Axolotl Translations

Sleeping under the sky and on the ground had its price—Gu Mengran woke up feeling sore all over.

His body was awake, but his soul still lagged behind. Eyes barely open, he lay there stiff as a board, like a corpse left out in the dirt. It took him five full minutes before he could muster the strength to push himself upright.

The muddy ground was uneven and full of bumps—not to mention rock hard.

After so many nights of this, Gu Mengran felt like his bones were coming apart. Even moving felt mechanical now.

He rubbed his aching neck, stretched with a groan, and glanced up—only to see a mountain of radishes and cabbages stacked in the garden, and Liang Zhao moving about, busy as ever.

Breakfast was already prepared and placed neatly by his side.

Leaves of napa cabbage were laid flat like a makeshift placemat. On top sat fresh cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, and crisp lettuce, all still glistening with droplets of water—clearly washed clean. Beside them were two spotless eggs, though unfortunately, they were still raw.

Being trapped in this space wasn’t much different from being stranded on a deserted island—it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. But ever since Liang Zhao had woken up, Gu Mengran’s nerves had finally relaxed. The endless days no longer felt unbearable.

After splashing his face with water at the stream and returning, he found that the animals roaming in the space had already eaten, and Liang Zhao—dusty from work—had plopped down on the edge of the field, chewing contentedly on a long, glossy purple eggplant.

Gu Mengran strolled over. His eyes lingered on the eggplant for just a second too long, and Liang Zhao immediately held out the half-eaten veggie with a grin. “Wanna try? It’s actually pretty good.”

“No thanks.” Gu Mengran shook his head quickly, grabbing a handful of cherry tomatoes off the cabbage leaf instead. He popped one into his mouth. “I can only eat cucumbers, tomatoes, and radishes raw. Stuff like eggplant or cabbage? Eating those raw is just torture.”

“What about lettuce?” Liang Zhao chuckled, pulling the eggplant back for another bite.

Gu Mengran shot the lettuce a glance, stroked his chin in mock contemplation, and said, “If you wrapped a slice of pork belly in it… hmm, yeah, I’d be all in.”

Liang Zhao burst out laughing. “Sounds like what you really want is meat.”

“Obviously! It’s been days! I don’t care how fresh these tomatoes and cucumbers are, I’ve eaten so many I can’t even taste them anymore.” Even as he complained, Gu Mengran kept popping cherry tomatoes into his mouth one after another.

In no time, the whole pile was gone. Liang Zhao, seeing this, handed him a cucumber. “Just one more veggie meal. Fill up for now. After this, I’m taking you out for meat.”

“We’re going out later?” Gu Mengran blinked in surprise, but then his dull eyes lit up like stars. His whole body practically buzzed with excitement as he grabbed Liang Zhao’s hand and shook it. “Wait, seriously? Are you for real? You’ve finally come around?”

His heart had been aching with worry for his grandpa. He’d wanted to go out and check on things for days. But after Liang Zhao’s calm, logical explanations and endless patience, Gu Mengran had finally cooled down and agreed to wait a while longer.

He hadn’t expected that “wait a little” would turn into so many days. At this point, he was mentally prepared to stay in the space for another ten days or two weeks. So now, hearing Liang Zhao suddenly change his tune—it was hard not to get excited.

Liang Zhao took his hand in return, gave it a light tug, and pulled him closer. His voice was warm, “You’re that eager, huh? It’s been about ten days in here. Whatever fire was burning out there should’ve died down by now.”

Gu Mengran nodded vigorously. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go—”

“Hold up. Eat first.” Liang Zhao pried his hand off and stuffed the cucumber into it.

Gu Mengran frowned. “If we’re about to leave, why am I still gnawing on cucumbers? Shouldn’t I be saving room for something good?”

Liang Zhao just smiled. “You’ll need your strength. Didn’t you say yourself, once we go out, we’ll be underwater first? Better store up some energy for swimming and holding your breath.”

…That was true. Gu Mengran reluctantly started crunching on the cucumber.

Once the excitement wore off, his rational mind kicked back in.

Half a cucumber later, he was completely calm again.

At the end of the day, everything Liang Zhao said was just speculation. They still had no idea what the situation was like outside. Even after ten days, stepping out now wasn’t exactly without risk.

The cucumber started tasting blander with each bite. Gu Mengran snuck a glance at Liang Zhao, then deliberately cleared his throat and mumbled, “Ahem, I-I was thinking… going out directly might still be a bit risky. How about this—I go first and scout things out?”

The moment he said it, Liang Zhao raised a brow. The smile on his face froze, and his gaze instantly darkened. “And you think scouting it alone isn’t risky?”

“It’s not that it’s not dangerous,” Gu Mengran mumbled, rubbing his nose guiltily. “I mean, the space is in my control. If anything goes wrong, I can retreat in a second. But if we go out together, and there’s strong wind or big waves out there—what if we get separated?”

“No way.”

Liang Zhao didn’t even hesitate. He reached out and took Gu Mengran’s hand again, weaving their fingers tightly together. “We agreed we wouldn’t split up. That means no splitting up, no matter what. We go together.”

Liang Zhao’s tone left no room for argument. Knowing he couldn’t win this one, Gu Mengran gave in, squeezing his hand back and sighing. “Alright, alright. But you better hold on tight. Whatever happens—don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Liang Zhao said firmly, nodding.

Leaving the space took no more than a second. Once they’d finished the food in their hands, Gu Mengran took Liang Zhao’s hand again, gripping it tightly. Then, with a deep breath and a focused thought, the space vanished.

The herd of cows and sheep disappeared. The lush, green vegetable patch faded away. In its place came a rush of cold, murky water.

The air was gone in an instant. Water surged in from all directions like invisible hands from the dark, wrapping around them, blinding them, smothering their mouths and noses.

Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao held hands tightly, immediately holding their breath. The water wasn’t freezing—normal temperature, maybe even slightly warm. Without needing to speak, both kicked off and began to swim upward, fast and in perfect sync.

Splashhh!

Like water crashing against stone, they burst through the surface, droplets flying everywhere.

Under the thick, ink-black night, two dripping-wet heads broke through the waterline.

Rain poured down in sheets. The sky was pitch-black, and the surface of the water was a chaotic mess of waves and muddy current.

The flow was strong—too strong. They’d barely surfaced and taken a couple gulps of air before Gu Mengran realized they were being swept forward by an unstoppable current.

It felt like being dragged down a river gorge, fast and fierce. Within seconds, the two of them had drifted more than ten meters downstream.

They were moving way too quickly. Taking out a boat now was impossible—they wouldn’t be able to climb aboard, and worse, they’d probably lose the boat entirely. Gu Mengran didn’t even have time to open his eyes. One hand clung tightly to Liang Zhao, while the other lifted out of the water.

Come on, come on… swim ring, swim ring…

Gu Mengran pressed his palm to the water’s surface, and two foam swim rings appeared out of thin air. But they were too light—barely touching the water before whoosh, they were swept away by the current.

Thankfully, Liang Zhao reacted fast enough to snatch one.

Without a second’s hesitation, he slipped the ring around Gu Mengran’s neck. Gu Mengran, for once, didn’t protest—he obediently let Liang Zhao secure it around him.

With the ring helping him stay afloat and his head above water, Gu Mengran immediately summoned another one and struggled to fit it around Liang Zhao’s neck. Only after making sure they were both safe did he finally rub his stinging eyes and manage to open them.

It was the dead of night. The sky looked like it had been draped in a thick curtain—everywhere he looked was just endless, inky black. The water was still muddy, the waves a churning brownish yellow, like a river of moving sludge.

The air reeked of wet earth, but there was no trace of fuel or smoke. No sign that a massive fire had raged through just days before. It was almost like it had all been in his imagination.

The current kept pushing them forward, quickly and relentlessly, toward Fengjin Lake. Gu Mengran, unwilling to believe it, turned his head and looked back. It wasn’t until he saw the ravaged mountainside across from the village entrance that he realized what had really happened.

They’d been right—Heng Rong Sheng had exploded. And it hadn’t been small.

His eyes scanned the area. No sign of wrecked boats. That gave him a sliver of relief—until they drifted into the lake proper and still saw no sign of a single vessel. His heart, which had just settled, tensed again.

Clearly, Grandpa and Zheng Yijie were no longer here.

Only after drifting deep into Fengjin Lake did the current begin to ease. Seizing the chance, Gu Mengran pulled out the diesel boat from the space, and together, he and Liang Zhao scrambled aboard with great effort.

They couldn’t just drift wherever the current took them. As soon as they got on, even before catching his breath, Liang Zhao fired up the engine, turned the rudder, and began searching the lake in a sweeping pattern.

The lake was vast. The night was dark. But what if?

What if they just hadn’t seen the boat yet? What if it was tucked away in some quiet corner?

They fought their way upstream as the rain hammered down relentlessly on the open-top boat. Within minutes, water had already begun to pool at the bottom of the cabin.

Gu Mengran, who’d just managed to catch his breath, scrambled upright. He quickly recalled the two foam swim rings into the space and started pulling out parts—metal rods, waterproof tarpaulin, screws—then got to work setting up a rain canopy.

It wasn’t a complicated job. The four corners of the diesel boat already had threaded sockets for installing a frame. All he had to do was slot the rods together, cut the tarp to size, and fasten it over the top.

Simple enough. Gu Mengran worked fast and efficiently, and within minutes, it was done. But in the end… it barely made a difference.

Sure, the tarp overhead kept the downpour off their heads, drumming loudly with every impact. But the boat was speeding ahead, and rain from the front and sides still lashed against them with full force, soaking both him and Liang Zhao to the bone.

They were too exhausted to care anymore. If it leaked, so be it.

Gu Mengran exhaled a warm breath, sank back into the cabin, and glanced around. He pulled out a ladle from the space and began scooping water from the boat as he kept his eyes trained on the dark lake surface, scanning for any sign of the Windwing or Yongyue

From the dead of night to the first hints of dawn, they’d scoured every corner of Fengjin Lake—even followed the water all the way to the Lan River—searching, and still came up empty.

Half the night gone. They were running on fumes—literally.

The engine sputtered to silence, and only the sound of the rain remained, pounding in their ears. After all that circling, they were right back where they started. The vast lake stretched out endlessly before them, waking slowly in the pale morning light—quiet, lifeless, and empty.

With the fuel completely drained, the powerless little boat drifted with the current. Gu Mengran rubbed at his tired brow and was just about to get up and refill the tank when a hand suddenly caught his wrist.

“…I’m sorry, Mengran.”

After being soaked in the rain all night, Liang Zhao’s clothes were still drenched. His voice was hoarse, face drawn and weary. His pale lips trembled slightly, and deep in his eyes was an unmistakable guilt.

Gu Mengran blinked, caught off guard. He raised a brow at him. “What are you apologizing for all of a sudden?”

“I…” Liang Zhao dropped his gaze, avoiding eye contact as he gripped Gu Mengran’s hand tightly. “I made the wrong call. Maybe we should’ve come out sooner. The current’s way too fast—they wouldn’t have lasted ten days. If we’d come earlier, we might’ve caught up with them.”

Gu Mengran couldn’t help but laugh. He smacked the back of Liang Zhao’s hand lightly. “So what if we didn’t catch up? We’ll just keep looking, that’s all.”

Then he paused, squinted at Liang Zhao’s paler-than-usual face, and leaned in closer. “Wait a sec… you don’t actually think something happened to them, do you?”

Liang Zhao shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t think anything bad happened. The Windwing and Yongyue aren’t small boats—if they sank, there’d be evidence. I just… I’m worried we missed them. Worried that you’re upset… or anxious.”

“Well, okay, I’m a little upset,” Gu Mengran admitted, squeezing the hand that held his. “But none of this is your fault. You were thinking about our safety first.”

He gave Liang Zhao’s hand a firm squeeze, flipping roles to comfort him instead. “And hey—no news is good news. Not seeing anything out there probably means they made it out just fine.”

“The Windwing has enough supplies to last a while. I just restocked the storage before we left. And they were likely traveling with the Yongyue and Decheng, so they’re not alone. People are watching out for each other—they’ll be okay.”

Gu Mengran rambled on for a bit, not sure if he was trying to comfort Liang Zhao or himself. But eventually, he looked up at the slowly brightening sky and smiled.

“Come on. Let’s head downstream—let’s go find them in Donghai!”

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