Axolotl Translations

Splash, splash—crash!

Waves slammed against the boat, sending water spraying in all directions. Amid the wind and snow, the little vessel rocked and dipped with the sea, like one of those wild rides at an amusement park—swaying so hard it made your head spin. The ocean, seemingly calm on the surface, often hid dangerous undercurrents below.

Ever since they’d set out, the boat hadn’t had a single moment of stillness. Even Gu Mengran, who was long used to life on the water, was starting to feel it. Out of nowhere, he came down with a sudden bout of seasickness. The moment he closed his eyes, he fell into a deep, disoriented sleep—so deep he couldn’t even tell if it was day or night.

His mind started to wake before his body did. Groggy and sluggish, Gu Mengran cracked his eyes open. Through the pitch-black window, he could just make out that it was the dead of night—so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. The boat was still moving, cutting quickly through the waves, tossing and rocking in every direction.

The person who should’ve been lying next to him wasn’t back yet. Gu Mengran rubbed his aching temples, then dragged his unsteady body to the foot of the bed. He lifted the curtain that hung in the middle of the cabin.

“You’re awake? Feeling any better? Still dizzy?”

As if he’d been watching the cabin this whole time, Liang Zhao turned the second he heard the faint rustle of the curtain. Sitting at the helm, he glanced back and asked with concern. When he saw Gu Mengran, though, he frowned and added, “Put on a jacket. It’s nearly minus ten out—you’ll catch a cold like that.”

Gu Mengran said nothing. He just stared blankly at Liang Zhao for a few seconds, then shuffled back to the bed, pulled on his thick coat, and slowly climbed out. He wobbled toward the cockpit with weak, unsteady steps. By the time he reached Liang Zhao, he looked like he’d used up all his strength. Like a boneless slug, he flopped onto Liang Zhao’s back, draping his arms loosely around his neck and sagging against him.

“Ugh, I’m so dizzy. Is the world spinning? Why is it this bad?”

“It’s not the world—it’s the boat rocking.” Liang Zhao chuckled lowly and squeezed the hand that had flopped onto his chest. “The meds should’ve worn off by now. Sit down, eat something to settle your stomach, then take another meclizine. After that, get a bit more sleep.”

Gu Mengran nuzzled the side of Liang Zhao’s neck, then mumbled, “Sleep again? I’ve been sleeping for two days—I’m completely out of it. What about you? You’ve been steering this boat day and night. You haven’t even closed your eyes.”

“I have, a little.”

Sensing the shift in mood, Liang Zhao reached up and gently scratched Gu Mengran’s chin. “I did lie down when the waves weren’t too rough. I’m human, not a machine. It’s not like I can go days without sleeping.”

Gu Mengran’s eyes lowered slightly, and he let out a long, weary sigh through his lips. Ever since they entered open waters, their usual routine—sailing during the day and resting at night—no longer worked. The ocean was too unpredictable. The boat needed to keep moving to maintain balance. If they ever stopped to rest, a rogue wave could hit while they slept, and they might never wake up again.

Taking turns at the helm was the only viable solution now. But unfortunately, Gu Mengran’s body wasn’t cooperating. Seasickness had taken him down hard. That left Liang Zhao tiptoeing around like a cat—only grabbing quick naps during calm stretches. He never once complained. Never grumbled. But Gu Mengran couldn’t help but feel terrible for him.

He grabbed a small stool and sat down beside Liang Zhao, then pulled out a bottle of water and a custard-filled bun from under the console. He nibbled slowly, trying to get something into his stomach even though he had no appetite. He barely got through half before he had to stop. His temples were pounding again, and nausea crept in like a slow wave.

Tilting his head back, he gulped down several mouthfuls of water to push the nausea down. Then, pulling out his stash from the space, he snapped off a piece of motion sickness medicine and swallowed it with the water. The half-eaten bun disappeared from his hand in a blink. Slapping a palm onto Liang Zhao’s knee, Gu Mengran cleared his throat and declared, “Okay! I’m good now! You—go to bed, now. I’m taking over.”

“You’re good now?” Liang Zhao raised a brow, the corners of his lips tugging upward. “What did you just take—a miracle pill?”

Gu Mengran lifted his chin. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m not dizzy anymore. So get up, go sleep, and stop hogging my seat.”

Liang Zhao’s eyes crinkled with amusement. He reached out and pulled Gu Mengran gently into a half-embrace. “Stop it. If your body’s still off, don’t push it. You need to rest properly.”

“My body’s practically fusing with the bed. You’re the one who needs real rest.” Gu Mengran wriggled free with one hand, then pointed at Liang Zhao’s tired eyes. “Want me to grab a mirror so you can see those dark circles? See—mmph!”

His words were cut off by warm, dry lips pressing against his own. Liang Zhao leaned in, wrapped an arm around his waist, and kissed him without restraint. The first kiss was soft, just a brush of lips—but the next moment, Liang Zhao took Gu Mengran’s hand, guiding it toward himself, tongue slipping past his lips in a hungry, demanding kiss.

The kiss ended, leaving Gu Mengran flushed red from neck to ears, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Meanwhile, Liang Zhao acted like nothing had happened. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Gu Mengran’s and licked his lips, still savoring it. “You can’t just judge by appearances. Sometimes you have to feel it for yourself—like how much energy I’ve still got.”

Gu Mengran’s palm was burning. Blood rushed to his head in a wave, and his face turned an even deeper shade of red. As if to cover his embarrassment, he yanked his hand back and smacked Liang Zhao’s thigh with a loud pop.

“You’re unbelievable…” he mumbled, turning his head away to avoid Liang Zhao’s gaze. “Seriously, who even thinks about this stuff right now? Aren’t you the least bit ashamed?”

Liang Zhao chuckled, unabashed. “What can I say? If I don’t prove I’ve still got energy to spare, how will you feel safe enough to go rest?”

Before they could say another word, another wave crashed hard against the side of the boat. Water sprayed across the window, sparkling for a brief moment before splashing back down into the sea. The boat rocked violently, swaying for a long while before gradually steadying again.

The sudden dizziness shattered any lingering warmth between them. Gu Mengran leaned his head against Liang Zhao’s shoulder, letting out a helpless sigh. “Even if you’ve got energy to spare, maybe use it wisely. The ocean’s brutal. It only took two or three days to knock me out cold. And who knows how long this nightmare is gonna last… We’d better be ready for the long haul.”

Liang Zhao’s expression sobered. He raised a hand and gently massaged Gu Mengran’s temple, eyes fixed on the eerie darkness of the sea ahead. Taking this tiny boat out into open water had always been risky. As much as it felt like they were constantly being tossed around, the waves they’d seen so far were mild—nothing the boat couldn’t handle. But if a real storm came…

Gu Mengran stayed still, nestled against his shoulder as if asleep. Liang Zhao ran a hand gently over his hair, and all his worries finally condensed into a single promise:

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. I can take it.”

Sleep, of course, was out of the question. After napping on and off all day, Gu Mengran was wide awake. He still felt too dizzy to steer the boat, but that didn’t matter. He just wanted to sit here. Say nothing. Do nothing. Just quietly keep Liang Zhao company.

There was only a faint light at the bow of the boat. Beyond three meters, there was nothing but thick, impenetrable darkness. The inky night sky hung overhead like a slab of heavy lead, pressing down on the surface of the sea. The vast ocean had been completely swallowed by the dark. Wind screamed like ghosts across the waves, howling with cold and moisture as they slammed into the water again and again.

The stronger the wind blew, the rougher the waves became. The boat swayed harder with every passing minute. But the medicine seemed to finally be working—Gu Mengran’s nausea was clearly easing.

“Hey,” he murmured in surprise. “I really do feel less dizzy.”

Gu Mengran pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his temples. After double—and triple—checking his condition, he suddenly lifted his head, eyes lit up with excitement as he turned to Liang Zhao.

“No kidding, no pretending—I’m really not dizzy anymore! You can finally rest easy. I—”

“Liang Zhao?”

He’d been chatting on his own for a while, but Liang Zhao hadn’t responded once. He just stared ahead, eyes fixed on the water, not reacting at all. Even Gu Mengran, usually slow on the uptake, sensed that something was wrong. His head snapped toward the direction Liang Zhao was watching.

Almost at the same time, the boat suddenly lurched forward, accelerating sharply and making a hard turn. A wave crashed against the front window, blinding their view with mist and spray. The boat tilted hard to the side—too hard. They were turning around.

Boom—Boom—Boom—

A low, thunderous roar rolled across the sea, the sound vibrating through the boat and straight into their bones. It wasn’t wind. It wasn’t rain. And it definitely wasn’t something the little boat could have made.

The windshield was fogged over with seawater—Gu Mengran couldn’t see a thing. But in the moment the boat spun around, something flashed past the rear window.

A shadow.

A mountain.

A towering mountain that reached so high, you couldn’t see the top.

But this was the ocean. Where would a mountain come from?

The throttle slammed to full. The diesel engine screamed as the boat launched forward like an arrow released from a bow. Behind them, a long silver trail stretched out across the sea. And behind that—a wall of water. Rising higher. And higher.

The vast ocean felt endless, like a 3000-meter race with no finish line in sight.

Boom!

A thunderous crash exploded across the surface of the sea.

The wall of water—towering, unstoppable—came crashing down like a skyscraper collapsing out of nowhere, slamming into the ocean with a deafening roar.

Liang Zhao reacted just in time, steering the boat into a sharp turn that narrowly avoided a direct hit.

They weren’t struck head-on by the wall of water, but the moment it slammed into the sea, it shattered into countless crashing waves—like a dam bursting open. The flood came roaring at them, layer after layer, fast and brutal.

Bang! Bang bang bang—

It felt like boulders raining from the sky. Water slammed into the canopy, the hull—impacts came from every direction. In just a few seconds, the reinforced ceiling gave way with a metallic clang, and freezing seawater came pouring in, followed by wind and snow howling through the cabin.

But it wasn’t over.

Each wave that followed was more violent than the last, crashing into the boat like a barrage of invisible fists. They shoved, pulled, clawed, intent on capsizing the vessel. The bumper floats absorbed some of the impact, helping keep the boat balanced as it bobbed and swayed on the churning sea. Water gushed into the cabin, and for a terrifying moment, the boat teetered right on the edge of flipping—before the floats yanked it back upright.

It was just barely hanging on. The next wave might be the last.

In the chaos, Liang Zhao and Gu Mengran—already in life jackets—scrambled out of the cabin. In the blink of an eye, a battered fishing boat materialized nearby, rocking violently on the waves. Without a second to spare, they clambered up the emergency rope ladder they’d secured earlier and hauled themselves onto the deck. Neither of them even looked back.

From start to finish, it took less than two minutes. The little boat that had once been their warm, cozy home—was gone.

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