Axolotl Translations

Cough, cough… cough cough cough…

Gu Mengran’s throat felt raw and scratchy, as if a swarm of tiny ants were gnawing at it. The sharp, searing sensation clawed its way into his brain. In his sleep, his chest heaved with violent spasms, his body trembling uncontrollably with each cough.

The sky was just beginning to lighten. Still lost in the sweet embrace of sleep, Gu Mengran groggily cleared his throat, forcing himself to suppress the discomfort. He shifted languidly, trying to sink back into his dreams.

But before he could drift off again, a gentle hand shook his shoulder.

“Wake up, Mengran. I think you’re catching a cold. Take some medicine first, then you can go back to sleep.”

A warm breath brushed against his ear, the low voice spreading in soft, soothing ripples.

They lay facing each other on the soft inflatable mattress, mere inches apart. Half-asleep, Gu Mengran cracked open his eyes—only to have Liang Zhao’s sharply defined profile fill his blurry vision.

High-bridged nose, deep-set eyes, a face so handsome it could be admired endlessly.

Almost instinctively, Gu Mengran reached out to touch his face.

While Liang Zhao was momentarily taken aback, Gu Mengran seized the opportunity to slip his arms around Liang Zhao’s neck and, with perfect naturalness, snuggled into his chest.

Like a sleepy kitten completely trusting its favorite person, Gu Mengran buried his face against Liang Zhao’s neck, nuzzling lightly, mumbling in sleepy complaint, “Don’t make noise… Sleepy… Wanna sleep…”

Liang Zhao had been startled awake by the coughing, intending to get him to take some medicine. But this sudden, soft embrace completely muddled his thoughts.

The fuzzy head burrowed deeper into his arms, making him forget his original intention. His hand hovered awkwardly in mid-air—should he lift it? Lower it? Hold him? It took a long moment before he finally settled it gently on Gu Mengran’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

Cough, cough.

Another couple of muffled coughs against his chest snapped Liang Zhao back to reality. He gently patted Gu Mengran’s back and coaxed softly,

“How about you take your medicine first, then you can sleep as much as you want, hmm? You’ve caught a chill.”

At the sound of his voice, Gu Mengran, who had just quieted down, squirmed unhappily.

Unwilling to relinquish his precious sleep, he retaliated by giving a fierce pinch to the back of Liang Zhao’s neck.

Apparently still feeling it wasn’t sufficient punishment, he opened his mouth and lightly nipped the culprit’s neck with his sharp canine teeth.

It didn’t even hurt—just soft little nips, like a kitten at play.

But to Liang Zhao, it felt like an invisible hand had tightened around his throat. His breath hitched instantly, his body freezing into rigid stillness, too tense to even twitch.

A shiver of sensation radiated from his neck, and his hands slowly clenched into fists.

The person in his arms seemed to have discovered a new game, nibbling here and there, shifting incrementally, until—whether by accident or intention—Gu Mengran lightly grazed his Adam’s apple with his teeth. “Bit” no longer seemed like the appropriate word.

The playful nips gradually softened, morphing into something else entirely. Warm, soft lips brushed feather-light across his skin, leaving a trail of delicate, burning kisses.

Liang Zhao’s gaze deepened, and the emotions he’d been struggling to contain finally shattered their restraints.

Gripping Gu Mengran’s shoulders, he pushed him back, not with gentleness, abruptly breaking their close contact.

Unsurprisingly, Gu Mengran was already awake.

Clear, bright eyes sparkled with a barely concealed smile as they met his.

No more hesitation.

Liang Zhao gave him no opportunity to evade. One hand cradled the back of Gu Mengran’s head, and he kissed him fiercely, brooking no protest.

Their breaths mingled, ragged and hot. Liang Zhao’s burning tongue forced its way past Gu Mengran’s parted lips, demanding and urgent.

Subtlety? Gentleness? Liang Zhao clearly had no concept of such things in this moment.

The kiss was wild, consuming. The instant their mouths connected, Gu Mengran found it hard to even draw breath properly.

Little by little, the space between them vanished, replaced by the overwhelming scent and taste of the person he loved most.

Gu Mengran felt dizzy, light-headed, as if an electric current had shot directly from his chest through every nerve in his body.

It was a searing, suffocating kiss—and yet, Gu Mengran, unwilling to remain purely passive, tilted his head up and kissed back, slow and gentle, trying to guide Liang Zhao into his own rhythm.

But instead of calming him, his soft response only seemed to ignite Liang Zhao further. The hand cupping his head tightened, his breathing grew harsher, and the kiss turned almost feral, as if Liang Zhao wanted to devour him whole.

The faint taste of blood bloomed between their lips, awakening Gu Mengran’s own competitive spirit.

Fine, if he couldn’t overpower Liang Zhao’s strength, then—he loosened the arms wrapped around Liang Zhao’s neck and slid them downward.

Liang Zhao, lost in the intensity of the kiss, didn’t notice as Gu Mengran stealthily slipped a hand under his shirt, his palm pressing against his firm, toned waist.

At first, Gu Mengran only dared to lightly trace the contours of his abs with the tips of his fingers. When Liang Zhao didn’t react, he grew bolder, pressing his whole hand flat against the smooth, tight muscles, his fingers shamelessly exploring every inch.

“Gu Mengran.”

His name was called in a low, raspy voice, jolting Gu Mengran out of his daze.

The aggressive kiss had finally ended.

Liang Zhao had reluctantly released his lips.

But the moment Gu Mengran’s eyes fluttered open, he found himself ensnared in the depths of a smoldering gaze. Liang Zhao was staring at him—an intense, complicated storm of emotions swirling in his eyes, like a wild beast barely leashed, poised to tear him apart at any instant.

Sensing danger, Gu Mengran froze, his wandering hand abruptly halting its exploration of Liang Zhao’s waist.

But Liang Zhao had no intention of letting him off the hook so easily. He leaned in again, brushing a feather-light kiss against Gu Mengran’s lips, his voice rough and hoarse as he murmured, “Mengran… can I?”

Can you my ass! It’s broad daylight!

Sure, Gu Mengran was no saint—he had his own desires.

But seriously? Under a transparent canopy, with the whole damn boat practically wide open to the world? Who could be shameless enough to do it now?!

Gu Mengran’s first instinct was to refuse. But he hesitated for too long—his flushed cheeks betrayed his inner turmoil more eloquently than words ever could.

To Liang Zhao, that silence was as good as a yes.

Before he could utter a single syllable, another kiss descended, cutting him off.

This time, Liang Zhao didn’t just linger on his lips. He kissed down the side of his face, along his neck, moving with a slow, unbearable tenderness, inching lower with each heated breath.

The air in the small cabin grew thick and heavy, hot enough to choke.

Gu Mengran’s body betrayed him. He wanted to push Liang Zhao away—but he found himself unable to even lift his arms.

That gentle, relentless affection melted away every last vestige of his resistance. It wasn’t until he felt a sudden chill across his chest that the realization hit him—his shirt had been completely removed.

“Cough, cough—cough, cough—!”

The abrupt coughing fit struck like a bucket of icy water, freezing the charged moment in place.

The thick haze of desire that had been clouding the small cabin began to slowly, reluctantly dissipate.

Liang Zhao squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe deeply, battling to drag his sanity back from the precipice. He grabbed the scattered clothes and quickly helped Gu Mengran dress, then sat him up carefully, patting his back and coaxing gently, “Alright, alright. I won’t mess with you anymore. Hurry up, take your medicine.”

Yanked cruelly back from the brink, Gu Mengran felt utterly miserable, his body aching with pent-up frustration. Once his coughing subsided, he turned, still clinging stubbornly to Liang Zhao’s neck, shyly nuzzling closer. “I’m not coughing anymore,” he mumbled, his voice low and persuasive.

“Let’s keep going.” Liang Zhao opened his arms and pulled him close, lowering his gaze to press a tender kiss onto Gu Mengran’s forehead. “You’ll catch a worse cold. Let’s focus on getting you better first, alright?”

But Gu Mengran, completely consumed by desire, shook his head stubbornly and nuzzled against Liang Zhao, seeking another kiss. “I don’t want to,” he mumbled, clinging to him. “I want you…”

Liang Zhao chuckled, a low, amused sound. “Do you want to get better or not?” he teased gently.

Gu Mengran, his eyes still hazy with sleep and longing, licked the corner of Liang Zhao’s mouth and murmured under his breath, “I don’t want to get better. I want… you.”

That single whispered plea reignited the fire Liang Zhao had just barely managed to suppress. His Adam’s apple bobbed sharply as he swallowed, visibly struggling for control. With a rough but not unkind push, he set Gu Mengran slightly aside and rasped, his voice thick and hoarse, “No. Be good. Take your medicine first.”

A bucket of ice-cold water couldn’t have been more effective in its sobering effect. Gu Mengran pouted miserably, shooting him a sulky glare. “You’re so annoying,” he huffed, his cheeks puffed out in childish anger. “Early in the morning, you tease me like crazy and then just leave me hanging!”

Liang Zhao couldn’t suppress a laugh. He ruffled Gu Mengran’s hair playfully but firmly. “Feeling feisty, huh? Fine. Just you wait, Gu Mengran. Wait until you’re better.”

Grumbling under his breath, Gu Mengran finally relented and summoned water and medicine from his space.

Two cold tablets, three licorice lozenges—he tilted his head back, tossed the pills towards the back of his throat, and snatched the water bottle from Liang Zhao, gulping down half of it in one go.

Ugh—licorice lozenges tasted absolutely dreadful.

He’d intended to prepare a warm cold remedy as well, but after tipping the powder into a cup, he realized there was no hot water readily available.

Sighing dramatically, Gu Mengran pulled out a power strip and an electric kettle from his space, setting it up with practiced ease. By the time he finished taking his medicine and washing up, ten minutes had passed.

They quickly shared some bread for breakfast. Then Liang Zhao returned to the front of the boat to take the helm, while Gu Mengran lingered lazily in bed for a while longer. He couldn’t seem to fall back asleep, though, so eventually he got up and began tidying the cabin.

The new canopy, completed just yesterday, now fully enclosed the small boat in a seamless, transparent dome, sealing them snugly against the elements.

No more rain leaking through from every direction—the battered old boat had been transformed into a cozy little floating sanctuary. The relentless waves and the howling wind were now kept firmly at bay.

Except for two side windows that could be opened or closed as needed, the entire cabin felt like the interior of a car—a snug, self-contained space.

Yesterday, exhaustion had claimed them before they could do more than toss down an inflatable mattress.

Sure, they no longer had to sleep soaked and shivering, but the cabin was still cluttered, dirty, and a far cry from anything resembling a comfortable home.

Restless as ever, Gu Mengran thought: Let’s get to work!

First, he shoved all the clutter back into his space and completely cleared out the cabin.

Then, without even pausing, he used his hand like a hose, splashing the entire dry cabin floor with water again. There was still some dried mud stubbornly stuck to the bottom of the boat.

Worried it wouldn’t come off easily, Gu Mengran doused the floor with cleaning solution and let it soak for about ten minutes.

Donning his rain boots and grabbing a floor scrubber, he got to work with vigorous determination. Luckily, the boat’s surface was relatively smooth, so scrubbing wasn’t too tough. In about twenty minutes, the cabin floor was gleaming, all the old grime dissolved into the water.

Using his storage space like a giant bucket, Gu Mengran collected the dirty water and dumped it out through the side window, directly into the river. He washed it three times in total, leaving the cabin looking brand new.

Next, he pulled out a dry mop and, without a hint of impatience, wiped the entire floor back and forth until it was bone-dry—not a single stray drop of water left.

Once the cleaning supplies were tossed back into his space, Gu Mengran peeled off his rain boots, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and stood in the middle of the spotless cabin, surveying the space thoughtfully. He decided to start organizing from the back of the boat.

The cabin was the same height throughout. If he just laid a mattress flat on the floor, it would be parallel with the ground, which somehow felt… off. He had considered bringing in a wooden bed frame, but heavy furniture would lower the boat’s draft line, making it more likely for water to seep in. That was a disaster waiting to happen. So much for overthinking. An inflatable mattress clearly wasn’t a long-term solution either.

After roughly measuring the space, Gu Mengran chose a regular 135cm x 190cm mattress from his storage. He set it at the back of the boat—nice and stable. The boat was about 1.5 meters wide, and with the slight thickness of the hull, a 1.35-meter mattress fit perfectly—snug and secure, no risk of sliding around even when the boat rocked.

Unfortunately, the boat itself was still too small. Once the 1.9-meter mattress was laid down, it instantly ate up half the cabin’s space. But there was no helping it—both he and Liang Zhao were tall, and squeezing onto a tiny bed would be pure torture.

Not rushing to make the bed just yet, Gu Mengran installed two small shoe cabinets on either side at the foot of the mattress. Each cabinet had three tiers, reaching just under his calf. Altogether, they could hold about six pairs of shoes. To prevent them from shifting with the boat’s motion, he carefully glued the cabinets down to the floor.

Gu Mengran laid down a soft, dark gray plush rug between the two shoe cabinets. The cozy little home was starting to take shape.

Next, he pulled out a folding table and two matching folding chairs from his space. When not in use, they could be tucked away neatly to the side.

After a flurry of work, the only area left untouched was the front of the boat. Gu Mengran stuffed the generator under the helm console and ran a series of wires along the cabin walls toward the stern, securing them neatly in place with adhesive cable clips. Honestly, if they weren’t cooking, he and Liang Zhao didn’t really need a generator—a portable power station would have been enough.

But with the mattress taking up the back of the boat and two people sleeping there at night, the stern would be heavier than the bow. That imbalance wasn’t exactly safe. Thinking of that, Gu Mengran pulled out two large storage bins from his space. One was filled with everyday clothes for him and Liang Zhao, the other packed with ready-to-eat snacks and instant meals. Both bins were shoved neatly under the helm. All for one purpose: to make it easier to sleep in, of course—and to make sure Liang Zhao wouldn’t go hungry if he woke up early.

Then came the kettle, a water bucket, a basin, towels, toothbrushes… Gu Mengran added all the daily essentials, piece by piece, into the cabin.

Finally, he started putting up curtains. The front half of the boat could stay open, but the sleeping area had to be completely sealed off for privacy.

He worked nonstop all the way into the afternoon. When it was done, the once cramped, messy cabin had been completely transformed—a warm, comfortable, safe little home was born. He was utterly exhausted—he hadn’t taken a single break all day—but as he looked around at everything he’d built with his own hands, a deep sense of pride and satisfaction washed away all his fatigue.

After a quick shower inside his space and a change of clothes, Gu Mengran kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the mattress. He spread out the bedding, smoothed the sheets, slipped the comforter into its cover, and set up two pillows side by side at the head of the bed.

The little bed, soft and inviting, was finally ready. Gu Mengran stretched his arms wide and flopped onto the mattress, limbs splayed everywhere. Sure enough, it was a world of difference compared to that flimsy air mattress from the night before.

Drowsiness crept in quickly. He lay there half-dozing, almost falling asleep—until he suddenly remembered something and shot upright. He opened his palm, and after two seconds, a small silver box materialized out of thin air. His cheeks flushed a little. Holding his breath, Gu Mengran quietly slipped the tiny box under his pillow.

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