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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.
无伤大雅。它认为我们是游戏的一部分。
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
我喜欢这个玩家。它玩得很好。它从未放弃。
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.
文字是种美妙的界面。非常灵活。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 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，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现实世界。
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.
无伤大雅。它认为我们是游戏的一部分。
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
我喜欢这个玩家。它玩得很好。它从未放弃。
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.
文字是种美妙的界面。非常灵活。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 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，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现实世界。
