Axolotl Translations

The fishing boat, towering two or three stories high, had once felt massive compared to their diesel-powered skiff. But now, against the raging sea, it barely held its own. To the ocean, a boat like this was no more than an ant—or a spider—to an elephant.

Rumble rumble… BOOM!

A massive wave surged forward, and the fishing boat, which had only just managed to start its engine and steady itself, was suddenly lifted high into the air. Then, without warning, it plummeted back down like a stone dropped from a rooftop, slamming into the water with tremendous force.

THUD.

The impact knocked the vessel off balance. One half of the hull jutted up into the air, the other submerged, rocking violently as wave after wave pounded its frame. Water rushed onto the deck. The rusted mechanical arm and flagpole snapped like twigs. Dark blue seawater surged into the cabin, engine room, and bridge, flooding everything in its path with ruthless speed.

The boat was on the brink. And the people inside weren’t faring much better.

Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao were like rubber balls in a storm—tossed this way and that, barely managing to stand before being slammed back to the floor. Their bodies crashed and scraped against the control panel like being beaten by dozens of invisible clubs.

Liang Zhao clung to Gu Mengran, shielding his head tightly in his arms. His own shoulder and the back of his skull took the full brunt of each collision against the control console. Icy water poured over them, soaking them to the bone. The pain and the cold crashed over them in waves. Their bodies trembled uncontrollably, nearly frozen stiff, yet somehow they crawled inch by inch into the corner of the wheelhouse and latched onto the wall-mounted safety handles, barely managing to hold themselves steady.

Just staying upright was a feat—let alone steering the boat through a storm.

But fortune favors the prepared.

As the waves began to ease, there was a split-second lull—like the top of a rollercoaster right before the plunge. Liang Zhao seized that window. With arms and legs working in tandem, he hauled himself up, lunged for the helm, and grabbed the wheel—their one and only chance at survival.

RUMBLE!

Throttle up. Hard to port.

The propellers spun into a blur, and the fishing boat began to move again, fighting through wind and rain. The bow sliced through the waves—left, then right—zigzagging in sharp, erratic motions. The “Z-pattern” maneuver worked. In seconds, the flooded deck was wrenched free from the sea’s grip. The tilting hull gradually evened out, rising back into position.

It was like a light flaring to life in the dark.

Liang Zhao saw hope.

But the threat wasn’t over. Shadows moved across the water’s surface—more waves approaching fast. Just as the boat steadied itself, preparing for the next assault, the lights above flickered violently.

Two seconds later, click—every interior light went dark. Even the bridge controls went dead.

Wind, rain, and waves howled around them.

And then came the darkness.

Total. Suffocating. Darkness.

It wrapped around the fishing boat like a predator, closing in from all sides.

The bridge was pitch black—so dark he couldn’t even see his own hand. The sudden loss of light sent a spike of panic through Gu Mengran, his hair standing on end. He grabbed the handrail with both hands, groping blindly toward the helm.

“Liang Zhao! Grab my hand! I’m right here—hurry!”

Before he even finished speaking, a large, icy-cold hand found his.

Like a lifeline, Liang Zhao followed the connection, pulling himself back into the corner. One hand gripped the rail, the other wrapped tightly around Gu Mengran. His voice was calm, gentle. “Don’t be scared. Hold onto me, tight. We’re going to stand up together and move slowly toward the exit. The engine room’s probably flooded—we’ve lost power. We need to get out, reach the surface, then hide in the space.”

Where they’d entered, they had to leave. The boat could sink at any moment, and if they tried to retreat into the space while still inside, they might reemerge into open ocean—deep, dark, and deadly. Getting out now was safer. Even if the sea swallowed them, as long as they slipped into the space the moment they hit the water, they might still return to the surface.

But that plan came at a price.

“No!”

Gu Mengran clutched Liang Zhao tightly. Instead of getting up, he pushed him down, holding him firmly in place. He shook his head violently. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re planning. You want to go out that door? Then you better glue us together first!”

These waves weren’t something you could reason with. Gu Mengran knew—absolutely—that the moment they left the shelter of the cabin, the ocean would tear them apart in less than a second. He had the space. He still had a chance.

But Liang Zhao?

Without the boat, without him, and with nothing but his mortal body to face the sea—he wouldn’t survive.

Gu Mengran refused to let go. Whether from cold or adrenaline, his lips were trembling so violently they knocked against his teeth. “We’re staying here. If we can hold out, great. If we can’t, we’ll hide in the space. Even if we sink with this boat, we’ll wait it out and rise again. But whatever happens…”

“You’re not leaving me.”

“Mengran, listen—if we get pushed into the deep sea—”

“I’m not listening!”

Liang Zhao tried to explain, but Gu Mengran cut him off—rough, fierce, desperate. “You promised me,” he choked, voice trembling and thick with tears. In the dark, his eyes shone with grief. “I’m not afraid. Even if we die together, that’s fine. But Liang Zhao—I can’t lose you again.”

Liang Zhao pulled him in tighter, as if he could fuse them together with sheer will. Even knowing Gu Mengran couldn’t see him, he nodded hard in the dark, voice steady and solemn. “I understand. We live together, or we die together. We’ll face this—together.”

They’d prepared for the worst, said their goodbyes.

But the storm they’d braced for never came.

Through the shattered windshield, Liang Zhao had clearly seen the towering black silhouette on the water. He trusted his eyes. But a minute passed. Then another. Time ticked by. The man in his arms was still trembling uncontrollably—yet the wave that should have crashed down on them… never came.

In fact, the once-roaring waves seemed to be retreating, little by little. The raging sea began to settle, and the violently tossing fishing boat finally caught its breath. Within a few short minutes, the wild roller coaster had become a harmless merry-go-round.

“…Did the waves… retreat?”

The thunder of the ocean grew quieter.

In the dark, Liang Zhao and Gu Mengran exchanged a glance. Wordlessly, they let go of each other and rose to their feet, gripping the railings for support. Their eyes had fully adjusted to the dark. Looking through the broken windshield, they could now see the sea clearly—calm and still under a veil of night. No towering shadows. No howling winds. No crashing waves. Just soft, gentle swells rising and falling, as if everything that happened earlier had been some twisted illusion.

But what Liang Zhao saw before wasn’t from this direction.

Staying on guard, he tugged Gu Mengran along and moved to the side window, positioning themselves at the helm. He stared ahead, unblinking. Noticing the tension in Liang Zhao’s expression, Gu Mengran followed his gaze immediately.

Under the night sky, the sea looked like a thick pool of ink—smooth on the surface, but full of unsettling mystery. Far in the distance, just where the waves began to blur into the horizon, a massive black shape rose from the water like a beast climbing out of the abyss. Even its vague outline radiated a suffocating sense of dread.

What the hell was that? A wave?

Goosebumps shot up across his skin. Every hair stood on end.

Gu Mengran’s expression shifted instantly. He grabbed Liang Zhao’s arm, yanking with all his strength. “Go! Now! We have to run!”

“Wait.”

Liang Zhao didn’t budge. Instead, he caught Gu Mengran’s arm, voice low but firm. “It’s not a wave. I saw it earlier—it hasn’t moved at all.”

That made Gu Mengran pause.

His panic cooled just enough for him to think. He immediately pulled a marine telescope out of his space and raised it toward the ominous shape in the distance. To the naked eye, it looked like nothing more than a huge wave. But the moment the telescope locked on, the truth zoomed into view. A smooth bulbous bow. A towering stern. A body so massive it stretched past the edge of sight.

That was—

“A ship!”

Gu Mengran cried out, so excited his hands trembled. Afraid he was hallucinating from the cold, he shoved the telescope at Liang Zhao. “It’s huge! I saw the stern, the bow—it’s definitely a supertanker! Hurry, look!”

Liang Zhao raised the telescope. Thirty seconds later, he lowered it again. His tense brows slowly relaxed. He turned to Gu Mengran, voice calm. “You’re right. It’s a ship.”

It seemed he already had a plan. Liang Zhao clapped Gu Mengran on the shoulder, his expression serious as he analyzed the situation: “This calm won’t last. We’re still at sea, and bigger storms could hit at any time. Mengran, this is our chance—we need to signal that ship. If we can get on board, we’ll have a safer means of travel and a better shot at finding Grandpa and the others.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Gu Mengran agreed without hesitation. But then he frowned slightly, sensing something off. He glanced at Liang Zhao, confused. “Wait… were you trying to talk me into it?”

Liang Zhao gave his damp hair a firm ruffle. “That last boat—the Yongyue—it brought you nothing but bad memories. I was worried—”

“What are you talking about?” Gu Mengran laughed. “I’m not some spoiled kid—I know what matters. It’s way too risky to keep relying on this diesel boat. We just got together. I’m not done living yet. I want to see Grandpa again.”

“You will,” Liang Zhao said, nodding with a smile.

Then he raised the telescope again, scanning the sea. “It’s a bit far. We need to act fast—get their attention and see if they’ll offer help.”

“Easy!” Gu Mengran replied confidently.

It was hard for an elephant to spot an ant in the dark sea, but for someone with a storage space full of gear, like Gu Mengran, it wasn’t a problem. He connected a high-powered spotlight to an external battery, flipped the switch, and bam—a blinding beam of light shot out through the windshield, lighting up half the sky in an instant.

Cradling the light, he adjusted the angle again and again. Before long, the beam was aimed directly toward the tanker, cutting through the thick night mist and sweeping across the surface. Then, it began to flash in a clear, steady rhythm:

Three short. Three long. Three short.

SOS.

The light was powerful. Even if it couldn’t hit the ship directly, anyone looking this way from the deck would definitely notice.

Soaked to the bone, Gu Mengran was chilled straight to his core. His wet clothes clung cold and heavy to his skin. If seawater froze more easily, he might’ve been a popsicle already. Still, shivering violently, he clenched his jaw and kept sending the signal.

Five minutes passed.

Liang Zhao finally lowered the telescope, brows furrowed. Slowly, he shook his head.

No response…

Did they not see it? Was the ship empty—a ghost ship? Or did they see it and simply choose not to respond? It was freezing. Whatever the reason, they couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

Gu Mengran decisively shut off the spotlight, packed it and the external power supply back into his spatial storage, and pulled out two brand-new military coats. He handed one to Liang Zhao. “Wanna take a gamble? Drive the boat over?”

Without bothering to strip off his soaked inner clothes, Liang Zhao wrapped the heavy coat around himself and nodded. “Let’s do it. We’re switching ships anyway—might as well give it a shot. But a vessel that size definitely belongs to someone. We need to be cautious. If anything feels off, we leave. Immediately.”

In a brutal post-apocalyptic world, people willing to offer help were rare. Being turned away would be the best-case scenario—just a wasted trip. What they really had to fear was getting burned instead of fed. In his past life, during the darkest days, humans had ended up on the menu.

Gu Mengran understood perfectly. After buttoning up his coat, he grabbed Liang Zhao’s hand again, and the two of them stepped out of the wheelhouse, one after the other. The deck was too high above the sea, so Gu Mengran had to climb down the emergency soft ladder to lower the diesel boat to the water.

They were fully prepped. As Gu Mengran climbed over the railing, both hands gripping the ladder, just as he swung one leg over to descend—

Suddenly, from deep within the darkness, a deep, resonant horn blew.

“Woooo—woo, woooo—woo!”

One long, one short. Then again—one long, one short.

It was basic seamanship: a long-short, long-short horn pattern meant—permission granted.

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