Axolotl Translations

The black curtain of night quietly lifted, and the dim sky began to brighten. The faint light of dawn dispersed the darkness and cold, calming even the restless sea. The wild waves gradually settled, their ferocity fading. White foam disappeared into the water, and the turbulent swells gave way to gentle ripples, leaving only glimmers of light shimmering across the surface.

The sea had quieted, but on this snowy, windswept morning, the little white structure bobbing gently on the water—the Yongyue—was anything but peaceful.

Despite the biting wind and freezing temperatures, the ship wore a thick coat of ice like armor. The railings on the deck had frozen into icicles, yet the villagers weren’t the least bit bothered. Many of them had rushed out of the cabins at first light, drawn by curiosity, and the crowd just kept growing.

The open deck was spacious, but snow still drifted down from the sky. No one wanted to get their clothes wet, so everyone squeezed beneath the awning. It wasn’t particularly roomy to begin with, and now it was packed to bursting.

Those who arrived a little later could only see the tops of people’s heads. They pushed forward with all their might, while those in front—unwilling to step aside or stand in the snow—pushed back just as hard.

With people shoving from the back and resisting from the front, the deck was already a chaotic mess—even though there wasn’t so much as a shadow of a ship on the horizon yet.

“Any sign of it yet? Is it here?”

“Hey, I’m getting old—cut me a little slack, will you? Let me have a look.”

“Old folks should stay inside and rest! Why come out here and risk catching a cold?”

“I’m fine, I have to see this!”

“Ugh, stop pushing already! It’s not even here yet!”

“Everyone, calm down! Just chill out. I heard it’s a massive ship—super huge. Once it shows up, we’ll all see it for sure.”

“Super huge? Bigger than the Yongyue?”

“Come on, don’t be ridiculous. The Yongyue is just a river ship. That one’s an ocean vessel—a behemoth that cruises through the sea. You can’t even compare!”

“Wow… when’s it getting here? I really want to see how big it is.”

The whole deck buzzed with excited chatter—all about the ship.

Off to the side, a boy of fifteen or sixteen rolled his eyes and said indignantly, “Tch. A bunch of ungrateful jerks. Brother Gu and Brother Liang fell into the water trying to help you, and they got separated from their grandpa because of it. And now all you care about is watching some ship?”

A girl from the crowd shot back without missing a beat, “Oh, give it a rest. So you’re the only one here who’s got a heart, huh? You think we all got out of bed at the crack of dawn and came here to freeze our butts off just to gawk at a boat? You think we’ve never seen one before?”

“Alright, alright, what’s the point of arguing?” someone else chimed in. “They’re on that ship. Once it gets here, they’ll be back too.”

The deck buzzed like a marketplace, but the bridge was another world entirely—quiet as a midnight alleyway. A dozen people were crammed together, pressed against the left windshield, watching silently. Not a single unnecessary sound broke the stillness.

The only pair of binoculars sat firmly in the hands of a certain tyrant. No one dared speak up. They could only stare in frustration. Not only had he monopolized the binoculars, he didn’t even share what he saw—just stood there, hogging the view in complete silence.

Xiao Dong tried to endure it. But after a while, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He tugged at Duan Yueyan’s sleeve and mumbled, “Well? Brother Duan? Did you see anything? At least say some—”

“Tch.”

A single annoyed click of the tongue cut him off.

But Xiao Dong wasn’t the timid kid he used to be. Without hesitation, he turned and looked at the young woman manning the helm. His mouth twisted into a pout. “Sister Fang, look at him!”

Sister Fang turned briefly from her controls, glanced their way, and chuckled. “Come on, Duan Yueyan. Hogging the binoculars like that—isn’t that the same as keeping all the snacks for yourself? Let the others have a turn.”

That backup hit just right.

With nothing more than a single sentence, Duan Yueyan—who hadn’t moved an inch in nearly ten minutes—finally lowered the binoculars. He raised an eyebrow at Xiao Dong with a pointed look, silently threatening.

But Xiao Dong’s excitement easily overpowered his fear. He boldly stretched out a hand. “My turn! Didn’t you hear what Sister Fang said?”

“Heh.” Duan Yueyan scoffed and tossed the binoculars at him with an annoyed grunt before swaggering out of the crowd. “There’s nothing out there. What’s everyone getting worked up over?”

Then why were you staring for so long? Xiao Dong retorted silently. Ignoring the grumble in his mind, he eagerly raised the treasured binoculars and aimed toward the sea.

He hadn’t expected much—he’d believed Duan Yueyan’s dismissive words. But the moment he focused the lens, his jaw dropped.

“What do you mean there’s nothing?! Sister Fang! Grandpa Meng! It’s here—it’s really here! My god, it’s huge! That ship is massive!”

“No way! Xiao Dong, let me see!”

“Hey, I’m next, right?”

“Wow, is this one of those supertankers? It’s way bigger than the Yongyue!”

“Brother Gu and Brother Liang are on that ship? This is awesome!”

“Whoa—it’s so cool! Think we can go aboard and look around?”

……

The bridge exploded with cheers and gasps. Duan Yueyan, who had just walked away from the crowd after ten solid minutes of seeing absolutely nothing, paused mid-step: Wait, what?

Hearing the commotion, Grandpa Meng and Sister Fang hurried over. It would’ve been awkward to push back into the crowd to ask for the binoculars, so Duan Yueyan simply leaned against the cabin wall, arms crossed, looking out to sea with a sigh of resignation.

Fifteen minutes later, at the place where sea met sky, a vague, massive shadow began to pierce the morning fog. Its enormous shape gradually emerged—clear enough to see without binoculars. It was colossal, like a moving mountain, like an island drifting on the ocean. Accompanied by a deep, steady hum, it moved slowly, steadily, toward them.

The ship’s bow sliced cleanly through the water, leaving behind a smooth trail of frothing white foam.

As it drew closer, the ocean peeled back its shroud of mist, and the mysterious silhouette revealed itself: a steel city afloat. A towering metal hull, layered decks like fortress walls, soaring masts…

It was—without exaggeration—an absolute giant of a ship.

The bridge erupted again, everyone gasping in awe at the scale of the vessel. Duan Yueyan blinked, briefly stunned. But while everyone else was focused on the enormous freighter unlike anything they’d ever seen before, his thoughts were elsewhere.

Were Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao hurt? How did they make it out alive that night?

Every sleepless hour had been worth it.

Gu Mengran now stood tall at the front of the bridge, binoculars in hand, eyes alight as he looked out at the Yongyue and Windwing drawing closer. His face glowed with energy, a grin spreading across it.

From his higher vantage point and with the binoculars in hand, he could clearly see the Yongyue’s deck.

The Giant was simply too tall—the people on the other side couldn’t see him. But somehow, those villagers—the ones they’d planted fields with, eaten with, lived with—seemed to know. Crowded beneath the rain canopy, they beamed and waved like crazy, as if greeting an old friend.

Even over the deafening thunder of the engines, Gu Mengran could hear them.

He could hear their voices, their welcome: “Welcome home!”

His chest tightened unexpectedly. His eyes prickled.

He took a deep breath. Finally… his grandfather, the Windwing, and the comrades who’d fought by his side—they were all here.

The Giant was far too massive to dock directly next to the Yongyue or Windwing. Its propellers could easily kick up waves strong enough to capsize those two fragile “little boats.”

So, at about one nautical mile out, the Giant’s massive engines shifted into full reverse. Water surged in the opposite direction as the vessel slowed and gently came to a steady stop, a kilometer from them.

Once the sea calmed, the Yongyue—already warmed up and ready—roared to life. With the powerless Windwing in tow, it carefully approached the Giant from the side and finally completed docking.

It took a full hour and several angle adjustments before the Yongyue and Windwing finally docked one behind the other on the Giant’s port side.

The three ships differed vastly in height, making it impossible to secure mooring lines directly. Without hesitation, Ding Pengyi ordered the port-side gangway to be lowered. Crew members then tied the mooring ropes from the Yongyue and Windwing directly to the gangway.

Gu Mengran was itching to get home. He’d been ready for a while. But as long as he wore the uniform of the Giant, duty came first—he was still a sailor, and he had to finish the tasks assigned by the captain.

Now… the job was done.

Time to clock out.

Snow drifted down in soft, steady flakes as Gu Mengran, Liang Zhao, and the Giant’s top commander, Ding Pengyi, burst from the aft deck like they were fleeing disaster. The three of them charged headlong into the snowstorm, making a beeline for the gangway.

The snow-slick deck made it nearly impossible to run—each step slipped back three—but that didn’t slow them down one bit. They fell, scrambled back up, and kept charging forward like men possessed.

They weren’t the only ones desperate.

At the other end of the gangway, Meng Gaoyang, Zheng Yijie, Xu Xingran, Xu Fang, Duan Yueyan… a whole crowd stood rooted on the Yongyue’s deck, stiff and still as statues, all eyes locked on the upper platform above them.

Snowflakes kissed their faces with cold, but no one moved.

Not a soul breathed.

Not until frantic footsteps echoed overhead—irregular, fast—and a familiar figure appeared at the top of the gangway.

“Hello!”

That one cheerful shout cracked the ice.

The stone figures on deck seemed to come alive all at once. Faces pale from cold flushed with color. Eyes widened. Even though they’d already spoken over radio, even though they knew they were alive—none of it felt real until now.

“Gu Mengran! Liang Zhao!”

Someone shouted their names, and suddenly, the entire deck was in chaos.

“I knew you two were alive! Where the hell have you been?”

“Brother Gu! Brother Liang! You’re really okay! This is amazing!”

“Took you long enough to come back—I almost thought…”

“Hey, don’t say stuff like that.”

“Well? What’re you standing there for? Get down here already!”

The voices all blurred together—Gu Mengran couldn’t make out a single word.

But he could feel it.

Their worry. Their care. Their overwhelming joy.

After all the fine-tuning, the gangway lined up perfectly—stretching from the Giant’s deck straight to the Yongyue’s. Gu Mengran grabbed the railing and took the stairs two at a time, agile as a squirrel. In less than a minute, he landed steadily on the deck below.

He didn’t wait for Liang Zhao or the captain behind him. He didn’t stop to respond to the people calling out to him.

Like a sprinter at the starting gun, he took off, racing straight into the crowd—

And threw himself into the arms of the old man whose eyes were rimmed red, nose pink from the cold, hands trembling ever so slightly.

“Grandpa,” Gu Mengran choked out, his whole body shaking as he clung to him tightly. He buried his face in his grandfather’s cool neck and gasped, voice thick with tears, “I’m back, Grandpa. I missed you so much. I missed you…”

Was it only by saying the word “Grandpa” that longing could finally find a voice?

Gu Mengran didn’t know.

He just kept saying it.

The old man wrapped his arms around him, gently patting his back like soothing a child. Gone was the sharp tongue and stern face—his voice hoarse, choked with emotion.

“You’re back, that’s all that matters,” he said softly. “Safe and sound—that’s all I ever wanted.”

“I missed you too, so much.”

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