Axolotl Translations

A boat, two people, and a spontaneous trip to the East China Sea.

Since they hadn’t managed to reunite with the Windwing, and barring any unforeseen events, it looked like they’d be spending quite a while on this tiny diesel-powered boat—a mere 5.5 meters long (about 4.5 usable) and 1.5 meters wide.

The makeshift canopy offered just enough protection from the wind and rain for the time being, but given that they’d be living and sleeping on board, Gu Mengran had no intention of enduring discomfort. Clearly, this little vessel was in dire need of a serious upgrade.

Materials weren’t the issue; it was the cramped dimensions of the boat that made renovations tricky.

Daylight broke. With no heavy storm clouds in sight, the downpour had softened into a steady drizzle, its patter a constant backdrop.

Once the boat was refueled and underway again, Liang Zhao took the helm while Gu Mengran turned his attention to modification plans. But as he became engrossed in thought, his stomach suddenly let out a loud growl—he realized he hadn’t eaten since staying up half the night.

Weren’t they supposed to have a proper meal? He’d almost forgotten!

The sleepiness vanished. Gu Mengran swiftly pulled a small folding table from his storage space, set it up inside the cabin, and took out the “storm shelter meal set” he’d prepared earlier—Typhoon-style fried shrimp, spicy chili crab, and a mouthwatering plate of braised pork belly with preserved vegetables.

Everything looked and smelled exactly as it had when he packed it.

The moment the three steaming dishes landed on the table, their delicious aroma filled the cabin. Liang Zhao, steering at the front, couldn’t help glancing back.

“That smells amazing.”

“Come on, eat it while it’s hot!” Gu Mengran laid out two sets of chopsticks and bowls, then retrieved a small basin, poured in some clear stream water from his storage, and washed his hands.

After ten days of vegetarian meals, anyone would find it hard to resist that spread—but stoic as ever, Liang Zhao held back. His gaze lingered on the table for a fleeting two seconds before he turned his attention back to the water ahead.

“I’m piloting. You eat first. I’ll swap with you when you’re done.”

Gu Mengran pouted. “We’re drifting downstream—the boat will still move even if you don’t touch the throttle. It’ll just be slower. Why not eat and let it float? Just adjust course now and then. We can’t eat and sleep separately forever, right?”

“That… does make sense.”

Liang Zhao gave a thoughtful nod, then let go of the rudder and turned around.

With fatty yet tender braised pork, spicy crab, and crispy-outside-juicy-inside fried shrimp on the table, it was practically a feast fit for royalty. Gu Mengran was starving. He dove right in like a man reborn, his chopsticks a blur as he piled meat into his mouth.

“Mmm! This is it. So good.”

The braised pork belly was unbelievably tender and packed with flavor, having soaked up the rich aroma of the preserved vegetables. It practically melted on his tongue. One bite, and Gu Mengran felt like all his aches had vanished—his back felt fine, his legs were good, and a wave of energy coursed through his body.

By the time Liang Zhao finished washing his hands and picked up his chopsticks, Gu Mengran had already devoured three pieces of pork.

Watching him wolf down his food, Liang Zhao chuckled, picked up a plump shrimp, peeled it with practiced fingers, and dropped it into Gu Mengran’s bowl. “Slow down. No one’s going to take it from you.”

“Don’t peel for me—just eat!”

“I am.”

They were sitting on a tiny boat with puddles of water still collected under their feet. The wind whipped in from every direction, and the floor was a muddy mess. Their clothes were still damp, marked with dried flecks of mud.

Yet, on the simple little folding table before them sat a spread of food that most people in the apocalypse could only dream of.

The heavy atmosphere dissipated, replaced by the comforting satisfaction of good food. Shrimp shells accumulated on the table like a small mountain. Half-full and content, Gu Mengran set down his chopsticks and pulled two cans of fizzy soda from his storage, handing one to Liang Zhao.

Pssht—

He popped the tab and took a long swig, gulping down nearly half the can in one go. Then he let out a loud, contented burp.

“Man, nothing beats eating meat like this. This is the life. What kind of days were we even living before this?”

Liang Zhao opened his can and took a small sip. Hearing that, he raised an eyebrow and glanced over with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“Yeah, food wasn’t great back then. But at least your space gave us shelter. Now we’re out on this little boat… cramped cabin, eating and sleeping in here—can you really get used to it?”

“Liang Zhao.” Gu Mengran laughed and shot him a sideways look. “What do you take me for? Some pampered young master? Of course I can handle it. I lived through worse in my last life. Now we’ve got food, supplies, fuel—what are you even worried about?”

The soda can crinkled slightly in Liang Zhao’s hand as he gave it a small squeeze. He pressed his lips together and forced a small, awkward smile.

“The last life was the last life. That’s not the same. We could’ve stayed safe and sound on the Windwing, but I insisted on this. Now you’re separated from your grandpa, and stuck crammed into this tiny boat with me.”

With that, Gu Mengran finally understood.

Gu Mengran had the instinctive urge to pat Liang Zhao’s hand, but as he lifted his own halfway, he noticed his fingers were slick with oil. He quickly drew back, offering Liang Zhao a bright smile. Then, with a rare touch of solemnity, he said, “I used to think the past was just that—the past. That I could let go of hatred, grudges, and simply live in the present.”

“But you can’t imagine how good it felt… seeing Dong Hongbo fall into the water, watching the villagers strip his boat bare. It was like finally pulling out a fishbone that had been lodged in my throat for years. Suddenly, it was gone—and I could breathe freely again.”

“Do you remember how I reacted the day we saw Dong Hongbo? The fear, the resentment… It’s embarrassing to admit, but he was my nightmare. A shadow I could never quite shake off.”

Just then, the hand Gu Mengran had left resting on the table was firmly clasped. Liang Zhao didn’t seem to mind the oil or grime at all—he simply held his hand tightly.

A wave of warmth spread through Gu Mengran’s chest. He squeezed Liang Zhao’s hand in return and continued, “Do I look like the kind of person who forgets a grudge? I just knew it wasn’t worth sacrificing everything for revenge. But now, with our biggest enemy gone, with Dong Hongbo dead and buried while our whole family is still safe—even if we’re temporarily separated from Grandpa—it’s a trade I’d make again without hesitation.”

“So don’t overthink it. If anything, I should be thanking you, Liang Zhao. Thank you for helping me untangle this knot in my heart. And besides—”

“What’s so bad about being crammed into a tiny boat with you? Once we fix it up a little, it’ll be like our own private world. Doesn’t that sound pretty great?”

With that, Gu Mengran winked at him playfully.

In an instant, all the guilt and shadows that had clouded Liang Zhao’s heart were swept away. He gazed at Gu Mengran steadily, the corners of his mouth curving into a genuine, happy smile.

His deep, dark eyes slowly filled with an overwhelming tenderness and love.

“Yeah. Let’s make it our own little world.”

Having talked everything out, feeling full and content, they restarted the boat’s engine.

Gu Mengran cleaned up the dishes with a light step, already buzzing with excitement for his boat remodeling project.

Above them, he’d already rigged up a basic rain canopy. If they were just aiming for practicality, attaching waterproof tarps around the sides—essentially turning the boat into a makeshift tent—would have sufficed. As long as they didn’t encounter any storms, they could manage living like that.

But for long-term living, Gu Mengran wanted something safer and more comfortable.

After careful consideration, he decided to tear down the flimsy canopy and rebuild it properly—drawing inspiration from the traditional black-awning boats of Jiangnan.

He had already selected the materials. The frame would be constructed from aluminum alloy—light yet sturdy—and the canopy itself would be made from polycarbonate (PC) endurance panels, renowned for their strength and flexibility.

PC panels were frequently used for building rain shelters and sunrooms; they could be easily bent and shaped without breaking, and more importantly, they were incredibly durable.

Before the apocalypse, Gu Mengran had impulsively stockpiled building materials. Little did he know how incredibly useful they would become.

Without a moment to lose, he got straight to work. Squatting down, he began filling the confined cabin with all sorts of tools and supplies.

Aluminum alloy pipes, a cutting machine, a welding machine…

Once all the materials were ready, he needed to power them up. The portable outdoor batteries they had wouldn’t be able to handle heavy-duty equipment, so Gu Mengran stood up, found a dry spot at the back of the boat, and pulled a small diesel generator out of his space.

After fueling it up and adding coolant, he lightly pressed the start button. The little generator roared to life with a thunderous hum.

Between the boat’s engine and the generator, the noise was almost unbearable, a deafening buzz that vibrated in his skull and made his ears throb.

And that was just the beginning.

Soon after, Gu Mengran got the power connected and carefully measured the lengths of the aluminum pipes he needed. Then he fired up the cutting machine.

Zzzzz! Whirrrr! Zzzzz! Whirrrr!

With the boat speeding at full throttle, it sounded like they were a floating noise factory tearing across the water.

They often say you need professionals for a professional job—and this was why. Even though the pipes were pre-made and only needed trimming, it still took Gu Mengran nearly four hours to cut all the pieces required to build the frame.

He hadn’t slept for almost a full day and night, and by now, he was completely drained, bordering on delirious.

Still, despite his bone-deep exhaustion, a strange, giddy happiness was bubbling inside him. Liang Zhao had offered to take over multiple times, but Gu Mengran kept refusing.

Because… there was a unique sense of satisfaction in personally building their little home.

Once the pipes were cut, it was time for welding. Liang Zhao finally engaged the boat’s autopilot and came over to help.

Welding wasn’t something a complete novice could just jump into. Gu Mengran honestly had no clue where to begin.

Fortunately, Liang Zhao had some experience from his time doing auto repairs—enough to handle the basics, at least.

Welding in a damp boat cabin during a rainstorm wasn’t exactly the smartest idea.

If the welding area came into contact with water, it could easily short-circuit—or worse, cause an electric shock. Definitely a hazard.

But given their limited circumstances, and with no way to weld inside the space, Gu Mengran could only do his best to insulate and protect everything as thoroughly as possible.

Sparks danced in every direction as the sizzling sound of welding permeated the air.

Liang Zhao worked swiftly, his movements clean and efficient as always. Unfortunately, the cramped cabin restricted his movement, and it wasn’t until evening that he finally finished constructing the frame for the boat’s new canopy.

Meanwhile, Gu Mengran didn’t remain idle.

Since he couldn’t assist with the welding, he concentrated on cutting the PC panels.

By the time Liang Zhao wrapped up, the skeletal frame of the canopy was taking shape, and Gu Mengran had already prepared the PC panels and even mixed a large bucket of silicone sealant for the final installation.

Thunk thunk thunk—bang bang bang—

As night descended, the little boat bobbed gently on the current, lights twinkling in the growing darkness.

Two busy figures worked under the lamplight, hammering away with rubber mallets, quickly and efficiently securing sheet after sheet of transparent panels around the sides of the boat, and finally sealing the top.

Just the two of them, working tirelessly all day, had transformed a leaking, battered diesel boat into a warm, cozy little mobile sunroom.

The clear PC panels kept the rain out, the water splattering rhythmically against them, while the soft yellow glow from the cabin lights spilled out warmly, reflecting on the water like the last light of sunset.

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