The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

And so the days passed, and I grew bigger and fatter in my cage, with no responsibilities besides making the dragon happy. Which was easy, since no matter what I did, he thought it was the cutest thing ever.

Mooncloud sweeps her tail from side to side as she swims? Ooooh, isn’t that the sleekest, shiniest tail you ever saw?

Mooncloud balked at eating her water bugs this morning? Aww, look at that scrunched-up little face! Servants, go catch some fresh bugs at once.

Mooncloud got startled by a loud noise and clicked her fin? How rhythmic! When she awakens, she’ll be a musician for sure. Should we get her started on drums or the flute or the lute or…?

Sometimes his endless (and endlessly extravagant) praise exhausted me, but overall, I resigned myself to it. Enduring his raptures seemed like a minor price to pay for all the karma I had to be earning. After all, my actions had utility for not just an ordinary human being, but a dragon king. That had to be worth more to Heaven’s Accountants.

Now, if only the Dragon King of Black Sand Creek ranked high enough to report to the Ministry of Weather in person. If he had, I could have coaxed him into taking me along and then snuck off to the Bureau of Reincarnation to check my curriculum vitae. But sadly, he submitted monthly updates via crab messenger to the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea, who was the one who actually flew up to Heaven.

I started to scheme how to get noticed by that dragon.

Before I could make much headway, though, Nagi announced at one morning audience, “It’s the beginning of the Dragon Moon, Your Majesty. What are your wishes regarding the Meeting of the Dragon Host?”

At her words, I perked up and pushed my face between the bars, listening as hard as I could. Every year, the Dragon Commander held a conference in Heaven at the end of this moon and doled out rain assignments for the growing season. Here was my chance to see Flicker!

Frowning over a long, tedious report from Captain Carpa, the dragon started. “So soon? Yes, I suppose the water temperature has risen, hasn’t it?” He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “See to the usual preparations.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He picked up the report again, but Nagi cleared her throat and continued, “Also, tomorrow is the Dragon Boat Festival in Your honor. I have already instructed the chefs to prepare the usual banquet and directed the crabs to bring the tables out of storage and to send invitations to Your vassals…but did you want to invite Lord Silurus?”

The dragon winced. “Absolutely not. He’s a demon and a psychopath.”

Nagi didn’t speak for so long that the dragon realized he’d given the wrong answer.

“Look, Nagi, I know you don’t want me to offend him, but he’s as likely to eat the other guests as he is the banquet dishes. More likely, in fact.”

Again, her silence conveyed deep disapproval, but the dragon met her gaze steadily. Who was Lord Silurus? Despite spending every day in the audience chamber with the dragon, I hadn’t seen a Lord Silurus, although I’d heard grumbles about how he snapped at shrimp patrols who approached his cave. The dragon’s response had been to pull them back rather than risk a confrontation.

“Is it wise to antagonize him?” Nagi prompted, nodding at the document in his claws. “You’ve read the captains’ reports. If we can’t even fight off a flock of ducks, how can we stand against Lord Silurus if he chooses to…express his displeasure?”

For once, the dragon refused to be prompted. He lifted his chin to display his pearl. “Be that as it may, I’m not having him at my banquet.” As his final, clinching argument, he declared, “Anyway, catfish are cannibalistic. He might eat Mooncloud.”

A flick of Nagi’s tongue said that that very much did not factor into her calculations, but she dropped the topic.

And so, when water spirits began to pour into the Black Sand Creek Water Court to celebrate the Dragon Boat Festival, there was no catfish demon among them. Scores of other catfish came swooshing into the audience chamber, though, alongside plump carp and skinny loaches, pop-eyed gobies and softshell turtles. I counted six families of shrimp and crabs, as well as Nagi’s water snake relatives, who got their own table. Apart from Lord Silurus and a handful of shrimp who were on duty (new recruits plus veterans who’d offended one or both of the captains), all of the dragon’s vassals were here.

For the occasion, the audience chamber had been transformed into a banquet hall, seating chart courtesy of Nagi. Once all spirits had made their obeisance and sat down, the dragon touched his pearl and cast a vision of the riverbanks onto the walls. Music and chatter filled the water, and we were surrounded by farmers staking out shady spots where they could watch the dragon boat race; fisherfolk helping townspeople onto their sampans for the best view; and children running wild, clutching toys and sweets. It was a familiar scene, one that I’d witnessed hundreds of times as a fox – but something felt off.

Something that set my fins on edge. What was it?

The humans weren’t acting any differently from their ancestors, and their musical instruments and foods looked similar too – wait. Wait, wait, wait. What was wrong with their legs?

Why were the men wearing crude, belted tunics that came down to their knees and left their calves naked?

During Cassius’ reign, men, human and spirit alike, wore long robes belted with sashes. Only the poorest, hungriest beggars went bare-legged.

Wincing, I studied the women next. They were dressed in ankle-length versions of the tunic. Some had embroidered geometric patterns at the wrists, necklines, and hems, or sewn on bands of different colored fabric for decoration – but that was it.

Where were the filmy scarves and floating waist skirts? Where were the knotted silk cords and jade pendants? Assuming that these humans were decked out in their finest, had the standard of living really plummeted so far?

A wasteland dominated by thieves, demons, and petty warlords, Lady Fate had called Serica, and I was starting to see why.

But the humans didn’t seem to notice their own poverty. They laughed and chatted and called out to friends as they unwrapped fist-sized bamboo-leaf packages. Peeking out from between the leaves were – sticky rice dumplings. Whew. Thank goodness that hadn’t changed. As a spirit, I hadn’t needed to eat human food, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it, and the palace chefs had stuffed the dumplings with pork belly, black mushrooms, tiny dried shrimp, peanuts, chestnuts, and salted duck eggs. At the memory, my stomach rumbled.

“Don’t worry, Mooncloud,” whispered the dragon out of the side of his mouth. “You’ll get a dumpling too.”

My eyes kept returning to a little girl with a flute tucked into one pocket. She was devouring a sweet dumpling so fast that she smeared red bean paste all over her nose. I’d liked red bean paste dumplings too. Back when I was –

Horrified, I cut myself off, but it was too late. I had the dragon’s full attention.

“Yes, Mooncloud? Back when you were what?”

Frantic, I waggled my whole body, swinging it from side to side. Nothing, Your Majesty! Nothing! I don’t know what I was saying!

“It didn’t sound like nothing – ”

It was Nagi who saved me. She chose that moment to signal to the crab servants, who scuttled in with trays of bamboo-leaf packages on their backs. The water spirits’ applause drowned out their lord, and I cheered along as I got my own miniature version. Flashing me a grin, the dragon undid the twine and peeled back the bamboo leaves with a flourish, revealing a dumpling made from seed pearls. Holding up the plate so everyone could see, he took the first ceremonial whiff.

“Let the banquet begin!” he shouted.

All around us on the walls, the humans also broke into whoops. Two skinny boats, holding twelve people each, were parading down the river from the start of the course to the finish line. When they passed in front of the baron and his family, I noted that the nobles’ clothing, at least, was silk. But their jewelry – ugh! It was just clunky gold brooches set with semiprecious stones, and not even well-cut stones at that. What was the point of wearing jewelry when it wasn’t good jewelry?

Meanwhile, the dragon boat teams turned and paddled back upriver.

“They repainted that one,” a softshell turtle at a nearby table commented. She stuck out her long neck and pointed her head at a red-and-yellow boat. “It looks more like a dragon now.”

Given that the prow resembled a pig’s head with horns and scales, I couldn’t imagine how bad it had been before its makeover.

“They gilded it too,” noted the frog sitting across from her. “The barony must be doing well.”

Another frog, who sat with his spine as straight as a walking stick, grated out, “Probably from selling our pearl mussels.”

His companions fell silent as they contemplated the gaudy boats.

“Well,” said the softshell turtle at last, “at least it looks impressive. At least they used the money to pay homage to our king.”

“Yes,” agreed the others.

Far upriver, near the edges of the dragon’s vision, a flock of whistling ducks was collecting on the banks. Wondering whether these were the duck demons, I looked around for Nacre. The mussel didn’t have eyes, but the opening of his shell was pointed at the ducks and his whole body was quivering with rage.

As for the captains, they were presiding over tables on opposite sides of the dragon’s. Captain Carpio was trumpeting reasons that one of the teams would win, while Captain Carpa was assuring her tablemates that preparations for security while the dragon king was away were well in hand. Neither of them noticed the ducks.

“Paddles up!” bellowed the steerers, and the teams both tensed. The drummers raised their sticks.

A gong rang out, and the dragon boats were off, dozens of paddles churning the water and throwing spray onto the sampans. Townsfolk shrieked and covered their heads, while fisherfolk hooted with laughter. Waving flags, the steerers shouted commands to the paddlers. The drums thudded like pounding hearts to keep them on time, and pairs of children banged gongs and crashed cymbals to throw off the other boat’s rhythm. A lot of betting had been going on both above and below the water, and the dumplings sat forgotten as everyone cheered on their boat.

No one was paying any attention to the ducks now, not even Nacre, who was rocking back and forth on his chair and whooping. Only I noticed when the ducks waddled down the riverbank and dove into the water one by one. Should I warn the dragon?

I looked up at him, but he was leaning forward, digging his claws into his armrests, eyes fixed on the race unfolding along the walls. Nagi had half-risen from her seat, tongue licking out in excitement. Captain Carpio was roaring at his boat to “Go faster! Go faster!” while Captain Carpa watched him.

Halfway down the course, the dragon boats were neck to neck. One would pull about a foot ahead, then the other would catch up and pass it, and then the first would inch past it again. Children were jumping up and down, shrieking, while their parents pumped their fists and yelled at the teams.

The ducks resurfaced, a mussel in each one’s beak. They deposited their loot in a basket hidden among the reeds and dove again.

About to call out to the dragon, I clamped my mouth shut. Nacre had reported that the ducks were selling the mussels to humans, both as food and for the pearls. From what the turtle and the frogs had just said, the trade in shellfish was enriching the barony. So the question was: What was worth more karma? Helping the dragon king or the human baron? Which one did Heaven value more?

It wasn’t obvious. One was a dragon king – but of such low rank that he only got to visit Heaven once a year for a general conference. The other was a mere baron – but Flicker had said specifically that I got karma for acts that benefited humans.

As I argued back and forth with myself, the dragon boats approached the finish line. The baron and his sons watched with silent intensity, while his wife and daughters flapped handkerchiefs like signal flags. Next to them, their guest of honor, the Green Frog, hopped up and down on his chair, all dignity forgotten.

I was already earning karma for being the dragon’s pet, I thought. Better to hedge my bets and help the humans here, albeit indirectly. That same indirectness would also shield me from (massive) repercussions if it turned out that Heaven valued the dragon much more highly. Decision made, I turned back to the race.

The paddlers were slick with water and sweat, jaws clenched, muscles straining, as they summoned one last burst of strength. One prow inched past the other, then the other pulled ahead, cymbals clashed, gongs banged, drums pounded, the steerers shook their flags and shouted themselves hoarse, their voices nearly drowned out by the splashing and the cymbals and the gongs and the screaming from the riverbanks – and then one prow glided across the finish line a dragon-head’s length ahead of the other. Everyone exploded into cheers.

One duck picked up the basket in its beak, and the whole flock waddled back up the riverbank and out of sight.

“Whew!” cried the dragon, falling back into his chair. “That was close!”

“Indeed, Majesty,” agreed the spirits around him. “We’ve never seen a closer race.”

“At least neither boat capsized this year,” a catfish was saying. She’d obviously bet on the losing team, because she finished inhaling the essence from her dumpling and pushed the plate at her neighbor, an oversized shrimp. Grinning, he swept the seed pearls into a pouch and tied the strings shut. That scene was repeated all over the audience chamber, accompanied by good-natured grumbling and ribbing.

Captain Carpio was crowing over his winnings and bragging about how he’d known which team to bet on from the steerer’s facial structure. “I saw that wide forehead and those full lips, and I knew he’d win!”

Captain Carpa, on the other hand, was tucking away a bulging pouch, her own thick lips curved up in a smirk.

After the dragon boat race, our banquet continued, with performances by traveling carp and more dishes, a mix of seed pearls and seafood to provide both spiritual essence and variety of taste and texture. As dusk fell on the river, we watched the teams deck their boats with lanterns and slowly paddle them back to the boathouse. In their wake, the humans lit lanterns shaped like lotus flowers and set them afloat. They bobbed on the currents, yellow blossoms on black water, and the dragon expanded his vision so we could follow them as they drifted all the way down the river and out to sea.

As I watched them vanish into the bright, white moonlight that spilled across the waves, I thought of Cassius’ court and our Dragon Boat Festival. Our version had been grander in scale, certainly, but the broad outlines were all here today, in this simple ceremony on a river no one in the capital had ever heard of. Nightfall erased the details of the humans’ clothing, so different from the styles I was used to, and as the last lantern winked out of sight, I felt an indescribable mix of yearning for the world I’d known and relief that, in the end, traces of it still remained.