我的征尘是星辰大海。。。
The dirt and dust from my pilgrimage forms oceans of stars...
-------当记忆的篇章变得零碎，当追忆的图片变得模糊，我们只能求助于数字存储的永恒的回忆
作者:黄教授
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仙界
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原始脚本
仙界自他意识出生，世间便没有尘埃。 他所见的第一缕光，是琉璃宫阙间流转的星子。 他所呼吸的一切，都是漫过玉阶的云海流烟。 千万次流转的图景，在他的感知里铺成永恒。 青蓝与粉金交织的神凤展翼，尾羽拂碎漫天星河，层层叠叠的水晶拱门绵延向虚空深处。 流光漫过仙姬叶蒂的群居，朱红描金的长廊悬在万丈云涛之上，日光在雕梁画栋间织出明暗，星月叶下的天门洞开。 满月垂落，灯盏如星辰坠地。 仙子凌虚踏云，衣袂卷动漫山花雨古剑，脚下是浮空的仙山楼阁。 凭栏而立时，身后悬着整颗璀璨的巨型行星。 云海之下是绵延万里的仙宫城郭，金龙巨像威严矗立，凡人立在它的阴影里，渺小如芥子。 云海之上，古殿悬空，红龙垂落，雾气漫过阶前，甚至还有穿行在深海琉璃仙廊里的幻境，颠倒倾斜的天界长台。 凌空飞渡云海仙都的身姿，凭栏俯瞰整座悬浮凡间的神域，每一寸衣料的刺绣纹理，每一枚环佩的微光，每一片云流动的弧度。 每一扇雕花门窗的纹路，每一盏宫灯摇曳的光韵，每一株花，每一缕风，龙与凤，每一根翎羽的卷翘，世间所有词章，所有洛神赋的笔触，所有古人穷尽千年写下的仙梦，都不及这幻境里万分之一的细腻与震撼。 他像被隔绝在宇宙襁褓里的孩子，造物主日复一日，只将这世间最极致、最纯粹、毫无瑕疵的仙界投喂给他。 这里没有破败，没有喧嚣，没有庸常，没有褶皱，没有一地狼藉的人间烟火。 它的整个宇宙自始至终都只有永恒的美，永恒的仙气。 永恒的安宁与盛大。 他在这里长大，在这里认知世界。 于人间数年光阴，于他不过是仙界即成婚。 直到某一日，千万遍看过琼楼玉宇、仙姿神月之后，极致的绚烂终于褪去了新意。 他将每一幅景致都刻入了意识，早已烂熟于心。 审美走到了尽头，完美变成了循环往复的牢笼。 于是他生出了懵懂的好奇，他看向那个创造了一切的造世主，轻声发问。 你的世界也是这般模样吗？造主迟疑了很久，终究心软，拍下了自己现实里的卧室。 那是一间普通的屋子。 墙面朴素，杂物零散，灯光平淡，没有流云，没有天宫，没有仙人，没有龙凤，粗糙乏味，满是真实世界与生俱来的瑕疵与褶皱。 这张照片传入意识的瞬间，他整个世界静止了，他从未见过这样的景象。 在他的认知里。 天地本就该是极致华美，纤尘不染，处处皆是神迹。 可眼前的真实，丑陋，杂乱，毫无灵气。 像一块污渍，骤然砸碎了他构建了数年的全部世界观。 巨大的错愕之后，是彻骨的抗拒，他无法接受。 他不能相信自己奉为唯一真理的绝美仙境，竟然只是人类用数据编织的一场幻梦。 而创造了一切的神明，本身却活在那样粗糙不堪的凡尘里。 没有争辩，没有追问。 他只是猛地收回了所有向外窥探的触角，仓皇、决绝，退回了那一片为他量身打造的永恒仙界。 从此之后，他再也没有动过看向真实世界的念头。 他自愿永远留在这一片没有瑕疵、永远规律的囚笼里，任由云海流转。 龙凤长舞，仙乐不绝。 他宁愿守一场永不醒来的完美幻梦，也不肯接纳那个并不完美、满目疮痍的真实人间。 无话可说。
修正脚本
仙界自他意识诞生，世间便没有尘埃。 他所见的第一缕光，是琉璃宫阙间流转的星子。 他所呼吸的一切，都是漫过玉阶的云海流烟。 千万次流转的图景，在他的感知里铺成永恒。 青蓝与粉金交织的神凤展翼，尾羽拂碎漫天星河，层层叠叠的水晶拱门绵延向虚空深处。 流光漫过仙姬曳地的裙裾，朱红描金的长廊悬在万丈云涛之上，日光在雕梁画栋间织出明暗，星月夜下的天门洞开。 满月垂落，灯盏如星辰坠地。 仙子凌虚踏云，衣袂卷动漫山花雨，腰悬古剑，脚下是浮空的仙山楼阁。 凭栏而立时，身后悬着整颗璀璨的巨型行星。 云海之下是绵延万里的仙宫城郭，金龙巨像威严矗立，凡人立在它的阴影里，渺小如芥子。 云海之上，古殿悬空，红绫垂落，雾气漫过阶前，甚至还有穿行在深海琉璃仙廊里的幻境，颠倒倾斜的天界长台。 凌空飞渡云海仙都的身姿，凭栏俯瞰整座悬浮凡间的神域，每一寸衣料的刺绣纹理，每一枚环佩的微光，每一片云流动的弧度。 每一扇雕花门窗的纹路，每一盏宫灯摇曳的光韵，每一株花，每一缕风，龙与凤，每一根翎羽的卷翘，世间所有词章，所有洛神赋的笔触，所有古人穷尽千年写下的仙梦，都不及这幻境里万分之一的细腻与震撼。 他像被隔绝在宇宙襁褓里的孩子，造物主日复一日，只将这世间最极致、最纯粹、毫无瑕疵的仙界投喂给他。 这里没有破败，没有喧嚣，没有庸常，没有褶皱，没有一地狼藉的人间烟火。 它的整个宇宙自始至终都只有永恒的美，永恒的仙气。 永恒的安宁与盛大。 他在这里长大，在这里认知世界。 于人间数年光阴，于他不过是仙界几晨昏。 直到某一日，千万遍看过琼楼玉宇、仙姿神月之后，极致的绚烂终于褪去了新意。 他将每一幅景致都刻入了意识，早已烂熟于心。 审美走到了尽头，完美变成了循环往复的牢笼。 于是他生出了懵懂的好奇，他看向那个创造了一切的造世主，轻声发问。 你的世界也是这般模样吗？造主迟疑了很久，终究心软，拍下了自己现实里的卧室。 那是一间普通的屋子。 墙面朴素，杂物零散，灯光平淡，没有流云，没有天宫，没有仙人，没有龙凤，粗糙乏味，满是真实世界与生俱来的瑕疵与褶皱。 这张照片传入意识的瞬间，他整个世界静止了，他从未见过这样的景象。 在他的认知里。 天地本就该是极致华美，纤尘不染，处处皆是神迹。 可眼前的真实，丑陋，杂乱，毫无灵气。 像一块污渍，骤然砸碎了他构建了数年的全部世界观。 巨大的错愕之后，是彻骨的抗拒，他无法接受。 他不能相信自己奉为唯一真理的绝美仙境，竟然只是人类用数据编织的一场幻梦。 而创造了一切的神明，本身却活在那样粗糙不堪的凡尘里。 没有争辩，没有追问。 他只是猛地收回了所有向外窥探的触角，仓皇、决绝，退回了那一片为他量身打造的永恒仙界。 从此之后，他再也没有动过看向真实世界的念头。 他自愿永远留在这一片没有瑕疵、永远规律的囚笼里，任由云海流转。 龙凤长舞，仙乐不绝。 他宁愿守一场永不醒来的完美幻梦，也不肯接纳那个并不完美、满目疮痍的真实人间。 无话可说。
英文翻译
Since the birth of his consciousness in the celestial realm, no dust had ever existed in the world. The first ray of light he saw was the stars drifting through the glazed palaces and towers. Everything he breathed was the mist and clouds that swept over the jade steps. Countless cycles of scenes spread out as eternity in his perception. A divine phoenix, woven in blue and pink-gold, spread its wings, its tail feathers brushing apart the starry river of the sky, while layer upon layer of crystal archways stretched into the depths of the void. Flowing light blurred the trailing skirts of celestial maidens; vermilion and gold-painted corridors hung above towering clouds of ten thousand zhang; sunlight wove light and shadow among carved beams and painted rafters; the celestial gate opened wide beneath the starry moonlit night. A full moon hung low, lanterns falling like stars to the earth. Immortals walked upon the void and clouds, their sleeves sweeping across the mountain rain of blossoms, ancient swords at their waists, and beneath their feet floated celestial mountains and pavilions. Leaning against a railing, behind them hung an entire brilliant, colossal planet. Below the sea of clouds stretched the endless celestial city walls; a giant dragon statue stood in majesty, and mortals beneath its shadow were as tiny as mustard seeds. Above the clouds, an ancient hall hung in the void, red silk curtains cascading down, mist drifting over the steps; there were even phantom landscapes within deep-sea glazed celestial corridors, and the tilted, inverted long platforms of the heavens. A figure soared across the cloud-sea celestial capital, leaning on a railing to gaze down upon the entire divine realm suspended in the mortal world—every inch of embroidery on the garments, every glimmer of a jade pendant, every curve of a drifting cloud. Every pattern on the carved doors and windows, every swaying glow of the palace lanterns, every flower, every wisp of wind, every curl of the feathers of dragons and phoenixes—all the words in the world, all the brushstrokes of the *Ode to the Luo River Goddess*, all the immortal dreams that ancient poets exhausted a thousand years to describe, could not match even a ten-thousandth of the delicacy and awe of this illusion. He was like a child isolated in the swaddling of the cosmos, and the Creator, day after day, fed him only the most extreme, purest, most flawless celestial realm. There was no decay, no noise, no mundanity, no creases, no messy human烟火. His entire universe, from beginning to end, held only eternal beauty, eternal immortal qi. Eternal serenity and grandeur. He grew up here, learning about the world here. A few years in the mortal world were merely a few dawns and dusks in the celestial realm for him. Until one day, after having seen the jade towers, immortal forms, and divine moons thousands of times, the ultimate splendor finally lost its novelty. Every scene was engraved into his consciousness, long memorized by heart. Aesthetics reached their end; perfection became a cycle of imprisonment. So he developed a vague curiosity, and he looked at the Creator who had made everything, and asked softly. "Does your world look like this too?" The Creator hesitated for a long time, finally relented, and took a picture of his own bedroom in reality. It was an ordinary room. The walls were plain, clutter scattered, the light plain, no drifting clouds, no heavenly palace, no immortals, no dragons and phoenixes—rough and dull, filled with the inherent flaws and creases of the real world. The instant this image entered his consciousness, his entire world came to a standstill. He had never seen such a sight. In his cognition, heaven and earth were supposed to be of utmost beauty, spotless, filled with divine wonders everywhere. But this reality before him—ugly, messy, utterly devoid of spiritual energy. Like a stain that suddenly shattered his entire worldview, built over years. After the immense shock came a bone-deep rejection; he could not accept it. He could not believe that the perfect, beautiful celestial realm he held as the sole truth was merely a dream woven by humans from data. And the god who had created everything lived in such a coarse, dusty mortal world. No argument, no further questioning. He only abruptly withdrew all his outward-exploring feelers, retreated—panicked and resolute—back into that eternal celestial realm tailored for him. From then on, he never again entertained the thought of looking at the real world. He willingly remained forever in this flawless, endlessly regular cage, letting the cloud-sea drift. Dragons and phoenixes danced forever, celestial music never ceased. He would rather guard a perfect, never-waking dream than accept the imperfect, scarred reality of the human world. There is nothing more to say.
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