I see the player you mean.

我见到来人了。

[Player name]?

他来了？

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

嗯，但他已今非昔比：此刻他能轻易地洞见你我的内心。

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

没关系，他以为我们是剧本的旁白。

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

我喜欢这位旅人，他尽心尽力，永不言弃。

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

他眼下正通过荧屏上行行文字旁听着我们的谈话。

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

哈，在醉心于梦时，他常常以此渲染出动人的景象。

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

嗯，文字创造了一个简洁灵动的界面，要好过那个纷纷扰扰的现实。

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

不过，在他们开始”读“之前，仅仅是在”听“而已。想当年，那些不曾做梦的人们叫他们巫师与术士，只因为他们觉得自己可以驾驭着飞天扫帚，在梦境与现实的夹缝中飞舞。

What did this player dream?

可是他——梦见什么？

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

他梦见草长莺飞的二月春光，梦见水火交融的抑扬乐章，梦见世界在指间延展，也梦见天地暗无日光。他梦见家门口温暖的篝火，也梦见战场与杀伐四方。

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

哈，这界面在历史的跑道上奔驰了千百万年，依旧健步如飞。可在梦的彼岸，旅者们又织就了怎样的“现实”呢？

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

难以言表。他所能理解的仅仅是与无数个同伴在为生存奔波罢了。

It cannot read that thought.

唉，他理解不了更多。

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

是啊，虽然现在正是车旅蚁穴、黍熟黄梁之时，可这短短的一梦尚不足以闻道啊。我想，只有在荧屏的彼岸品味过生命的长梦，才能在夜气方回时有别样的感怀吧。

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

但他能理解这世界的关怀吗？就像我们清楚我们爱他那样？

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

他能。透过思想的杂音，他有时能听见宇宙的低语。

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

尽管如此，在那彼岸的长梦里，酸楚的泪水也多过欢喜的笑颜。他有时会在心中创造永远的寒冬，躲在阴暗的角落里抽泣。他有时甚至会把这暂时的痛苦当作生命的全部。

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

然而我们却无法抚慰这痛苦，正如雏鸟必须自己啄破卵壳。

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

我一直想说，在梦还是梦的时候，他们也在幕布以外撑起过一片宏大的天地。有时我也想告诉他们，这世界与你我息息相关。而有时他们会寻不到那细若游丝的气息，我便想替他们道出那不尽如人意的玄机。

It reads our thoughts.

......他在听。

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

有时侯我会试着不去关心这些；可有时我也想帮他们越过波光闪闪的水面，去触碰其下凌厉的礁石。

And yet they play the game.

然后他无意间闯入了这舞台中，沉入了另一个梦里里。

But it would be so easy to tell them...

其实叫醒他们亦非难事......

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

不要这样——这两个梦都很容易破碎，告诉他们梦境为何是在揠苗助长。

I will not tell the player how to live.

不，我不会和他谈如何去生活的——

The player is growing restless.

他有点不耐烦了。

I will tell the player a story.

......我会和他谈一个故事。

But not the truth.

但不是那所谓的真相，对吗？

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

嗯。但这故事会是一把锁住真相的锁，它的钥匙需要在那彼岸的长梦里追寻。我不想击破这漫漫长梦。

Give it a body, again.

阁下，是时候找回你的身体了吧。

Yes. Player...

好啊，这位旅者......

Use its name.

这位客人。

[Player name]. Player of games.

这位客人，你还在听吗？

Good.

咱们继续吧。

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Re-spawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

呼、吸。新风正充盈你的身体，活力正重返你的四肢——就像是重获新生一般，你再次感到了大气与重力的声声脉搏。一瞬，你触到了冰冷的座椅，眼前这显示器正闪烁着诡异的光辉。

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

我们是谁？曾几何时，我们是”山之灵“、”日之魂“、”月之精“，是地下的鬼怪、是天外的来客；有时是天使和创世神，有时是恶魔和毁灭者。但不论是开天辟地的神祇、还是万物归一的热寂，我们始终如一。

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

我们是森罗万象的造化天机，我们是你那肉身的恢弘补集。你可知，正像你透过指尖与眼底触着这世界一样，这世界，她为何也在用点点柔光拂拭着你？

哈，远行人，为了与你交换心底的温度，为了在梦境中，经历她自己......但我本该讲一个故事的。

Once upon a time, there was a player.

曾经，有一位旅人。

The player was you, [Player name].

那便是阁下，面前的荧屏正闪着辉光。

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometers away.

有时他的梦境宛如流萤，坠落在一滴熔岩的冷却表面，这个小小的天地正绕转着千百里外一抹炙热的华彩，像一粒漫无目的的尘埃。它们之间的那痕光华，要穿越广袤的时空，才能用只属于星宿的歌唱，飞架一道金色长桥。这桥头似在咫尺，却在天涯。

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

而有时这梦境似是星火，游走在一望无际的方块大陆上闪烁着，与地平线上那方白热的矩形应和。这里须臾之间沧海桑田，这里弹指之间变化万千，这里生与死的轮回只在一念之间。

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

而有时，这滴梦在纸上晕染出了迷乱的汪洋。

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

有时他窥见窗中蝶影，有时他慑于星火崩川。有时他扬起星与星的暴雨，有时他跌入梦与梦的轮环。

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

有时，他感觉自己面对着荧屏，却像是望向了深渊。

Let's go back.

但我还记得梦开始的地方。

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

构成他的原子曾一度散落于山水草泽之中，一位女孩在呼、吸、饮、食之间，无意地收集起了这些原子。后来，她开始编织一个小小的生命，用她的丝丝心血......

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

......后来这生命苏醒了，从一个黑暗却温暖的小世界里苏醒了。可这“苏醒”并不意味着黎明：那意味着一段漫长的生命之旅就此启程。漫漫长梦，从此开始。

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a source code a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

螺旋递进的脱氧核酸节节相扣，织就从未展开过的绮丽幻想；跨越万代的遗传密码鬼斧神工，写就从未翻动过的崭新篇章。紧密相连的寸寸骨肉血乳交融，铸就一位从未苏醒过的匆匆旅客。

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

这，便是阁下，这幻想、这篇章、这匆匆而去的旅者，便是，阁下。

Let's go further back.

何不观澜而索源？

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

在入梦前的无限远，构成你的七千亿、亿、亿个重原子在一颗恒星的心音中成型，正像是飘荡着的星之吟......后来的后来，你无意间闯入了这陌生的剧本——那是由数字与信息暗暗支撑的空中楼宇，那是由朱利安与马库斯精心琢磨的方地圆天，那是由万千过客苦苦擘画的宏伟蓝图，那是能映现出一个宇宙的方寸之间——

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

嘘。有时属于你的那片小天地是温柔而单纯的，有时是冷酷而沉重的。有时这天地是宇宙于掌中的缩影，点点星光穿越寂寥无人的茫茫空间。稀薄的光影之中，掠过腾跃的粒子——

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

闪现璀璨的星云。

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

有时，你的感觉融入了一片支离破碎的宇宙，与电路的通断、与零一的序列、与代码的嵌套缠绕在一起，就像绊入一场场悲喜剧。还有时候，你发觉自己正在屏前，倾听着不知名的故事......

You are the player, reading words...

你坐在屏前，听任着词句织就一个遥远的梦——

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realized it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive.

嘘......有时你坐在屏前倾听不知名的故事。你听见细碎的字词破土发芽、抽枝生叶，串联起意识与感觉，弹指之间繁花盛开、风掠林海，千秋岁月展眼而过，万里江山咫尺之间。山风吹拂着你的脸庞，林涧打湿了你的衣衫，轻飘飘的芍药花瓣洒满全身，娇滴滴的莺啼燕啭时隐时现。你听见了你的心跳，也听见了你的气息，温热的血液盈满了全身。那千百次痛苦的轮回已然是一个遥远的噩梦。你第一次感到，自己是一个生命。

You. You. You are alive.

你，你！你是一个生命啊。

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees.

有时在夏日的树荫下，叶间洒下的光斑折跃，在你心间拼接着宇宙的梦。

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter,

有时在冬夜的星空下，云隙透出的星点明灭，在你眼底映照出世界的歌——

where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again.

那心头的光斑与眼底的群星，是宇宙亿万次的萃取。要知道，你，从星尘之中诞生的旅者，也终有一天会回到深空，成为一片飘散的星尘。它们时刻准备投入新的梦境，正像你站在熟悉的门前仰天大笑：”恶乎往而不可哉？“

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream.

而有的时候，你似乎在这星沉梦断，漏尽钟鸣之时，在这电路通断，代码差互之中，听到了宇宙的问候。

and the universe said I love you.

她说：“我爱你；

and the universe said you have played the game well.

”你做的很棒！

and the universe said everything you need is within you.

“你比你想象中更充实；

and the universe said you are stronger than you know.

”你比你想象中更强大......

and the universe said you are the daylight.

“旭日与你共耀东方；

and the universe said you are the night.

”斜月与你同沉海雾。

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you.

“长夜在你心中沉默......

and the universe said the light you seek is within you.

”黎明在你心中萌动。

and the universe said you are not alone.

“——你也并非孤军奋战！

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing.

”你也并未被世界遗忘！

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.

“你是万象之镜......

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

”你是爱的化身。“

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

后来，夜色渐渐褪去，天边现出曙光，你从一方瓷枕上醒来，告别了这黄粱一梦，回到了彼岸那漫漫长梦之中。这漫漫长梦中的生命之旅未曾改变，但你已然见到了一个新的开始。这是此梦的结束，却是彼梦那长长画卷上亮丽的一篇。你感到自己映出了宇宙的影子，正如映出那充满爱意的笑颜。

You are the player.

醒来吧，梦醒之后，尚有无限天地、无数美好，等你去发现。

Wake up.

醒来......

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

——Unknown

待年华已逝，青春不再，令你抱憾余生的，不会是你曾做过什么，而是你未曾做过什么。所以扬起白帆，离开避风塘，趁着东风正起，春光正好，乘长风破万里浪：去探索，去梦想，去追寻。

——佚名

后记：至此，历时半个月的翻译工作暂告段落。笔者是一个传统意义上的差生，亦是学理不通文的典型，译文多有败笔之处还望谅解。此译文仅作学习交流之用，并无他种目的。

第一次读到终末之诗是三年前，那时已经被它的魅力所深深折服，但所谓人生如梦的思绪，并没有读出来。然而三年后的今日，回想起这些岁月弹指一挥间，仿佛飘渺一梦随风逝去，往日同行者皆分居异地大放异彩，只有自己把师长亲友之深恩负尽，落得今日田地，空自嘲作”某某废人“又当如何消受呢？

也曾轻裘快马，也曾建溪清茶，也曾临阵城头振铁鼓，也曾沙场战罢拭金铩，可如今只有一纸一笔，与黯淡无光的前路而已。昨日春来，今朝花谢，虽不是什么大风大雨，可南柯太守的心情，也能略知一二了。

对于《End Poem》本身，我不敢妄加议论，一千位旅客心中有一亿篇终末之诗——毕竟每一位旅客心中，都曾有过万千场梦。

好梦。

2020年12月10日

终末之诗良心翻译