Axolotl Translations

Ruan Zhao loved the sun. He loved the way sunlight warmed his whole body, the feeling of radiant heat soaking into his skin until he was cozy all over. Especially in the afternoons—he loved lying on a lounge chair, stretching out like a lazy cat, letting every inch of him bask evenly in the glow. And then, he’d take the sweetest nap. When he woke up, all the bad feelings would be gone. It was like the sun had cleansed him—mind and body, inside and out.

But ever since coming to this world—ever since his species had changed—his preferences had been affected too. His relationship with sunlight had grown… strange.

Sometimes, without thinking, he’d reach a hand toward the light, letting the warmth settle on the back of his palm. But it wouldn’t last. The pleasant heat would quickly turn uncomfortable, then prickly, then painful. Eventually, his skin would redden and burn.

And then, now and then, he’d find himself drawn to narrow, shadowy corners. He couldn’t help it—some instinct urged him to hide. More than once, he’d crawled into the closet, curled up small in the dark like a fetus returning to the womb.

And somehow, it made him feel safe. Utterly, perfectly safe. He could sleep for hours like that. The longest time, he’d slept straight through—day into night, and into the next day again. When he finally woke up, time had lost all meaning. He almost couldn’t remember who he was.

He sat there, hugging a pile of clothes, blinking slowly in a daze. His palm pressed out against the side of the closet—and hit the wall with a dull thump.

The sound startled him awake. He finally realized where he was.

He yawned—long and lazy—and as he glanced to the side, he noticed that the closet door was open just a crack. Through that sliver of space, all he could see was pitch-black darkness. The bedroom lights weren’t on. But he could smell something familiar. Stronger, even, than the scent of the clothes in his arms.

“You’re awake?” The closet door creaked open the rest of the way. Someone reached in, one arm looping under his knees to lift him out. The other hand brushed gently across his forehead, soft and careful, like they were handling something fragile and irreplaceable. “How are you feeling?”

Instinctively, Ruan Zhao nuzzled against the palm of his hand. But the moment he realized what he’d done, he stiffened. That was not in line with the cool image he was trying to maintain.

He immediately schooled his face into a blank expression and replied with forced indifference, “I’m fine.” It might’ve been more convincing if his voice hadn’t turned so soft and raspy from sleeping too long.

He thought he heard the man chuckle quietly. Just as he was about to snap at him—What are you laughing at?—Lu Xingyao smoothly changed the subject. He said a delivery had arrived, sent by his cousin, Ruan Yu. Perfect timing—they could open it now. That successfully piqued Ruan Zhao’s curiosity. He gave a little kick of his legs, motioning for Lu Xingyao to put him down already.

But the moment his feet touched the floor, his knees buckled slightly. His legs were tingling and sore from having been curled up too long without proper circulation—it felt like a bunch of tiny needles pricking at him.

Still, he recovered quickly and acted like nothing had happened. He even refused Lu Xingyao’s hand with a perfectly straight face.

The package was in the living room. It was so large, it took up nearly half the space. They had to move the sofa just to make room for it. Once they cut through the tightly sealed plastic wrap, the contents were revealed: a wooden coffin. Cool to the touch, finely crafted, and finished in a dark amber tone, it gleamed with subtle golden grain lines and gave off a faint but pleasant woody scent. Just from a glance, it was clear—this thing was rare, expensive, and absolutely luxurious.

Ruan Zhao had sort of expected it, but still, his eyebrow twitched in surprise. After finding out about his recent bouts of excessive sleep, Ruan Yu had decided to mail him one of the coffins from his castle. He said sleeping in it would help ease his symptoms. Apparently, this was his favorite one. He’d lie in it every day when he was home—completely dependent on it.

Ruan Zhao had to brace himself mentally for a good while before finally mustering up the strength to lift the lid. From the outside, it looked fairly simple. But the interior surprised him—it was unexpectedly cozy.

The inside was lined with soft, fluffy blankets. Cute anime stickers covered the sides, and nestled inside was a small bunny plushie—just the right size to hug while sleeping.

There was even a hidden compartment in the lid, filled with a game console, cartridges, headphones, and other random little items. Everything was arranged so that if you were lying down, all you had to do was reach up, and you could grab whatever you wanted.

Lu Xingyao did his best to offer emotional support, letting out a surprised “Wow” from the side. Only… his tone was a little too flat. The lack of real feeling made it obvious he was faking it.

“Wanna try it out?”

Ruan Zhao was already itching to jump in—clearly, he’d been planning to do exactly that. Oddly enough, even though he’d just caught up on sleep curled up in the wardrobe, seeing the coffin made him feel drowsy all over again.

He climbed inside. Crossing his arms over his chest, he laid down in a peaceful, picture-perfect pose. There was plenty of space inside—enough for two people, actually. Plenty of room to roll over or stretch out. It didn’t feel cramped at all.

“Close the lid for me, please.”

Lu Xingyao: “Okay.”

The lid lowered again, though this time Lu Xingyao left a small gap for airflow. Light from the living room filtered in through the slit, landing squarely across Ruan Zhao’s face.

“Wait a second. Actually, open it again.”

Without question, Lu Xingyao lifted the lid back up.

Ruan Zhao shut his eyes again, trying to get back into the mood—but something still felt off. After a moment, he sat up, crawling back out of the coffin. Then he issued another command.

“The feng shui in here is no good. Move the coffin to the bedroom.”

So Lu Xingyao hauled the whole thing into the bedroom. This time, it felt better—but something was still missing. Ruan Zhao thought for a second. Then he rummaged through Lu Xingyao’s closet until he found the bundle of clothes he’d been hugging earlier. He draped the clothes over the little bunny plush inside the coffin, then climbed in again, wrapping his arms around the soft bunny now clad in familiar fabric.

Perfect. Now he could finally get a good night’s sleep.

Lu Xingyao lay on the bed in the bedroom, and Ruan Zhao lay peacefully in the coffin by the bedside. The two of them didn’t disturb each other at all—and they both slept soundly through the night.

……

The next morning, Ruan Zhao woke up to the unmistakable feeling of being wrapped in a warm embrace. Gentle breaths tickled the sensitive skin near his ear, the soft warmth enveloping him like sunlight—leaving his entire body feeling toasty and relaxed.

Just like he always did, he sat up and tried to nudge the person beside him to make some space. It was too cramped—he needed room to stretch… Wait. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be sharing the coffin. He’d slept in it alone. It wasn’t a bed. So why was Lu Xingyao there beside him?

Scowling, he turned and demanded an explanation. To his surprise, Lu Xingyao didn’t even flinch. He just calmly explained that he’d gotten curious about what it was like to sleep in a coffin too—and on a whim, decided to try it.

“I even asked for your permission,” he added, completely serious. “You agreed.”

Ruan Zhao: “…???” When did he agree to that?

He poked at the still-sleepy system in his mind and asked if it was true. The system, barely awake, sluggishly pulled up a record of the previous night.

[Yes, Zhaozhao. You did agree… though you weren’t fully conscious at the time. You just sort of… hummed.]

Ruan Zhao: […Fine, whatever.]

Still not entirely satisfied, he tried to find a different angle. “This coffin isn’t meant for two people, you know. You were squishing me the whole time. That’s why I woke up.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly true.

“I didn’t sleep well at all.”

Also not true. He’d slept fantastically. The kind of sleep that cleared away days of exhaustion—like a game character fully revived with a health potion.

Lu Xingyao listened quietly, not looking even the slightest bit guilty. Then, almost lazily, he undid the top button of his shirt, exposing the gentle curve of his throat, his Adam’s apple shifting slightly. With eyes darker than usual, he said in a low voice, “In that case, to express my apology… why don’t I treat you to breakfast?”

He tilted his head and pointed to the side of his neck. “This time, you can bite here. And you don’t have to hold back.”

Ruan Zhao’s breath hitched. “…!” Damn it! He’d nailed his weakness perfectly.

Ruan Zhao quickly looked away, pretending to be completely uninterested—but behind the scenes, he was secretly swallowing hard. More than once. His eyes kept darting back, sneaking glances whenever he thought Lu Xingyao wasn’t looking.

That neck looked so biteable. The shape of the veins was almost artistic, pulsing visibly beneath the skin—taunting him, luring him in.

He was just a small vampire. How was he supposed to resist that level of temptation?! He lunged forward without another thought, sinking his sharp little fangs into Lu Xingyao’s neck—right into the bluish vein he’d been eyeing ever since they first met.

Lu Xingyao let out a low grunt, one arm wrapping firmly around Ruan Zhao’s waist, pulling him closer. With his other hand, he pressed down on the back of Ruan Zhao’s head, encouraging him to bite even deeper.

Ruan Zhao’s body trembled slightly in his arms, like he was overwhelmed. Soft whimpers escaped his throat, and his whole body started to heat up.

The blood flowing from this spot—it was unlike anything else. Rich, potent, irresistible. The pleasure it brought was too intense for a freshly adult vampire like him to handle.

After just a few mouthfuls, Ruan Zhao was already lightheaded. His brain fizzed like static, white sparks dancing through his vision as the world spun around him. But even in that haze, he held on to a shred of reason. Lu Xingyao was human. His body couldn’t handle too much blood loss.

Reluctantly, Ruan Zhao stopped, gasping for breath as he tried to steady the dreamy, floating sensation in his chest. His whole body was now slumped against Lu Xingyao, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, locked onto Lu Xingyao’s blurred face.

“You… you okay?” he whispered. Everything was hazy, like he was looking through mist. He reached out tentatively, fingertips brushing against Lu Xingyao’s cheek—testing, confirming he was still warm, still there.

The man froze for a second. Then, slowly, his gaze darkened—clouded, unreadable. There was something dangerous lurking in his eyes now, something murky and wild, coiled tight like a beast ready to break free. He was close to losing control.

Ruan Zhao reached up and touched his own face, surprised to find it damp and clammy. Where… had the water come from? He brushed the corner of his eye—and realized he’d been crying. At some point, without even noticing, tears had slipped down his cheeks.

But before he could dwell on it, something else caught his attention. More blood had begun to well up. Dark red liquid slowly traced its way down Lu Xingyao’s pale neck, releasing a sweet, irresistible scent. Even the color looked beautiful to him now—so vivid and rich it had become his favorite shade of red.

But… still. He couldn’t let it keep bleeding. Ruan Zhao leaned in, poking out his soft red tongue, and gently licked the wound. His expression was focused, almost solemn—completely absorbed in the task of trying to help the wound close.

Then a low, husky voice brushed past his ear. “It’s okay.” A hand softly ruffled his hair—Lu Xingyao’s. The pressure was gentle, affectionate, indulgent. “You can have more if you want, Zhaozhao.”

Ruan Zhao froze. Inside him, reason and instinct were waging war. His sharp pupils flickered, shifting… before finally softening back into their usual round shape.

He held back. Instead of giving in, he moved away from the now-healed bite mark and burrowed himself into Lu Xingyao’s chest. His warm cheeks pressed tight against the heat of the man’s body. He clung to him with quiet desperation. It was the kind of hug that spoke of total dependence.

And in that moment, Ruan Zhao realized something odd. More than that beautiful, carefully crafted coffin… He felt safer here. With Lu Xingyao.

“I’m full,” he murmured. But somehow, that didn’t feel like enough. So after a moment, he added—seriously, solemnly: “…Thank you for the meal.”

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