Oh, hello there, Dear Traveler. Are you ready to hear another addition to our so far underwhelming tale? Yes, then let’s begin.

A drunken monk lay face-up in a dumpster somewhere in the Horse Province. This dumpster could be found only a few miles away from Sun Ritsu’s shanty noodle house.

Ah, what are you doing? If you continue to flap your hands about like that, I won’t be able to concentrate on relaying this – what was that? 

What happened with the pig, you ask?

 Do you think I’m that forgetful? We’ll get back to that in time. Right now, I’m going to tell you about this monk, so shut up and listen. 

As I was saying.

This monk, might I say, was fully realized and had attained Nirvana. It’s the only way a human can exist in our world. With that being said, the monk was not like most humans. Their anatomy was very different compared to the majority of mortals. They could change, shift, morph at their own will. The monk’s anatomical capabilities also allowed them to complete great feats in combat. Their strength, speed, and reflexes often rivaled us sun clones. 

Anyway, our story would not be complete without someone to teach Sun Ritsu the ways of kung-fu. Because as you’ve probably guessed by now that until he met the monk, that liver-brain had no idea that he had an affinity for any sort of martial art.

Bodhi woke up in a dumpster.

They did not find this to be a problem or even disgusting. Bodhi would have happily remained here, blissfully living out their existence as a unit of breathing matter – the featured exhibit for the scavenger spirits. 

Quite true, they would have gone on gladly with this humble meditative enterprise, that is if . . . they weren't so regrettably, unmistakably sober.

Bodhi drew a laborious breath as they hoisted themself upright while forcing open the lid of the dumpster in the process. Blackout drunk and disoriented, being hungover – hell, Bodhi would have even taken death over this. 

They vacated the trash heap and landed firmly on the back of the giant. 

They groaned.

Firmness. Stability. Steadfastness. 

If they thought about it anymore, they would empty their guts right there on the spot. So Bodhi closed their eyes and focused on the task at hand: Getting a drink.

They bowed their head and assumed a cross-legged position at the base of the dumpster. Their hands naturally rested on the peaks of their knees in the gyana mudra, an appropriate hand sign to enable concentration. A few breaths later and Bodhi was scanning their surroundings. Though these senses originated from within, they now extended outward along the island giant’s spine.

There. They found the solution to their problem.

Trolls.

“Where there’s a troll, there’s booze,” Bodhi whispered in satisfaction. They drew in their senses and unfolded until they were back on their feet. Ignoring the fact that they had no idea what giant they were on or how or when they arrived at the cozy dumpster, Bodhi bade farewell to their temporary home and went on to pursue the scent of the cadre of violent trolls stalking prey down some nearby populated, urban strip.

***

“Go away, monk.”

 Bodhi did their best to appear as non-threatening as possible. They said, “All this weary traveler seeks, my dearest trollman, is a pitcher of water. My throat needs moistening and my hands and feet need a little washing is all.”

Move your crusty ass aside so I can sneak in and swipe some booze! 

The troll thumped his misshapen mace-head in the palm of his enormous hand as he tried to glare Bodhi into submission. 

“I’m going to say this one more time. Get lost, monk.”

Usually Bodhi would use this as a chance to impress the troll by bragging about how they obtained Nirvana and how their strength could rival some of the toughest spirits.

But who am I kidding? Spirits are never impressed by the spiritual feats of humanae. 

Bodhi could tell by the way the troll huffed and shifted his stance that he was running out of patience. There were no blind spots where Bodhi could sneak in undetected by the troll. They had already checked. Pure defiance was their last resort.

“Monk, you stink. Go!” the troll growled. 

Bodhi assumed a cross-legged position at the troll’s feet. “I will leave when I’ve gotten some water. Otherwise, get used to the smell, my friend.”

The monk held their breath in case the troll decided to kick them, but surprisingly, the bouncer held back the urge and glanced hesitantly inside of the establishment.

After fighting back Bodhi’s stench for a few more moments, he snarled, “Don’t move.” Then he disappeared into the noodle house.

Success!

Bodhi popped to their feet and looked around for any passerby. Once the coast was clear, they used the rafters to hoist themself to the slanted second floor windows. From there, getting in was fairly easy. That troll wouldn’t be happy when he returned, but that was no longer Bodhi’s problem. Their primary concern was to find something warm and alcoholic to pour down their throat.

~

So, Dear Traveler, now that you have met Bodhi, do you have any ideas on how they will factor into Sun Ritsu’s story? Yes, of course monks can have vices in the spirit world. Up to this point, they’ve lived out each of their mortal lives whilst following the highest moral code available to them at the time. They’ve reached the end, the final frontier; therefore, the incentive to be saintly no longer exists. 

Hmm, but I do see what you’re saying. Bodhi’s lifestyle seems a bit extreme. I don’t know why a monk would want to spend their days blackout drunk at the bottom of a dumpster. There could be more going on underneath the surface than we are aware. We won’t find out any time soon. We’ve got to get back to our witless hero and his spidery companion. 

Where was it we left off? Oh right, the spice pantry in the back of the noodle house. Thank you, Dear Traveler, for reminding me. Seems like there’s hope for your liver brain yet.