"Once upon a time," said Zhuangzi, "I dreamed that I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Zhuangzi.

"Soon I awoke, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming that I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming that I am a man."

[Once this little bit of ancient wisdom finishes showing on the right side of the page, the left slowly fills with a delicate painting of a man asleep under a tree, a butterfly perched on his head.]

In light of recent events, I believe it important to note that none of the fruits now causing strange effects were grown in the Farm. Our produce is wholesome and may be consumed without fear of incident.

I understand that the Wilderness has changed today: that is regrettable. Yet considering the nature of the change, I dare hope that it may be a lapse, rather than one of the permanent transitions. I plan to descend again tomorrow and see; if any have an interest in exploring the location, they are welcome to join me. I shall particularly appreciate companions who have a deft hand with a brush, or else any who believe they are able to read the carvings and inscriptions.

-- 火

Suddenly, just after sunset, the radios begin to play music.

There's no warning, no signal, no words. Nothing but the soft, echoing strumming of the string instrument - some might recognize a guqin, played with exceptional skill and relish. A wave of sound crashes, and another, and then a second instrument joins, quicker and fiercer yet in perfect harmony.

The two unknown musicians play for some minutes, dancing around, complimenting, coaxing each other. There is no sound but the music as it unfolds, develops and finally builds to a crescendo that echoes for long seconds after both go silent.

And just as the music rose, it disappears again.

[Taken from Red Cliff Part I, right here from about 8:55 to the end.]

This is unexpected.

[The words appear is the quick, delicate scrawl that characterizes Huo's writing when he's distracted. Long moments pass between sentences.]


This is very unusual.


And violent.


I'm reasonably sure that a feather fan can't do that.



Is anyone else in the Wilderness at the moment? I require some assistance.

-- 火

[New handwriting today, and it's quite beautiful. Those who read the original Chinese characters might appreciate the skill behind the expert strokes: flawless calligraphy, itself poetry of sorts, yet not slow and cautious but decisive, the writing emerging complete and without hesitation. Those who get a translation miss out on some of the finer points of the art, perhaps, but the effect is the same in every language.]

Warmest greetings to the residents of Edensphere.

This humble servant, the lowest of souls, begs leave to dwell among you and hereby be known, in lieu of a more appropriate name, by the character ‘Huo'.

Although I do not yet know my own measure, and indeed expect that it be the very image of mediocrity, it is my outmost desire to be of some use in the undertakings of the city. I will take up whatever profession is required, and toil in that capacity to the very best of my ability.

Sincerely, I offer my prayers of good neighborhood in the hope that they be accepted in the same spirit in which they were made.

-- 火