The diary flipped page by page, initially quite slowly. When the paper reached a vertical position with the desk, it seemed as if an invisible hand held the sheet momentarily before it turned over.
Gradually, the speed of the page-turning increased noticeably, and the pause disappeared. The pages flipped more smoothly until the diary was halfway through, then suddenly stopped on a page and refused to turn...
The turning of the diary's pages and Zhou Xuan's closing his eyes in meditation of the Blood Well were two separate events, yet their rhythms oddly synchronized—
—In Zhou Xuan's mind, the image of the Blood Well did not form easily. Initially, he could hardly think clearly. Though he had seen images of "snow, temple, Blood Well," the pictures in his mind were chaotic, like dozens of inks mixed together, forming no shape, only chaotic patches of color.
