Swaying limbs and trembling white fangs, extending and retracting, twisted in time with the beat of the ritual music.
From a distance, the three people performing the Nuoxi dance gave Li Huowang the strange sense that they were no longer human, but trees.
After twisting and swaying for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, a high-pitched chant echoed from behind their wooden masks.
This was a style of singing Li Huowang and the others couldn't understand; the melody rose and fell wildly with the instruments, carrying a peculiar charm.
Li Huowang and his group didn't get it, but the locals seemed to understand. They closed their eyes, tapped their fingers on their knees, and hummed along with the incomprehensible lyrics.
After listening for a while without making any sense of it, Li Huowang began to walk forward. Weird or not, it's not like I'm an opera singer—it has nothing to do with me anyway.
