Three Thousand Lightless Years

Author: Think cyanThink cyan
Translator: JochoiJochoi
Source: SCP-CN
Original: 三千无光之年

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tags: cn oo tale pangloss broken-masquerade broken-god



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The stars are eternal.

The stars lingered above the heavens, long before all history, ghastly, highly, before Ho Tu and Luo Shu, they were up there, they were up there waiting. Poets' fantasies, emperors' fanatics.

However, when you raise your head, even if you gaze as hard as you can, the scene before your eyes wouldn't be the clear light of the stars, but diffused smokes and dust instead. If you have had the great honor, if you unfortunately had the habit of star-gazing, then tonight, and not only tonight, you are not in luck with the stars.

Because this is the 21st century, the never-before blank age. The myths decayed, the dragon veins only exists in the books, the Ta Nuo dances desolately in the void of non-existent. Why no myth? It's because once it is dusk, there would be blank and thirsty eyes projecting their intent gaze, salvaging the only piece of sunset glow between the slits of steel forests. For the urban cities are high on guards, skyscrapers so tall they daze people. Seldom when skylight wanders, it reflects the dark silhouette of the city. Think it would be impossible for the spectacular of bright light pouring down and extending into the horizon to appear.

Within a year there may also be time when the moon could be seen, but no one would care. The reality is tiring enough, the omnipotent internet makes them demented. And those aiming to ascend their spirits, they wouldn't be chanting a poem about the Moon. For the urban Moon, it's nothing of a myth, for a unmythologic moon, it's only a solitary cold rock, not growing any bay tree, not feeding a toad.

Because we live in the present. A world of cyberpunk, the night seemed even longer. But most does not have the mood to freely stroll on top of the world, most souls do not want to open for the obscure. The spotlight for the night would be food and sex. Perhaps rain even. The rain that belongs to the night is hard to cut through. Rain is a part of this era, just like long ago, the pioneers passionate about cyberpunk, no matter gaming screenshots, photographs or drawings, there would always have been a few pictures of the rain.

我曾仰对初冬肃穆的高穹喟息。太真的夜空闪烁着奇幻的紫色。远处的高速公路有长途汽车沉沉从远方来,向远方去。空气中弥漫着露滴的凉意,混着草根的清香,当它沛沛然注入肺叶,我的视界遂透彻而无碍,一如黑曜石盘中玛瑙的眼睛。星空无垠,创世纪的星空啊,不可计数之星竟汇于一球渺小。可这浩阔的空间终究也只是一粟罢了,我应该颤栗吗?也许我应该欢喜,因为青绿的狼睛睥睨慑人,向我投来轻蔑的目光。每个宇宙似乎都有不凡的存在,毕竟北斗七星是如何勾连伏羲的,我们还不得而知。

Five thousand years ago, it was still the time of innocence. Back then the water of Yellow River was clear, you can drink all the way from Bayankhar to Shandong, Yun Meng in the land of Chu had miasma and wasn't developed, the great Yu was the sacred king who calmed the fish and soothed the dragon. Back then the Han people could still sing, with wild plum and vines for couples to pick. Back then the poets were spiritual and knowledgeable, they could get to peek at the full face of the star sky. Astrologies were the most complex kind of brilliance, should there have been citizens of Zhou looking up, singing, "In the south there is the sieve that cannot be used for winnowing; in the north there is the ladle that cannot be used for serving wine."

Fifty years ago, much stars that lingered have hid their appearances. If not the Deer had foreseen it, and gave Fu Xi a piece of He Tu, it's hard to tell if someone can decipher such distant mystery. But at least those on the ground have the passion to celebrate the festivals with their ancestors and gods. 五十年前,罗列的星族遁去不少。如果不是牡鹿有知,预先交给伏羲一份河图,这敻辽的奥秘是否有人能破译还很难说。但起码地上的人还有兴致与先祖和神灵共度节日。只可怜了牛郎织女这一对,得以赴会的鹊族一年比一年少,不是被彻夜的明灯迷了方向,就是被网住流进了厨房。不过,至少人和天的距离还没现在那么遥远。

群星恒在,其眸冷且烁。烟尘从平底涌起,遮住了天际。站在森寒的光影下,再伟大的天文学家也未必能肯定群星恒在。古人面对着清澈的天河慨叹人之渺小。而我举目所见,皆为风烟。我现在明白所谓“人定胜天”了,天似乎已经退出了人的生活。我颓然,只有颤抖且麻栗地流泪。


世所以有大难者,为其有瘐。灾变之后,平日喧嚣的城市死一般寂静,宛如一座座鬼蜮。倒毙的饥殍随处可见,野狗争食着骨架和腐肉。钢筋混凝土的建筑形销骨立。遍地是残破的纸张和碎石,惨白的月亮牵动着不祥。偶有无人机探头探脑地搜集信息,灯光所照之处,惊动了一窝老鼠。

旧时的城市如仍有危机潜藏,就当做背景和禁地。境况较好的,可以成为秘密研究机构的藏身之处,也有少数夷成了停车场,飞机场。

感染“它”的人被聚集在一起“销毁”,各国有各自的手段,但唯一的共通之处就是残忍。他们不该死,但他们必须死。牺牲少数成全多数,自古如此。至于销毁感染者的区域,现代人一辈子也不会踏足。

很难说这种景象是什么导致的。天灾只是一小部分而已,罪魁祸首是人祸。随着科技的发展,致命的细菌、病毒、疾病也越来越多,但都没有“它”令人讳莫如深。比较令人信服的解释是,没人知道“它”从何而来,其传染性极强,致死率极高,而且极难被消灭。作为一名内部人士,我得说这句话的前半部分或许有所隐瞒。我不是阴谋论者,但我不得不绝望地告诉你,这是个彻头彻尾的阴谋。至于阴谋背后的阴影是谁,有什么目的,我无可奉告。

我曾惊异于各国政府大灾变后的重建工作之完备高效,短短几年就达到了灾前发展几十年也达不到的高度。无数赛博都市平地而起,仿佛是一夜之间。直到我看见了这繁华背后隐隐约约的鬼影,直到我也成为鬼影之一。

必须指出的是,很少有人觉得SC Pharmaceutical Co. Ltd与S&C Plastic这两家巨头有什么关系。硬要说的话,名字上可能有点相似。毕竟一边是制药行业的鳌头,一边是无处不在的轻工业巨人,虽然各占现代生活的半边天,也没人将它们联系在一起。事实上,他们不过是SCP基金会的前台罢了。而基金会究竟有多少前台,连作为基金会员工的我也不得而知。其实,基金会就算只有这两个前台,都能够死死握住各国政府的命门。你接种的各种疫苗,使用的各种日用品,甚而至于保护你免受“它”侵害的血清,恐怕很难找到不带有“SCP”这三个字母的。

如果你是什么大企业的员工,基本的尊严和隐私就只是空谈。Senior Communication Project Co.研发的员工行为监督芯片广泛应用于基金会以及与之合作的全球各大企业,可以对全体员工形成24小时不间断的行为监控。甚至可以植入特定的思想和记忆。

与其说基金会是各国政府背后的影子,不如说各国政府更像影子。经济、医学、科技……所有的命脉都被基金会牢牢握住。

所谓当局者迷旁观者清,不过是外人为了逞口舌之快牵强附会罢了。基金会不是慈善机构,更不是闪耀着人性光辉的希腊小庙。必要之恶就是基金会存在的目的。生命本该纯净明澈,但在更崇高的事业面前,任何人都不该站在道德制高点指责基金会——事实上,他们指责的只是基金会的前台公司。基金会所以为冯翼之影者,为其有智。


Yes, it is the era when moving forward is hard. On top of lingering on one's last breath, love would be the most expensive product. The pioneers lauding the ode to freedom cared of no love, as they followed the liberty of their heart. But no matter where they mate, how passionate it is, the believers of words would find a song of pastoral from the books. An era of data being closed source and lives being unfair, even downloading a few bytes of TXT requires payment. Books of paper is a memoir of shame. But if the home to a heart can be found within food and sex, one wouldn't mind the extra expense on buying books. What a shame when the androids enter this world, when the machines take over this world, the gods of pastoral had died. The songs of pastoral, they would never be heard again.

Because for whoever with passion shall have their corners smoothed. Perhaps when the libertarians commit promiscuity they would also ignite love. From this perspective love would also be the cheapest thing. Love may perhaps only be a kind of superstition, whether it is long-lasting or not is hard to tell. But we should be grateful, for loving is still possible.

But we does not only live in the same world, not to mention not in the same moment. Wanting to find a partner of soul in a dystopian world is after all the extravagant. Heavens give rise to obstacles, earth give rise to obstacles, heading out gives rise to obstacles. Between every single soul longing for love there is a separation of three thousand light years, no, three thousand lightless years. Lightless years for three thousand, three thousand years without light.

Perhaps Pangloss will finally recover this world, on the peak of Kangrinboqê. But the Holy Hill's snowy ridge is too gloomy and cold, except few scholars, nobody doesn't take it a myth. What greets the urban is the dust kicked by billions of feet, the air breathed by billions of noses.

Above your head it is the sparkling neon yet sandstorm hiding barrier, in your heart it is the morality getting numb in undignified life. No need for you to seek for redemption, as most do not have the will nor the shoulders to take on China's sufferings. You may complain about the Chinese gods, curse on the Chinese people. But whatever you do, you shall have to put yourself into the Eastern cobweb, and flu in it, and cholera in it, and worry in it. Because for every of you, she is a total mother but not one in fourteen billions.

Because her pain and shame exist with you, no matter you are willing or not, in the future you will also transform into such.

Because three thousand lightless years are waiting for you to join.

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