The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Chapter 185: That Petty, Spiteful, Cowardly Goddess of Life

A little shriek would have been nice. Even a squeal would have been appreciated.

Alas, the Goddess of Life had too much self-control to let either one slip out of her perfect, lotus-pink lips. She sat behind her oversized rosewood desk as stiffly as a porcelain statue covered in sweet-white glaze. I glanced around for the vases that contained her lotus blossom and her willow branch, but neither was in sight. She must store them in a treasure hall, bringing them out only for formal audiences when she needed to grant boons or punish "wrongdoing."

Since her main concession to the shock of seeing me pop out of Flicker's sleeve seemed to be dead silence, I decided to speak first. Heavenly Lady, thank you for granting me this chance to thank you in person for all that you have done for me.

Not a hair on her arched eyebrows twitched. She needed more time to recover from her shock, did she?

Without Your Heavenly Ladyship's gracious gift, I could never have learned to mend my ways, to treat those on Earth with kindness and humility, and to render unto Heaven the reverence it deserves.

(I.e., none.)

The statue moved at last. The lips parted, and the cool voice, devoid of compassion, that had pronounced Marcius' doom, rang around the office. "'The reverence it deserves,' says the former nine-tailed fox who would bring Heaven to its knees if she could."

Ah well, it was too much to hope for that she would have missed the double meaning. And "would bring Heaven to its knees if I could"? Given the Kitchen God's desperation for new sources of offerings and the dilapidated state of the Bureau of Human Lives, which hadn't obtained one, I had already brought Heaven to its knees. It just hadn't toppled forward into a genuflection yet.

"Would have brought," Heavenly Lady, I corrected her. I sketched an apologetic dip that I didn't feel in the slightest. It is true, I confess, that once upon a time, I would have brought Heaven to its knees if I could have, and justly was I punished for it.

"You weren't punished for attempting to rebel against the Jade Emperor," she reminded me. "You were punished for destroying Cassius."

Yes, and for killing Marcius, who should have become the next emperor, and Aurelia, who sought only to save them both. And for causing the deaths of a host of other innocents who were caught up in our games. What these centuries of reincarnations have taught me is that in my pride and ignorance, I misunderstood my mandate from Lady Fate. I perverted her intentions, which is itself an act of rebellion against Heaven.

(Thinking for myself – wow, what a rebellion. What a crime.)

Justly was I punished for it, I repeated more loudly, to drown out the commentary at the back of my mind, although I did not understand it at the time. It was the gift from Your Heavenly Ladyship – the gift of keeping my memories when I reincarnated – that allowed me to comprehend the tragedy of what I had wrought, and to repent and wish to atone for my deeds.

One eyebrow arched, which I took as an invitation to elaborate upon this plan for atonement and how it would benefit her.

In truth, I had hoped to repay you for your mercy by organizing the people on Earth to make more offerings to your Bureau, Heavenly Lady.

I tensed, expecting Flicker to gasp or snort or let slip some reaction that would undermine the narrative I was spinning. But he, too, had made progress in the centuries that we'd known each other. Neither his expression nor his posture changed.