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JiǔwěihúNine-Tailed Fox. My dear jiǔwěihú.
I took you in from the wild. I sheltered you from the Tiger, I taught you how to cultivate. I showed you how to become human.
Have I not shown you care and affection? Have I not raised you to be a living myth, a true wellspring of power?
Why, then, do you visit me with tears of rage and hate?
"Traveler, are you alright?"
Daji opened her eyes and looked at the speaker. Sitting next to her was an androgynous woman of a nondescript age wearing unremarkable clothing. Tall and not tall, a skin tone that could only be described as "being there." There was no attempt at makeup or fanciful jewelry on her person, yet no signs of dirt or stains that would otherwise mar her appearance. Just pretty enough that Dì Xīn would have wanted her as a concubine, but not enough to wish to marry her like Xǐmèi. A calculated look.
Such a deliberately plain woman could only be someone supernatural and important.
"I have traveled entire continents to visit here," said Daji quietly. "If you intend to deliver me to the other gods, I ask that you allow me to finish my business first."
The woman blinked in surprise, but responded with a smile. "Ah, I suppose nothing ever truly escapes your eyes, Miss Fox."
She lifted her sleeve slightly, revealing a mala around her wrist.
"A Buddhist," said Daji. "I did not think my presence would need your intervention."
The woman shook her head. "Oh no, I didn't intend to suggest you aren't welcome at these grounds. I was just curious since you have been meditating for over an hour."
"I'm sure you understand why, though."
"I suppose," sighed the woman. "Does their blood call to you?"
Daji nodded in response.
What looked like a simple grassy field belied its blood-soaked past. There were bodies here - innumerable fox corpses laid buried beneath the quiet field.
A mass grave created by both Man and Heaven.
"You are no mere Buddhist," said Daji, almost accusatory. "Arhat? Or a bodhisattva altogether? Who are you?"
The woman smiled. "I go by many names, but you once knew me as Cíháng Zhēnrén."
The Compassionate Daoist of Mount Putuo. A man who had dedicated himself to uplifting humanity, showing them that kindness was a path they could seek to enlightenment. Once an enemy of her faction, she remembered vividly of how he had broken through the traps of the Jie sect.
The man who had become the Buddhist beside her now.
"That name belongs to the past, as did your life as a man. I ask again, Lady Buddhist, who are you?"
Daji watched as the woman nodded, then blinked. "Very well, Miss Fox," she said. "They call me Avalokiteśvara, the Thousand-Armed Bodhisattva, She Who Relieves Suffering, She Who Hears the World. If you prefer, you may call me Guānyīn."
"You and I are not so different," said Guānyīn.
The foxqueen did not respond. The two were laying down on the grass, staring at the bright sky, so Guānyīn couldn't have seen her reaction even if she displayed one. The bodhisattva took her silence as encouragement to continue.
"I lost my faith in the gods after the war. Our gods did nothing to ease the burden of Man but hide the corpses."
"In the eyes of the gods, the life of humans is a mayfly. The passage of time would hide the scars of the Shāng-Zhōu war," answered Daji.
"To us, we who may live until the last star breathes, yes. But what of Man itself? Does suffering not exist if the lofty cannot see it?"
Guanyin paused to take a deep breath. "The Tathāgata showed me the selfishness of the gods. Man had suffered for their pettiness, yet they would offer no finger of help just because it would inconvenience them. He opened my eyes, to understand just how many humans we had damned. Suffering is not just a physical toil, Miss Fox. It is an affliction of both mind and spirit. It is easy to resolve the mind. Some can be resolved with mere wordplay, as they only wish for someone with power to assure them things will get better. Others require more, require concrete proof. They want to see change. That too, I can do."
"And spirit?"
"I can guide people," sighed the bodhisattva. "But I can only guide so many. The Tathāgata gave me his blessing, gave me the will and the power to reach out to more and more. But there will always be those who suffer. Enlightenment is not a standard process, Miss Fox. Some may attain it at the drop of a hat, others requiring decades of study. And humans will continue to be born. There are over eight billion people in the world. Even if I could save a human with each arm and help them reach Enlightenment, all within a second, it would take me time to reach out to them, and there will always be more, and there will always be those who die before I can reach to them."
"You speak as though you must save them all. Do you not do enough on your own? A thousand arms reaching out to a thousand people at once. That's admirable, isn't it?"
"My frustration doesn't lie in what I can or cannot do," said Guānyīn. "Even as a Daoist, I was aware that I was but one person, that the world was simply too vast for an individual to shift."
She turned to face Daji. "But even so, Miss Fox, even though my efforts are but droplets of water, enough droplets can with time fill a bowl. So why couldn't the other gods contribute their droplets as well?"
Daji scoffed. "None know better than me the indolence of the gods. Those who seek to preserve their own skin and reputation can hardly afford to spend time rescuing the nameless. And even those who indulge in some acts of kindness have their own agendas." She paused. "Not that I'm accusing your group. I think it'd be wrong of me to scold what I don't understand."
"Will you convert, then? You would not be the first to shed their past and study under me."
"No," said Daji after a pause, shaking her head. "With all due respect, bodhisattva, I no longer trust anyone but myself to chart my own path."
Guānyīn did not answer for a moment. Daji wondered if she had upset the Buddhist, but as she was about to continue, Guānyīn spoke up.
"The Way and the path to enlightenment are not too dissimilar. I am a teacher, one who guides, one who sets a clear path for my students. It is, however, up to them to finish that journey."
She looked back up at the sky and pointed up. "'I can point at the moon, but I can't make you look at it. What you see is not the moon itself but the guiding finger.' A tenet I remember from my past. It is difficult enough to teach one who is willing, let alone one whose heart is not committed. Rest assured, Miss Fox, I will not pressure you."
The two stared up in silence. Breezes picked up and died down, clouds lazed on by, a few birds even came around to grace the two with their presence.
Eventually, Daji spoke up. "You suggested we are kindred spirits. Is it only because we both despise the gods?"
"That, and more. We both found ourselves imbued with incredible power and authority, the lives of thousands, tens of thousands, if not millions, of lives at our disposal. A power we were unprepared for."
Guānyīn sat up before continuing. "We both understand this, the responsibility we hold over our followers. And the trials they face for practicing in the meantime."
The bodhisattva did not say it outright, but Daji knew exactly who she was referring to. There was no single man she loathed more for their sins against her foxes.
"Has that bastard… Huīzōng… has he joined your Heaven?"
Guānyīn looked up. "I remember every soul that has attained enlightenment. Would it please you that he is not among that list of names?"
"Yes."
"Tell me a dream," asked Guānyīn. "What did you dream last night?"
Daji opened her mouth and paused.
A night sky. A cool breeze - she did not feel it, she saw it. Stars against an impossibly bright megacity.
In one moment, she was on the grass, looking up as the wind rippled the celestial firmament itself. In another, she was among those very stars, sitting on a ship. Watching as a crew of people, all alike and different at the same time. All her, yet not her.
"The ship is going down," said the Daji-in-the-back. Daji looked around, but nobody seemed to notice. When she looked back at the speaker, she was gone.
All of them were gone. No longer was she on the ship. She was back on the grass, staring at a night sky. A cool breeze she could not feel, only see. Stars ablaze against a dark fortress of concrete and steel, bereft of its soldiers of neon colors and LED. There was no ship in the sky.
She walked through the grass, then ran. Her vision changed - she was watching herself run from above, far enough that she could still see what was in front of her. She could not stop, she did not want to stop. She kept running. Two children joined her - a younger version of her and a younger version of not-her. The two children held her hands as they continued to run.
She stopped, her vision back to her running-self. Looking around, she saw there was nobody's hands to hold, both children having disappeared as quietly as they arrived. Before her stood the megacity, once more ablaze with lights.
"They can help us," she heard the Daji-in-the-back say. She was back on the ship. By now every Daji was paying attention to the speaker. "We ask help."
"They will not," said the Daji-at-the-wheel. "We are different." Daji opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she felt someone hold her hand.
She turned to face them, a woman with a black and gold coat. No longer were they on a ship. Concrete walls surrounded them, a maze of rooms separated by impossibly thick doors.
"Come," said the Black-and-gold-coat Woman. "You'll want to see this."
She tapped on a door. The door banged back. She could not hear anything, but in her mind, Daji could tell something was slashing at the door. And whatever it was, it was making the door bulge.
"Quickly." Daji ran after the woman. The Black-and-gold-coat Woman closed a door behind them, just as Daji felt the previous door break down. She could heard chattering from behind the door. And though it made no sound, she could tell, deep down, they were dying.
"Isn't it fun?" laughed the woman. "You try it."
She wanted to fight against it, but Daji's body moved despite her protests. She closed a door, and another, and another. Each time, the chitter grew louder; each time, their deaths became more deafening.
"You did this," said the Black-and-gold-coat Woman. Daji looked at where she was pointing. A room painted in bodies, of thousands, if not tens of thousands, of foxes. "Be proud, look at your art."
Again, Daji's body moved on its own, nodding.
She looked up. Again there was the rippling night sky, as she stood on grass that rippled with the nonexistent breeze. Again was the megacity, both alight and darkened. She heard children behind her. Daji felt her eyes grow weary, and turned around.
There stood the younger her and the younger not-her. There stood the younger her, killing the younger not-her. She raised her voice but no sound came out.
The younger her looked at her. Daji felt the exhaustion overtake her and blinked, ending the dream.
"I'd prefer not to."
"Miss Fox, why did you return to this land? Were you not safer in the west?"
"I want to give the Sì Bú Xiàng a proper burial next to its master," replied Daji. "There are two other matters, of course, but that one takes priority. A hero deserves to rest with its loved one."
Guānyīn nodded. "And if it's not too much to ask…"
"Closure. Time has… changed my perspective on some of the gods and xiānimmortals who once tried to kill me. I would like to see them again, hear their perspective. Bury hatchets, as it were. As for the second…"
She pointed at her own head. "During my journey here, the Once-Was of Su Dájǐ stopped speaking. I do not know if she has died or passed on, but I promised to be her eyes in the modern era. I wanted to at least bring her home."
"Do you have a means to get her out of there?" asked the bodhisattva. She offered Daji a cup of tea. The foxqueen blew on it once, twice, then took a sip. The taste was mild not sharp, warm not hot, comfortable enough for her to finish in a gulp. "I was only instructed in placating humans and demons, not lingering wills."
"Unsure," Daji replied. "But I will not return west until she is freed from the confines of my head."
"Mmm. Then for now?"
Daji gave a bitter smile. "I am a queen and all my former subjects now lie on the ground below us. It is time for me to confront millennia of complaints."
Without waiting for Guānyīn, Daji strode out of the teahouse and back onto the grass. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, directing her focus downward.
She felt a stirring. One soul, then a dozen, more and more, emotions becoming more and more tangible to her. All unified behind a single banner.
Rage.
"Coward," hissed the voices. As deafening as they were muted, for the hate of the fox spirits could only be heard by their victim.
"Hello, my darlings," Daji murmured. The force of their ire was enough to singe her hair and skin, but she paid it no mind, spreading out her arms and looking up to the sky.
"You, who betrayed us all, who left us behind."
"My subjects, it has been far too long."
"How dare you show your face back here, traitor?"
"My beloved dears, your queen is home."
