Axolotl Translations

The system had once told Ruan Zhao that Chu Xinglan was this world’s true protagonist—a child blessed by fate, destined for unparalleled heights. His talent and temperament eclipsed any so-called worldly geniuses, and within the cultivation world, he represented the sole hope of ascension in centuries.

He more than lived up to that designation. In a mere handful of years, he shattered the barriers and reached the Nascent Soul stage. As a sword cultivator, he possessed the extraordinary ability to challenge those in higher realms, effortlessly defeating opponents far beyond his own level.

For two consecutive years, he had claimed the top spot in the sect’s grand tournament. Since the age of sixteen, his name had never once fallen from the top ten of the Heaven’s Chosen rankings. With his frost-white longsword in hand, he could single-handedly confront dozens of demon realm leaders within their own territory—and emerge victorious, leaving behind only a casual, mocking remark.

This had once so enraged the Demon Sovereign that he nearly abandoned his secluded cultivation to storm Guiyuan Sect and settle the score.

Of course, he never actually dared.

Guiyuan Sect boasted a legendary Tribulation stage cultivator, alongside three others at the Grand Ascension stage. No matter how audacious the Demon Sovereign might be, he wouldn’t risk his life by venturing to their doorstep.

He could only swallow his humiliation in silence.

As for why Chu Xinglan had charged into demon territory in the first place, indiscriminately defeating their leaders and leaving such arrogant words in his wake…

Well—it was entirely because Ruan Zhao had grown bored and picked up a random storybook.

The story’s protagonist was a demon cultivator.

It was the quintessential underdog narrative: an insignificant figure from the demon world gradually rising to power, feigning foolishness while secretly outsmarting everyone, ultimately unifying the three realms as the supreme ruler.

The story was cliché, the plot convoluted, the characters flat and one-dimensional.

It followed the predictable cycle—everyone looking down on the protagonist, plotting against him, setting traps, only for him to break through to new levels at the last moment, master new techniques, and retaliate with resounding slaps to their faces. Naturally, this was always accompanied by overused phrases like, “the river flows east for thirty years, then west for thirty more…”

It was terrible. Yet strangely captivating. Ruan Zhao stayed awake for two consecutive nights, merely to skim through it.

The author was likely a demon cultivator as well.

The righteous sect cultivators were all portrayed as two-faced hypocrites—smiling saints on the surface, but rotten to the core, engaging in despicable acts in secret. The demon protagonist, in contrast, was depicted as pure and noble, strong yet kind, and even when forced into bloodshed, it was always reluctant, always a matter of “no other choice.”

After all he had endured, the protagonist was no longer soft-hearted. His preferred attire was a set of jet-black robes, so deeply saturated in ink that they seamlessly blended with the darkness—and if they happened to be stained with blood, no one would even notice.

In the story, the protagonist commanded power effortlessly—a mere wave of his hand could summon storms and control the heavens. Whether facing a rising star in the cultivation world or a reclusive master, once defeated, they invariably succumbed to his charm and pledged their loyalty, willingly becoming his subordinates.

And among those names, Ruan Zhao noticed one that felt… uncomfortably familiar.

Chu Yuetan.

He was the very first opponent the demon protagonist vanquished after conquering the demon realm and stepping into the cultivation world.

It had been a brutal confrontation.

For the majority of the battle, Chu Yuetan utterly dominated the protagonist, leaving him battered and bruised, lying defenselessly in the dirt. His face was smeared with dust and blood, a pathetic contrast to the immaculate, snow-white figure of Chu Yuetan—so flawless he appeared untouched by the mortal realm.

The onlookers sneered, mocking the demon protagonist for his weakness, for daring to overreach.

And then, at the nadir of humiliation, the protagonist unleashed his trump card.

—A sudden breakthrough at the brink of death, reversing the situation in the final moment, ultimately defeating Chu Yuetan.

Chu Yuetan… Ruan Zhao silently repeated the name a few times.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that the author was subtly hinting at something. It felt strangely targeted, like a thinly disguised jab at someone in real life…

Well.

Perhaps he was overanalyzing.

……

The story began acceptably. However, as it progressed, the protagonist’s plot armor thickened, and the events grew increasingly ludicrous.

It was the kind of story that was difficult to enjoy but a pity to abandon midway. So Ruan Zhao finished it anyway, skimming through the remainder, his eyes barely registering the words as he flipped the pages.

By the end, he felt as though his brain had ceased functioning entirely, his worldview slightly destabilized by the absurdity he had just absorbed.

Perhaps it was simply the late hour. His mind clouded, his judgment impaired, he had even foolishly nudged Chu Xinglan awake and inquired whether demon cultivators were truly that powerful.

Chu Xinglan had been sleeping peacefully beside him, and when Ruan Zhao shook him awake, he blinked in confusion, staring blankly for a long moment before comprehending the question.

Chu Xinglan was slightly perplexed.

He had defeated dozens—no, likely hundreds—of demon cultivators by this point. The majority couldn’t even withstand ten of his moves. He didn’t even need to draw Suiying, his sword, to force them to their knees, pleading for mercy.

Individuals like that… how could they be considered strong?

Puzzled, he paused for a moment before inquiring why Ruan Zhao held that opinion.

But Ruan Zhao, already succumbing to sleep, was half-drifting as he recalled the story’s protagonist. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he murmured,

“…Because they always wear black… looks kind of mysterious… kind of cool too.”

Chu Xinglan fell silent.

He was clad in the pure white robes of a Guiyuan Sect disciple, immaculate and bright as freshly fallen snow—not a hint of black to be seen.

Since when did Ruan Zhao like black?

How had he not noticed?

Chu Xinglan quietly observed him for a while.

But Ruan Zhao was already dozing off, his head bobbing down like a small bird pecking at seeds, his long eyelashes fluttering slightly—an unbearably endearing sight.

“Black… looks good…”

“Demon cultivators… so strong…”

“Beat them all… one by one…”

Still immersed in the story’s absurdity, he mumbled a series of compliments intended for its overpowered protagonist, half-conscious and dreamy.

Chu Xinglan’s expression visibly darkened.

He reached out, gently cupping Ruan Zhao’s chin, his face unreadable—but in his eyes, the sharp golden light dimmed, veiled by shadow.

“…You really think that?”

Ruan Zhao, barely awake, made a soft little “mm” sound in reply. It was feather-light, almost playful, brushing past Chu Xinglan’s ear like a tender little tease.

Chu Xinglan’s expression softened slightly.

He adjusted his hand, allowing Ruan Zhao to settle into a more comfortable position.

After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and lightly pinched the other’s cheek.

The pressure was barely perceptible—Ruan Zhao’s skin was pale, soft, and smooth. Chu Xinglan pinched for a considerable time, yet it didn’t even leave a mark.

“Why are you suddenly bringing up demon cultivators again…”

Thinking about how Ruan Zhao had just called them powerful, even praising those full-body black robes that concealed both face and form, Chu Xinglan’s gaze darkened a fraction more. His voice remained calm, yet held a low undertone.

“Did you forget what happened back in the lower realms? The demon cultivators we encountered, the ones who enhanced their cultivation by drinking young girls’ blood? Only beings like them would conceive such vile, sinister practices. Every single one of them—not a single good one among them.”

Ruan Zhao, fighting against the pull of sleep, only offered a couple of indistinct, sleepy sounds in response.

Chu Xinglan: “…”

“…So you absolutely must stay far away from them.”

Seizing the opportunity presented by Ruan Zhao’s half-asleep state, his inability to fully hear or notice, Chu Xinglan gently tapped his nose and softened his voice, “You are absolutely forbidden from getting close. Don’t give them any chance to approach you. Understood?”

This time, Ruan Zhao didn’t even bother with pretense. He simply rolled over, shamelessly using Chu Xinglan’s arm as a pillow, snuggling into his embrace, his breathing soft and steady—deeply asleep, sweet and peaceful.

“What’s so appealing about those filthy robes anyway…”

Chu Xinglan murmured under his breath.

“I don’t even need to draw my sword to wipe them out.”

“They’re nothing special.”

But Ruan Zhao, lost in his dreams, couldn’t hear a single word. He had no idea that his sleepy, casual remarks had ignited such a storm within Chu Xinglan’s heart.

That night, Chu Xinglan couldn’t sleep.

He lay there, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness until dawn.

And just a few days later—news spread from Youming Mountain, deep within the demon realm: Chu Xinglan had ventured alone, challenging the twelve guardians and thirty-six marshals under the Demon Lord’s command… and hadn’t suffered a single defeat.

The newly crowned Chu Xinglan, barely past his coming-of-age ceremony, had ascended to claim the number one position on the Tianjiao Ranking.

By the time the news reached Ruan Zhao, he was sitting beneath the peach trees, contentedly nibbling on a peach blossom pastry.

It was peach blossom season once more.

Soft pink peach blossoms had enveloped the entirety of Ruyun Peak. The summit was adorned with delicate petals, creating an ethereal, dreamlike vista.

On a whim, Ruan Zhao and Chu Xinglan had gathered a mound of the fallen blossoms and begun crafting pastries.

Surprisingly, Chu Xinglan displayed a remarkable talent for it—the peach blossom pastries he shaped resembled tender buds on the verge of unfurling, while Ruan Zhao’s… were more akin to amorphous little lumps.

The peach blossom pastries were fragrant and delicate, sweet without being cloying. Ruan Zhao had already devoured five in succession.

Just as he reached for the final piece, Ye Qingwei happened to arrive. Before even stepping inside, she began to exclaim, recounting every detail of Chu Xinglan’s recent exploits.

And the manner in which she narrated it—it was as if she had witnessed it firsthand.

After concluding her animated tale of how Chu Xinglan had utterly stolen the spotlight, she asked him with curiosity. “Senior Brother Chu—did someone possess your body or something? Why did you suddenly go and stir up trouble in the demon realm’s stronghold? That’s so unlike you!”

Chu Xinglan didn’t even glance her way. As if she were invisible, he casually picked up a peach blossom pastry and naturally offered it to Ruan Zhao.

“Have another.”

Ye Qingwei’s eyes immediately brightened.

“Oooh—what are you eating? I want some too!”

Chu Xinglan replied without missing a beat,

“None for you.”

Ye Qingwei pouted.

“Liar—there’s still plenty left right there!”

Ruan Zhao had already eaten so many, and with this last piece Chu Xinglan offered, he could only manage a symbolic little nibble before feeling too full. The rest, naturally, was quickly consumed by Chu Xinglan.

Chewing slowly, Ruan Zhao inquired,

“You went fighting in the demon realm?”

Chu Xinglan paused for a beat, then casually uttered a soft “Mm.”

Ruan Zhao frowned.

“You went alone? That’s far too dangerous.”

Chu Xinglan lifted his gaze and looked directly at Ruan Zhao,

“Those demon cultivators aren’t strong at all. Not a single one could defeat me.”

Ruan Zhao didn’t quite grasp why Chu Xinglan felt the need to emphasize that point.

“But even if they aren’t that strong, it’s still their territory. They have… numbers on their side. In a chaotic fight, they could simply wear you down through sheer exhaustion.”

Chu Xinglan: “…”

He didn’t entirely agree with Ruan Zhao’s reasoning, but he didn’t dispute it. Instead, for some inexplicable reason, he brought up a different topic.

“They do wear those pitch-black robes, all wrapped up tightly as if they have something to conceal… I didn’t see what was so appealing about it. Honestly, they just reminded me of black… rats.”

Ruan Zhao: “…?”

The boy visibly displayed a giant question mark above his head.

“So what if they resemble rats or insects? What does that have to do with us?”

Chu Xinglan opened his mouth, hesitated, stammered, “I… I just…”

But before he could finish his sentence, Ruan Zhao’s expression turned serious.

“I don’t care what you were thinking—whether it was a sudden impulse or part of some grand scheme…”

“I forbid you from doing something so dangerous again. Even if you are powerful enough to defeat the entire cultivation world, you still cannot place yourself in that kind of peril. If I ever discover that you sneak off to do this again, I’ll…”

Ruan Zhao paused to consider, then formulated a threat that sounded very grave.

“I’ll ignore you for three whole days!”

Ye Qingwei, who was nearby enjoying the pastries, nearly choked on a piece of peach blossom pastry upon hearing that childish warning. She coughed a few times before finally regaining her breath.

She was just about to remind Ruan Zhao that this sort of threat really didn’t carry much weight—and perhaps suggest coming up with something a little more serious—when she saw Chu Xinglan’s face undergo a dramatic transformation.

He hastily promised Ruan Zhao that he would never do it again, frantically pleading with him not to remain angry.

Ye Qingwei: “…”

Yeah… she really didn’t understand the dynamics of this little couple.

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