Axolotl Translations

Ruan Zhao hadn’t expected that the first thing Lu Xingyao would say after finding him… would be that. He froze. His eyes filled with confusion, slit pupils—still sharp from the hunt—staring straight at the man in front of him, as if trying to confirm whether he’d heard right.

Lu Xingyao gently pulled him into a soft hug, one hand landing lightly on Ruan Zhao’s trembling shoulder. The touch was calming, almost coaxing. Then, in an even gentler voice, like soothing a frightened child, he repeated the words, “Zhaozhao, let’s go home.”

Ruan Zhao blinked. This time, every word reached him clearly. There was no mistaking it. The night was cool, but Lu Xingyao’s palm radiated warmth. Ruan Zhao’s lips were still stained with his blood—vivid red smearing across the softness of his petal-like mouth. The wound he had bitten was still there, raw and exposed, releasing that sweet, intoxicating scent. It took everything in him not to give in to the hunger and bite again.

He couldn’t see what he looked like right now, but he knew—he had to look terrifying. He had shown Lu Xingyao his truest, most monstrous self—no excuses, no hiding. A vampire’s bloodlust, bare and undeniable. And still, with a pale, emotionless face twisted with a hint of cruel innocence, he asked quietly: “You’re not scared of me?”

“Don’t you think I look… scary? Horrible?”

He didn’t blink, didn’t look away. He locked his gaze onto Lu Xingyao’s face, watching every subtle shift, unwilling to miss even the tiniest flicker of reaction. Even though he already knew what Lu Xingyao would say. Still, like a child who’d never been reassured, he desperately needed to hear it, from Lu Xingyao’s own mouth.

Lu Xingyao let out a quiet sigh. A smile—gentle and almost helpless—spread through his eyes. His voice softened, sweet like frosting on a cake, “I thought I made it obvious…”

Ruan Zhao blinked, expression blank. “What do you mean?”

Lu Xingyao gave him a look and said, voice tinged with exasperation, “You really thought I was actually asleep all those nights? That I didn’t know what you were up to?”

Ruan Zhao’s eyes widened in disbelief. The memory of all the sneaky things he’d done late at night hit him at once, and for a moment, even his breathing stopped.

The cool, distant act he had worked so hard to maintain—shattered in an instant. He was so shocked that even his vertical pupils blurred back into soft, round ones, like a frightened kitten. The fur on the tip of his tail practically stood on end.

Before he could figure out what to say—Lu Xingyao continued, unhurriedly, “The soft creak of the door handle turning, the muffled sound of your slippers on the floor, the way the mattress sinks when you sit down, or those little noises you make when you eat… they’re impossible for me to ignore.”

“You’d always take forever at the door, worried about making noise—so I started leaving it open a crack before you came.”

“And before eating, you’d hover by my bed just to make sure I was asleep—calling my name in a whisper over and over again. Honestly, anyone would’ve woken up from that.”

“Your bites were gentle, your teeth sharp… barely painful when you broke the skin. But the licking afterward…” He paused and gave a helpless smile. “Like a cat—soft and clingy. It was pure torture.”

“And after you’d fed, you’d get sleepy. Sometimes you’d fall asleep halfway through, and more than once you rolled straight into my arms. You drooled on me, too. If I wasn’t so afraid of waking you up, I would’ve taken a photo to keep it forever.”

……

It was obvious now—Lu Xingyao remembered every little detail. Even things Ruan Zhao himself barely recalled were laid out like a careful list.

In front of him, Ruan Zhao felt completely exposed. He quickly turned his face away, unable to look at him. His voice came out low, awkward, “Stop talking.”

He’d always thought he was stealthy, subtle. That sneaking around came naturally to him—and that’s why Lu Xingyao never caught on. He’d even been secretly proud of it, thinking that if the system business didn’t work out, he could always be a spy or something and still make a living. But now, Lu Xingyao had casually told him his “sneaking skills” were basically nonexistent. He’d noticed everything. He’d just… never said a word.

Ruan Zhao felt his face heating up. Awkward. Embarrassed. Mortified. And just a bit angry at being so bluntly exposed.

Instinctively, Ruan Zhao wanted to back away again. But this time, Lu Xingyao didn’t give him the chance. The hand that had been gripping his arm slowly slid down until it found his hand, lacing their fingers tightly together, knuckle to knuckle.

“The reason I’m telling you all this,” Lu Xingyao said softly, “is because I want you to know none of it matters to me. So, Zhaozhao… don’t pull away from me because of it.”

The air seemed to fall still all at once. Even the distant honk of cars on the street faded into silence. Night had completely draped itself over the city, and stars began to twinkle faintly in the sky above.

One by one, the streetlamps flickered on, casting a dim yellow glow over Lu Xingyao’s face. In that moment, Ruan Zhao could clearly see the determination and sincerity in his eyes—burning, unwavering warmth.

Ruan Zhao pressed his lips together and met his gaze. Quietly, he asked, “When did you realize it?”

Lu Xingyao replied, without hesitation, “The moment I first saw you.”

Ruan Zhao: “…”

That answer caught him completely off guard. He thought back to the first time they met—how he’d played the part of a desperate young vampire, showing up at a blood clan gathering with nothing to offer but his own blood, hoping to survive by selling it. Lu Xingyao hadn’t questioned him at all. He’d accepted it so naturally, never pressing for details. So Ruan Zhao had assumed he’d fooled him—and quickly forgotten all about it.

“So you’ve just been standing by all this time, watching me perform? Watching me come up with ways to deceive you, living every day on edge thinking you’d find out? Was it… fun for you? Why didn’t you say something earlier?” His tone wasn’t exactly angry. After all, he wasn’t entirely innocent either. He had no moral high ground to stand on, no real right to act like the wronged party. Still, he had to make a point.

“You weren’t secretly laughing at me, were you? Thinking how dumb and gullible I am—maybe the easiest vampire to fool in the whole clan? I bet you’ve laughed at me behind my back more times than I can count.”

Lu Xingyao answered calmly, “I’ve never thought that. And I’ve never once laughed at you.”

But Ruan Zhao was already on a roll. “Oh, please. Anyone can say that. I can say it, too. Doesn’t mean it’s what you’re really thinking inside.”

“Mm…” Ruan Zhao’s words were cut off. Silenced by a kiss—not a forceful one, but gentle and fleeting.

Before he could even process what was happening, Lu Xingyao’s face was suddenly right in front of his, so close he could see the man’s long, thick lashes, curled ever so slightly and trembling faintly.

Their lips touched—soft, like pressing against a warm, squishy jelly. But just as quickly as it came, the kiss was gone.

The little firecracker that was Ruan Zhao—normally always popping off with something to say—fell completely silent. Even his brain seemed to crash for a moment. It was obvious that he’d been thoroughly thrown off by the unexpected move.

It took a long while before he finally realized what had happened and started to react. By all logic, this should’ve been the perfect moment to slap Lu Xingyao hard across the face, scold him fiercely for being a pervert, and demand an apology—a serious promise never to pull something like that again without asking for permission.

But… he’d frozen for way too long. Now that the moment had passed, any slap would just feel out of place. It wouldn’t have the same impact. So… what was he supposed to do? Just let the guy get away with it? No way!

Ruan Zhao immediately put on a fierce expression. He was just about to snap at him—only to see that Lu Xingyao’s face was completely flushed red. From his ears all the way up, he looked like a freshly boiled shrimp. A far cry from his usual calm, in-control demeanor. Honestly, if Ruan Zhao didn’t know better, he’d think Lu Xingyao had been the one kissed.

Ruan Zhao was… speechless.

“You…”

“I…”

They both spoke at the same time.

Ruan Zhao was the first to speak. “How could you do that? That was so rude!” But with Lu Xingyao looking the way he did, Ruan Zhao’s scolding came out soft and fluffy—more like a pout than a real complaint.

Lu Xingyao glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “…I’m sorry.”

“…Oh.” Ruan Zhao blinked. He actually apologized?

The two of them stood there like a pair of awkward statues at the end of the alley, letting the chilly night wind wrap around them for who knows how long. Maybe it was the cold that finally sobered one of them up. Or maybe it was just that this dark, quiet corner really wasn’t a place you could stay forever.

Probably aware that what he’d done had crossed a line, Lu Xingyao’s voice grew cautious, almost hesitant. “Shall we go home?”

Ruan Zhao shot him a glare, let out a huff to show his unhappiness, but still… grudgingly gave a little nod. “Fine.”

The streetlights lit up the pavement, stretching their shadows long behind them. If they weren’t careful while walking, those shadows would end up tangled together, close and inseparable—just like the two of them seemed to be becoming.

Every time that happened, Ruan Zhao would deliberately slow down, falling a step behind Lu Xingyao to separate their overlapping outlines. Then, as if in petty revenge, he’d stomp on the other’s shadow with a little hmph. He even muttered under his breath.

Lu Xingyao noticed the movements, and he heard the murmurs too—things like so annoying, what a jerk, pervert, idiot… basically, every insult a grumbling teenager could think of. Each time Ruan Zhao said something, Lu Xingyao calmly answered with a simple “Mm.” Cool-headed. Unfazed. Quietly taking it all in. Which somehow made it harder and harder for Ruan Zhao to keep up his complaining. Eventually, he just rolled his eyes in silent frustration. More than once.

……

Although Ruan Zhao did end up going home with him, he’d thought that after what happened, things between them would become awkward—that the ease they’d once shared would be lost. But in the end, nothing really changed.

Still, in a show of stubborn pride, Ruan Zhao went two whole days without eating—just to prove a point. To show Lu Xingyao that he was fine without him. That he could go hungry and not care.

After all, hunger was nothing new. He’d felt it before. It was easy. So over those two days, no matter if Lu Xingyao cut his finger slicing fruit or came back from a mission with untreated scrapes, Ruan Zhao turned a blind eye to all of it.

But in the end, it was a cup of milk tea that broke his resolve. The rich scent of cream mixed with a soft, familiar sweetness. One sip was all it took to soothe the gnawing hunger in his stomach. But the problem was… where that milk tea had come from.

Ruan Zhao’s gaze sharpened. He caught sight of the bandage peeking out from under Lu Xingyao’s sleeve. He pressed his lips together. Then reached out, grabbed Lu Xingyao’s wrist, and gently unwrapped the bandage. The cut was clean and neat. A telltale sign of a blade—deep, but not fatal. Still bleeding slightly.

Ruan Zhao’s lashes lowered as he stared at the wound in silence. After a moment, he mumbled, “That milk tea before… it was also…”

“Yes.” Lu Xingyao cut in without hesitation. “I was afraid you were hungry.”

Ruan Zhao scowled. “So what if I was? I’ve starved before. This body can go without food for years and still survive. Cutting yourself like that—are you insane? What if you couldn’t stop the bleeding—”

Lu Xingyao interrupted softly, “But it would hurt you. And I… I couldn’t bear that.”

Ruan Zhao went quiet again. This little war he started—his stubborn tantrum—it hadn’t just made him suffer. It had made Lu Xingyao suffer too. Like Lu Xingyao had said… he couldn’t bear to see him in pain.

And maybe… maybe Ruan Zhao couldn’t quite bear to see Lu Xingyao hurting either. Just a little bit. Only a little. A fingertip’s worth.

Of course, when he drank blood, he’d never left a wound that deep. He always made a small bite—just enough to break the skin. His saliva could numb pain, even help wounds heal. Most marks were gone in a day or two.

But this—Lu Xingyao had used a knife. Cut deep. No hesitation. Like he didn’t even feel pain. Really, he was still just as… annoying.

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