Axolotl Translations

“Little closer.”

“A bit more to the right… okay, okay!”

Thick snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, and the air felt frozen still, as if the cold had pressed pause on everything. The surface of the water was perfectly calm—two distinct shades side by side, not a ripple in sight—except for the occasional splash as the little diesel boat cruised forward with a soft splash-splash. With one of them steering and the other giving directions, their small, cozy boat slowly made its way toward the battered fishing vessel. Before long, they bumped gently against its side with a muted thud as the fender absorbed the impact.

Gu Mengran rubbed his hands together, clearly excited. He slid open the window and crouched down, ready to climb out. But just as he poked his head outside, an arm suddenly wrapped firmly around his waist and yanked him back in. His back hit the warmth of someone’s chest.

Gu Mengran chuckled helplessly. “What, you’re the designated danger magnet now? Always got to go first?”

“Mhm.” Liang Zhao held him close, brushing a kiss against the side of his neck—gentle, unhurried, and shamelessly affectionate. “I’m your boyfriend.”

The soft touch made Gu Mengran’s neck twitch as he shrank away, laughing. “You know, you’ve got some serious alpha male tendencies, Liang Zhao. You’re my boyfriend too, not just the other way around. I’m a grown man, alright? Not some fragile little thing you need to shield from everything. I’ve got a spatial ability, I can take care of myself—and protect you, too. Honestly, there are times when it’s safer and smarter for me to take the lead.”

Gu Mengran sounded like he was trying to make a very reasonable case. But Liang Zhao responded with a string of half-hearted hums and “got it, sure, next time” replies—clearly brushing him off. With their obvious difference in size and strength, Liang Zhao easily tightened his grip and hoisted Gu Mengran aside like he weighed nothing at all. Despite his height, Gu Mengran was picked up like a baby chick.

Liang Zhao was especially stubborn about things like this. Knowing he’d never win the argument, Gu Mengran stood quietly off to the side, waiting until Liang Zhao had climbed out the window and exited the cabin before following after him.

The fishing boat was much bigger than the diesel craft—taller and several times the size. Climbing up from below was no easy feat. They had to step onto the fender first, scramble onto the top of their own cabin, and then carefully edge their way across to the fishing boat—each move risky, with the cold water just a slip away. Once both were safely aboard, Liang Zhao immediately tied the small boat’s rope to the fishing vessel’s railing so it wouldn’t drift off in the waves. Only then did they start looking around.

The damage to the fishing boat was severe. The rust-eaten hull, the cluttered deck—it all told the same story: the boat had gone through a rough storm, lost its power, and had been drifting aimlessly ever since. Neither of them expected to find any useful supplies. After a quick sweep of the deck, they reached the bow and pushed open the unlocked door to the pilothouse.

The pilothouse was just as much of a mess. The windshields on both sides were completely shattered, and glass shards lay scattered across the console, mixed with dirt from who-knew-where. A thick layer of muddy water still clung to the floor. Liang Zhao wasn’t paying attention and nearly stepped right into it, but Gu Mengran grabbed his arm just in time.

They each swapped into rain boots before heading in. Once inside, they hurried to the controls and began checking the equipment, trying to see if the vessel could still start. The result wasn’t surprising: the engine wouldn’t turn over. Still, Gu Mengran held onto a shred of hope. After confirming what kind of fuel the boat used, he headed out to the deck, found the fuel tank hatch, and—perhaps a little extravagantly—poured in nearly half a bucket of diesel.

Back in the pilothouse, Gu Mengran rubbed his frozen hands together while watching Liang Zhao fiddle with the instruments. He instinctively held his breath. It all came down to this. If the engine started, it wouldn’t be a waste.

Fuel. Air. Spark—

Rrrrummm—

The hull shuddered slightly as the engine roared to life. The loud rumble echoed around them. Gu Mengran’s tight lips suddenly broke into a wide grin that reached behind his ears. He grabbed Liang Zhao’s arm and shook it wildly. “It worked! It worked! Damn, Liang Zhao, you’re incredible! You even got this thing running!”

Even with all the modifications, their little diesel boat couldn’t compare to a real sea vessel. The fishing boat may have been battered, but it was built for the ocean and far more stable than a riverboat in rough weather. The plan was simple: stick with the small boat for now and keep the fishing boat in reserve. If they ran into rough seas, they’d switch vessels to minimize risk. That’s why they had insisted on coming aboard to check it out.

Instead of celebrating prematurely, Liang Zhao turned the propeller, tested a few other systems, and only once everything checked out did he turn back to Gu Mengran with a smile. “It’s good. The boat’s still in working shape.”

Still riding the high, Gu Mengran beamed. “My little Liang is amazing. Even sea boats are no match for you!”

“Don’t flatter me too much. This thing’s just a small boat—basically a riverboat with saltwater stains.” Liang Zhao reached out to ruffle his hair but paused when he noticed the mud on his hand from the console. Instead, he just waved him off. “Come on. Let’s check the cabins.” With that, he shut off the engine and strode out of the pilothouse.

Gu Mengran followed, puzzled. “Why bother with the cabins? We’re only using it for emergencies—just to get through bad weather. As long as it runs, who cares about the rest?”

Liang Zhao shook his head. “What if someone’s still on board?”

“That’s impossible,” Gu Mengran argued. “We made such a racket. If anyone were here, they’d have come out to stop us. If anything’s in there, it’s probably a ghost.”

Liang Zhao chuckled softly and teased, “Well, out at sea… who’s to say?”

Just a few words, and Gu Mengran suddenly shivered. Goosebumps crept up his arms like a wave.

An empty sea. A drifting fishing boat. Weathered hull. Cracked deck. Wrecked pilothouse. A strangely quiet cabin…

“Hsss—”

“What are you thinking about?”

A slightly raspy voice cut through his thoughts. Gu Mengran looked up instinctively—only to bump his forehead straight into Liang Zhao’s shoulder. They had reached the cabin entrance. Liang Zhao had stopped walking. Rubbing his forehead, Gu Mengran forced out an awkward laugh. “N-nothing. It’s nothing.”

Liang Zhao gave him a suspicious glance but didn’t press the issue. “Watch your step,” he said simply, and then descended the stairs into the dim cabin below.

The cabin was tucked deep within the hull, down a slanted, narrow stairwell. Damp and dark, it felt like stepping into a bottomless pit. You couldn’t see the end. Gu Mengran swallowed hard and stuck close behind him. The heavy silence was unbearable, so before long, he blurted out, “You said you used to think about becoming a sailor, right? So… have you ever heard any, you know, ocean legends?”

“Like what?” Liang Zhao asked without turning.

“Uh…” Gu Mengran cleared his throat. “Like sea monsters… ghost ships… stuff like that.”

The moment he finished, Liang Zhao suddenly stopped. His shoulders started shaking slightly. A chill crept up Gu Mengran’s spine. He hurried a step forward and grabbed Liang Zhao’s arm. “Hey, what are you—”

Before he could finish, Liang Zhao burst out laughing.

Realizing he’d been pranked, Gu Mengran was furious. He pinched Liang Zhao hard on the arm. It didn’t hurt much—more like a kitten swiping at him. Liang Zhao simply took his hand in return, hiding the grin in his eyes. His voice was gentle. “Don’t worry. Those sea legends? All fake. Even ghost ships only show up in the deep sea. We just got out here—there’s no way we’ll run into anything.”

“I’m not scared!” Gu Mengran’s face turned red. “I was just… making conversation.”

He tried to pull his hand back, but Liang Zhao’s grip was firm, so he gave up and let him hold on. Still, Liang Zhao’s reassurance clearly helped. Gu Mengran felt the tension in his chest ease. We are near the coast, near the coast, he reminded himself. We only just entered the sea—there’s no way we’ll run into a ghost ship. I’m scaring myself.

As the tension slowly faded from his body, Gu Mengran held onto Liang Zhao’s hand and followed him step by step. But just as he reached the last stair and was about to get a proper look at the cabin—

A slightly cold hand suddenly covered his eyes. “Don’t look. Turn around, Mengran.”

He hadn’t seen a thing yet, but that only made his curiosity spike. Gu Mengran didn’t rush to pull Liang Zhao’s hand away, nor did he turn around. Lowering his voice, he asked carefully, “What is it? I won’t look, just tell me.”

Liang Zhao fell silent. Almost two minutes passed before he finally said quietly, “A corpse.”

“Huh? That’s it? It’s not like I haven’t seen one before.”

“Mengran.”

Ignoring Liang Zhao’s warning, Gu Mengran pried his hand away. He thought he was ready—but the moment his eyes adjusted to the dark and landed on the body, he still froze.

In the sheltered corner to the left, a thin young woman sat curled up against the wall, wrapped in a worn quilt, holding a boy of about five or six in her arms. Her head drooped slightly. Her expression was eerily calm, eyes sunken and tightly shut. The child’s small body was bundled in an oversized padded jacket. His face was pale, his eyes closed, as if simply asleep. The woman’s stiff hand rested on his head, lips slightly parted and tinged blue, as if she had been humming a lullaby to coax him to sleep.

“Wait… are they really dead? I feel like…”

His words trailed off. Squinting, Gu Mengran noticed the deep purple mottling on the back of the woman’s hand. It wasn’t frightening or gruesome—just quietly, profoundly sad.

A hand landed gently on his shoulder. Liang Zhao’s soft voice sounded beside his ear. “Don’t look anymore. They’re gone. Judging by the state of the body, they’ve been dead less than two weeks. It’s hard to say if they froze or starved.”

They were gone. How they died didn’t really matter anymore. What mattered was…

Gu Mengran frowned, visibly conflicted. He turned to Liang Zhao and asked, “So… are we still taking this boat? What about them?”

“We take it,” Liang Zhao said firmly, patting his shoulder. “They can’t use it anymore. In the apocalypse, the living come first.”

The living come first. Though he hesitated, Gu Mengran eventually agreed. Together, they took the fishing boat. But taking someone’s home meant giving something in return. The boat vanished from the water, and in its place, a bright orange life raft gently bobbed on the waves. The “sleeping” mother and son lay inside, tucked under a warm quilt, surrounded by the boy’s favorite yogurt and jelly. Cradled by the current, they continued their journey—peacefully, quietly, far from the noise of the world.

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