朦胧光裱作 Paintings Framed in Half-Light

作者：Isa Mari De Leon

纷繁光景，涌入眼帘。

Visions pour in.

No mercy from my mind tonight.

今夜注定又要辗转了。

I stand in a glade and imagine it drowning in sights unreal. Grass melts. Rocks swirl into twisted faces. Leaves turn to liquid and drip down branches, bleeding into pools.

The moon is a closed eye.

我站在林间的一处空地，看见种种光怪陆离。青草溶化。石块涡旋扭曲成各种面孔。树叶化作汁水，淋漓滴入一汪汪水潭。

Brush in hand, my ethereal palette emerges.

Memories resurface.

月亮宛如一只紧闭的眼眸。

I repaint, relive...

我手中握着画笔，色盘浮现。

记忆随之重演。

我再次挥毫，回到……

一个人在我眼前，盔甲里燃着烈火。

A man burned before me in his own armory.

Around us sweltered a painted fire with flames the color of daybreak. Its golden core beat with pain—with every wound his weapons had ever inflicted. The blaze climbed the walls, but did not catch, shedding neither ash nor smoke and spreading only as far as I willed it.

在我们周围，是一团拂晓色的火焰。金色焰心跃动，烧灼着他自己用刀划破的伤口。火焰卷上墙壁，但并没有落脚。不落灰，不生烟，随着我心意蔓延。

Yet it flared more vibrantly, more violently, than any real fire.

The man writhed. His senses scorched deeper than bone. He reached toward a weapon rack lined with serrated carvers—Noxian steel with Kashuri handiwork.

只是火焰愈发炽烈，甚于任何真正的火。

Kashuri, the thought arises. Still far, each step farther from Koyehn.

These blades were used to maim and kill. He caused suffering; he deserved to suffer.

那个人扭动着身体。感官的烧融更甚于皮肉的焦灼。他伸手去抓刀架上的锯齿砍刀——诺克萨斯的钢铁，喀舒利的工艺。

Rendering the flames of a forge, I drew answers out of him. Who he worked with, for how long, why. His fury strained through every gasp. My painting thrashed in his eyes, mirroring every drop of wrath.

To make it stop, he offered everything. Money. Arms. Revenge, by his hand. But the only thing I cared about was this moment between us. Every vision that burdened me became his burden. The fire surged from my imagination into his, lightening the weight of my mind.

喀舒利，这个念头突然冒出来。路还很长，每走一步都与勾崖渐行渐远。

I kept my art from destroying him. We both now live with the marks of this, but while he chokes within flashbacks of the inferno, I survive in it.

The tide pulls me away. I repaint, relive...

这种砍刀专事杀戮。他使别人痛苦，所以他也该饮下痛苦。

我用煅炉般的热火，撬开了他的嘴。背后主使是谁、谋划了多久、为了什么目的。每一次艰难的呼吸，都在消耗他原本嚣张的气焰。我的画作撞进他的眼眸，映出每一丝愤恨。

为了解脱，他想尽办法求饶。金钱。武器。复仇，他愿亲手操办。但我关心的只有我们之间的这一刻。我背负的幻象成为了他的负担。烈火从我的想象中涌入他的脑海，让我渐渐放松。

我克制着画笔，留下了他的性命。现在，我们两个都被这幅作品打上了烙印，只不过他在火海中几近窒息，我却能活下来。

潮水将我拖走。我再次作画，回到……

一位妇人摆渡我驶过凶险的水域。

A woman ferried me across troubled waters.

Around us, a golden-drawn breeze—dappled lights with specks of lantern bugs.

在我们周围，灯笼虫的点点光斑勾勒出一条金色的风廊。

We sat across from each other. Gulfweed clambered from the surf and gripped the oars. Water lilies grew from the wellspring of my mind, an offering; I shaped them. The gulfweed took the painted blossoms instead, prying them apart.

The woman’s hands found rhythm. The course was not always like this, she said. She had been forced to carry marauders, arms runners, assassins, all with dark intent that seeped into the channel, which grew sick with chop and murk.

我们相对而坐。浪花推起马尾藻，缠上渡船的双桨。睡莲在我脑海内的泉眼周围生长。这是一份赠礼，交由我塑形。马尾藻攀附上了画中的莲花，分出了一条路。

In her voice, a deep-stained guilt.

I listened. I gathered color from my palette and matched the sweeps of her oars, creating lilies and life anew—carps in the plums and oranges of sunset. I inspired her to recall kind memories from beneath layers of pain. Everything that burdened her became my burden.

妇人的双手富有节律地划动着。她说，摆渡并不总是如此顺利。她曾经被逼无奈，摆渡过形形色色的盗匪、武器贩子、暗杀者。他们个个心怀鬼胎，浸染了这条航道，让这里喜怒无常、黯淡无光。

The canal turned from lashing the pieces within itself to cradling them. The lines of the woman’s eyes furled with gentle joy. Somewhere in our minds, birds sang.

Our steadied thoughts, steadied hands, brought us to safer shores.

她的声音透着深深的自责。

There’s light to what lives in my mind, and I can choose to paint that way. But... light always casts a shadow. I repaint, relive...

我倾听着，从色盘里蘸满彩墨，合着双桨的韵律，创作出莲花与新生——梅红的锦鲤和夕色的柑橘。我鼓励她剥开层层苦涩，挖掘那些温馨的记忆。她的负担成为我的负担。

这一路的自我鞭笞，变成了一种慰藉。妇人眼角的皱纹折出恬淡的欣喜。在我们的脑海中，听得到莺歌燕语。

安泰的心境和平稳的双手，把我们带到了踏实的岸边。

在我心中潜藏的东西，也有光明的一面，我可以选择以此面作画。然而……光芒必然投下阴影。我再次提笔，回到……

一位艺术家和我并肩站在勾崖的一间画室里。

An artist stood beside me in a Koyehn studio.

Around us, inky blackness broken by candlelight. Far below an open window, the ocean—a violet gorge with seafoam for teeth, consuming itself over and over. The Temple of Koyehn stood for what would become its last night.

在我们周围，烛光刺破凝重的墨黑。从敞开的窗向下望，远处的海是一张绛紫的巨口，海沫是它数不清的尖牙，一遍遍吞噬自己。勾崖寺矗立在它最后的夜。

“All things must end,” said Jhin.

He watched a candle burning. I looked to the tide.

“万物皆有终焉。”烬开口说。

“I hope you enjoyed your time here,” I said.

He was still as death. “What does a wave feel for the rock upon which it crashes?”

他望着烛火。我看向海浪。

Everything, I thought. Nature is emotional—capricious and harmonious.

“Nothing,” I said, shrugging. “You feel more for Koyehn than that, surely?”

“此行招待不周，望请海涵。”

“This place showed me all I desired to see,” Jhin said, “except one, final piece.”

He turned toward me, and I, him. “Which is?”

他纹丝不动，如同尸身。“惊涛着岸，会有什么感受？”

“Your... painting, Hwei. The truth of it. I know forced performances, and you’ve always hidden something. I’d like to know what.”

My eyes widened. What color they were then, I couldn’t tell. What Jhin found churning within, I dreaded.

感受到一切，我在心中想。这个世界是充满感情的，任性且融洽。

“What do you mean?” I said. “I’m true to myself.”

An eye opens on my canvas, searching for anything from Jhin—some envy, resentment, passion, sorrow... Any feeling to explain him.

“空无一物。”我耸耸肩说道，“您该不会意指此番勾崖之行吧？”

When we meet again, I’ll greet him like before. Eat together. Watch as he shifts in a new light. Ask, “Why Koyehn? Why me?” And I’ll paint what I know of him, returning life to his murders, putting colors back on agonized faces—surrounding us with a darkness so bright, it becomes blinding, and so blinding, it becomes freeing.

Art saves me, yet it can shatter me. Sometimes, I think I’m already lost—

“此地让我大饱眼福，”烬说，“但还差一样，最后的作品。”

“No,” Jhin said. “You are not.”

I remember how he convinced me to reveal my art. But I still paint arms to hold my past self back. Eyes to glower. Mouths to scream. At the same time, the arms push, the eyes behold, the mouths goad.

他转身面向我，我也面向他。“您指的是……？”

In past and present, I lift the brush...

“当然是……你的画作啊，彗。真正的作品。你强颜欢笑，一直都在隐瞒伪饰。我想见识一下真正的你。”

我双目圆瞪。我的眼瞳此刻是什么颜色，不得而知。被烬看破的心底在悸动，我怕是瞒不住了。

“您在说什么？”我答道，“这就是真正的我。”

我的画布上睁开一只眼，寻找烬的迹象：某种嫉妒、怨恨、热忱、悲哀——任何情感，只要能够解释他行为。

当我们再次相见，我会像往常那样致以问候。共进一餐。看他改头换面。然后我要问他，“为什么是勾崖？为什么是我？”然后我要画出我所了解的他，将生命交还给他的凶杀，让色彩回归到痛苦的脸庞，用耀眼的黑暗把我们包围，直至炫目，直至自由。

画能救我，也能将我彻底粉碎。有时，我觉得我已经无可救药——

“不，”烬说，“并不是。”

我记得他说服我展现我的画。但我画下的还是手臂——拦住往昔的自己。怒视的眼目。尖叫的口唇。但此时，手臂却在推搡，眼目只是注视，口唇发出催促。

往昔的我和当下的我，提起笔尖。

我已作完了今晚的画。

I’ve finished tonight’s paintings.

Around me, black and gold—fractures of earth, light emitting from the chasms, songbirds in gilt cages, the infinity of an eye, straining with full veins.

在我周围，是黑色与金色。大地龟裂，沟壑深处的光芒，镀金樊笼中的鸣禽，深邃眼眸中的无尽，青筋暴突的迫切。

The moon witnesses. Blot everything beneath it—Koyehn, Jhin—and I’m still left with myself.

The vision erupts. In its place, the forest is just the forest, holding itself together.

孤月尽收眼底。世间万物，遍染皎洁——勾崖、烬、和孤独的我自己。幻象迸散。取而代之的，森林只是森林，安然自若。

Tears draw down my face. My palette dissipates.

Awake, I dream of my next piece.

泪滴从我脸上滑落。色盘消融在空中。

醒来后，我梦见下一幅作品。