Under the clouds outside the window was a big, lush tree. It was as wide as the sky, and under its branches and leaves was a small, vibrant life.
The whistling north wind blew the leaves and disturbed the ants that were busy under the tree.
The tree stands quietly on the land, and it seems that it has never experienced storms; the clouds hang quietly in the air, and it seems that they have never descended on the world for the storms.
But:
Look--
All at once it rose up fierce, forgetful, lifeless! Countless deep green leaves, like a sea of burnt green, stirred up green waves swaying in front of your eyes. Like ten thousand arrows, it is dense rain; like a tornado, it is a dancing gale; like ten thousand horses, it is a roaring thunder; like a spark, it is a burst of lightning; like a monologue, it is everything that is under it that has to remain silent.
A group of Maotengteng's descendants.
Behind them was a field of sorghum. They are as simple as that piece of sorghum.
The sizzling south wind blew the sorghum leaves and also blew their clothes.
Their looks were calm and quiet. The waist drum, which is close to the side of their bodies, is dull and seems to have never sounded.
But:
Look! --
As soon as they whacked it up, they went hard, forgetful, and lifeless! A hundred and ten backsliders with rattling drums on their slanting backs, like a hundred and ten stones that have been continually struck up by a strong earthquake, dance wildly before you. Like the rain, it is the rapid drum beat; like the whirlwind, it is the flying tassel; like the chaotic frog, it is the hopping footsteps; like the sparks, it is the flashing pupils; like the fighting tiger, it is the strong and healthy demeanor. Loess Plateau, bursting out of a how magnificent, how bold, how fiery dance wow - Ansai waist drum!