldn’t bear to be harsh with each other… But could they at least act a little more convincingly?

It was bad enough they were basically making eyes at each other the whole time, now they were passing secret messages too? Where was the professionalism in this performance!

The system exaggeratedly coughed a couple of times, reminding Ruan Zhao to get a grip—it was the final stretch, hang in there, don’t waste all the work they’d put in.

Ruan Zhao obediently shut his mouth. All he could do now was shoot Chu Xinglan increasingly desperate looks, silently urging him—hurry up, say it, say the breakup line!

Chu Xinglan: “……”

He turned his gaze away, letting his eyes fall on a scratch on the edge of the table—a small mark left from one of Ruan Zhao’s previous temper tantrums when he’d flipped the table in a fit of mock rage. It was a tiny scratch, barely breaking the surface, exposing a sliver of pale wood underneath. You wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t looking closely. It was as though, by not looking directly at Ruan Zhao, the words he was about to say wouldn’t feel like they were meant for him.

Expressionless, Chu Xinglan finally spoke. “You’ve been acting strange lately—and really, really… hard to be around. You lose your temper at the smallest things, throwing huge fits. You’re nothing like you used to be… not cute at all.”

Ruan Zhao, by instinct, shoved all the blame back onto him, retorting without hesitation, “That’s because of you! If it weren’t for you, would I have turned into this annoying person?”

Chu Xinglan’s voice grew colder and colder, like ice freezing over. “If you’re this unhappy with me… then maybe we should…” The last part stuck in his throat, a long, painful pause stretching out before he gritted his teeth and forced the words out. “Spend some time apart. Cool off, think things over.”

Ruan Zhao’s eyes widened. He blurted out, “Okay!” without a moment’s hesitation.

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