Axolotl Translations

In this enclosed space, there was no day or night—no way to track time.

Gu Mengran was injured and miserable, drifting in and out of a hazy half-sleep.

With nothing better to do, he crouched on the edge of the garden plot, staring blankly at the still-unconscious Liang Zhao. At some point, his dazed gaze faded into weariness. He lay down beside him, curled up close, and dozed off too. When he woke, he washed his face at the stream, then picked some fresh cucumbers from the field to stave off hunger.

Just a few days ago, they were feasting like kings. Now, he was gnawing on raw vegetables—it was a steep and sudden fall. He could bear it himself, but Liang Zhao was still unconscious, unable to eat. With no tools at all, Gu Mengran had to find a way—he ended up manually juicing vegetables for him.

He wrapped clean lettuce leaves around pieces of cucumber, crouched beside Liang Zhao, and pressed the bundle against his lips. Then, using both hands, he squeezed hard. Green cucumber juice, mixed with lettuce, slowly trickled into Liang Zhao’s mouth.

It was honest-to-goodness hand-squeezed juice. Unfortunately, Gu Mengran’s hands weren’t exactly a juicer—each squeeze only produced a few drops.

After using up seven or eight cucumbers, he managed to get just about a cup’s worth into Liang Zhao. He gently wiped the corner of his mouth, scooped some stream water to clean his face, then gathered some cabbages from the field. The leftover pulp from the juicing went to feed the little animals roaming around the space.

And so, the days passed.

Eat, sleep.

Sleep, eat.

Not enough to be full, but enough to survive.

The first two days were fine—just a little boring, the food a little rough, but manageable.

But by the third day—he thought it was the third?—his burned arms had started to scab over, yet Liang Zhao still hadn’t woken. Gu Mengran was growing uneasy, too anxious to sit still.

There were no external injuries, no internal ones either. His pulse and breathing were steady as ever… but he just wouldn’t wake up.

Sitting on the edge of the field, Gu Mengran gently stroked Liang Zhao’s hair, eyes full of worry. “Come on, stop playing Sleeping Beauty. I’m seriously losing it here. You didn’t sleep this long last time, so what’s going on? Don’t tell me you hit your head…”

The space was completely sealed. Liang Zhao lay in deep unconsciousness. And being alone too long like this—it was getting to him. No one to talk to, no one to plan with. Just the occasional rustle from the small animals they’d let loose in the space.

Gu Mengran was cracking under the silence. His hand drifted down, gently caressing Liang Zhao’s cheek. He murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “Still don’t know what’s going on outside. Grandpa and the others evacuated early… they should be okay. But we fell in and just disappeared, days without a word. Grandpa and Zheng Yijie must be worried sick by now.”

“It’s been days… Even though Grandpa knows about my space, he’s probably worried sick.” Gu Mengran sighed and rubbed at his throbbing temple, gaze falling onto Liang Zhao’s pale face. “Staying here like this isn’t a solution. Maybe… I should go out and take a look?”

No sooner had he said it than he began running through the possibilities in his mind.

If the fire was out, great—problem solved. But if it was still burning, that entire section of water might be boiling by now. Still, the last place he remembered was a few meters beneath the surface, not directly on it. If he could pop out just long enough to test the temperature and return right away, the worst-case scenario would be a scald—not full-on burns.

Of course, it was a gamble. Thousands of tons of fuel had leaked, and fire like that wouldn’t burn out so fast, even diluted by water. The safest choice was to wait a few more days. But Gu Mengran was getting desperate. No medicine in the space, no way to check any references or information—and if Liang Zhao stayed unconscious like this much longer…

Every passing minute was torture.

Screw it. He’d take the risk.

Having made up his mind, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Liang Zhao’s cheek. “Be good and wait for me.”

But just as he began to straighten up, something clamped around his wrist.

The grip was tight—painfully so—and landed right on one of his burns. A sharp sting shot through him, but Gu Mengran barely registered it. His breath caught, his eyes lighting up as he jerked his head down.

Liang Zhao—finally—was awake. His dark eyes were open, hazy but focused, locking directly onto Gu Mengran’s.

After so many days asleep, Liang Zhao looked absolutely drained—pale, worn-out, like someone recovering from a serious illness.

But for someone who looked so weak and out of it, his grip was vice-like. His hand didn’t let go for a second. In fact, it tightened even more.

Gu Mengran winced and sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“—Tss.”

That faint hiss of pain must’ve snapped Liang Zhao back to himself. His fingers instantly slackened, and the next moment, his eyes fell on Gu Mengran’s swollen, red arm. His expression changed on a dime, and with a burst of energy, he shoved himself upright from the ground.

“Slow down! You’ve been out for days, and you haven’t eaten properly. Don’t push yourself too hard.” Gu Mengran stepped forward to support him, but instead, Liang Zhao caught his hand.

Avoiding the injured area with care, Liang Zhao cradled his palm gently, studying the angry burns on his arm up close. His voice was hoarse, tinged with unmistakable heartache. “What happened? Were you burned? I thought I returned the flamethrower in time.”

“Yeah, well… They didn’t catch it.”

Now that Liang Zhao was awake, Gu Mengran’s mood shifted from gloom to sunshine. He reached out with his other hand and ruffled Liang Zhao’s hair with a grin. “It’s fine. The wounds are scabbing already. Just need some time to heal. Let’s not worry about that now. What about you? How do you feel? Is anything wrong? Why were you out for so lon—”

“Why did you jump in after me?” Liang Zhao cut him off, eyes darkening as his tone turned suddenly cold. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

Gu Mengran blinked in surprise—then suddenly burst into laughter. “Oh? So you know it was dangerous? If you can jump, why can’t I?”

“Gu Mengran, I—”

“You what?”

The frustration Gu Mengran had kept bottled up finally exploded. His eyes reddened, and he glared at Liang Zhao, voice rising. “Yeah, you’re the hero. You wanted to avenge me, save everyone. But what about me? What if something happened to you? What was I supposed to do then?!”

Liang Zhao clearly didn’t expect such a strong reaction. He looked flustered and quickly tried to explain. “I was just—just worried. I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh, so you can worry about me, but I’m not allowed to worry about you?” Gu Mengran let out a sharp breath. “You were out cold for two, maybe three days. I was terrified. And now the second you wake up, you snap at me?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Liang Zhao muttered, pulling Gu Mengran into his arms and gently patting his back. His voice softened as much as possible. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice just now.”

It’s easy to ignite a fire—but so hard to put it out.

The pent-up fear and anxiety choked Gu Mengran, and he trembled slightly in Liang Zhao’s arms, voice tight with suppressed tears. “You’re really unfair. You promised me—we promised—we’d face things together. But every time there’s danger, you just… leave me behind.”

“Liang Zhao… I remember what I said before. I would never live without you. You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Warm tears dripped onto his shoulder. Liang Zhao’s arms tightened instantly, holding Gu Mengran in a crushing embrace. “No—I believe you. I do. Just one last time… forgive me. I swear, I’ll never leave you again.”

From the angle Gu Mengran couldn’t see, Liang Zhao’s brows were furrowed deep with guilt. In his dark eyes swirled regret, remorse—and a sorrow so deep it refused to fade.

Maybe a hug really is the best way to dissolve tension. The two of them held each other close, sharing warmth, letting all the resentment and heartache melt away in silence.

Gu Mengran gradually calmed down, nuzzling his cheek gently against Liang Zhao’s neck. He murmured, “You still haven’t answered me. Are you sure you’re okay? After sleeping for so long… aren’t you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Not thirsty. Not hungry. Nothing feels off,” Liang Zhao replied, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “It felt like I was just… sleeping. A deep, long sleep.”

Gu Mengran sighed. “What is even happening to you? Last time you had a fever, you passed out. This time, it’s been days… Don’t tell me—”

“Wait.” A thought suddenly hit him. He pulled back slightly, resting his hands on Liang Zhao’s shoulders and stared him in the eyes. “That dream you had last time—remember it? That one. Did you dream again this time?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just held his breath and watched, not even blinking, trying to catch the smallest shift in Liang Zhao’s expression.

But to his surprise, Liang Zhao didn’t dodge the question. Instead, he met Gu Mengran’s gaze directly, lips curving with a faint, unreadable smile. A low, soft laugh rumbled from his throat.

“Yeah,” he said. “I dreamed. Though maybe it wasn’t a dream. I remembered, Mengran. I remembered… us.”

“Our past life.”

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