56.ii Nebula's Parting

~ Ham Song ~

“I have a hunch that our starstruck monkey king has forgotten everything I told him about using this time to build up his qi,” Bodhi said over the roars of the crowd.

Sun Zhaoling had just reached the end of his trial. He was in the middle of bowing to the judges and getting a standing ovation from the audience.

If Ham Song could, he would have clapped his hooves for the Barefoot Sun as well. For a moment, Zhaoling made him forget that he had his own sun clone to cheer for.

As always, Sun Seven tried to lighten the mood. “You’re probably right, Sifu, but what if Zhaoling’s performance inspires Ritsu? I mean, how can anyone not be fired up after a feat like that?”

“Well, if that’s the case, Ritsu better be inspired to kick everyone’s ass when his time comes,” Bodhi muttered dryly.

Ham Song sniffed the air. “Who’s up next?”

“Sun Tie Quan it looks like.”

Bodhi’s gray gaze became hawklike. “We’ll want to watch this one closely. Pay attention to the way he interacts with his staff, both of you.”

Seven saluted. “Aye-aye, Sifu.”

Ham Song grunted to himself. He was getting tired of these homework assignments.

Besides.

The pig glanced at the back of Ritsu’s head way down in the finalist section.

Why would I waste time gawking at these rank-starved gorillas when none of them could compare to the one benevolent and true monkey king?

Begrudgingly, Ham Song took his eyes away from Sun Ritsu and followed the brawny blue form of Sun Tie Quan onto the lawn.

The longer he looked on, the more he couldn’t help being mildly mesmerized by the levitating staff that followed Tie Quan to the center of the field. Its path took on that of an electron molecule once the sun clone came to a stop, spinning in sharp ellipticals around his form at faster and faster speeds.

“Behold.”

Though Sun Tie Quan spoke calmly, his voice carried far.

“The power…” he lifted his hands. “of the Blue Force.”

Ham Song rolled his eyes. “Oh brother.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What is that coming off of Sun Tie Quan’s staff, do you think, Chow?”

“Some kind of magical dust if I had to guess.”

Ham Song draped his hooves over the concrete border of the aisle and squinted his eyes in order to track the glittery downpour coming from Blue Force’s staff.

The staff reset itself in a horizontal position before taking off around the arena perimeter, dusting the lawn in this new shimmery coating.

When it came back around to Sun Tie Quan, he broke out into a run alongside it and leapt, landing on the topside like it was a surfboard.

Despite the narrow, rounded surface of the staff — not to mention Blue Force’s considerable size — he did not waver or need a moment to find his balance.

Ham Song’s jaw dropped as he followed Sun Tie Quan now with true interest.

“Huh.” Seven scrutinized the performance with his blood red eyes. “Sifu, would you say that counts as holding the staff?”

Bodhi hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Ham Song gave no input on the matter. He was too busy being astonished by the way the sun clone surfed the invisible airwaves, stirring up those shimmering clouds of dust. And he looked really damn cool doing it, if the pig was being frank.

But that wasn’t even the incredible part. That fine dust that the staff wept from the side that soared parallel to the ground was starting to build layer upon layers. Each time Blue Force coasted by those layers, he would shape them with his open palm. The mounds of glittering blue sand took on new forms.

In all, there were three giant mounds, rising higher and positioned in such a way that they formed the corners of a triangle.

Ham Song’s hooves clapped against the concrete as he shifted his weight suddenly.

No. No, it can’t be.

“Sweet Immortal Peaches. Is that… what I think it is, Chow?”

Ham Song’s eyes burned without warning. When last had he felt tears fall up his cheeks? Had it been so long?

Had he never been moved so much since becoming cursed until now?

Blue Force’s speed was manic and divine. He swept around each mountain of sand like a blustery gale, carving out the details as a time would a Himalayan rock.

The first mound shrieked and beat several pairs of great wings. Those wings burned with a blue fire.

“Blue phoenix flame,” Ham Song whispered. “I must be going blind.”

Huddled beside the firebird was one of those terrible, terrible creatures that Ham Song couldn’t stand, but everyone else seemed to love back in his time.

“What’s that other thing, Chow? It sorta looks like you, but scarier? Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

“No worries, Dan. What you’re looking at is actually a lion dog. They’re quite ancient and not spoken of much these days. Once upon a time, they would serve as guardians to the nobility.”

Impossible, thought the pig. A phoenix followed by a Fu guardian?? Still, this wasn’t even what made Ham Song cry in the first place, Dear Traveler.

What he saw in that last mound, made him want to heave until he was empty. Because it could not be. It could never be.

“Pig.”

Ham Song looked up at the sharp-eyed monk, staring sideways at him, their aura level and more stable than anything else the pig had in this moment.

“Relax. It’s just a puppet.”

Ham Song knew this… and yet, to look up the moving, breathing glittery masterpiece was pure torture. All three Immortal beings were a painful reminder of a time that was dying so fast, it was practically mythical. Sun Xiao Dan was proof that no one even remembered what the Fu guardians were anymore. On the other hand, phoenixes were down to their embers, their legacies left scattered in murals on the walls of treasure halls.

Then. There was the dragon. Born before Ham Song from a womb of blue sand.

Dragons roaming the Ninth Heaven seemed so natural when you think about it. Yet today there were none. And what if… what if Ham Song was the last one?

“You old, stubborn pig, are you listening to me?”

What proof did he even have that he was a dragon?

“Close your eyes!”

Ham Song shut his eyes and in doing so, bit his own tongue so hard, he probably bled. He hated the idea of obeying the monk, but like I said earlier, Dear Traveler, Bodhi’s intrusive awareness was the only solid thing Ham Song had to stand on right then.

All he had the power to do was try to catch his breath until all of this was over.

The monk would tell him when it was over.

When these glitzy bastardizations of his Immortal kin were gone from this place and he could finally breathe again.