"Sister Zhuoma is too pitiable, isn't she? Her man just died, and now she's being treated as a woman of ill omen," Lin Shiyan said with some sympathy.
Wang Dadong also shook his head. Although he strongly disagreed with the superstitious practices of Zhuanghu, this was, after all, their cultural custom, and he felt it was not his place to intervene.
"Bring forth this ominous woman to the sacrificial altar," the Witch Envoy shouted loudly.
Soon, several Zhuanghu men carried Zhuoma into the house.
The Witch Envoy started to perform a strange dance, chanting unintelligible curses under his breath.
The people, with hands clasped together, listened devoutly to the chanting of the envoy.
About twenty-odd minutes passed, and Zhuoma was brought out.
By then, Zhuoma had been tied up against a wooden post, her body smeared with colorful paints in a garish display.
At that moment, the envoy took out a thorny vine and began lashing Zhuoma's body with it.
