I come from the depths of the mountains in Yunnan, where, among the rugged peaks on the border between Yunnan and Sichuan, Yi villages have passed down a taboo for generations: “When the mountain wind tears open the night and bronze bells tremble in its breath, the evil spirits have chosen their prey.” These bronze bells are said to be ancient ritual instruments, once used to communicate with the gods. Somehow, they became connected to evil spirits and came to be seen as ill omens. The walls blackened by bonfire smoke, the ancient trees split by lightning, even every scrap of sheepskin covered in incantations, all conceal horrors too terrible to speak of. At the village entrance stands a thousand-year-old locust tree, so broad it takes three people to encircle its trunk. Faded prayer flags hang from its branches, and when the wind rises, the tattered cloth lets out a hoarse wail, as though countless wronged souls are fighting for breath. On every full-moon night, the village's Bimo, or priests, light torches made from pine resin, take up ritual bells carved with talismans, and perform an ancient exorcism dance before an altar deep in the forest. The bells ring alongside the crisp clatter of sheep-bone divination, while blood-red prophecies lie hidden in the cracks.
