13.ii The Peach Festival

~ Ham Song ~

It came as a pleasant surprise that the benevolent monkey was able to hatch a reasonable plan in order to acquire a staff. However, Ham Song knew that splitting up and taking on the different gaming booths would not be as simple for him as it would be for his companions.

Sun Ritsu was already long gone, but Bodhi hadn’t quite left Ham Song’s side. Before they could wander off, Ham Song steadied his nerve and latched onto the hem of their robe.

They glanced down in confusion. “What’s the hold up?”

Ham Song hated being put in this position, but there was no way around it. He had to ask the monk for help.

“Listen, Bodhi. I don’t think that we should split up.”

The monk slid their hand behind the deep, slack collar of their robe and absently scratched their ribcage.

“But that was the plan, pig.”

Ham Song oinked and wheezed. “I know that was the plan! It’s just . . .”

Bodhi arched an eyebrow at him, letting their arm rest inside the robe like it was a sling.

Reluctantly, the pig confessed, “Unless I’m heavily doused in glamour or flanked by a pack of other hogs, the majority of the spirits around here do not take me seriously.” He hung his head. “I would never be allowed to approach a game booth without encountering an unnecessary amount of harassment.”

Bodhi looked off at the crowded streets. “I see.” Then they sighed and pressed forward. “I suppose you can tag along with me, pig. We can pick booths that are next to each other. Once I set you up, I’ll just go next door. So if you run into any trouble, I’ll be close by.”

Ham Song could barely believe his ears. He trotted up beside them. “Dear monk, I cannot describe my gratitude. I thank you for understanding.”

So quick that he almost missed it, the monk winked at him. They walked together through the busy festival, taking in the music, the costumes, and simply appreciating the comfortable beauty of the mountainside morning.

They had nearly arrived at a cluster of gaming stands when they walked by a booth that smelled richly of fermented grains.

Bodhi came to a chilling halt before the panel of fabric that marked the entrance. “Oh. Hello there.” They acknowledged the establishment as if it were an old lover.

The pig nudged their ankle. “We have no money, remember?”

“I’ll only be a minute, pig. Just going to glance at the menu.” Bodhi absently patted Ham Song’s face before drifting inside the dark shack.

Ham Song sighed and rested his haunches in the dirt. He wasn’t waiting long before he could feel someone watching him from nearby. He sniffed the air before taking a look around. The rich, savory aroma brought him the clarity he needed. Behind him, on the other side of the street, was a barbecue vendor.

Ham Song swallowed, quickly coming to the conclusion that the owner of the stand was checking him out. Feeling weighed down by the target on his back, Ham Song dashed inside of the tiny bar.

“I told you, monk,” a fed up horse spirit brayed from the other side of the counter, “we don’t do samplers here.”

Bodhi spread their arms. “Come on. You can’t spare one thimble of liquor to help a simple monk celebrate one of the most sacred and revered days on the calendar?”

Ham Song pressed his snout against Bodhi’s ankle. “Monk, please. I think we should go.”

The horse brayed uproariously. “And get that fat fleabag out of here!”

Ham Song cowered at the venomous look in Bodhi’s eyes when they turned on him. He tried to edge away, but his butt collided with another pair of legs.

“Hey, monk.”

Both Ham Song and Bodhi looked up at the newcomer. A skeleton spirit.

“How about in exchange for a drink, I take that sweet little hog off your hands?”

Ham Song whimpered. Why does this always happen to me? Equal to Heaven, aren’t I supposed to be Lucky?

Not at all put off by the butcher’s macabre essence, Bodhi folded their arms and gently tapped their chin.

“Hmm. The monkey . . . might not like that.”

Ham Song squealed, “Don’t think so hard about it!”

“Allow me to improve my offer.” The skeleton brushed by Ham Song. “With what I am willing to pay, you can purchase an entire barrel of rice wine if you so desired.”

All contemplation dissolved from Bodhi’s face as they shook hands with the skeleton man.

“Oh, sure. That works for me.”

Ham Song was snatched up by the butcher before he could make a break for it. He watched on in horror while his new captor paid Bodhi with a fat purse full of gold.

Bodhi shrugged helplessly.

“Oh, Ham Song, don’t look at me like that. You know it’s nothing personal.” They turned to the bartender. “One barrel of your finest rice wine, please!”