Axolotl Translations

A brutal kick landed squarely on Gu Mengran’s chest, the sheer force of the impact sending him stumbling violently backward. His spine slammed against the unyielding wall, the jarring collision barely allowing him to regain his footing. A delayed but intense wave of pain surged through his body, and he instinctively clutched at his chest, a wracking cough seizing him.

His assailant showed no semblance of mercy. Before the painful coughing fit even began to subside, an icy premonition swept across his forehead, subtly lifting his sweat-dampened bangs.

Alarm bells screamed in his mind. Gu Mengran’s head snapped upwards just in the nick of time to see a heavy wooden chair hurtling down with terrifying speed directly towards his skull—so close he could clearly discern the rough grain of the wood.

Crap. If that connected, he’d be incredibly lucky to survive the blow.

His body reacted with a speed that outpaced conscious thought. Without a moment’s hesitation, Gu Mengran threw himself flat onto the cold floor.

A deafening crack exploded directly above him—the violent sound like a firework detonating inches from his ear. The chair shattered upon impact with the wall where his head had just been, sharp wood splinters raining down around him like deadly confetti.

“Damn it! I’m gonna kill you, you little bastard!”

Fang Jianming, his face contorted with furious rage at his near miss, bent down and snatched up a jagged chair leg from the wreckage. Without a split-second pause, he swung the broken piece of wood with brutal, unrestrained force at Gu Mengran’s exposed head.

Sensing the imminent danger didn’t magically grant him the ability to evade it. His luck, it seemed, had finally run out. There was nowhere left to dodge, no escape from the incoming blow.

Instinctively, Gu Mengran curled his arms tightly around his head, desperately shielding his most vital spots, and braced himself to take the full force of the impact head-on.

THUD!

The dull, sickening impact and the searing pain hit him simultaneously. The chair leg snapped clean in two with a sickening crack, and his head reverberated like a struck gong, a high-pitched ringing filling his ears. A sharp, burning pain lanced through his forearm.

But the brutal assault wasn’t over yet.

The folding knife he had been desperately clutching slipped from his numbing grip and clattered uselessly to the floor. With a swift, predatory motion, Fang Jianming snatched it up, the sharp blade now turned against its former owner. Without the slightest hesitation or flicker of remorse, he plunged the knife straight down.

CLANG!

The descending blade stopped abruptly, just a hair’s breadth away—barely an agonizing inch from Gu Mengran’s terrified face.

A steel pipe, whistling through the air with deadly velocity, slammed with brutal force into the back of Fang Jianming’s head.

The unexpected blow landed with its full, concussive power. The folding knife clattered harmlessly to the ground. Fang Jianming’s body went rigid, his muscles spasming, then after a brief, unsettling pause, he collapsed to the floor like a marionette with its strings suddenly severed.

Not wanting the hulking form of that scum to fall directly on top of the injured Gu Mengran, the ever-considerate villager Xiao Dong gave the lifeless body a swift, forceful kick, shoving it unceremoniously aside. Panting heavily from the exertion and lingering adrenaline, he then reached out a trembling hand towards Gu Mengran.

“You—you okay? Are you hurt badly?”

“No major damage,” Gu Mengran ground out through clenched teeth, grasping Xiao Dong’s offered hand and using it to pull himself shakily upright.

The once elegant dining hall was now a scene of utter devastation. Crew members were sprawled across the polished floor in grotesque poses, their pained, helpless groans echoing eerily through the ravaged space. But the villagers weren’t in much better condition—some sat curled into tight balls on the ground, their faces buried in their hands, while others clutched at bleeding wounds, their skin a sickly, ashen white.

Chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos reigned.

It had started off smoothly enough—doors were opened one after another, and more and more villagers gathered together. There had been some scuffles, some clashes, but sheer numbers gave them the upper hand—just barely.

The uncles and aunties, underestimated no longer, had fought with surprising ferocity. At first, a palpable hesitation had marked their movements, an uncertainty about inflicting lethal blows with the knives they held. But the moment they switched to the more impersonal weight of steel pipes and hammers, a tangible shift occurred. Blunt weapons seemed to carry less of a psychological burden—and honestly, these middle-aged villagers fought with a raw, desperate intensity that matched even the younger ones.

However, the ship’s crew hadn’t surrendered without a vicious fight. The escalating commotion had quickly drawn in reinforcements, spearheaded by the ship’s imposing second officer, Fang Jianming.

A brutal brawl had erupted, engulfing dozens of people, spilling out of the narrow hallway and into the relatively open expanse of the dining area. The grim result? Mutual destruction on a horrifying scale.

Most of the figures lying motionless on the blood-soaked floor were crew members, so in a brutal, technical sense, the villagers had achieved victory—but it was a pyrrhic one, won by the narrowest of margins. No one was celebrating. Friends and neighbors lay injured, some grievously so. Others had sustained terrible blows to vital areas and now lay unconscious, eerily still.

Heart-wrenching cries of pain, choked sobs, and frantic, desperate calls for help filled the blood-tinged air. The sharp, metallic stench of blood hung thick and cloying in the nose.

Gu Mengran blinked, his vision swimming slightly, and slowly came back to his senses. Standing before him, his face a mask of grim concern, was Zhou Jing, his eyes scanning them both intently.

“You two okay?”

“We’re fine, nothing serious,” Gu Mengran replied, his voice still rough, “What about you—”

Zhou Jing’s face was unnaturally pale, his thin shirt soaked with dark, ominous blood across his chest. The coppery reek of blood clung to him, and the heavy machete he held—a weapon passed to him by one of the determined aunties—was still slowly dripping crimson. But Gu Mengran quickly gave him a once-over and didn’t immediately spot any gaping wounds or heavy, uncontrolled bleeding.

“I’m fine too,” Zhou Jing said tightly, his gaze sweeping across the carnage of the dining room before returning to them. “We need to move. A few of their guys slipped away during the chaos. It won’t take long before reinforcements arrive, likely in greater numbers. We have to get ahead of them—head directly to the control room on the fourth floor and look for an opportunity to seize control.”

Xiao Dong’s gaze swept across the wrecked dining room, his knuckles bone-white as he clutched his steel pipe with a desperate intensity. His lips were pressed into a thin, hard line of conflicted emotion. “Then… what about the injured? What about them?”

Reinforcements were undoubtedly on their way. If they abandoned their injured now, these immobile villagers would be nothing more than sitting ducks, utterly helpless to resist whatever brutal retaliation was coming.

But attempting to evacuate them in their current state… there simply wasn’t enough time. If they ran head-on into a fresh wave of enemy backup, another bloody, potentially decisive fight was inevitable. And right now, the villagers were either unconscious, severely wounded, or so utterly exhausted they could barely stand, their fighting strength all but completely depleted.

Think of the bigger picture! Zhou Jing’s mind was a battlefield, his logic warring fiercely with his deeply ingrained emotions. He repeated the mantra, trying desperately to convince himself of the cold, hard necessity. But to abandon the uncles and aunties who had watched him stumble through childhood, his own flesh and blood, his lifelong friends—he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought was a physical impossibility.

After one last agonizing moment of hesitation, Zhou Jing’s jaw clenched with newfound resolve. “Help me—we’ll start by—”

“Everyone listen up!”

A powerful, resonant voice cut through his words, silencing the murmuring crowd. It was Uncle Liu.

His arm bore a deep gash, dark blood still welling and seeping from the wound, but he seemed utterly impervious to the pain. Without so much as a flinch, he pushed himself up from the blood-soaked floor and roared to the assembled villagers, his voice ringing with unexpected strength, “Anyone still able to move, if your injuries aren’t too bad, get up right now and follow Xiao Zhou and Xiao Dong—go help them with whatever they need!”

“And the rest of you, grit your teeth and hang on tight! Come with me—we’re going to carry our injured back to the safety of the rooms! We are not done here. Not by a long shot. As long as we can still move, as long as we still draw breath, we can take back this damn ship!”

His impassioned words struck the weary villagers like a jolt of pure electricity.

A unified chorus of “Got it!” erupted from the crowd, loud and unwavering, like a resounding clap of thunder.

The heavy cloud of despair that had hung over the ravaged dining room seemed to lift, if only for a fleeting moment. One by one, the injured villagers, fueled by a surge of renewed determination, began to push themselves back to their feet. Staggering, limping, leaning heavily on each other for support—they wiped the blood from their faces and resolutely joined the growing ranks.

There was no need for further debate or agonizing deliberation. The villagers, in their collective resilience and unwavering loyalty, had already made the difficult decision for Zhou Jing.

And just as this potent wave of adrenaline and fierce determination surged through the battered crowd, a series of hurried, echoing footsteps reverberated from the dark and ominous hallway.

The rhythmic noise grew steadily louder, closer. An unnerving silence descended upon the bloodied dining room. Every single villager, their faces set with grim resolve, raised their makeshift weapons once again, ready to face whatever fresh hell was about to emerge from the shadows.

Within what felt like an eternity but was likely no more than two heart-pounding minutes, a massive wave of figures surged into the room from the corridor on the right, flooding the space like an unstoppable tide.

Too late. The reinforcements had arrived.

There was no time left for cautious words. No chance for desperate negotiation. The imposing leader at the forefront of the surging group raised a terrifying half-meter-long watermelon knife, its curved blade glinting menacingly in the dim light, and swung it forward in a brutal gesture, unleashing a primal roar. “Get in there! Take them all down!”

“Charge! Kill every last one of them!”

“They’ve gone too far! Don’t hold back! Kill!”

A frenzied swarm of menacing henchmen charged forward, their hands gripping an array of deadly blades.

On one side, a group battered, bloodied, and worn down to their very limits. On the other, a fresh wave, fired up with righteous anger and aggressive intent. The stark contrast between the two forces couldn’t have been more terrifyingly apparent.

They all instinctively knew, deep down, that they couldn’t possibly win this next brutal confrontation. But not a single villager faltered, not a single one backed down. They tightened their grips on their improvised weapons and resolutely stepped forward to meet the oncoming onslaught.

Xiao Dong’s lips were bitten raw and bloody, a testament to his inner turmoil and desperate fear. He couldn’t conjure a single viable escape plan in his mind. Just as the horrific scene teetered precariously on the brink of devolving into a one-sided, bloody massacre—

A deafening, earth-shattering explosion suddenly ripped through the tense air, tearing the silence into shreds.

“BOOM BOOM BOOM—KABOOM—”

The sound was shockingly close—sharp, shrill, and utterly piercing, cutting through the tense silence like a razor.

Xiao Dong whipped his head around, his eyes widening in disbelief as he saw thick, white smoke billowing from Gu Mengran’s outstretched hands. Emerging from the swirling haze, a high-powered chainsaw—a weapon of unknown origin in this chaotic situation—roared ferociously to life. Its razor-sharp teeth tore through the dissipating smoke, the guttural noise booming through the dining hall like an amplified thunderclap, thick with a primal, bone-deep intimidation.

Acrid smoke swirled and danced in the air as the piercing, guttural roar of the chainsaw echoed again and again, dominating the senses.

The villagers who had bravely raised their makeshift weapons froze in their tracks, their wide eyes drawn inexorably to the terrifying source of the overwhelming sound.

The charging thugs seemed to snap back to a stark, cold reality in an instant. No longer blindly surging forward in a wave of aggression, they stood frozen in place as if struck by an invisible spell—their faces suddenly ashen with dawning fear, slowly, hesitantly stumbling backward.

Because a roaring, gas-powered chainsaw… was nature’s very own, universally recognized panic button for all carbon-based lifeforms.

Seizing the dramatic and unexpected advantage, Gu Mengran stepped forward with a newfound confidence, wielding the most legally owned yet undeniably most terrifying weapon imaginable in this confined space. He strode past the line of determined villagers and stared the stunned enemy down, his gaze unwavering, his stance resolute.

“If you don’t want your precious body parts flying in every conceivable direction, I strongly suggest you don’t come any closer.”

The burly man who had been leading the initial charge opened his mouth, his face contorted with frustrated rage, clearly wanting to unleash a torrent of curses and threats. But one terrified glance at the roaring chainsaw held menacingly in Gu Mengran’s hands, its spinning teeth a blur of lethal potential, and his intended insults abruptly morphed into a shaky, whispered warning: “Don’t do anything… stupid.”

Finally snapping out of his own stunned shock, Zhou Jing rushed to Gu Mengran’s side, his face a mixture of disbelief and grim determination. He pointed sharply toward the frozen group of thugs and barked out a decisive order, “Back up! All of you, move now! Get through that side door! If you have any desire to live, MOVE!”

Just in case the sheer terror of the chainsaw alone wasn’t sufficient motivation, the weary but resolute villagers stepped forward in unison, their diverse array of makeshift weapons raised in a silent, unified threat.

The leader of the thugs didn’t utter a single word. His wide, fear-stricken eyes lingered on the spinning, razor-sharp blades of the chainsaw for a few agonizing seconds before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of surrender. One by one, the thugs began to file hastily into a nearby, cramped supply room, their earlier aggression completely evaporated.

The small storage room clearly wasn’t large enough to contain the entire group. Before Gu Mengran even had to utter a single command, the remaining men continued to backpedal, their fear overriding any lingering bravado—eventually spilling out onto the rain-soaked open deck outside.

Gu Mengran and Zhou Jing had no intention of letting them off the hook so easily. Chainsaw roaring menacingly in hand, they followed the retreating thugs, pressing forward relentlessly, the determined villagers right behind them.

Staring out at the slick, rain-soaked metal railings of the ship, Zhou Jing bellowed a final, unambiguous command, “Off the boat! Right now! Jump!”

“You’re pushing your damn luck!” the leader of the thugs finally managed to growl out, his expression turning a desperate mixture of fear and simmering rage.

Gu Mengran simply raised the roaring chainsaw a fraction higher, positioning the terrifying weapon directly in front of his chest, the implication chillingly clear. “And what if I am?”

No one present harbored any doubts about the raw, destructive power of the chainsaw. Its spinning blades could carve through solid stone with relative ease—human flesh wouldn’t even present a significant challenge. Sure, it wasn’t a ranged weapon and couldn’t kill from a distance, but in a close-quarters confrontation, it was undeniably deadly. Even so, if enough of them rushed him simultaneously, they could probably overwhelm Gu Mengran and wrest the weapon from his grasp.

But the crucial factor was this—they were utterly terrified.

These weren’t disciplined, battle-hardened soldiers. They were thugs, bullies, street-level enforcers. They were undoubtedly cruel and vicious when they held the upper hand, but at their core, they were cowards. Faced with a weapon of such brutal, visceral potential? Sure, they’d fight from the relative safety of the back of the pack—but there was absolutely no way they were stepping up to be the first to face that roaring, whirling death.

The second floor wasn’t a dizzying height. Below them lay only the water of the harbor, and since the cruise ship hadn’t yet cast off its moorings, jumping down simply meant an arduous swim to the nearby shore—exhausting, undoubtedly, but ultimately survivable.

Facing a roaring chainsaw at point-blank range, however? That was an entirely different, far more gruesome proposition. Limbs severed, chunks of flesh torn away—that horrific reality could become their immediate fate in the blink of an eye.

The deafening roar of the chainsaw continued to assault their eardrums, its raw power almost physically unbearable. As the leader of the thugs raised his wickedly sharp watermelon knife, clearly still wrestling with the suicidal notion of a final, desperate stand, his underlings’ frayed nerves finally snapped. Panic-stricken and utterly demoralized, they dropped their own pathetic weapons, scrambled clumsily over the wet railing, and dove headfirst into the murky water one after another. Splash, splash, splash—like a succession of ill-fated dumplings being unceremoniously dropped into a boiling pot.

“Cowards, the lot of you spineless bastards!” the leader roared furiously at his fleeing subordinates, his face a mask of impotent rage.

Then—without a shred of remaining bravado or hesitation—he tossed his own watermelon knife aside as if it had suddenly become a venomous snake and leapt into the water after them, his splash the loudest of them all.

With the immediate, terrifying threat now gone, Gu Mengran’s tense shoulders sagged with profound relief, and he finally expelled a long, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He flicked the kill switch on the chainsaw, the sudden silence almost jarring after the deafening roar, and shook his numb hands before carefully offering the heavy weapon to Uncle Liu.

Thinking Gu Mengran simply needed assistance holding the unwieldy tool, Uncle Liu quickly reached out to take it—but before he could utter a word of thanks, Gu Mengran began pointing at the pull cord and the various switches, explaining in clear detail: “You pull this hard, then press this switch here—that’ll start it up. Just be extremely careful not to—”

“Wait a minute,” Uncle Liu interrupted, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you teaching me how to use this thing? You young fellas should take it—it’s incredibly powerful.”

“Exactly. We’re going to find a secure room to hide in and barricade the door. No one’s likely to come looking for us down here for a while. But upstairs… we have absolutely no idea what kind of reception is waiting for us up there—it’s bound to be dangerous. You guys should definitely take the chainsaw, just in case you run into more trouble.”

“Come on now, take it, Xiao Gu. Be a good boy,” one of the aunties urged gently.

“We really don’t need it, Auntie. You keep it. You’ll probably need it more than we will,” Gu Mengran insisted, trying to press the handle into Uncle Liu’s reluctant hands.

One voice after another, all the assembled villagers joined in the chorus, earnestly urging him to take the formidable weapon for his own protection.

Just then, Zhou Jing and Xiao Dong returned from their brief foray onto the rain-slicked deck, carrying their hard-won spoils—a collection of sturdy steel pipes, wickedly sharp watermelon knives, and a few other scavenged items. Neither of them said a word about the chainsaw, but both kept shooting surreptitious glances at the powerful tool in Gu Mengran’s hands, their expressions clearly echoing the villagers’ sentiments.

Dozens of expectant eyes were fixed on him, all waiting for his decision.

Gu Mengran rubbed the bridge of his nose, a quiet, slightly exasperated laugh escaping his lips, and finally conceded, “Alright, alright. You guys keep this one for protection. I’ve actually got another one stashed away.”

A collective murmur of surprise rippled through the small crowd. “…You have another one?”

“Yeah. Where is it?” several voices asked simultaneously, their curiosity piqued.

“Oh right, I never even asked—where in the world did those chainsaws come from?” Xiao Dong jogged over, still clutching the wickedly sharp watermelon knife. His usually cheerful, chubby little face practically radiated unadulterated curiosity.

“Careful with that thing, Brother Dong—try not to slice me in half by accident,” Gu Mengran quipped, gently nudging the knife aside with his elbow as he turned to squeeze his way through the assembled villagers, heading determinedly back towards the ravaged dining room. “Move aside, everyone, I’m going back in there.”

Having just proven himself the undisputed MVP of this chaotic “battle,” Gu Mengran’s standing amongst the villagers had skyrocketed to legendary status. The moment he stepped forward with his confident stride, the villagers automatically parted like the Red Sea, graciously and efficiently clearing a path for him back to the dining room in record time.

Reaching the corner where scattered wood shavings still littered the floor and tattered tablecloths clung precariously to overturned tables, Gu Mengran crouched down and ducked swiftly under one of the larger tables. Within a mere ten seconds, he emerged, his movements fluid and purposeful—this time triumphantly holding a second, identical chainsaw.

He casually set the dangerous tool down on the nearest relatively clear section of a table, right in plain view for everyone to see. Patting the dusty, cloth-covered surface beside it, Gu Mengran said nonchalantly to the other villagers streaming back into the dining room behind him, “There you go. It was this table right here. I took a nasty tumble earlier and just happened to spot two chainsaws conveniently stashed underneath it.”

“Huh, that’s really weird. Who in their right mind would just leave something like that lying around?” one of the aunties mused aloud, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

“Seriously, how could anyone just carelessly dump such a useful and… well, intimidating thing?” another villager added, shaking his head in bewildered disbelief.

Gu Mengran simply shrugged, a picture of innocent nonchalance. “Beats me. Maybe they just misplaced them?”

Xiao Dong, still slightly winded from his recent sprint across the deck, rushed over to the designated table, eagerly lifted the stained tablecloth, and squatted down to thoroughly examine the underside, muttering to himself non-stop, “Really? Right from under the table? How on earth did I not see them there before?”

“Different angles, Brother Dong. You were standing up, all focused on the immediate threat—you wouldn’t have naturally noticed something tucked away underneath,” Gu Mengran replied smoothly, not batting an eyelid at the minor discrepancy in his story.

Zhou Jing, arriving last and taking in the scene with a more cautious and analytical gaze, also briefly crouched down to cast a quick glance under the table. But he didn’t linger there. His sharp, intelligent gaze shifted almost immediately to Gu Mengran, pausing for a fleeting moment. A subtle flash of suspicion, barely perceptible to anyone else in the chaotic scene, flickered briefly in his usually impassive eyes.

But in the end, the precise details of the chainsaws’ miraculous discovery didn’t truly matter. The undeniable results—their sudden, dramatic appearance and the immediate effect they’d had on the enemy—spoke volumes.

Zhou Jing let go of the edge of the dusty tablecloth and stood up straight, waving a commanding hand at the assembled group. “Alright, listen up everyone. If you need to rest and recover, then go find a relatively safe room and rest. If you’re injured, find some makeshift bandages and patch yourselves up as best you can. Anyone who’s still got some fight left in them—follow me. We’re going upstairs to the control room!”

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