61.ii First in the West; The Scattered Cloud

Ham Song

“Tough break for Sparkplug,” Sun Seven said once the scores were revealed.

“It’s good news for us though, isn’t it?” Ham Song grunted. “Because now the bar is low enough for Sun Ritsu to beat.”

“At the same time,” Bodhi interjected, “Ritsu’s probably the only challenger that could score worse than Sparkplug.”

“Ever the cynical one, huh, Sifu?” Seven gave Bodhi a rough elbow to the ribs before telling them to lighten up and have a little more faith in their handsome monkey king.

“Yeah, well he’s only got one more champion ahead of him and by the looks of everything I’ve been seeing happening below, he’s more concerned with giving his competition pep talks than he is building up his qi!”

Seven did the right thing and put a little distance between himself and the small, fuming human. Ham Song also thought it was best to keep his thoughts to himself. The pig simply prayed that this next challenger, Sun Liu, would fall completely flat for the judges.

However, similar to Blue Force and the Barefoot Sun, the Artist’s performance called upon one’s inherent respect for the traditional and the divine.

Sun Liu used her paintbrush staff to draw a design on the platform. What was strange about this, Dear Traveler, was that the brush left behind no trails of ink or watercolor. This caused a wave of curious murmurs throughout the crowd. Then people in the audience started to shout.

“Look up!”

“There! In the sky!”

When Ham Song looked at the arena ceiling, he saw himself somewhere impossible – the treasure hall known as the Scattered Cloud.

In this very realistic reflection the whole audience saw themselves in the most pristine glamour and fitted in nobles’ robes. They were all sitting at a very long table with a heavenly feast stretched out before them.

Let me be the one to tell you, Dear Traveler, that this was nothing but a decorated upside down mirror. Still, such things spark certain emotions in spirits. When you see what you could have, all the things that you could be… well, it has a way of making spirits believe that certain life improvements are not so out of reach. That if they looked a tad better or felt a little prouder to be here, then all would be well.

Both the audience and the judges like to see this sort of positive message in a competition such as this. Not only that, but this spectacle was also a nod to the era of banquets and pristine treasure halls.

Our dear old Ham Song, however, didn’t waste any more energy gawking at what was. If there was anything he learned from the last performance like this, it was that his here and now was more important. His champion was what deserved all of his attention. Not some upside down mirror of dramatic opulence.

Ham Song glanced over at Bodhi, who to be frank, looked sicker than a dog.

It seemed that Seven also noticed because he rested a hand on the monk’s shoulder and asked, “You all right, Sifu? Need a bag?”

Ham Song didn’t like what he was seeing with the monk.

They must be worried that this stunning performance could hurt Ritsu’s chances. True, but… Bah! This is not the time to be breaking down! Not when our benevolent monkey is about to go next.

Then Ham Song growled at Seven, “Bring that old carryout bag and take Bodhi somewhere no one can see. Do it quick before Ritsu starts!”

Seven gave a swift salute. “Aye, aye, Hambro.”

To Ham Song’s relief, Bodhi didn’t resist as Seven helped them out of the section and off to the restrooms.

More than anything, Ham Song wished he could be down on the lawn with his benevolent monkey king, sharing more of his Luck and words of encouragement. But by the looks of it, the friends that Ritsu had made were already huddled around him.

The pig sighed. This was it.

Ham Song looked up at the sky, into a world of a treasure hall restored. He searched not for his own reflection, but for his monkey king’s.

At the end of a very long table of finely dressed nobles, one spirit sat slightly apart from the row of guests. He had his forearms anchored atop his knees, his mind completely elsewhere from this grand feast.

A battle dress of leather and gold. Gathered over one shoulder and pooling down by his feet, a ribbon-cut cape cast the illusion of a red oil spill.

Though the guest’s head was bowed, his foundation was strong. Three feet of rooster feathers arcing out of his golden headband floated in his meditative stillness.

“As I thought,” Ham Song whispered.

Because only when the warrior tipped his head back and looked skyward – only when his gold gaze touched the surface of the reflection…

… was the moment when the restoration of the Scattered Cloud felt complete.