PROLOGUE序章

The night was

rank with the smell of man.

夜风中飘荡着人的气味。

The warg stopped

beneath a tree and sniffed, his grey-brown fur dappled by shadow. A sigh of

piney wind brought the man-scent to him, over fainter smells that spoke of fox

and hare, seal and stag, even wolf. Those were man-smells too, the warg knew;

the stink of old skins, dead and sour, near drowned beneath the stronger scents

of smoke and blood and rot. Only man stripped the skins from other beasts and

wore their hides and hair.Wargs have no fear of man, as wolves do. Hate and

hunger coiled in his belly, and he gave a low growl, calling to his one-eyed

brother, to his small sly sister. As he raced through the trees, his packmates

followed hard on his heels. They had caught the scent as well. As he ran, he

saw through their eyes too and glimpsed himself ahead. The breath of the pack

puffed warm and white from long grey jaws. Ice had frozen between their paws,

hard as stone, but the hunt was on now, the prey ahead. Flesh, the warg thought,

meat.

狼灵停在一棵树下抽抽鼻子，灰棕色的皮毛上洒满斑驳的阴影。一缕微风为它带来了人的味道，淡淡味道中混合中狐狸，野兔，海豹和雄鹿的气味，甚至还有狼的。狼灵知道，那就是人的味道。旧皮的味道，死亡和酸臭的气味，潜藏在更浓厚的烟，血和腐烂的气息中，只有人才会剥下其它野兽的毛皮，把它们穿戴在身上。如同狼一样，狼灵并不怕人。它肚子里填满了仇恨和饥饿，它发出一声低吼，呼叫它那独眼的兄弟和狡猾的妹妹。它穿过树林，它的伙伴紧跟在后面，它们也都闻到了气味。在奔跑时，透过它们的眼睛瞥到自己奔跑在前。尖嘴中呼出白色而温暖薄雾，爪子中结着冰，像石头般坚硬，狩猎开始了，猎物就在前面。血肉，狼灵想到，肉。

A man alone was

a feeble thing. Big and strong, with good sharp eyes, but dull of ear and deaf

to smells. Deer and elk and even hares were faster, bears and boars fiercer in

a fight. But men in packs were dangerous. As the wolves closed on the prey, the

warg heard the wailing of a pup, the crust of last night’s snow breaking under clumsy man-paws, the

rattle of hardskins and the long grey claws men carried.落单的人是脆弱的。尽管高大而健壮，有着锐利的双眼，但双耳却很迟钝，鼻子也不灵。麋鹿和野兔逃的太快，熊和野猪要一番恶斗。成群结队的人更加危险。在狼群接近猎物，狼灵听到了一只幼崽的尖叫，昨晚下的积雪在笨重的男人爪子下碎裂的声音，吱嘎作响，那个人背着一只灰色的长爪。

Swords, a voice

inside him whispered, spears.剑，体内响起一声耳语，刺穿。

The trees had

grown icy teeth, snarling down from the bare brown branches. One Eye ripped

through the undergrowth, spraying snow. His packmates followed. Up a hill and

down the slope beyond, until the wood opened before them and the men were

there. One was female. The fur-wrapped bundle she clutched was her pup. Leave

her for last, the voice whispered, the males are the danger. They were roaring

at each other as men did, but the warg could smell their terror. One had a

wooden tooth as tall as he was. He flung it, but his hand was shaking and the

tooth sailed high.树木长出了冰牙，和棕色的裸枝纠缠在一起。“独眼”闯过矮树丛，雪花纷飞。它的伙伴紧跟着。爬上山峰，冲下斜坡，直到树林在他们前面散开，人就在那里。一个是母的，她的幼崽用绳索绑在身后。留她在最后，耳边轻响着低语，男人更危险。男人和狼互相冲对方咆哮着，但狼灵能嗅出他们的恐惧。一个人有着和他个子一样高的木牙，他掷出来，但他的手抖了，木牙飞到了一边。

Then the pack

was on them.然后伙伴扑向了他们。

His one-eyed

brother knocked the tooth-thrower back into a snowdrift and tore his throat out

as he struggled. His sister slipped behind the other male and took him from the

rear. That left the female and her pup for him.它独眼的兄弟把那个投掷者撞倒在雪地，撕开正挣扎着他的喉咙。它的妹妹溜到另一男人的背后，从后面解决了他。留给它的是那个女人和她的幼崽。

She had a tooth

too, a little one made of bone, but she dropped it when the warg’s jaws closed

around her leg. As she fell, she wrapped both arms around her noisy pup.

Underneath her furs the female was just skin and bones, but her dugs were full

of milk. The sweetest meat was on the pup. The wolf saved the choicest parts

for his brother. All around the carcasses, the frozen snow turned pink and red

as the pack filled its bellies.她也有支牙，一支短短的，骨制的牙，但当狼灵的爪子趴在她大腿上时，她扔掉了它。在她倒下时，她用双臂抱紧了那个吵闹的幼崽。在她的皮毛下面只有皮肤和骨头，但她的乳房充满乳汁。幼崽是最甜美的血肉。狼把最好的部分留给了它的兄弟。尸骸狼藉，冻雪变成了粉红色，它的伙伴正在填饱它们的肚子。

Leagues away, in

a one-room hut of mud and straw with a thatched roof and a smoke hole and a

floor of hard-packed earth, Varamyr shivered and coughed and licked his lips.

His eyes were red, his lips cracked, his throat dry and parched, but the taste

of blood and fat filled his mouth, even as his swollen belly cried for

nourishment. A child’s flesh, he thought, remembering Bump. Human meat. Had he

sunk so low as to hunger after human meat? He could almost hear Haggon growling

at him. “Men may eat the flesh of beasts and beasts the flesh of men, but the

man who eats the flesh of man is an abomination.”几里格以外，在一间茅草屋顶，有着一个出烟孔和夯实地面的粘土垒成的简陋窝棚里，瓦拉米尔一边抽搐地咳嗽着，一边舔着嘴唇。他的双眼血红，嘴唇干裂，喉咙饥渴，尽管饥肠辘辘，嘴里却充满了鲜血和脂肪的味道。一个婴儿的血肉，他想到，回忆起班普。人肉，他已经堕落到渴望人肉？他几乎能听到哈根在冲他怒吼：“人可以吃野兽，野兽也可以吃人，但人吃人就是禁忌。”

Abomination.

That had always been Haggon’s favorite word. Abomination, abomination,

abomination. To eat of human meat was abomination, to mate as wolf with wolf

was abomination, and to seize the body of another man was the worst abomination

of all. Haggon was weak, afraid of his own power. He died weeping and alone

when I ripped his second life from him. Varamyr had devoured his heart himself.

He taught me much and more, and the last thing I learned from him was the taste

of human flesh.禁忌，几乎是哈根的口头语。禁忌，禁忌，禁忌。吃人肉是禁忌，附身狼身同狼交配是禁忌，附在人身上是最大的禁忌。哈根太软弱了，害怕自己所拥有的力量。当我撕碎他的第二条命时，他孤单地哭泣着死去。瓦拉米尔吞食了他的心脏。他教会了我许多许多，我从他身上学到的最后一样就是人肉的味道。

That was as a

wolf, though. He had never eaten the meat of men with human teeth. He would not

grudge his pack their feast, however. The wolves were as famished as he was,

gaunt and cold and hungry, and the prey … two men and a woman, a babe in arms,

fleeing from defeat to death. They would have perished soon in any case, from

exposure or starvation. This way was better, quicker. A mercy.但那是作为一只狼干的。他的牙齿从未触及过人肉。他不应嫉妒正在大嚼的伙伴。那些狼同他一样肚子瘪瘪，憔悴，冰冷而饥饿，那些猎物…两个男人，一个女人，和一个怀抱里的婴儿，没能逃脱死亡。无论如何他们都要死，严寒或者饥饿。这样的死法或许更好，干净利落。慈悲。

“A mercy,” he said aloud. His throat was raw, but it felt good to

hear a human voice, even his own. The air smelled of mold and damp, the ground

was cold and hard, and his fire was giving off more smoke than heat. He moved

as close to the flames as he dared, coughing and shivering by turns, his side

throbbing where his wound had opened. Blood had soaked his breeches to the knee

and dried into a hard brown crust.“慈悲”他大声说，他的嗓子干涩，但能听到人的声音让他感到高兴，就算是自己的。空气潮湿而且发霉，地面又冷又硬，他的火堆带给他的更多的是烟而不是热。他尽可能的靠紧火焰，不停的抽搐和咳嗽着。裂开的伤口抽动着，鲜血淌到了裤子里，一直流到了膝盖，干涸的血迹凝成了棕色的硬斑。

Thistle had

warned him that might happen. “I sewed it up the best I could,” she’d said, “but you need to rest and let it mend, or the

flesh will tear open again.”希斯尔警告过他，“我已经尽可能包扎好啦，”她说，“但你需要休息等它愈合，否则伤口又会开裂。”

Thistle had been

the last of his companions, a spearwife tough as an old root, warty, windburnt,

and wrinkled. The others had deserted them along the way. One by one they fell

behind or forged ahead, making for their old villages, or the Milkwater, or

Hardhome, or a lonely death in the woods. Varamyr did not know, and could not

care. I should have taken one of them when I had the chance. One of the twins,

or the big man with the scarred face, or the youth with the red hair. He had

been afraid, though. One of the others might have realized what was happening.

Then they would have turned on him and killed him. And Haggon’s words had haunted him, and so the chance had

passed.希斯尔是他最后的同伴了，一名矛妇，像颗老树根，满身的褶子和疙瘩。其他人一个个离开了他们，落在身后或者消失在前方，返回到他们老家，或者乳河，或者哈德镇，也可能孤独的死在树林里。瓦拉米尔不知道，也不关心这些。我本来应该抓住机会附身在他们中间一个。那双胞胎中的一个，或者脸上有着刀疤的那个壮汉，或者有着一头红发的那个年轻人。但他害怕，他们可能会醒悟过来发生了什么，然后可能会摆脱掉并杀了他。哈根的话也影响了他，因此那些机会都放过了。

After the battle

there had been thousands of them struggling through the forest, hungry,

frightened, fleeing the carnage that had descended on them at the Wall. Some

had talked of returning to the homes that they’d abandoned, others of mounting

a second assault upon the gate, but most were lost, with no notion of where to

go or what to do. They had escaped the black-cloaked crows and the knights in

their grey steel, but more relentless enemies stalked them now. Every day left

more corpses by the trails. Some died of hunger, some of cold, some of sickness.

Others were slain by those who had been their brothers-in-arms when they

marched south with Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall.那次战役之后，有成千的人努力要穿越森林，要逃离在长城那里降临在他们头上的那场屠杀，又饿又怕。一些人商量着要返回他们遗弃掉的老家，还有人策划再偷袭一次城门，但大多数人茫然若失，不知道该去哪或该做些什么。他们逃避那些黑衣乌鸦和灰色盔甲中的骑士，但仍被紧追不舍。一路上每天都留下越来越多的尸体，有的死于饥饿，有的因为严寒，或者疾病。在追随“塞外之王”曼斯·雷德南下时曾亲如手足的人们，现在也开始自相残杀。

Mance is fallen,

the survivors told each other in despairing voices, Mance is taken, Mance is

dead. “Harma’s dead and Mance is captured, the rest run off and left us,” Thistle

had claimed, as she was sewing up his wound. “Tormund, the Weeper, Sixskins,

all them brave raiders. Where are they now?”曼斯垮了，幸存者用绝望的声音互相唠叨，曼斯被俘，曼斯死了。“哈犸死了，曼斯被捉去了，剩下的都跑光了，只留下我们，”希斯尔在包扎他伤口时声称。“托蒙德，哭泣者，六形人，所有勇敢的掠袭者，现在他们在哪啊？”

She does not

know me, Varamyr realized then, and why should she? Without his beasts he did

not look like a great man. I was Varamyr Six-skins, who broke bread with Mance

Rayder. He had named himself Varamyr when he was ten. A name fit for a lord, a

name for songs, a mighty name, and fearsome. Yet he had run from the crows like

a frightened rabbit. The terrible Lord Varamyr had gone craven, but he could

not bear that she should know that, so he told the spearwife that his name was

Haggon. Afterward he wondered why that name had come to his lips, of all those

he might have chosen. I ate his heart and drank his blood, and still he haunts

me.她不认识我，瓦拉米尔想到，为什么她认不出我？没有野兽的陪伴他看起来不再像个大人物了。我是瓦拉米尔，“六形人”，同曼斯·雷德一起分享过面包。在他十岁的时候，他自称瓦拉米尔。一个与首领相称的名字，一首歌谣的名字，一个强大而可怖的名字。但他逃离那些乌鸦时像只受惊的野兔。恐怖的首领瓦拉米尔已经变成了懦夫，但他不能让她知道这些，因此告诉这个矛妇他的名字是哈根。后来一直疑惑为什么当时偏偏那个名字出现在嘴边，我吃了他的心，喝了他的血，可他仍一直纠缠着我。

One day, as they

fled, a rider came galloping through the woods on a gaunt white horse, shouting

that they all should make for the Milkwater, that the Weeper was gathering

warriors to cross the Bridge of Skulls and take the Shadow Tower. Many followed

him; more did not. Later, a dour warrior in fur and amber went from cookfire to

cookfire, urging all the survivors to head north and take refuge in the valley

of the Thenns. Why he thought they would be safe there when the Thenns

themselves had fled the place Varamyr never learned, but hundreds followed him.

Hundreds more went off with the woods witch who’d had a vision of a fleet of ships coming to carry the free folk

south. “We must seek the

sea,” cried Mother

Mole, and her followers turned east.有天，在他们逃跑的路上，一个骑着憔悴的白马的骑手，飞驰着穿过丛林，大喊着他们应该前往乳河，在那里，哭泣者正在召集战士，准备跨过骷髅桥攻打影子塔。不少人随他而去，但更多的人没有，之后一个穿戴着皮毛和琥珀，严肃的武士，在篝火间往返呼吁，所有的幸存者应该向北，在瑟恩的山谷那里有一个避难所。为什么他会认为在那里会安全，连瑟恩人都逃离那个瓦拉米尔从未听说过的地方，但几百人听从了他。更多的人追随一位森林女巫，她预言会有一支船队来接走自由民。“我们必须找到海，”鼹鼠之母呼喊到，和她的追随者转向东方。

Varamyr might

have been amongst them if only he’d been stronger. The sea was grey and cold

and far away, though, and he knew that he would never live to see it. He was

nine times dead and dying, and this would be his true death. A squirrel-skin

cloak, he remembered, he knifed me for a squirrel-skin cloak.如果更健壮一些的话，瓦拉米尔可能也成为他们中间一员。海是灰暗，冰冷而且遥远的。他知道自己不能活着看到它。他死过了九次，这次将是真正的死掉。一件鼠皮披风，他回忆起来，他捅了我，就为了一件鼠皮披风。

Its owner had

been dead, the back of her head smashed into red pulp flecked with bits of

bone, but her cloak looked warm and thick. It was snowing, and Varamyr had lost

his own cloaks at the Wall. His sleeping pelts and woolen smallclothes, his

sheepskin boots and fur-lined gloves, his store of mead and hoarded food, the

hanks of hair he took from the women he bedded, even the golden arm rings Mance

had given him, all lost and left behind. I burned and I died and then I ran,

half-mad with pain and terror. The memory still shamed him, but he had not been

alone. Others had run as well, hundreds of them, thousands. The battle was

lost. The knights had come, invincible in their steel, killing everyone who

stayed to fight. It was run or die.它原来的主人已经死了，她的后脑变成了掺着骨头渣子的粉红果酱，但她的披风看起来又厚又暖。那时正下着雪，而瓦拉米尔又在长城丢了自己的披风。他的睡袋，羊毛衬衣，羊皮靴和皮手套，他贮藏的蜂蜜酒和食物，从他睡过的女人得到的几把头发，甚至曼斯赠与的金臂环，统统丢下了。我被烧焦，死掉，然后又逃跑，因为伤痛和恐惧几乎疯掉。这些回忆仍令他感到羞耻，但逃跑的不止是他，成百上千的人同样落荒而逃。战役输掉了，骑士们来了，穿戴着盔甲，无法匹敌，杀掉所有敢抵抗的人。不逃就是死。

Death was not so

easily outrun, however. So when Varamyr came upon the dead woman in the wood,

he knelt to strip the cloak from her, and never saw the boy until he burst from

hiding to drive the long bone knife into his side and rip the cloak out of his

clutching fingers. “His mother,” Thistle told him later, after the boy had run off. “It were his mother’s cloak, and when he saw you robbing her …”但是，没那么容易逃脱掉死亡。在森林里，当瓦拉米尔撂倒那个女人之后，跪下要从她身上剥下披风时，根本没瞧见那小子，他突然从藏身之处跳出来，把一边长骨匕首捅进自己身体并把披风从他正要攥紧的手中夺走。“他妈，”希斯尔稍后告诉他，在那小子逃掉之后。“那是他妈的披风，当时他看到你正抢劫她…”

“She was dead,” Varamyr said, wincing as her bone needle pierced his flesh. “Someone smashed her head. Some crow.”“她已经死了，”瓦拉米尔说，因为她的骨针穿过皮肉而战栗。“有人敲破了她的脑袋。某只乌鸦干的。”

“No crow. Hornfoot men. I saw it.” Her needle pulled the gash in his

side closed. “Savages, and who’s left to tame them?” No one. If Mance is dead,

the free folk are doomed. The Thenns, giants, and the Hornfoot men, the

cave-dwellers with their filed teeth, and the men of the western shore with

their chariots of bone … all of them were doomed as well. Even the crows. They might not

know it yet, but those black-cloaked bastards would perish with the rest. The

enemy was coming.“不是乌鸦，是硬足民，我瞧见了。”她的针将他的伤口缝合。“野人，谁能驯服他们啊？”没人。如果曼斯死了，自由民也就完了。瑟恩人，巨人，硬足民，有着锉刀般牙齿的穴居人，驾着海象骨战车的冰封海岸原住民…全都完了。连乌鸦也会，他们可能还不知道这点，那些黑衣混蛋接下来就要完蛋。敌人来了。

Haggon’s rough voice echoed in his head. “You will die a dozen deaths, boy, and every

one will hurt … but when your

true death comes, you will live again. The second life is simpler and sweeter,

they say.”哈根粗野的嗓音回荡在他脑海里。“你将死个十来回，小子，每回都够受…但当你真的死掉，你将会重生。第二条命将更单纯和甜美，他们是这么说的。”

Varamyr Sixskins

would know the truth of that soon enough. He could taste his true death in the

smoke that hung acrid in the air, feel it in the heat beneath his fingers when

he slipped a hand under his clothes to touch his wound. The chill was in him

too, though, deep down in his bones. This time it would be cold that killed

him.“六形人”瓦拉米尔马上就会知道这个真相了。他能从混浊的空气中飘荡着的烟里嗅出死亡的味道，能用滑进衣服里触摸伤口的指尖上感觉得到，他体内已经冰凉，冻彻骨髓，这刺骨的严寒将把他带走。

His last death

had been by fire. I burned. At first, in his confusion, he thought some archer

on the Wall had pierced him with a flaming arrow … but the fire had been inside him, consuming him. And the pain …他最近一次的死亡是因为火。我被点着了。起初，在惶惑中他以为是长城上的某个弓箭手用火箭射中了他…但火是从体内冒出来的，吞噬着他。那种痛苦…

Varamyr had died

nine times before. He had died once from a spear thrust, once with a bear’s

teeth in his throat, and once in a wash of blood as he brought forth a

stillborn cub. He died his first death when he was only six, as his father’s

axe crashed through his skull. Even that had not been so agonizing as the fire

in his guts, crackling along his wings, devouring him. When he tried to fly

from it, his terror fanned the flames and made them burn hotter. One moment he

had been soaring above the Wall, his eagle’s eyes marking the movements of the men below. Then the flames had

turned his heart into a blackened cinder and sent his spirit screaming back

into his own skin, and for a little while he’d gone mad. Even the memory was enough to make him shudder.瓦拉米尔之前死过九次。他曾被长矛刺穿过，曾被一只熊撕破喉咙，还有一次死于生出一只幼兽而难产时的大出血。他第一次的死亡发生在他六岁时，父亲的斧子敲碎了他的脑壳。但那也没有五内俱焚的火焰更令人痛苦难忍，那火焰顺着双翼，吞噬着他。当他试图逃离这痛苦时，扇动的翅膀令火焰变得更加灼热。在飞过长城的那一刻，他的鹰眼曾注意到下面那些人的动作，紧接着那火焰就把他的心脏化为飞灰，他的灵魂尖叫着缩回本体，有那么一瞬间他差点疯掉。那回忆到现在还令他发抖。

That was when he

noticed that his fire had gone out.这时他才注意到火堆已经燃尽。

Only a

grey-and-black tangle of charred wood remained, with a few embers glowing in

the ashes. There’s still smoke, it just needs wood. Gritting his teeth against

the pain, Varamyr crept to the pile of broken branches Thistle had gathered

before she went off hunting, and tossed a few sticks onto the ashes. “Catch,” he croaked. “Burn.” He blew upon the

embers and said a wordless prayer to the nameless gods of wood and hill and

field.只剩下一堆烧得灰黑的木炭，当中有几块余烬。它仍冒着烟，需要填加木柴。咬紧牙关忍着疼痛，瓦拉米尔爬向希斯尔在出去打猎前收集到那堆断枝，把几个细枝投入灰烬中。“着啊，”他哀求着。“烧起来啊。”他冲着余烬吹气，向那些统治森林，山川，原野的不知名的神灵默默祈祷。

The gods gave no

answer. After a while, the smoke ceased to rise as well. Already the little hut

was growing colder. Varamyr had no flint, no tinder, no dry kindling. He would

never get the fire burning again, not by himself. “Thistle,” he called out, his

voice hoarse and edged with pain. “Thistle!”神灵们没有回应。过来一会儿，连烟都没有了，窝棚变得更冷了。瓦拉米尔没有燧石，没有火绒，没有火种。他没办法重新生火，凭他自己做不到。“希斯尔，”他嚎叫着，嗓音因为疼痛嘶哑而尖利。“希斯尔！”

Her chin was pointed

and her nose flat, and she had a mole on one cheek with four dark hairs growing

from it. An ugly face, and hard, yet he would have given much to glimpse it in

the door of the hut. I should have taken her before she left. How long had she

been gone? Two days? Three? Varamyr was uncertain. It was dark inside the hut,

and he had been drifting in and out of sleep, never quite sure if it was day or

night outside. “Wait,” she’d said. “I will be back with food.” So like a fool

he’d waited, dreaming of Haggon and Bump and all the wrongs he had done in his

long life, but days and nights had passed and Thistle had not returned. She

won’t be coming back. Varamyr wondered if he had given himself away. Could she

tell what he was thinking just from looking at him, or had he muttered in his

fever dream?她的尖下巴，她的扁鼻子，还有面颊上一颗带着四根毛的痔。一张丑恶，令人厌恶的脸，不过他现在非常渴望它能在门口出现。在她离开前我应该附身过去。她离开多久了？两天？三天？瓦拉米尔不太确定。屋子里太黑了，他又半睡半醒，不能确定外面是白天还是黑夜。“等着，”她说。“我会带着食物回来的。”他就像个傻瓜似的待着，回想着哈根和班普，他一生当中的种种过错，但一天一夜已经过去了，而希斯尔还没回来。瓦拉米尔猜测自己是不是被抛弃了。当我盯着她看时，她猜到我要干什么了？或者在高烧时的梦话暴露了自己？

Abomination, he

heard Haggon saying. It was almost as if he were here, in this very room. “She

is just some ugly spearwife,” Varamyr told him. “I am a great man. I am

Varamyr, the warg, the skinchanger, it is not right that she should live and I

should die.” No one answered.

There was no one there. Thistle was gone. She had abandoned him, the same as

all the rest.禁忌，他听到哈根在说话，似乎他就站在这，这个屋子里。“她不过是个丑陋的矛妇，”瓦拉米尔向他辩解。“我是个大人物。我是瓦拉米尔，狼灵，易形者。不该是她活着而我死掉。”没人回答。这一个人也没有。希斯尔走了。她抛弃了他，和其他人一样。

His own mother

had abandoned him as well. She cried for Bump, but she never cried for me. The

morning his father pulled him out of bed to deliver him to Haggon, she would

not even look at him. He had shrieked and kicked as he was dragged into the

woods, until his father slapped him and told him to be quiet. “You belong with your own kind,” was all he said when he flung him down at

Haggon’s feet.他的妈妈也抛弃了他，她只顾搂着班普，根本不理他。在那个早晨，他父亲把他从床上揪起来，要交给哈根时，她甚至都没看我一眼。在被拖到森林的路上，他一直尖叫和挣扎，直到他老爸给了他一顿耳光并告诉他保持安静。“你要服从你的命运，”这就是他被推倒在哈根脚下时，老爸所说的。