lianzi tyk translation

I first read tyk a few years ago and I remember kinda struggling through it at times, despite deeply loving the story and the characters,,,

but with your translation it was so clear and it made me appreciate the novel so much more, so thank you ❤️

HI ANON!!! I WOULD DIE FOR YOU!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥹❤️

Hello! Thank you so much for your message! I'm kind of in the mud trenches rn but I am very happy to be remembered ❤️❤️❤️

I am going to ramble a lot so sorry about that and thanks for giving me permission to do so.

I would have a hard time putting together "recs for someone who enjoyed TYK", because I think it's an unusual type of story. It's about a protagonist who's so tired of being a main character (or even a secondary character). All he wants is to be a side character who enjoys himself and isn't important enough to get hit by plot shrapnel. I remember @specialability making the astute observation that TYK has a lot in common with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. What do side characters do, when the main characters aren't on stage? But TYK emanates joy that you don't find in the other existentialist stories I've read (which may say more about my own deficiency than the genre itself). Zhou Zishu is dying, but he finds a lot of happiness in spending every day exactly as he wants to. Taking care of Zhang Chengling, untangling the Glazed Spiral mystery, and messing around with Wen Kexing: this is all meaningful to him because it's how he wants to spend the rest of his life. However short that life may be.

That being said, since you gave me permission, I'm going to talk about what I've read recently!

One Hundred Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcìa Márquez) left a really strong impression on me. I guess because the characters in the Buendía family (the novel tells this family's story) trap themselves into lives that they don't enjoy at all. Some of them live for a hundred years or more, but they never find the companionship and happiness that they crave. I wish I could say more about this story, but it really made me want to read more magic realism, and learn about Latin American history to understand the context.

I watched AMC's Interview with the Vampire and it ate my brain. One similarity between the Vampire Chronicles and Faraway Wanderers is that their television adaptations tore apart the source material to make something new. And I love what they did with Interview with the Vampire, because they kept what was so interesting from the books: the struggle between a vampire's murderous, predatory nature, and their moral sense as a sapient being. The show also makes explicit the parallel between this struggle and Louis' struggle with his queerness: should he live in hypocrisy, condemning his true nature even though he can't change it? Or should he abandon the moral scruples that (in his mind) connect him with his vestigial humanity? It makes sense to me, and I love the story of the show. There are some elements I miss from the books, but to me, the show surpasses the sum of its parts.

I'm currently reading Tolkien's Silmarillion! I guess one thread that unites the three works I've mentioned today is "unbelievably messy family drama". Which again, is notably missing from TYK...but it is one of my personal favorite ingredients. Elf aristocratic infighting goes off the chain like nothing else. The Silmarillion is a tragedy, you know? When you read the Lord of the Rings, you feel that the most spectacular days of this world have passed already. You see those splendors in the Silmarillion and know that they're doomed. It's a lot more gothic than I expected. I have to space out how much I read at a time. I've just started Beren and Lùthien, which promises to deliver something of a breather.

Now posted!

This chapter is dedicated to Frank @worldoshaking! Thank you very much for donating and participating in the Rally for Palestine event. Some others have generously donated to charity on behalf of this translation, and I will thank them in the next chapter (coming in not too long).

But he saw Wen Kexing looking at him with an inscrutable expression, so he called out, “Why are you still standing there? Did you get hurt, or…”  

His words died out as Wen Kexing suddenly walked to him, came up close, and cradled his face with an ice-cold hand.

The raindrops slid down Wen Kexing’s face. Everything was silent except for the rain’s pitter-patter. His blank expression, his ashen face surrounded by disheveled hair, his pitch-black eyes made Zhou Zishu remember seeing him for the first time—how he looked down from the restaurant with such an indifferent demeanor.

He heard Wen Kexing say, “When I was little, my mother made me study and my father made me train. All the children in our village played outside, climbing trees and scaling walls; I was the only one who stayed in our yard to read or practice with my sword. I could only go out and play once it got dark. Every time, when I was so happy to rush out and join their games, the parents of the other kids would call them home for dinner.”

Zhou Zishu found this position uncomfortable indeed, and wanted to duck aside, yet he saw something dazed in Wen Kexing’s expression. His lashes were weighed down with raindrops; he blinked rapidly; a raindrop rolled down his cheek and fell from his chin. It gave the illusion of tears.

Zhou Zishu’s eyes flew open. He darted a few half-steps to the side, his hand reflexively reaching into his sleeve, murder rising in his heart as it had scarcely ever done—this was the first time an opponent had read him so thoroughly while he knew so little about them. Seeing this, the corners of Ye Baiyi’s mouth turned upwards in a stiff yet mocking smile. He sneered, “If I wanted to do something to you, could you still stand there and speak? That bit of qinggong you showed just now couldn’t have come from any other place. It’s called ‘leave not a trace, soar without bounds’. Siji Manor’s Qin Huaizhang is your shifu, isn’t he? Hmph. Master and disciple both alike. You make a scoundrel out of everyone you meet.”

Zhou Zishu replied coldly, “Master Gu Seng is a martial legend, but my master has long departed this world. Unfilial as I may be, I will not hear him insulted like this.”

Ye Baiyi was shocked. “What,” he cried out, “Qin Huaizhang is dead?”

Zhou Zishu didn’t have a chance to speak before Ye Baiyi’s gaze dimmed and became vacant. Quietly, “Yes, it’s been who knows how many years…how dynasties come and go …seasons never touch the mountain, but a thousand years pass so quickly in the mortal world. Even Qin Huaizhang is gone.”

He turned his head; the one who spoke was Ye Baiyi. Zhou Zishu was astonished to find that this glutton’s expression betrayed a hint of indescribable compassion, lending him the air of a porcelain Guanyin statue.

Reflexively, Zhou Zishu asked, “What?”

Ye Baiyi shot a glance at him and said, his face now devoid of expression, “Are you deaf?”

Zhou Zishu thus turned away, not wanting to provoke further indignities. But Ye Baiyi patted his shoulder and spoke without any sense that something was out of the ordinary: “Come out and go somewhere with me tonight.” His tone had something in it that resembled how Zhou Zishu had spoken to Zhang Chengling the night before.

Zhou Zishu had resolved against paying any heed to this Ye upstart before he learned some manners, but simply couldn’t stop himself from nodding. 

He regretted it to his core the moment he nodded—wanted nothing more than to wring this troublemaking head off his own shoulders. He pondered whether he might feel better if he killed this so-called disciple of Gu Seng where he stood, and silenced him that way.