遗忘在空寺里的香火仍在袅袅升腾,仿佛空气本身在诵念一段古老的祷词
The incense forgotten in an empty temple continues to burn, as if the very air were reciting an ancient prayer
不是为生者,而是为那些名字只剩断剑之刃铭记的人
Not for the living, but for those whose names remain only on the blade of a broken sword
这里便是武林的起点,个藏于尘世之后的世界,急切的目光看不见,喧嚣的耳朵听不见
Here begins the Murim: a world breathing behind the world, unseen by hurried eyes, silent to ears already too full.
那里的土地由遗忘的誓言铺成
Its ground is made of forgotten vows
空气中弥漫着沉默中击出的招式
The air, of strikes delivered in silence
那些树?总是微微倾斜,仿佛在倾听风已不敢传递的秘密
And the trees? They lean, just slightly, as if listening to secrets the wind no longer dares to carry elsewhere.
不要以为英雄在那里歌唱荣耀
Do not think that heroes sing of their glory there
武林是一座敞开的坟墓,骄傲在此很快低头
The Murim is an open grave where pride lies down quickly
即便是宗师,在月亮高悬之时也低垂双目
Where even masters lower their gaze when the moon hangs too high
因为在这里,力量以孤独衡量
For here, strength is weighed in solitude
武艺不仅是动作
and martial arts are not mere movements
它是记忆,是惩罚,是供奉.
they are memory, punishment, offering
我的笔在颤抖
My brush trembles
我既非剑客,也非僧人
I am neither swordsman nor monk
我生于文字之间,是一名女子
I was born a girl among words
但我亲眼见血在梅花瓣上风干
But I have seen blood dry on plum blossoms
那一刻我明白:武林的开始,并非一声呐喊
And I understood that Murim does not begin in a cry
而是一个避开的眼神
But in a glance turned away
是徒弟在师父面前屏住的那口气
In the breath held by a student before their master
是在雪地中留下的脚印
In the footprint left in the snow
那人心知,此去再无归期
When he knows he will never return