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报告翻译问题
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SyDo3h1Tu7c&list=RDSyDo3h1Tu7c&start_radio=1
而我玩的菲利普是这样的👇
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPA1Es1RuL4
就这都能赢，说明AI还是太菜了。但是想想能玩的让AI差点赢的我岂不是更菜
所以彼得只要不当我近邻就没那么恶心，辣酱好像总能恶心到人
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBUxkh1Oj1c
这个舞者Lopatkina之前我发过她的，世界大众里最有人气的一个天鹅湖主角，网络喊世界第一白天鹅。但她本人不太喜欢，说被框住了，哎就跟有的演员戏路窄了一样，芭蕾演员也是演员嘛！
因为这种特质，辣酱在被我转化为文字里时，脑海里的image总是蹦蹦跳跳的。是天鹅湖第三幕里的奥黛尔，危险美丽，动作十分大开大合，张牙舞爪的，起起伏伏，齐格飞不拉一下就要飞出去了！远古时期的音乐就是奥杰塔，温柔安静，内敛细腻。虽然故事里齐格飞爱上的是奥杰塔，黑天鹅是反派，然而在芭蕾界里古往今来比较受欢迎和关注的始终都是奥黛尔，最有名的就是黑天鹅的32挥鞭转了！但我最喜欢的还是努里耶夫的那种解读，王子是主角，黑白天鹅都是同一个人的内心投射，奥杰塔和奥黛尔对齐格飞来说都同样迷人！
文字说起来可能很抽象，我是说中世纪的多瑙河给我的就是这个感觉。你提到的那个铃鼓就是重拍！base里每次打铃鼓的时候都是主旋律里的重拍。那么在芭蕾里它就是弱拍时收回来向下蓄力，重拍时向上整个人展开做动作！在这么快的一个旋律里要这么做，还看起来不能是BOOM的，必须要是延伸出去的，可以说是非常难，多萝西是真的厉害啊，法派芭蕾对脚下功夫极度重视！
芭蕾的审美里有个原则，就是延伸。你的天和地不能是一下子BOOM上去又一下子BOOM下来的，向上要延伸到不能再延伸，向下要缓缓落下。这个就是需要极其用力的控制了！芭蕾看起来很噼里啪啦的就是没劲，但看起来轻如雪花的就是很有劲！
但拉丁不一样，拉丁就很BOOM了！所以课上看到拉丁转芭蕾的人真是超级明显啦！
比如我在日本跳芭蕾是最卡点到的，在中国跳芭蕾是来最早的
他们在性别问题上也基本就是这个态度，中国人比较随性的事在他们那难以想象
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=msC07KYHD_E
这点是我后来在日本才意识到的，因为在和日本人聊到我爹妈时他们居然还需要特别强调，特地介绍说“中国曾经都是双职工家庭，所以中国男人也都要会做饭”。对他们来说好像家里爸爸爱做饭是个特地需要强调的事
His scientific progress was pressing closely behind Bolívar’s, and he had already begun the Mars Colony project. After Bolívar’s Spaceport sank beneath the sea, people had almost thought Matthias would be the first to fly into space.
After all, he was always reaching toward the night sky.
But Bolívar still left first.
Matthias seemed lost in thought.
Nader Shah looked at Matthias and asked:
“When will you fly into space too, Matthias Corvinus?”
END
Every civilization watched that flame rise from the sea toward the sky.
Bolívar was not strong enough to fight a tsunami. He could only smile, pick up his guitar, and continue plowing the sea. From other cities, other harbors, and other roads, he still sent himself toward the stars.
He broke free from the chains of servitude to the earth, from the physical bonds of gravity, and rushed toward liberty, soaring through the universe.
Bogotá’s Spaceport had sunk into the ocean, but Gran Colombia was not Bogotá alone. Cuenca, Panama, Quito, Caracas, Guayaquil—as well as the railways, harbors, coffee, trade routes, and one coastal city after another—all continued to operate.
He mobilized the production of his other cities and lifted the dream that had fallen into the sea back toward the sky.
While busy building, he smiled and said, “Of all the roads you take, safety comes first. Build without regulation, and your capital weeps in two lines!”
He shared his experience with the other civilizations:
“Do not build important districts on floodplains or low-lying coastal capes!”
Then the sea had risen.
The Spaceport that carried Gran Colombia’s dream of spaceflight had been sunk to the bottom by a tsunami. So the sea was not only the foundation upon which Bolívar survived; it could also turn back and hurt him. It sounded like a malicious joke played by fate.
So even the powerful ally of weak civilizations was, before nature, such a weak civilization himself. He could influence humanity through diplomacy, yet he could still be swallowed by the sea.
“My Spaceport in Bogotá was just flooded by seawater,” Bolívar said. “The citizens of my capital went under the sea before they ever reached the sky. If you want to be my father, it isn’t unreasonable for you to contribute some aerospace reconstruction funds, is it?”
Bolívar continued holding out his hand, his smile as open as the sea wind.
“Isn’t the Corvinus family very rich?”
Watching this scene, Nader Shah suddenly realized that there was indeed a reason Simón Bolívar could be friends with Matthias Corvinus.
Both of them were rather shameless.
“Peter, don’t listen to his nonsense. I would never be Philip’s husband.”
Peter looked at him and nodded, apparently not feeling that this required any explanation.
Matthias immediately became cheerful again and turned back toward Bolívar.
“However, Bolívar, you may be my son.”
He smiled sweetly.
“Come on. Call me Father, or dad, or whatever.”
Bolívar glanced at him and held out his hand.
“If I call you Father, will you give me pocket money?”
“Who wants Matthias as my husband?”
He paused, as if suddenly realizing that the sentence itself was already terrible, and immediately corrected himself.
“No, who wants you as my son? Don’t try to force some family connection here! Creole child, why are you clinging to the orthodox great Spanish Empire?”
Nader Shah silently set down his coffee cup. He felt that he understood every single word. But he was not at all sure whether he should understand what those words meant when combined together.
Matthias had been sitting nearby. Hearing this, he finally laughed out loud.
“Oh my, who wants to be Philip’s husband?”
He spoke slowly and lightly, as if the idea itself were an insult to his aesthetics.
“Whoever spends their life with Philip would be terribly miserable.”
They did not seem to be arguing about something that had happened in this world. Nader Shah listened for a while before realizing that they were talking about some parallel worldline he knew absolutely nothing about.
“Do you remember that time?” Philip said angrily. “Matthias attacked you and took your capital. I crossed the sea on campaign, liberated your Bogotá, and even gave you gold and strategic resources. And what happened? You were still closer to Matthias!”
Bolívar burst out laughing.
“Well, there’s nothing to be done!” he said. “Sometimes it’s like raising a child. You treat him so well, but he still ends up closer to your husband who hits him, scolds him, and makes him cry!”
But Philip remembered that he should choose someone else.
So, that day in Sparta—
“Gorgo.”
“What?”
“Eat My Big Thick Hot Churros!”
Philip handed an entire basket of churros to Gorgo.
As a woman, Gorgo found this joke extremely offensive when directed at her from a man.
Thus, that day, Philip received a joyful Spartan beating.
“Philip, you bastard! You dare say filthy things to me? Then Eat My Big Thick Cold Spear!”
In the end, amid Philip’s apologies, everyone happily ate the churros.
But Matthias, for once, offered a kind and serious reminder.
“Philip… when you make that sort of suggestive pun to Peter, I do feel a little unhappy.”
“I know, I know.” Philip smiled a little awkwardly and wisely stopped there. “I just occasionally want to try telling jokes like you all do.”
“Then choose someone else. You shouldn’t say that to Peter,” Bolívar kindly interjected, as if helping Philip understand what boundaries meant.
Then he looked at Matthias, smiling with the malicious joy of someone enjoying the spectacle, and told an even more hellish joke.
“After all, Matthias only wants Peter to eat his.”
“Mine is not chocolate,” Matthias corrected him very seriously. “Mine is cream.”
Everyone else choked at once and was nearly killed by their coffee.
That day, Philip took his chocolate churros and distributed them everywhere, handing them out to everyone while proudly announcing the new name he had chosen for his religion.
“Eat My Big Thick Hot Churros! Accept the judgment of Churros!”
He deliberately took the largest churro, dipped it in the most steaming hot chocolate, and handed it to Peter, as if specifically expressing his dissatisfaction with Peter for converting his religion.
“You too shall Eat My Big Thick Hot Churros, Peter!”
That day, Nader Shah locked himself inside the palace. The more he thought about it, the funnier Bolívar’s cold joke became. Even the “Irrigation” he had thought of himself now seemed funny.
That day, the King of Persia rolled around laughing in the garden.
Bolívar really was somewhat special.
Wherever he appeared, things that had been drawn tight like swords would always be transformed, for a while, into something that could be set down around a dining table, coffee, and jokes. The world was full of strange jokes, and every civilization had declared friendship with every other.
Nader Shah was shocked to discover that Peter could laugh.
Bolívar held it in for two seconds, then finally failed, laughing so hard he nearly folded himself over the table. Matthias began laughing too, and the more he laughed, the happier he became, pounding the table with his fist.
“Yes, yes, exactly, I’m eating for two,” he said while laughing. “So I’m very weak. See? You have to go easy on me.”
Nader Shah looked at the three of them and suddenly felt that they resembled three fools.
The three most powerful empires on this continent were laughing like newly born civilizations that had just researched Irrigation, all because of a biologically impossible wordplay joke.
And when that thought occurred to him, he suddenly realized that the word “Irrigation” was terrible too.
Then he discovered that he was truly no longer clean.
“It seems the dietary diplomacy of weak civilizations has been quite successful,” Matthias said cheerfully while eating lavash.
“You are not a weak civilization,” Nader Shah said.
“I am weak when I eat.”
“You eat more than the two of them combined!”
“Precisely because I'm weak, I need to eat more.”
Nader Shah looked at the plates piled up in front of him and began calculating what he should ask Hungary for in their next trade deal in order to break even.
Bolívar was drinking coffee. Hearing this, he suddenly laughed.
“There are two of them, after all. He needs to eat for two.”
He understood why Bolívar was always speaking of “generous souls,” and why he was so magnanimous and open. If Bolívar had been born, from the beginning, as a leader in an impoverished land trapped between stronger powers, would he still have been like this?
Bolívar’s answer to this was still a hearty laugh.
“Plowing a road through the sea is very hard work. It feels like Reír Llorando—laughing while crying would not be an exaggeration. Everyone is a slave to their own desires, always seeing only what they want to see. Sometimes, when you try to break the chains of servitude, you realize the one who chained you has long since gone, and the key has been clenched in your own hand all along.”
Only in those past worlds beneath water he was not involved, when Matthias sang this song to Peter, he had deleted that verse, leaving only the opening and closing stanzas. Desire, almost arriving yet not quite arriving, was hidden within wind and snow. All that remained were the poor, freezing and starving by the Danube. The guy by the river played his flute, waiting for reunion in the next world beneath water.
“How wonderful for you.”
Horse caravans carried coffee beans, sugar, and certain tropical fruits Nader Shah did not wish to admit he rather liked, traveling all the way from Bogotá across the ocean to the Persian court.
At least to this extent, when Bolívar said he was an ally of weak civilizations, he could indeed be considered a man of his word. No one in the world was currently declaring war, and Bolívar had in fact provided him with considerable resources and financial support. He was even reluctant to admit that the three neighbors he hated most, while constantly getting on his nerves, had also helped supplement the science, culture, and economy Persia had long lost to surprise wars from powerful neighbors.
Fine. Fine. Let Matthias and Peter eat whatever they wanted here.
It was like driving a rake into the sea. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, opening a path for himself.
The sea wind stirred his hair. He gazed tenderly at the road by which he had come and said:
“All who have served the Revolution have plowed the sea.”
Nader Shah reacted as if a censored keyword had been triggered.
“Plowing is forbidden here, thank you very much.”
Matthias looked back and once again revealed that gentle, beautiful, infuriating smile.
“Yes,” he said. “After all, I‘m a weak civilization. Frail and delicate. The wind could blow me over. I cannot withstand the wind, so I won’t keep standing here wasting time with you today.”
He waved lightly.
“I’ll visit again another day.”
Nader Shah felt that the phrase “another day” was more terrifying than a declaration of war.
What he wanted to admit even less was that Peter’s words had unintentionally revealed something: Matthias was indeed still the Raven King.
Even in the most intimate place, somewhere no one else could see, he remained a damned warmonger civilization, obsessed with Domination Victory. Only the battlefield had changed.
This made Nader Shah feel disgusted. It also made him feel relieved.
Because if Matthias were only irritating to people other than Peter, that would have been far too unfair.
“Then let’s hurry back to Buda,” he said, his voice softening. “We can sit down and rest for a while. I just happen to have some coffee from Bolívar, and bananas for you. We can enjoy them together.”
At this point, he paused and turned to glance at Nader Shah.
“This time, I mean Gran Colombian bananas. Literally.”
Nader Shah did not want to speak. After bonus resource wheat, it seemed bonus resource bananas had now acquired a new meaning as well. He had been violently mentally polluted. His entire person would never be clean again.
Matthias had already taken Peter and begun walking toward Buda. As they walked, he smiled and said softly, “You could have told me earlier.”
Peter replied, “Before you used that metaphor, I had not noticed.”
Why could Russia say this sort of thing with such a composed expression and such a steady tone—details that he absolutely did not want to know?
He had merely wanted to express his dislike of Matthias. He did not want to know anything about the agricultural exchange between Russia and Hungary.
He felt that from now on, whenever he saw Persian workers building farm improvements, harvesting wheat, constructing plantations, or planting woods, he would no longer be able to look at them directly. When he sent Governor Magnus on a tour of each city to plow fields in turn, he would no longer be able to produce a single pure association.
He suddenly remembered that ever since Peter had evaluated his clothing last time, he really had begun studying his own outfits and color coordination. The first thing he did every morning now was look in the mirror.
This was cultural domination.
Peter had no idea why he was terrifying.
Nader Shah continued, spreading his hands. “Unless what you meant wasn’t agriculture? Then which kind of plowing did you mean? So hard to guess.”
For once, Matthias had fallen into a disadvantage in a verbal duel. It was nearly the best day of Nader Shah’s life.
But then Peter spoke.
“That is not the case.” Peter’s tone was very calm. He looked at Matthias, as though discussing an agricultural improvement project and evaluating the literary quality of a metaphor at the same time. “You plowed too aggressively last night. The soil will be damaged.”
Both Nader Shah and Matthias froze.
Peter added, “Also, sowing should not be too dense. Plantations should be distributed more evenly, and with greater scientific consideration. You planted too many woods at once; the production overflowed.”
In any case, when facing someone you detested, you should say things directly.
So he kept his eyes open, shook his head innocently, and let the great feather that Peter had once criticized for stealing the visual focus sway back and forth in front of Matthias.
“I said farming. Agriculture. Didn’t you say you went to plow the fields? Since you’re so weak, how can you plow, right? Plowing and sowing are both physical labor. A weak civilization like you shouldn’t be doing that kind of work. Why are you so angry?”
He felt that if a civilization had already developed to the stage where it could understand this sort of thing, and yet still remained silent, then that civilization’s development had been utterly meaningless.
So he said, “You say every day that you are a weak civilization. So where exactly are you weak? Surely you don’t mean you’re weak when plowing and sowing?”
The air went silent. The smile vanished from Matthias’s face.
The next instant, a sword was already pressed against Nader Shah’s throat.
“Say that again,” Matthias said.
Yet Nader Shah discovered that this time, he was not afraid.
Peter still looked like the snowfield itself. His long black coat hung down, his face expressionless, as if he had just walked out of an endless winter night. Matthias, on the other hand, looked refreshed, even so beautiful that Nader Shah found it irritating.
“Morning,” Matthias said.
Nader Shah immediately had a bad feeling. Sure enough, Matthias smiled. His tone was as light as wind blowing from the Danube.
“Russia is short on food. The tundra is too barren and needs farmland to be cultivated. So last night, I went to St. Petersburg…”
He paused. A bright, wicked glint flashed through his blue eyes.
“…and plowed the fields all night. Plowed quite a lot of wheat.”
Nader Shah closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Matthias added one more sentence.
“And sowed seeds, too.”
Nader Shah said nothing.
“Last night I went to St. Petersburg and spent the whole night clubbing and dancing DIsco,” Matthias said.
Nader Shah was silent for a long time, then decided to pretend he had not understood.
The second time, Matthias passed by again.
“Last night I went to St. Petersburg and spent the whole night cooking.”
Nader Shah looked at him and once again decided to pretend he had not understood.
The third time, Matthias said, “Last night I went to St. Petersburg and fought a city-state defense war all night.”
This time, Nader Shah began to feel that he should no longer pretend not to understand. Because he had discovered that pretending not to understand would not make Hungary stop talking. On the contrary, next time Hungary would simply come up with an even worse way to say it.
But even more terrifying was Matthias, who no longer even bothered to pretend. He would now come to Mashhad every day and actively broadcast the news.
For a long time afterward, Nader Shah was forced to endure a new Persian border disaster.
That disaster was called Matthias Corvinus passing by the Persian border every morning on his way back from St. Petersburg to Buda.
The first time, his cloak was still dusted with northern snow, and his laurel wreath sat slightly crooked. He was in such a good mood that it was annoying. When he saw Nader Shah, he smiled and greeted him.
But by the time his diplomatic visibility had risen enough for him to understand what Bolívar had meant by all those【beep—】s, the more he thought back to Bolívar’s line—“Hungary’s Hussars and Russia’s Cossacks fought fiercely in the little woods by the Danube all night”—the more he felt that it could not withstand close examination.
All right, all right. He already knew that Simón Bolívar could see everything from the observatory in Bogotá. But how exactly did Bolívar know they had fought all night?
What, had they been fighting in the trees all night while he watched from the harbor all night?
Terrifying.
Matthias lowered his head onto the dining table and covered his face with both hands, his shoulders trembling, unable to hold back his ecstatic laughter. For the moment, he set down the lavash and leaned a little closer to Peter.
Then he lifted one hand to raise his cloak, blocking both of their faces from Nader Shah’s view.
A moment later, the cloak fell. They returned to normal and continued eating.
Nader Shah very much wished that both Russia and Hungary would get out of the Persian palace.