The limbs swayed, the pale sharp fangs trembling and retracting; these things moved in time with the ritual percussion and music.
From a distance, the three people performing the Nuoxi seemed, at that moment, to Li Huowang, not as humans, but as trees.
After about the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, a kind of high-pitched singing came from behind their wooden masks.
"Wo shen qu gu~~"
This was a singing style that Li Huowang and the others could not understand, its pitch fluctuating with the music, carrying a unique charm.
Li Huowang and his companions did not understand, but the locals seemed to grasp it; they slightly closed their eyes, tapping out the rhythm on their thighs, and humming along.
"Zhuan wu zhou! San zi wu ang~, Wu er wei, Yi!! Gui yu shi yi sui..."
After listening for a while and still not making any sense of it, Li Huowang picked up his foot and walked on.
