The spirit world is broken and in desperate need of a restoration. True heroes and ancient beasts that once walked are now a thing of the past. Between the empty spaces of forgotten treasure halls there are whispers of one who has returned. One lege...
You see, this talking swine is not really what he seems. Ham Song, as he goes by, was in fact a dragon.
For reasons unknown, our Ham Song was damned long ago to occupy a porker vessel. Whoever bewitched him made sure to curse him further by blocking his ability to speak about his affliction.
Before you begin to weep, Dear Traveler, I must tell you that there is an upside to this curse. Ham Song carried with him a tremendous amount of Luck.
Not luck, you moron – Luck!
Of course you cannot hear the difference. You have the IQ of a mushroom.
Anyway, it wasn't clear at the time why, but Ham Song needed Sun Ritsu's help. Sure, it was always his intention to break out of the noodle house pantry, but there was something about our underwhelming sun clone that made the pig especially desperate for his company.
There's something else I should mention before we continue. Based on your blissful, unapologetic demonstrations of ignorance so far, I will assume that you are not aware that here in the Ninth Heaven, pigs are not well regarded. They hold a reputation for being greedy cheaters. For this reason, they rarely travel the giants alone. So as you might imagine, Ham Song's chances at survival were pretty slim because he simply had no porker companion to swindle him out of becoming a chop.
Why didn't Ham Song seek a friend from his race for protection, you wonder? I already told you, he's no real pig. He's a dragon! He couldn't break bread with the common sow even if he tried. Think if I decorated you with a monocle. Would you suddenly know how to act intelligent?
Our Ham Song was doomed to suffer by the hands of spiteful spirits unless he could somehow enlist Sun Ritsu to help him break his curse.
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For three weeks, all Ham Song had known was darkness. And food. Lots of food.
Capsule after capsule of teriyaki noodles, jajangmyeon, pho broth. An abundance of eggs – boiled, fried, drizzled raw over rice. Snack bags of dehydrated shrimp and congealed duck fat. Tubes of strawberry cakes, banana pudding, and watermelon slush. Cartons of every milk drink imaginable.
The cooks made sure that Ham Song ate whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. And then some.
The pig wasn't stupid; he knew that his captors were merely trying to fatten him up as quickly as possible. But at this point, he had given up.
It was hard enough convincing the average spirit to go out of their way to help you. Throw in a curse that prevented you from explaining what it was, and it became damn near impossible. Ham Song had tried everything to get around it. He couldn't provide any sort of hint. Not even on accident.
What was worse, because the pig wasn't Ham Song's true essence, he couldn't develop or purchase glamour for it. He had to traverse the Ninth Heaven as a naked quadruped. He would never get used to the humiliation.
