Bodhi thought they would have to come up with some kind of distraction, but to their delight, there was no need. There were trolls down on the ground floor, interrogating helpless customers. The owner of the establishment was doing his best to pacify the situation. 

Everyone, including Bodhi, watched on like it was some kind of live gangster opera. The monk, however, did not forget why they had come here. They prowled the upper floor of the noodle house on silent feet, waiting for spirits to be looking away before pouring the unsuspecting customers’ unfinished booze in their own personal gourd. 

Rice wine, rice liquor, beer – it mattered not to the monk. It was all going towards the same cause after all.

The squid spirit at the next booth did not detect Bodhi’s presence as the latter gently tipped the former’s wine flask over, delivering the contents into the gourd.

The commotion in the belly of the restaurant intensified. Bodhi craned their neck to see the trolls dragging some spirits out of the kitchen. Bodhi slowed down the thieving and counted three spirits total. One was a pig – Bodhi recoiled at the stench – a deeply cursed pig it would appear; they noticed the leader of the Yingchi Bastards had a girl by the hair. The monk squinted their eyes. No, not a girl, but a well glamoured spider spirit. 

The hog was hauled out and dropped in the center of the floor. The third spirit was deposited beside it. This one was tall, skinny and also wearing glamour. The monk arched an eyebrow.

Oh? What a handsome little monkey king.

Bodhi stashed their gourd away, helped themself to a pitcher of beer, and found a seat at the top of an empty booth. There was nothing more entertaining than a wild sun clone birthing chaos in a crowded noodle house. Especially if it was covered in peach puke like this one.

Bodhi wondered if the monkey had any experience with martial arts. Based on the way he was letting the trolls handle him like a sock puppet, they very much doubted it.

Bodhi groaned. Well now that the damn monkey had passed out, there would definitely be no show. They chugged the rest of the pitcher and hopped down from the booth. 

“Excuse us, monk, but there’s something that you owe us.”

Bodhi (barely) stood before the squid spirit and some other manner of marine essence. A tiger shark perhaps?

Bodhi staggered. Oh, shit.

“Let’s fix this with a wager,” the monk suggested, thankful that their own drunken haze protected them from the caustic gazes of the customers. They only had enough sight to perceive that these spirits enjoyed playing with numbers. 

The tiger shark (who was looking more and more like a hammerhead now) exchanged glances with the squid. 

“We’re listening, monk.”

Bodhi leaned over the side of the wall and made a split assessment of what was happening below. What do you know? The unconscious monkey slumbered while wearing a blissful smirk. A telling development in the noodle house gangster opera.

Bodhi hooked their thumb over the wall. “See that mess of trolls down there? If the monkey cleans it up, you let me go free.”

The aquatic spirits took a look and broke into simultaneous laughter. “Not a chance in Ninth Heaven,” said the squid. “You sure you want to call that bet? Cause if the clone can’t stop the Bastards, we’ll make sure that you’re the next dish on the menu.”

The shark winked. “In other words, we’ll take the last of your Luck and give you a makeover for the road.”

Oh, how clever you two are, Bodhi thought, but kept the damning words to themself.

The monk just gave a humble little bow and said, “We have a deal!”