155. The Sin of Foie Gras

As Ah Da entered, I almost burst out laughing. Ah Da's two eyes were heavily bruised, it was clearly the handiwork of Miao Fengwu.

I was afraid that I might laugh and spoil everything, so I immediately covered his head with a red cloth and began to hum a little tune:

"The sky so vast, the fields so broad, the millet on the ground is all parched and yellow, ah~ the rich haul it to their homes, ah, the poor can only harvest by themselves. Picking millet, squatting in the fields..."

While I was humming this song, I heard Miao Fengwu mutter softly to one side:

"Is this sacred tune for harvesting millet in the graveyard? It's eerily unsettling."

I frowned. That was something one shouldn't say carelessly.

Seriously, this kind of invocation was a specialty of the Shamanic Tribe; in the early years, what they sang was unknown to anyone, as it was all ancient scriptures.