Axolotl Translations

The thick, heavy silk curtains blocked the bright sunlight, casting the room in a dim, shadowed hush.

Ruan Zhao stirred in bed, still clinging to the edges of sleep. He hugged the blanket closer as his eyes slowly blinked open.

A knock echoed through the quiet room. “Come in,” he murmured absently.

Lu Xingyao stood in the doorway, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at finding Ruan Zhao still in bed at this hour. “Stayed up late last night?” he asked casually, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought.

Ruan Zhao froze.

Memories of the previous night flashed through his mind, and he instinctively avoided Lu Xingyao’s gaze. “…Mm,” he mumbled.

A brief silence hung in the air before he cautiously inquired, “What about you? Did you sleep well?”

Lu Xingyao chuckled softly. “I actually slept great. Didn’t wake up until daylight. It’s just…”

Ruan Zhao noticed the slight hesitation in his voice. Beneath the blanket, his fingers tightened their grip on the bedsheet. “…Just what?”

“It’s just—I think I had a dream.” Lu Xingyao’s voice remained relaxed, slow, as if the subject held no real importance. “I dreamt there was a little kitten that climbed into my bed… kissing me, hugging me, licking me, rubbing all over me.”

Ruan Zhao remained silent.

A subtle curve touched the corners of Lu Xingyao’s lips. “Makes me kinda want a cat now. I wonder what kind of breed is the most clingy, the cutest…” He lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting Ruan Zhao’s, holding a brief, unreadable glint.

In the dim light, it was difficult to decipher the expression on Lu Xingyao’s face. Only the tiny diamond stud in his left ear caught the faint light, a soft sparkle in the shadows. His voice dropped, taking on a questioning tone. “What do you think?”

A strange pressure settled upon Ruan Zhao, causing him to subconsciously lean back a fraction. “I… I’ve never had a cat, so I wouldn’t know.”

A hint of disappointment flickered across Lu Xingyao’s face. Even the light in his eyes seemed to dim slightly. “Hmm. Alright,” he said, not pressing the matter further.

A wave of relief washed over Ruan Zhao as the tension in his shoulders eased. The room remained steeped in shadow.

The room was steeped in such deep shadow that it was difficult to distinguish any features. Lu Xingyao didn’t bother to draw the curtains. Instead, he flicked on the small lamp beside the bed.

Bathed in the soft, warm orange glow, their shadows stretched long against the wall behind them. The angle at which they fell made their silhouettes appear almost intertwined, close and intimate.

Perhaps noticing Ruan Zhao’s pallor, Lu Xingyao leaned down and gently touched his forehead. The slight coolness he felt beneath his fingertips caused his expression to flicker momentarily, but he quickly masked it, asking softly, “Hungry? What do you feel like eating?”

Human food offered no sustenance to Ruan Zhao. For him, eating had become a burden, a form of torment. Whatever he managed to swallow would inevitably return, unchanged.

Ruan Zhao rubbed his empty stomach and, betraying the truth, quietly murmured, “I’m not hungry.”

“I brought you something sweet—a milk tea. It’s still warm, have a little,” Lu Xingyao said in that same gentle, easygoing tone.

Milk tea? Ruan Zhao’s brows lifted slightly.

In the past, he could easily drink two large cups without a second thought. But now, his sense of taste had shifted. No matter how appealing something was supposed to be, it held no allure for him anymore.

Except for Lu Xingyao’s blood. Everything else was unbearable.

He hadn’t eaten properly in front of Lu Xingyao for days, and continued refusal might arouse suspicion. So, forcing himself, he nodded and accepted the drink.

He slipped into the bathroom, deliberately taking his time brushing his teeth and washing his face, before reluctantly returning to take the cup from Lu Xingyao’s hand. The milk tea felt fresh, still pleasantly warm to the touch. Ruan Zhao inserted the straw.

Now fully awake, his senses seemed to sharpen. He inhaled, immediately detecting the faint, lingering scent of blood in the room.

The scent emanated from Lu Xingyao. But instead of stirring Ruan Zhao’s hunger, it caused his stomach to churn with nausea. A familiar, unpleasant queasiness began to rise within him.

He frowned slightly, a sense of bewilderment washing over him. “Why do you smell like blood?”

“I had a mission this morning,” Lu Xingyao replied casually. “Took out two vampires in the suburbs. I guess I got some of their blood on me.”

Ruan Zhao remained silent, a knot of unease tightening in his chest.

“I’ve already showered twice. You can still smell it?”

Ruan Zhao froze, unsure what expression to wear. He had a strong intuition that this was Lu Xingyao’s subtle way of issuing a warning, perhaps even a threat. The milk tea in his hand now felt like part of a carefully orchestrated test.

“Don’t worry,” Lu Xingyao added lightly. “They were just low-level monsters. Dull claws, duller fangs, moved like they were underwater. I finished them off pretty quickly.”

“…Oh,” Ruan Zhao muttered. Right. You’re amazing.

“…Why haven’t you touched the milk tea yet?”

Prompted by Lu Xingyao’s question, Ruan Zhao brought the straw to his lips and slowly sipped. The delicate sweetness glided over his tongue, down his throat, and into his aching, empty stomach.

Huh?

???

!!!

Why could he suddenly taste the sweetness? Was he hallucinating? Startled, Ruan Zhao instinctively took another large sip—and confirmed it. This wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

The milk tea was warm, subtly sweet, possessing the perfect balance of flavors—neither too cloying nor too bland. It tasted exactly as he remembered. His eyes brightened with each swallow. Before he knew it, he had already finished half the cup.

“Does it taste good?” Lu Xingyao asked, gently resting his palm on Ruan Zhao’s head and giving his hair a light rub.

Ruan Zhao sipped contentedly, nodding with quick, bird-like movements. “So good! Really good!”

“Then drink as much as you want,” Lu Xingyao said with a soft smile, holding up two fingers and lightly measuring the slender width of Ruan Zhao’s wrist. He sighed softly. “You’re too thin.”

God knew when he would finally start to gain weight again.

Ruan Zhao drained the cup to the very last drop—and let out a small, satisfied burp. For the first time since arriving in this world, he actually felt full.

Thrilled by the discovery of a food that could finally satisfy him, Ruan Zhao couldn’t resist boasting to the system. Now he wouldn’t have to endure hunger anymore, and even better—no more sneaking into Lu Xingyao’s bed in the dead of night just to drink his blood. He also wouldn’t have to worry about harming a fragile human by taking too much.

[I can drink milk tea now! As much as I want! All I want!]

The system hesitated. It didn’t want to dampen his spirits, but it also didn’t want him to indulge in wishful thinking. In the end, it offered a subtle nudge, barely perceptible:

[Zhaozhao, drink slowly. Doesn’t this milk tea… taste kind of familiar to you?]

[Of course it does,] Ruan Zhao replied matter-of-factly. It was just classic bubble milk tea. He’d had it countless times before. Why wouldn’t it taste familiar?

[……Aside from the sweetness,] the system pressed gently, [did you… taste anything else?]

Ruan Zhao paused, lost in thought.

[Maybe just a hint of…]

…metallic? But he quickly dismissed the thought. [It’s probably just Lu Xingyao’s scent. He said he killed two vampires this morning—probably got some blood on him.]

The system fell silent for a moment, then said slowly: [But the milk tea was sealed. No matter how much blood he had on him… there’s no way it got into the drink.]

Ruan Zhao hesitated.

[Wait… Are you saying Lu Xingyao… might’ve put his own blood in the milk tea?]

The system fell silent.

Ruan Zhao’s voice trailed off, softening with each word. Something like that… how could it be possible? Unbidden, a past conversation with the system resurfaced in his mind: That he suffered from a severe form of anorexia—that neither human food nor human blood could satisfy him anymore. They all made him sick. All except Lu Xingyao. Only Lu Xingyao.

Ruan Zhao’s expression stilled. He turned his head, quietly observing the man beside him.

Lu Xingyao met his gaze calmly, his face an inscrutable mask. His dark, bottomless eyes were like silent whirlpools, powerful in their stillness, drawing everything inward. Looking into them felt like falling into an endless shadow. In that moment, Ruan Zhao thought he glimpsed something familiar within those depths. Or perhaps… nothing at all.

He froze. Before he consciously registered the impulse, his hand had already reached out and grasped Lu Xingyao’s. The skin on his wrist was smooth, pale, unbroken—without any visible signs of injury.

Except… for one finger on his right hand. At the very tip, barely discernible, was a thin scab. Faint, shallow—the outline of what appeared to be a bite mark. It wasn’t obvious, noticeable only upon close inspection.

“What is it?” Lu Xingyao asked casually.

Before he could register the mark, Ruan Zhao swiftly turned Lu Xingyao’s hand back over, attempting to appear nonchalant. “Nothing,” he said, feigning indifference. “You mentioned being on a mission this morning. I just wanted to check if you were hurt.”

“That kind of monster couldn’t touch me.” Lu Xingyao turned his hand over and intertwined his fingers with Ruan Zhao’s, his cool fingertips enveloping Ruan Zhao’s warm palm. “Your hands are freezing again. Are you cold?”

Human body heat was often a little overwhelming for Ruan Zhao. It triggered a subtle itching sensation across his skin, not unpleasant, but definitely noticeable. And the warmth seemed to be spreading.

Ruan Zhao could feel his own cheeks flushing, as if they were about to emit steam. “It’s your hand that’s too hot,” he said, retracting his fingers with what he hoped was a semblance of nonchalance. His voice remained smooth and steady, a surprisingly confident lie. “This is my normal body temperature.”

Lu Xingyao raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his gaze. He didn’t argue, but he didn’t appear entirely convinced either. Still, he didn’t pursue the matter.

His visit was brief. They had barely been conversing for half an hour when his phone began to ring, its tone sharp and insistent. Lu Xingyao didn’t even glance at the screen, simply hitting decline. Barely two seconds elapsed before it rang again, the same tone, the same rhythm, the same urgency. Declined once more.

But whoever was calling seemed determined. The moment the line went dead, they called again. And again. Even the ringtone sounded aggressive, as if it carried the caller’s mounting frustration in its buzzing.

After several rounds of this persistent interruption, Lu Xingyao finally lost patience and answered. The background noise was chaotic—static crackling like broken electricity, the howl of gusting wind, and something else… low and monstrous, almost a growl. Then a shout pierced through the din, a man’s voice, high-pitched and panicked, cutting through the noise like a blade. “Brother Lu! Please, I’m begging you! Save me!”

Lu Xingyao’s expression hardened, his voice dropping several degrees in temperature. “Calm down. Gather your thoughts before you speak.”

“Brother Lu, seriously — I need backup!” the man yelled. “Zhengyang Road, Huaiyin Tower—there’s a vampire banquet happening, and the one leading it is a second-generation! I can’t handle this alone!”

Lu Xingyao’s tone was sharp. “If you couldn’t handle it, why did you take the job?”

“Brother Lu, c’mon, you’re my last hope—please! If you don’t get there soon, you’ll be picking up my corpse!”

“Shit… that old bastard went berserk. Why the hell is he so fast?!”

The man’s voice had shed its pitiful panic, now sharp and vicious, barking orders at those around him. “Are you two out of your damn minds? What the hell are you standing around for? You want money or your lives?! Move! Fuck—”

The call abruptly ended.

……

Lu Xingyao stared at his now-silent phone for two long seconds, his face devoid of expression. But an invisible storm of irritation was already brewing within him, a simmering heat radiating from the top of his head. His entire demeanor darkened.

He had barely spent any time talking to Ruan Zhao—not even a proper conversation—and now he had to leave again. All because some incompetent coworker had taken on a mission beyond his capabilities and was now desperately pleading for backup. This job was seriously testing his patience. One more day of this and he might actually consider quitting.

“Zhaozhao,” he called out gently.

Ruan Zhao looked up from his half-empty cup. “Hm? You’re heading out?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” His voice lowered, the tone careful, as if instructing a child too young to be left alone. “If you’re by yourself, make sure you lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone you don’t know. Don’t go outside either. There are a lot of bad people out there. It’s dangerous. If you get scared… you can message me. Or call.”

……

Ruan Zhao hugged the warm milk tea in both hands, nodding earnestly. Now that his hunger was satisfied, he felt calmer, softer, displaying an obedience that made him seem even younger. It didn’t matter the specifics of Lu Xingyao’s instructions. He listened intently to every word, absorbing them like a well-behaved child eager for praise, even if… Lu Xingyao was essentially treating him like a kid.

Lu Xingyao walked over and tugged open a small section of the curtain. A sliver of sunlight pierced through the gap, but it didn’t reach the floor. His body stood directly in its path, casting a long shadow that swallowed the light whole.

A cool breeze stirred the hair at his temple. Lu Xingyao had opened a window. With a clean, agile twist of his body, he braced one hand on the windowsill and bent his knees slightly. He turned his head to glance back at Ruan Zhao—then, without hesitation, he vaulted out.

Ruan Zhao’s mind reeled. What the hell—?! This was the twenty-second floor. Had he lost his mind?! Ruan Zhao felt his heart seize in his chest. He lunged toward the window in a panic. Harsh sunlight spilled across his skin. It burned—sharp and searing against his delicate flesh—but he didn’t care.

He gripped the sill tightly, eyes wide, frantically looking down. His heart, normally slow and quiet like a predator’s, now pounded furiously, like a drum trying to escape his ribs.

But—there was no body crushed on the pavement. No gruesome scene. No blood. No twisted corpse. Just sunlight, golden and bright, washing over clean cement streets. Leaves rustled gently in the breeze, casting dancing shadows across the ground. In the distance, a couple of dogs barked—lazy and casual. A perfectly peaceful, idyllic scene.

Ruan Zhao slowly regained control of his breathing. Then, as if releasing some unnameable emotion, he reached up and yanked the curtain shut with force.

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