Chapter 243: Bronze Drum Array Ritual

The drying yard, twelve ancestral bronze drums arranged left and right, their sun motifs polished to a gleam, each engraved with Yao script.

At the center of the drum array stood a twelve-foot oxhide drum, its body dark brown, stretched with aged water buffalo hide. Before it, an incense altar burned three tall incense sticks, their blue smoke rising straight. On the altar lay glutinous rice, a wild boar's head, rice wine, and bundles of golden rice stalks.

"Wum~"

At that moment, a deep horn sounded. Two bare-chested elders, their waists wrapped in blue cloth, strained their breath and blew into ox-horn trumpets—the sound low and mournful, one long, one short—signaling the formal beginning of the White-Bai Bai Ku Yao summer ritual.

As the horn faded, the hide drums struck first. The lead drummer was the village elder, over seventy, hunched, yet no longer the frail, trembling figure he'd been days ago. His eyes blazed with vigor. Dressed in White-Bai Bai Ku Yao attire, he gripped the drumsticks and brought them down hard upon the hide drum—"Dong!"

The drumbeat rolled like thunder across the ridges.

Immediately after, all twelve bronze drums exploded in unison. Each drum was played by two: one in front, striking the sun motif at the center with a drumstick—"Tang—Tang—" sharp and piercing; one behind, holding a wooden wind barrel, pressing its mouth against the drum's cavity on rhythm, then yanking it away—the cavity resonating like distant thunder—"Wum—Long—" high and low, crisp and deep, weaving into a seismic wave that made the ground beneath their feet tremble faintly.

Not just these: others beat bamboo clappers to the rhythm, and some wore copper bells at their waists, jingling as they moved.

As the drum array began, the villagers, dressed in White-Bai Bai Ku Yao attire, stepped one by one into the center of the drying yard.

Qin Yun stood at a distance, feeling this unique ethnic rhythm—a pulse slowly rising beneath his feet. The songwriting skill he'd thought useless now seemed to be doing something. But for now, nothing was clear.

White-Bai Bai Ku Yao women wore black robes and skirts, their cuffs and hems adorned with indigo-and-white totem patterns, their heads heavy with ornaments that chimed as they walked; men wore short blue-green tunics and white pants, their hair bound with headscarves, straw sandals on their feet.

As the men and women entered, the lead drummer—the village elder—began to dance first.

He hunched, bent his knees, lowered his frame, elbows bent—suddenly scratching his ears, squinting, hunching like a monkey peering out; then leaping, arms swinging like apes climbing branches, tracing arcs in the air; then crouching, spinning, tapping his drumsticks on the ground, mimicking monkeys foraging and playing—his movements coarse, swift, forceful, yet perfectly timed, each step landing exactly on the beat.

He danced while drumming, the rhythm shifting with his steps. Qin Yun knew this was ancient, unchanged since time immemorial—the Fourteen Steps, Seventy Beats.

Qin Yun leaned close to Su Huan's ear: "A few days ago, the elder was barely able to walk. Who'd have thought he'd be so lively now—more energetic than any youth."

Su Huan smiled: "Do you understand the meaning of conserving energy?"

As the elder's solo dance reached its peak, the drumbeat surged, and all villagers began circling the drum array, holding hands, old and young, stepping in rhythm—step, pause, two steps, one turn, bodies swaying with the beat, arms swinging forward and back.

Women's pleated skirts fluttered like butterflies; men's white pants billowed like clouds.

They hummed low, no lyrics—only deep, resonant "Huh—Huh—"

The soundwaves merged with the drums, creating a profoundly stirring effect.

But it wasn't over. Outside the drum circle, several young men had prepared spinning tops, whipping their ropes to make the tops spin wildly—whirring loudly. Some knelt on one knee, bending low to circle the tops; others tossed and caught them mid-spin, their movements daring and precise.

As the drumbeats and soundwaves rose and fell in twelve waves over an hour, the village shaman finally entered.

He wore a black robe, a wooden mask, held a small bronze drum and a bundle of rice stalks, dancing alone at the center of the drum array.

His dance differed from the others—slow, mysterious, his voice low and hoarse, weaving with the drums, as if communicating with spirits, beseeching something.

Thus, the Bronze Drum Array Ritual continued until the sun slanted westward, the drumbeats gradually slowing, before finally winding down.

"Wum—"

The ox-horn trumpets sounded again. The twelve bronze drums rang once more in unison, their echoes lingering over the mountains, long after fading. All stood solemn, heads bowed, hands clasped. The incense smoke curled gently; the rice stalks swayed in the wind.

With the ritual fully ended, Qin Yun shut off his device and returned with Su Huan to Lan Duo's home.

At this moment, only Lan Duo and the yellow earth dog remained in the house.

Seeing Qin Yun and Su Huan enter, the yellow dog trotted forward, biting its own tail.

Qin Yun gently patted the dog's head: "Da Huang, is Duo Duo behaving well?"

"Wang Wang—!"

Inside the room, Duo Duo lay in bed. Seeing them enter, she smiled faintly.

At this moment, Duo Duo's cheeks were sunken, her body reduced to little more than a skeleton. The countdown to her life had turned fully red—any moment, the light might go out.

"Duo Duo, how are you feeling?"

Duo Duo nodded, whispering: "Not bad, Brother Qin Yun. Was the Bronze Drum Array Ritual lively?"

Qin Yun brushed his hand across her face and smiled: "Yes, very lively. And I've thought of a way to help Jiaping Village."

Duo Duo's eyes brightened: "Really, Brother Qin Yun?"

A flicker of surprise passed through Su Huan's eyes.

Qin Yun nodded firmly: "Of course. I don't lie. Give me a few days—I'll finish in two days, then I'll invite you to watch. You'll see then."

"Mm, thank you, Brother Qin Yun."

"Rest well."

Qin Yun and Su Huan left Duo Duo's room. Su Huan asked curiously: "What are you going to do?"

"Jiaping Village has almost nothing worth promoting—everything they have, other White-Bai Bai Ku Yao groups already have. So we must add something external."

He looked at Su Huan and said, "I'm going to write a song."

"..."

Su Huan blinked, reached out, and touched Qin Yun's forehead.

Whispered: "You're not feverish. Why are you talking nonsense?"

Qin Yun caught her hand: "I'm serious."

"When did you learn to write songs? Do you even understand staff notation or music?" Su Huan's skepticism was unmistakable.

Qin Yun naturally couldn't say he'd just learned it days ago—no one would believe him.

"Back in high school, I liked music. I taught myself for a while. I even wrote songs before. I just didn't stick with it—if I had, I'd be a great composer now."

"Keep making it up!"

Qin Yun sighed.

"Wait. When I finish, then you can dismiss it."

"Hmph. I'll wait."

…

Two days later, Qin Yun's self-composed, self-lyricized, self-arranged song was complete. The village elder, who had been the first to learn of Qin Yun's promotion plan, felt honored.

"I'm heading back to town. Elder, recommend one man and one woman to me. Once I record it, we'll rehearse."

The elder nodded and quickly summoned two village youths in their thirties.

The man is Luo Shigen, the woman is Meng Jiumei.

Su Huan remained in the village, while Qin Yun took the two of them away from Jiaping Village.

After Qin Yun left, the clan elder, leaning on his cane and appearing frail and aged, arrived at Lan Duo's home.

"Clan Elder!"

Lan Duo's grandparents hurried forward to greet him upon seeing the clan elder approach.

"Go about your business," the clan elder waved his hand. "I came to speak with Lan Duo."

Lan Duo's grandparents exchanged glances and ushered him inside. Inside, Su Huan was chatting with Lan Duo, recounting amusing stories about Qin Yun. One spoke, the other listened; Lan Duo's mood was clearly bright.

Seeing Lan Duo's expression, the clan elder silently sighed, deeply regretful.

What a wonderful girl—how could it have come to this… sigh…