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... t it rose to the sky, illuminating the bookshelves around him. The bookshelves surrounded him as if he had fallen into a deep well, in which he opened the Present Shakyamuni Sutra.
Page after page he turned.
Word by word he recited.
His voice was neither loud nor soft. Still, it was drowned out by the blizzard outside.
He read into the night until the candle had melted to half its length.
Xia Ji closed the book.
His lone shadow fell upon the bookshelf.
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