The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Chapter 5: The Goddess of Life

"Such a decision would only reinforce the perception of Heavenly governance as arbitrary and corrupt," continued Marcius.

Reinforce whose perception of Heavenly governance as arbitrary and corrupt? I'd never heard any humans suggest that the gods were anything less than perfect. Not Cassius, who claimed the Jade Emperor's mandate for all his actions, or his courtiers, who claimed divine guidance for theirs, of course – but not even the poorest, hungriest peasant tilling the rockiest patch of mountain soil, whose children had all just died from a plague. No, instead of blaming the gods for their misfortunes, the humans just bowed their heads and murmured about karma from past lives.

The Goddess of Life hadn't uttered a word yet, which Marcius took as permission to keep expounding on all the problems in Heaven that needed fixing. The man had never known when to stop and neither, apparently, did the Star.

Fascinated, I edged through the crowd until I had a clear view of the Goddess of Life. Her face was as hard and cold as the two white jade vases that flanked her throne. Out of one rose a single pink lotus blossom, and out of the other, a branch of willow. Both swayed gently in the breeze, but that was the only motion on the dais. Down on the floor, the clerks' eyes swiveled between her and Marcius.

Since no one was stopping me, I kept weaving forward until I reached the front row of clerks. They'd all pulled back from the dais, leaving a good ten feet between them and Marcius.

What's going on? I chimed into one star sprite's ear.

She flinched but kept her face pointed forward. Sliding her eyes sideways, she breathed, "The Star of Scholarly Song is appealing the decree that he re-enter the cycle of reincarnation."

I must have misheard. That he do what? Why?

In front of us, Marcius was declaring, "Although the criteria for full membership in the Bureau of Academia as written are clear enough, in practice obtaining a permanent position is much more about whom you know and whose work you champion. Or oppose." He shook his head, a deliberate, disapproving motion that I was all too familiar with. "That is wrong. The goal of academic research is the pursuit of knowledge. It must remain above petty politics and closed-door decisions. It must be based on merit – and merit alone."

The clerk I was talking to tipped her head towards him. "That's why," she whispered.

Did he not get a permanent position at the Bureau of Academia or something?

"No. He had one already, due to his courageous defense of integrity on Earth. But he...disagreed with some...long-established practices in the department."

"Shhh!" hissed the clerks around her, and she snapped her mouth shut.

With supreme confidence, Marcius concluded his speech with, "Hence I believe that the most appropriate course of action would be to restore me to the Bureau of Academia and to accept my proposals for its reform."

The Goddess of Life moved at last. One slender forefinger lifted, and the clerk on the dais rushed to heave the willow branch out of its vase. Kneeling before the throne, he presented it to her with both arms trembling under its weight. She plucked it up and held it as easily as a sprig of wildflowers. Water droplets beaded on the leaves and rolled down the branch, falling to her feet, where they shattered and transformed into a fragrant, pale-green mist.

"Enough." The word floated through the room like birdsong and butterfly wings.

"My lady – " protested Marcius, exactly as he used to when Cassius cut him off.