“Long, long ago, in the ancient time, there are twelve suns on the earth, twelve suns, one is rising, another setting, one is rising once again, another setting…”
                                       — —Bouyei old song Twelve Suns
      The first time to hear the sound of the bronze drum, excitement mingles with confusion. Staring at the black blue margin on the verge of the mountain valley, I’m inside the imagination. The village in the valley is not far from me, everything there seems being overshadowed by a subtle divine power. Such an amazingly stunned scene, the incense smell in the air becomes stronger. I’m not seeing an illusion or evaporation, nor is a showy idol, all that I see is real, clear and clean. I see the kindness of earth, the richness of life, it is the golden paddy, it is the snow-white grain of rice.
      Mountains have the god of mountains, water has the god of water, ploughing irrigated-fields also have god, and everything is a state of life.