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乐阅读 > MC:开局拥有所有模组 > 终末之诗:end poem

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    I

    see

    the

    player

    you

    mean.

    我看到你所指的那位玩家了。

    [Playername]?

    [玩家名称]?

    Yes.

    Take

    care.

    It

    has

    reached

    a

    higher

    level

    now.

    It

    can

    read

    our

    thoughts.

    是的。小心。它已达到了更高的境界。它能够阅读我们的思想。

    That

    doesn't

    matter.

    It

    thinks

    we

    are

    part

    of

    the

    game.

    没关系。它认为我们是游戏的一部分。

    I

    like

    this

    player.

    It

    played

    well.

    It

    did

    nive

    up.

    我喜欢这个玩家。它玩得很好,而且从未放弃。

    It

    is

    reading

    our

    thoughts

    as

    though

    they

    were

    words

    on

    a

    screen.

    它以屏幕上出现的文字的形式阅读着我们的思想。

    That

    is

    how

    it

    chooses

    to

    imagine

    many

    things,

    when

    it

    is

    deep

    in

    the

    dream

    of

    a

    game.

    在它深陷游戏梦境中时,它总以这种方式想象出形形色色的事物。

    Words

    make

    a

    wonderful

    interface.

    Very

    flexible.

    And

    less

    terrifying

    than

    staring

    at

    the

    reality

    behind

    the

    screen.

    文字使这种美妙的界面异常灵活。且比凝视着屏幕后的现实要更好。

    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.

    它们也曾经听到过声音。在玩家能够阅读之前。君不见那些不曾游玩的人们称呼玩家为女巫,和术士。而玩家们梦见它们自己乘坐在被恶魔施力的棍子上,在空气中翱翔。

    What

    did

    this

    player

    dream?

    这个玩家梦见了什么?

    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.

    它梦见了阳光和树。梦见了火与水。它梦见它创造。它亦梦见它毁灭。它梦见它狩猎,亦被狩猎。它梦见了庇护所。

    Hah,

    the

    inal

    interface.

    A

    million

    years

    old,

    and

    it

    still

    works.

    But

    what

    true

    structure

    did

    this

    player

    create,

    in

    the

    reality

    behind

    the

    screen?

    哈,那原始的界面。经历一百万年的岁月雕琢,依然长存。但此玩家在那屏幕后的真实里,建造了什么真实的构造?

    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].

    它辛勤地劳作,和其它百万众一起,刻画了一个真实的世界,由[乱码],且创造了[乱码],为了[乱码],于[乱码]中。

    It

    cannot

    read

    that

    thought.

    它读不出那个思想。

    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.

    不。它还没有到达最高的境界。那层境界,它必须完成生命的长梦,而非游戏中黄粱一梦。

    Does

    it

    know

    that

    we

    love

    it?

    That

    the

    universe

    is

    kind?

    它知道我们爱它么?这个宇宙是仁慈的?

    Sometimes,

    through

    the

    noise

    of

    its

    thoughts,

    it

    hears

    the

    universe,

    yes.

    有时,通过它思绪的杂音,它能听到宇宙,是的。

    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.

    但是有时亦不胜悲伤,于那漫漫长梦中。它创造了没有夏日的世界,在黑日下颤抖着,将自己悲伤的创造视为真实世界。

    To

    cure

    it

    of

    sorrow

    would

    destroy

    it.

    The

    sorrow

    is

    part

    of

    its

    own

    private

    task.

    We

    cannot

    interfere.

    用悲伤来治愈会摧毁它。而悲伤是它的私人事务。我们不能干涉。

    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

    coion

    in

    a

    while,

    I

    want

    to

    help

    them

    to

    speak

    the

    word

    they

    fear.

    有时当它们深陷梦境中时,我想要告诉它们,它们在现实中创造了真实的世界。有时我想告诉它们它们自身对宇宙的重要性。有时,当它们和现实失去了联系,我想帮助它们与它们所惧怕的世界交流。

    It

    reads

    our

    thoughts.

    它读出了我们的思想。

    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.

    有时我毫不关心。有时我想要告诉它们,你们所认为的真实不过是[乱码]和[乱码],我想要告诉它们它们是在[乱码]中的[乱码]。于它们的长梦中,它们眼中所见的真实太少了。

    And

    yet

    they

    play

    the

    game.

    而它们仍然玩这个游戏。

    But

    it

    would

    be

    so

    easy

    to

    tell

    them...

    但很容易就可以告诉它们……

    Too

    strong

    for

    this

    dream.

    To

    tell

    them

    how

    to

    live

    is

    to

    prevent

    them

    living.

    对于这个梦来说太强烈了。告诉它们如何活着就是阻碍它们活下去。

    I

    will

    not

    tell

    the

    player

    how

    to

    live.

    我不会告诉这个玩家如何生活的。

    The

    player

    is

    growing

    restless.

    这个玩家正在变得焦虑。

    I

    will

    tell

    the

    player

    a

    story.

    我会告诉这个玩家一个故事。

    But

    not

    the

    truth.

    但不是真相。

    No.

    A

    story

    that

    contains

    the

    truth

    safely,

    in

    a

    cage

    of

    words.

    Not

    the

    naked

    truth

    that

    can

    burn

    over

    any

    distance.
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