Axolotl Translations

Under the intense rush of sensation, Ruan Zhao’s brain began to spiral out of control, flooding his body with hormones. His spine trembled faintly, and his vision seemed to burst with dazzling fireworks, blooming brilliantly in every direction.

The unfamiliar surge left him dazed, his once-tense body briefly losing its strength. His hand, propped against Lu Xingyao’s side, gave a little shake—and he practically collapsed against the man’s chest.

The muscle beneath him was so firm and solid that his forehead throbbed from the impact, making him let out a soft, involuntary hiss of pain. The sudden jolt snapped Ruan Zhao back to his senses.

In an instant, his sharp, vertical pupils returned to their rounded, human shape. Nervously, he lowered his gaze, staring unblinkingly at the man beneath him.

That was a hard hit… Could it have woken Lu Xingyao up?! What now, what now, what now… If he really had woken up—how was he going to explain this? That he couldn’t sleep, wandered around, and somehow sleepwalked onto someone else’s bed…? Except no one ever sleepwalks into someone else’s bed like this!

Panic and anxiety rushed over Ruan Zhao in waves, his breathing growing a little quicker. Lu Xingyao wasn’t just a vampire hunter—he was an S-ranked ability user. Who knew how many vampires’ blood stained his hands. And here Ruan Zhao was—a low-level vampire, gasping every three steps, with a physique that couldn’t even beat an average human. Lu Xingyao could crush him with just a flick of his finger.

Bloodkin and humans had always stood on opposite sides—natural enemies, like water and fire, fundamentally unable to mix. Even though they looked alike, spoke the same language, and bled the same crimson blood… it didn’t change the fact that they loathed one another.

Vampires despised humans for not knowing their place—prey daring to dream of freedom and equality, running around like indestructible little insects, bouncing right under their noses. Worse, those same humans had even forced them into signing so-called… peace treaties.

And humans, in turn, hated the vampires who treated them as food—squeezing them out of every space they tried to exist in, buying, selling, forcing, torturing, slaughtering… It happened every single day. Under the thick shroud of night, in the deepest, lightless corners, lives were drained dry—one after another, their eyes closing forever in silence.

Even those lucky enough to survive would be turned into low-ranking vampires—creatures destined to skulk in the shadows for the rest of their lives, unliving monsters unworthy of the light.

High-blooded vampires, meanwhile, considered themselves noble beings. They obsessed over the quality and flavor of their meals, priding themselves on the principle of mutual consent. They handpicked their prey with care, dividing them by age, physique, appearance, and skin tone into strict categories. Then, with wealth and status as bait, they seduced their chosen targets, luring them into willingly trading away their bodies and souls, turning themselves into living blood banks.

Even with treaties in place and official agencies to maintain the balance, true peace between these two races was impossible. There was an unbridgeable gulf between them—one of instinctual hostility and ancient enmity. It wasn’t something that could be reasoned away. It was written into their very DNA, enforced by the laws of nature itself.

And of all humans, it was the bloodhunters—those constantly forced to deal with vampires, who had seen the rotting filth lurking beneath their beautiful façades—whose hatred ran deepest. Lu Xingyao was one of them. A vampire hunter who despised evil with a vengeance, one who had claimed the lives of countless bloodkin.

……

In the space of a few short breaths, a torrent of images and facts about the long, tangled history between vampires and humans rushed through Ruan Zhao’s mind.

They were fragments—raw data, hastily crammed into his head by the system to help him blend into this world. Pure numbers and facts, designed for instant recall, keeping him from making careless, dangerous mistakes. And now, those facts seemed to deepen the wall, widening the rift between him and Lu Xingyao, burning it into his memory.

Countless vampires had died by Lu Xingyao’s hands over the years. And Ruan Zhao… he didn’t have the confidence to believe that, after so short an acquaintance, he could become that one impossible exception.

Regret began to bloom in his chest. He regretted listening to the system’s coaxing. Regretted letting himself get swept up in impulse, climbing into Lu Xingyao’s bed, and sinking his teeth into the man’s finger. His rational mind screamed at him that the smart thing to do was to leave now, while the damage was still reparable—to cut this danger off before it could bloom.

But his mouth… seemed to have a will of its own.

Ruan Zhao still refused to let go of Lu Xingyao’s finger. His sharp little canine teeth instinctively ground against the small wound, pressing and nibbling with slow, deliberate pressure, as if trying to squeeze out more of that sweet, comforting blood to fill his aching, empty stomach.

He looked like a kitten sneaking treats behind its owner’s back—the kind with soft, fluffy fur, delicate pink paw pads, and twitchy, pointed ears. A pampered, sheltered little thing, used to a life without hardship.

His pale eyes were wide and round, shimmering with unease and watchfulness.

At the slightest movement or sound, he’d tense up, his nerves stretched taut, and all his soft fur would puff up like a dandelion in the wind, making his tiny frame appear bigger, tougher, like a little puffed-up warrior. But the moment you actually caught him, you’d find no fierce predator—only a soft, trembling ball of fluff that could be easily cradled in one hand, helpless and fragile.

Ruan Zhao stared at Lu Xingyao for a long, silent moment.

The man remained asleep, eyes closed, showing no sign of waking. Even after all the noise—bumping his head against the man’s chest, gnawing at his hand—Lu Xingyao was still deeply lost in his dreams, undisturbed.

It was almost like some sleeping beauty, cursed by a witch. As if no matter what happened, he wouldn’t wake until the spell was lifted.

Ruan Zhao couldn’t help but feel a little suspicious. Slowly, cautiously, he leaned closer—so close he could practically count the man’s eyelashes. But his doubts were quickly chased away. After all, it made no sense for Lu Xingyao to fake sleep like this.

No one in their right mind would knowingly let a vampire feed off them—especially not someone like Lu Xingyao, a vampire hunter who hated their kind with his whole being. If he’d noticed, he would’ve thrown Ruan Zhao off without hesitation. There was no way he’d just lie there and let this happen.

Reassured, Ruan Zhao forced down the fear and anxiety bubbling inside him, shifting into a more comfortable position.

“He’s actually sleeping this soundly… no sense of awareness at all,” Ruan Zhao mumbled under his breath, voice muffled around the finger in his mouth, tinged with a kind of helpless frustration. “Doesn’t even know if he’s about to die.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he had principles—that he was a vampire who refused to cross certain lines—he would’ve already sunk his teeth into Lu Xingyao’s neck and drained him dry by now. And if he wanted to go further… he could even convert him.

Just imagine it. The famous vampire hunter. An S-rank esper in the human world, known for slaughtering countless high-ranking bloodkin. Feared and respected on both sides—human and vampire alike—Lu Xingyao, brought low by his hand, turned into one of his kind.

The thought alone sent a wild thrill through Ruan Zhao, his emotions surging uncontrollably. It was probably the vampire instinct kicking in. After feeding, even his mind started to be pulled toward the darker side of things.

But… how exactly does one turn a human into a vampire?

Right on cue, the system detected his stray thought and conveniently sent over the relevant information, apparently forgetting that Lu Xingyao was this world’s protagonist—the one they were meant to be supporting, not… converting.

If Ruan Zhao really did turn him, it would cause utter chaos for the story’s timeline.

……

He skimmed through the information, then tossed the idea aside with a sigh. It was just… way too troublesome.

Not only would he have to drain the human completely, but then he’d need to feed half his own blood back to him. And the slightest mistake in the process could ruin everything, injuring both of them.

Meanwhile, the shallow wound on Lu Xingyao’s fingertip was already starting to clot, the blood slowing to a stop.

Ruan Zhao’s sharp little teeth pressed down a bit harder against the skin, trying to coax out a few more slender drops—but no matter how cleanly he licked, it left him unsatisfied.

This tiny bit of blood was nothing more than an appetizer. It eased the fire raging in his belly, calmed the ache gnawing at his insides—but it wasn’t enough. His weakened body felt a little stronger now, his mind a little clearer.

But he wanted more. He was still hungry.

Ruan Zhao lowered his gaze, his lashes trembling slightly as his eyes unwillingly drifted downward—settling on Lu Xingyao’s neck. With every steady breath, the pale skin rose and fell gently, and beneath its surface, faint blue veins pulsed in quiet rhythm.

Ruan Zhao’s breathing quickened, a hint of scarlet flickering in his pupils. It felt as though some invisible force was pulling him in, and without thinking, he leaned down—his soft lips brushing against the warmth of the man’s skin.

Right beneath his mouth, a throbbing vein beat steadily against his lips. Just a little more pressure… and sweet, rich blood would spill forth. As much as he wanted. He could drink his fill. Drink until there was nothing left.

Instinct clashed violently with reason. Ruan Zhao frowned unconsciously, his expression tight, as though he were licking the icing off a tiny, delicate cake—his tongue lightly flicking over Lu Xingyao’s faintly pulsing vein.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

Mn… he really, really wanted to bite.

But he couldn’t. The mark on his neck would be far too obvious. If Lu Xingyao looked in the mirror, he’d spot it instantly.

A full meal and an endless feast—Ruan Zhao knew the difference. He forced himself to suppress the insistent, growing hunger rising from deep within, reluctantly pushing himself up and away from Lu Xingyao’s throat.

There was still a tiny, sharp bite mark on Lu Xingyao’s fingertip. Vampire saliva didn’t just dull pain—it also sped up healing. The mark had already crusted over into a faint scab, giving off the lightest metallic scent of blood.

So tempting. Ruan Zhao swallowed quietly, forcing his gaze away.

He gently tucked Lu Xingyao’s arm back under the covers, carefully straightening the blanket around him. He smoothed out the wrinkles in the sheets and erased every trace he’d left behind. Only when everything looked undisturbed did he silently slip out of bed and tiptoe from the room.

……

Vampires were creatures of the night. And Ruan Zhao was no exception. He tossed and turned in bed, wide awake, until the pale light of dawn crept up over the horizon and soft clouds climbed into the sky. Only then, as the world lightened, did he finally drift into sleep. He slept straight through until two in the afternoon.

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