Axolotl Translations

As soon as the snow began to fall, the temperature plummeted even further.

After a hot shower, Gu Mengran slipped into bed, but his hands and feet remained stubbornly ice-cold, no matter how he tried to warm them. Even cuddling up to Liang Zhao offered little relief—the freezing air seeped into the cabin, and the blankets felt drafty, as if the cold was creeping in from all directions.

After tossing and turning for over half an hour, Gu Mengran finally gave up. He dragged Liang Zhao up with him, and together they laid down an electric blanket and swapped their quilt for a thicker cotton one.

Once everything was in place and they climbed back in, a comforting warmth began to spread beneath them, and the heavy quilt settled snugly over their bodies. Gu Mengran sighed with relief. He curled up against Liang Zhao, head resting on his arm, and within minutes, drifted off to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the space beside him was already empty. The little boat, which had been still on the water, was now moving, gently rocking with the waves. The bed was soft and warm, wrapping around him like a cocoon—exactly the kind of trap he had no willpower to resist.

Gu Mengran tried to sit up but collapsed back into the blankets. He made several attempts to get out of bed, all ending in failure.

Just as his rational mind began to battle his lazy body, Liang Zhao, hearing movement from the front, pulled back the curtain and said, “It’s freezing out, and there’s nothing urgent. If you don’t feel like getting up, don’t force yourself. Hungry? I’ll bring you breakfast.”

“No need. I’ll get up and eat.”

That one sentence almost shattered his last thread of willpower. Gu Mengran gritted his teeth, summoned every ounce of strength he had, and threw the covers off. The biting cold hit him like a wave, but at least it brought his senses back. He sat up immediately, hurriedly pulling on clothes, grumbling through the curtain at Liang Zhao, “You really need to stop spoiling me. If I get lazy, you’re the one who’ll suffer for it.”

“I don’t mind,” Liang Zhao said with a soft laugh. “What’s wrong with a little extra sleep now and then?”

“Wrong? I’ve got things to do today.”

Gu Mengran tugged on a sweater, then his padded jacket, moving slowly to the foot of the bed to put on his socks.

Liang Zhao’s voice came again, lightly teasing, “Oh? And what’s on the schedule?”

After pulling on a pair of fleece-lined socks, Gu Mengran padded back to the bed. He grabbed the corners of the messy floral quilt, gave it a good shake, and neatly spread it flat over the mattress.

Here’s the revised fragment, focusing on natural flow and maintaining the original tone:

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“Zzzzip—”

The curtain swished open, and Gu Mengran stepped out, looking bright-eyed and full of energy. He strolled leisurely to the center of the cabin, glanced around, and finally answered Liang Zhao’s earlier question. “Didn’t you say we’re getting close to coastal waters? It might be calm now, but who knows what it’ll be like once we’re in deeper. I think we should reinforce the boat again—just in case.” He added, “And this damn weather gets colder by the day. The cabin’s like a freezer. I want to add another layer of insulation in here.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. Liang Zhao glanced back at him and offered, “Reinforcing’s kind of a hassle. How about I do it while you steer the boat?”

“No need.” Gu Mengran refused instantly. “You just focus on steering. If I need help, I’ll call you.”

Liang Zhao shrugged helplessly. “Alright, alright. The milk’s in the thermos—still hot. There’s oatmeal and mixed nuts in the bowl next to it. Just pour the milk over and it’s good to eat. Gotta fuel up before you start messing with things.”

“Got it.”

……

After washing up and downing a bowl of steaming oatmeal with hot milk, Gu Mengran was wide awake. He tidied up the cabin a bit, then started pulling things out of his storage space—insulation pads, scissors, glue, and zip ties. Time to get to work.

Adding a layer of insulation wasn’t complicated. All he had to do was cut the pads to the right size, then glue them along the walls and edges of the boat’s reinforced panels. It took time, sure, but it was the kind of mindless task that didn’t require much effort or thinking.

After two solid hours of work, the endurance panels were tightly wrapped in thick gray insulation. The light—and the cold—were both effectively shut out. The cabin dimmed noticeably, though some light still filtered through the skylight and side windows.

But the effect was immediate. Once he shut the side windows, the cabin’s temperature shot up. The warmth from their little solar heater was now trapped inside, making the room feel like it had central heating. Toasty and cozy.

Outside, the sound of rain had turned into the soft rustle of falling snow. Flurries danced through the air and settled gently on the water.

Gu Mengran sat down on a stool to catch his breath, sipping hot tea while admiring the snowy scene. When he finished his tea, he pulled out a raincoat and work gloves from his storage space, suited up, and called out to Liang Zhao before slipping out through the side window—leaving the warmth of the cabin behind.

The moment Gu Mengran stepped out of the cabin, it felt like leaving a heated room and walking straight into a freezer. The drastic temperature drop hit him like a wall, and the icy wind slapped across his face, making his whole body shudder. His skin prickled with goosebumps as the cold sank in.

The cabin had been covered with a sunroom extension, so the exterior hull offered almost no footing. Gu Mengran clung to the window frame, struggling against the wind as he tried to find a stable position. After a good bit of maneuvering, he finally managed to crouch along the narrow edge of the hull.

After more than a year of nonstop torrential rain, rivers, land, and sea had all blurred together—but what made the ocean truly dangerous was never just the water. It was the unpredictable storms and towering waves that were truly terrifying. Their little diesel boat was still far too small. Its draft and stability didn’t meet any real seaworthiness standards. In the past, they wouldn’t have dared take it near the coast, let alone out to sea. One decently sized wave could flip it in seconds—never mind a storm. They needed more stability. More buoyancy.

Gu Mengran had already worked out how to reinforce it. The only problem was, the boat was small and narrow, and actually putting the plan into action was proving tricky. He pulled out a fender originally prepped for the Windwing, then crouched along the edge of the small boat and took out a thick two-finger-wide rope from his storage. One end he tied to the fender, the other to the boat’s rail.

Thankfully, the hull and rail came pre-fitted with utility hooks, so he didn’t need to weld his own. But still, a fender—basically a rubber tire—wasn’t something you could secure with just one rope. To get the other end fastened properly, Gu Mengran had to hang almost entirely off the side of the boat, his head nearly dipping into the water. It took him twenty minutes of struggling to secure just one fender—burning through all the energy he thought he’d saved.

It was freezing, it was exhausting, and it was downright dangerous. Watching from inside the cabin, Liang Zhao’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. As soon as Gu Mengran sat back down safely, Liang Zhao stopped the boat and climbed out the window, insisting they switch. There wasn’t even space outside to set down tools—they had to pull out everything on the spot from storage. Gu Mengran flatly rejected the switch, but under Liang Zhao’s persistence, the job eventually became a two-man effort.

Three fenders on the left, three on the right, one at the bow, one at the stern. From morning till afternoon, the two of them worked nonstop—skipping lunch entirely. At last, all eight donut-shaped rubber fenders were securely fastened around the little boat. These rubber fenders, naturally buoyant and commonly used on large ships to absorb impacts and protect the hull, essentially turned their diesel-powered skiff into a floating ring—like strapping a giant life preserver around the boat.

Saltwater is denser than freshwater, so once they entered the sea, the boat would naturally float a little higher. When that happened, they could add weight to the cabin, forcing the “float ring” deeper into the water. The more submerged it was, the more buoyancy it would provide—and with it, better stability.

Of course, all this effort was only good for small waves and light winds. If a big one came slapping down, it wouldn’t stop a thing. The boat would still flip.

Gu Mengran had considered installing a set of stabilizing fins too, but… it was way too cold. He wasn’t even sure if the fins could be properly installed, and taking a dip in this weather was a guaranteed way to catch a cold.

He’d stayed outside too long. The raincoat hadn’t held off the wind-blown snow completely—his clothes were damp. He hurried back into the cabin, slammed the window shut, and quickly pulled out two clean sets of clothes from his storage. He and Liang Zhao changed, then crowded around the mini heater, busy trying to thaw themselves out.

“God, this weather is insane! I swear it’s even colder than yesterday. I stepped out there and my brain froze—my hands don’t even work anymore.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. He was standing so close to the heater that his fingers were nearly poking through the grate, but he still couldn’t feel any heat. In fact, it felt just right to him.

Liang Zhao frowned. “That’s not how you warm up. You’ll burn yourself.” As he spoke, he grabbed Gu Mengran’s hands and gently pulled them back. Then he cupped those icy fingers between his own palms, rubbing them over and over to warm them up.

Between the heater and the hand rubbing, Gu Mengran’s fingers quickly started to thaw and come back to life. He copied the move, taking Liang Zhao’s hand in his and rubbing the backs of his fingers in return.

“This works great! So? Feels better?”

Liang Zhao smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Much better. But don’t just rub hands—get us something to eat. A warm meal’ll heat us up faster.”

“Oh, right!”

Only after Liang Zhao reminded him did Gu Mengran realize—his stomach was still empty. He quickly pulled out some food from his storage space. Just like Liang Zhao said, eating really did warm him up faster than sitting by the heater. Two simple stir-fried dishes with two bowls of rice were enough to fill their stomachs and send waves of warmth spreading through their bodies from the inside out.

But along with that warmth… came drowsiness.

It was a little after three in the afternoon—too late for a nap, too early for bed. Gu Mengran tried to fight it off, but the moment the boat started moving and the cabin gently rocked, his sleepiness grew even stronger. His eyelids started to droop. Sitting on a little stool, back leaning against the cabin wall, his head bobbed forward in a daze. Just as he was about to drift off completely, Liang Zhao’s slightly anxious voice rang out:

“Mengran, come here—now.”

“Huh?” Gu Mengran blinked his bleary eyes, momentarily disoriented. He almost forgot where he was.

Liang Zhao called him again. This time, Gu Mengran managed to scrape together what little alertness he had left. Bracing himself against the cabin wall, he wobbled to his feet and stumbled over to the control console. But the moment he reached it, and looked through the clear polycarbonate shield out over the water ahead, all traces of sleep vanished—his mind snapped wide awake.

Off the starboard bow, a battered red-and-blue fishing boat floated listlessly on the water. It was still a bit of a distance away, but even from here, the peeling paint and rusted hull were visible. Its robotic arm was missing joints, broken in several places; the flagpole hung at an awkward angle. It looked like a derelict—abandoned and worn down by time and weather. The fishing boat barely moved, only shifting gently with the waves. Clearly, it had no power. Gu Mengran stared at it, then turned to Liang Zhao. “Red and blue—that’s a deep-sea fishing vessel. But what’s a powerless sea boat doing all the way out here? Should we go check it out?”

“No rush.” Liang Zhao kept his gaze fixed on the water ahead, the corners of his lips curling up in a satisfied smile. “Look again—there’s something else on the water. See anything unusual?”

Something unusual? Gu Mengran frowned in confusion, but followed the suggestion and looked out again. Earlier, his full attention had been locked on the fishing boat. Now, focusing more carefully, scanning the surface of the water—he spotted it.

Far off in the distance, where sky met sea, the rain-muddied river water seemed to hit some invisible barrier. It stretched like a smooth, golden-yellow ribbon, drawn right across the middle of the water. And just beyond it—a band of deep, vivid blue, almost glowing in contrast. Snowflakes fell between them, soft and endless, but the two bodies of water—one yellow with silt, one blue as ink—collided and mingled in the open expanse without ever truly blending.

A stark, natural boundary. Distinct. Unchanging.

The edge of the river. Beyond it—was the sea.

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