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Light.
That’s her first thought when her eyes blearily open for the first time in this foreign land.
A burst of bright pastel explodes in her vision and she cowers underneath the swathe of cloth, desperate to be away, away, away from how blinding the world is when she sees it for the first time. She whimpers, and it’s a soft, pitiful sound – a far cry from what, no, who – she was before her last words sunk to the bottom of the lightless ocean, her heart broken by a promise she’ll never meet again.
By her side, she hears a chorus of indiscernible human voices in a language she thinks might be familiar, but they’re loud, and then beyond them are even louder people. She’s but a tiny fox with ears too large for her small head, and there they are, wailing someone’s name, broken cries of young children and the mournful cries of older folk who have known her since – huh, how would they have known who she was? Little fool, you just came into this world, you’re still wet behind the ears.
She makes another sound, scrambling with her tiny paws to get underneath the cloth again. Somehow, she manages to fail at this not-actually-herculean task: her feet catch in the smooth silk, panic spikes in her, and as they say, the rest is history.
A pair of warm, gloved hands pry her free from the offending material with such care that she instinctively leans into it, the fear in her throat melting into soft sounds of apology. Whoever this might be, she doesn’t have much to fear from her. Her eyes close, contented to take a nap now that she’s been rescued. But it’s not before she catches sight of her, the wisps of her moonglow hair falling around her teary face.
*
Tianquan Ningguang, ever a popular object of discussion, has everything down to her recent acquisition scrutinised.
Perhaps, someone suggested, she needs something close to her heart, now that she’s lost someone valuable to her from her exclusive inner circle. The gossip chatters harmlessly on and on and on, and some of the wealthier households even attempt to procure foxes as pets, before lamenting that they smell, and none can quite match the electro-blessed fox the Tianquan owns. They whine about being unable to keep up with the latest fashions, until they hear the stirrings of a rumour that a law on taxing exotic pets might be gazetted soon. (The law never passes, but by then, most people have abandoned their attempts at domesticating a wild canid.)
Regardless, there is a common remark floating around the harbour: Tianquan Ningguang has adopted a fox. Oh, not just any fox! Have you seen its colouring?
Of course, in front of the esteemed Tianquan, they don’t quite say that it’s strange. However, there is nothing that Liyue likes more than talking about other people, preferably behind their backs and preferably without consequences.
But one man, a wealthy trader from Inazuma, said something to the effect of interesting. An interesting fox. And he comes from the land of kitsune, where they tell legends of the sky and earth foxes painted in the colours of the heavens and all things under it.
The fox’s feelings aren’t hurt by such a comment.
But Ningguang bristles, clutching her now-prized fox closer to her, the golden claws digging almost painfully into her, buffeted only by the thickening layer of her soft, purple fur.
Ningguang’s is a winter storm when she tells the trader that she will not agree to the war-torn nation’s request, the anger in her face and voice barely restrained.
And herself? Aye, she’s but a fox.
Who’s she to care about these worldly human matters? At that moment, all she cares about is that Ningguang pulls her back into her study, allowing the fox to remain by her side.
*
“You!”
The fox, guilty of having just tripped the Yuheng over and causing her to drop an armful of scrolls, simply jumps out of Keqing’s grasp when she tries to exact her irritation on the canine.
Keqing huffs, realising her fight is both childish and futile. The tiny beast has the protection of the Tianquan, who simply watches Keqing with a faint air of amusement.
“You’ve never liked animals much, Ningguang.”
Keqing stares distastefully after the animal. The fox peeks out from behind Ningguang’s skirts. Keqing swears that if the fox was human, it’ll probably be sticking its tongue out at her.
“And what of it?”
Keqing sighs, quashing her irritation. If the dreadful beast made Ningguang happier, or soothed the open grief that she wore in her more private moments, then who was Keqing to comment?
*
Ningguang is gazing out at the sea, the faint orange yolk spilling into the vastness below.
She does this really often, she observes. If only she had a way of asking Ningguang why.
I'm here, she wants to say. I'm here.
But who's to say that Ningguang's looking for her? Perhaps, the leader of this prospering nation merely wishes to look down at her creation, the lives of a hundred thousand people living under her stewardship. They matter a lot to her, she slowly learns. This woman works herself obsessively. She drinks pot after pot of tea and smokes like a dragon. The papers she hoards away from the fox occupy her all day.
It's not fair, she thinks, that the sun is shining outside and this lovely woman chooses to lock herself inside to drown in the swirls of her ink.
An idea:
The fox dashes down the stairs, as fast as she can go. She lets out a yip, drawing Ningguang away from the railing, trying to chase after her. Foolish woman, running on those stilts. She'll never catch her–
“I’ve got you!”
Happiness bleeds from Ningguang’s smile straight into her own veins. She makes a big show of grumbling at Ningguang, who gently presses their noses together.
“You’re not getting away from me.”
She stops pretending to struggle out of Ningguang’s grasp.
Mm, she agrees. Never, ever.
*
The Tianquan’s pale lavender fox celebrates its third birthday with a dozen sunsettia, berries, and even a whole, fat bird, laid out atop a golden platter at her feet.
The Tianquan is too busy to sit down by the fox’s side this year. However lavish her dinner may be, the fox sulks, earning a baleful glare from the bespectacled woman before her.
Her secretaries have borne the strange request of preparing the fox’s yearly present. Tianquan Ningguang doesn’t always specify the exact requirements of her requests to them, even if she does have something in mind; they simply have to keep up and figure out what she wants. But what she wants in relation to her pet fox often leaves them flummoxed. And while Baixiao has been preparing the presents for the fox each year, seeing that she was the only one who managed to squeeze in some time to read up on Foxes: All About the Farmhouse Pest and Woodland Terror, Volume II, Baishi is the only one free for this task this time.
“Ouch!”
Baishi flinches away from the fox, wincing. Oh, I must be so unlucky – the brat that Lady Ningguang likes so much hates me.
She has never quite understood why the fox dislikes her so much. But alas, she lost the dice roll with Baiwen. At least, her finger isn’t bleeding, this time.
Truthfully, the fox doesn’t fully understand why it dislikes Baishi either.
It’s simply instinctual, she once reasoned. Perhaps it’s the spectacles?
“If Lady Ningguang didn’t like you so much, I’d fling you off the balcony.”
Her long silky ears press back against her head. I’ll bite your head off.
But Ningguang will be unhappy – you can’t do that.
Her ears flatten further. But this secretary of hers is… I don’t like her!
(“Play nice, xiao’huli. I do not wish to hire new staff because you’re misbehaving, got it? They’ve been with me for longer than you have.”)
(She had protested, of course. Not at the instruction to behave, but–)
(An old memory stirred, from one whose heart once beat above the ocean depths, that carried the Uncrowned Dragon across the seas:
I’ve always found a way back to her. I… I had merely needed more time.)
*
She slowly comes to the realisation that Tianquan Ningguang is unhappy.
For a good chunk of her early life, she had known that the Tianquan doesn’t seem to have much fun. She’s always cooped up behind her desk, or out having some meeting with a trader, or another government official in the Yujing Terrace. She could’ve been playing, or basking in the sun, but no, she’s busy.
Why, how offending the idea was to the fox, to think that her master was miserable despite her presence!
But now that she’s no longer a small kit, hopefully wiser to the ways of the world, she begins to notice things. Like how the woman sometimes locks herself away in her room on stormy nights, refusing to see anyone. And try as she might, she hasn’t ever been able to worm her way in.
The monsoon season is upon Liyue again. If she is to venture closer to the windows, she could hear the torrential rains and the howling winds screeching its yearly promise to bring the skies down upon them. She’s not afraid of the storm, thank you very much. She’s a brave, brave fox, with nothing to fear! She has the Tianquan’s protection behind her back. She is fully grown now, able to outrun anything, yes, even the god of storms!
(Hmm, perhaps not.)
Urgh.
She tries, again, to enter Ningguang’s bedroom. The door is, surprisingly, left ajar.
She tiptoes in, but realises that Ningguang isn’t in the room. Huh, where could she be? A sniff of the air tells her that Ningguang has been here recently, what with her perfume of glaze lilies still somewhat too-pungent for a canine’s sensitive nose. She doesn’t mind it, of course. She’ll appreciate whatever Ningguang smells like, really! She’s kind, and gives her treats, and holds her sometimes when they fall asleep together, and oh, oh, maybe she’s left some berries out downstairs?
The only place she hasn’t quite checked is the bathroom, but that door is tightly shut to her.
Never mind, she can wait.
And wait she does.
She waits, and waits, and waits.
Ensconced in this room, one can hardly hear how loud the storm is outside. The window is sealed off for the night, and the curtains are drawn tightly shut.
She waits, and waits, and waits.
Perhaps, she should make her presence known? Maybe then, Ningguang would let her in.
That won’t do. Ningguang doesn’t like to be disturbed, right?
(Hah.)
It feels like an eternity before the door finally creaks open.
She leaps to her feet, eager to greet Ningguang.
But she stops just short of jumping into Ningguang’s arms, pausing to inspect her. Her skin is raw from how long she’s been in the bath, her lips pale from the lack of rouge. The pretty pearl of her face is painted yet again with salty tears, the rims of her eyes pink.
She whines, electing instead to nose against Ningguang’s ankles. Too thin, birdlike, even. That’s an unflattering description for a human, isn’t it?
(Hey look, you runt. Admittedly, she’s had better days.)
“Ah, I must’ve kept you waiting.”
It’s alright, she wants to say. You’ll be all right, won’t you?
But the fox can only whine, lowly and mournfully.
“I’m sorry,” Ningguang whispers.
(What a useless, wretched creature we must be.)
(I’m sorry too.)
*
Being the charming and wealthy woman that she is, Ningguang has never had a shortage of suitors. Ningguang treats all her suitors with an equal measure of kindness and grace, but also keeps them at distance.
For a good while, Ningguang managed to keep most of them off with nothing more than a note that she wanted to maintain an appropriate mourning period for their nation’s beloved icon, for it wouldn’t do to be seen on a date with yet another suitor while most of the city exhales an air of mourning. But such excuses had worn thin quickly.
The fox knows when Ningguang has been out entertaining yet another one of these many men. Ningguang always returns somewhat earlier than she usually does, perhaps having made an excuse to be off to do more work. Whatever excuse worked in polite company, then, sure. Her gloves always smell of someone’s cologne, thick and cloying. Her lips are always pursed when she returns, her shoulders tense.
The fox hates the smell of Ningguang’s gloves with each of these visits. Thankfully, Ningguang always removes them as soon as she returns, tossing the pair to be washed without delay. And after she draws a bath, they get to while the rest of the evening together.
Ningguang has rarely ever spoken aloud to her in these moments. The fox never quite understood her master’s moods before.
With each passing year, the fox begins to understand just why she doesn’t like it when Ningguang returns from such visits. At first, she had thought it was the idea of sharing her master. But she doesn’t dislike some of those that do come up to the Jade Chamber, even if they monopolise much of Ningguang’s time.
Take Ganyu, for instance. The qilin always has a treat for her, sure, but she’s always so nice. And seeing her doesn’t cause her stomach to buoy down in envy. There’s no simmering resentment around her. Instead, seeing the qilin brings a bouncy sort of joy in her; Ningguang once said that perhaps her fox liked Ganyu more than herself. Ganyu had fervently denied that, of course, and the fox had bounded back to Ningguang to remedy the situation.
She now recognises that she doesn’t like it when Ningguang returns, a frown on her face.
(Oh, that’s right.)
Do foxes get jealous, usually? Am I feeling what we’re feeling?
(Eh, I won’t call it jealousy.)
That’s just dishonesty.
(Well, it’s not as simple as… jealousy. Let me help you understand.)
A fox is not supposed to be overwhelmed with all these human emotions.
Self-loathing: because she failed to return home this time. It’s her fault, that she’s now mired in this strange almost-existence, trapped in the body of a furry creature, unable to speak, unable to cry. Anguish is expressed in howls, unintelligible to those she needs to understand her.
Jealousy: one of loss, a gnawing that tears at her slowly, slowly. In life, such emotions were foreign, kept at bay kisses that whispered forever. I’ll love you until the end of the world, a promise they made together, once, and never mentioned again. But now, the spirit seethes even against the fox, free to engage in her master’s affection.
Love: of the kind that would lead one to travel to the ends of the earth to rescue things her heart valued, of the kind that would lead one to write home at every port without fail, that would cause the other to wait, time and again, for the caress of her lover’s warm embrace.
And now – she feels it still, this endless desire to be by her side.
“Ah, have I been neglecting you?” Ningguang picks the fox up, cooing as she draws their faces closer. She doesn’t need to be near Ningguang to tell that her master is trying to suppress the exhaustion in her voice and keep her demeanour as cheery as possible. “I’ve had a long day.”
The fox’s ears perk up. Tell me more, it seems to say.
Ningguang blinks, slowly, still not entirely used to how the fox’s eyes bear a strange resemblance to ones where she memorised each shade of the sunset orange and purple speckles against the sunrise red.
“Sometimes, you remind me a little too much of her. Perhaps, a friend of mine was right. Taking you in would draw me into melancholy.” Ningguang makes a dismissive sound. “She’d probably not like it if I was… like this. Always thinking of her each time I look up at the stars.” She looks down at the fox, still gazing back at her intently.
“Her name’s one of the constellations above us, did you know that?”
Of course, she does. She shares her grief and longing. She feels that dreadful emptiness welling up in her, an erosive want that eats her lungs alive. The yearning stretches across the galaxies, but still, they’re parted by the curse of flesh and bone. They only have a simple wish, really:
(I wanted more time with her.)
But not like this?
(She doesn’t need to hear the ever-present echo in her mind to know the answer.)
Ningguang’s smile is bittersweet. “And now I have you, little one.” Her hands continue to brush against her ears.
***
Foxes: All About the Farmhouse Pest and Woodland Terror, Volume I:
The average fox lifespan is 3-4 years in the wild. However, in captivity, foxes have been known to live much longer, with an average of 10 years. Compared to other canids, foxes have a short lifespan.
“Gods, you’ve kept me waiting. Do you know how long the funeral director’s been pestering me? Every time she appears in this hallway she tells me, Beidou, can you get your ass moving?”
In death, her spirit is tinged purple still, marked by the gods.
Ningguang stares, and stares, and stares, and then she throws her head back and laughs.
“Was it wishful thinking, or did you…”
Beidou shrugs. “I promised to find my way back to you. Now, I didn’t quite… expect to be screeching like a demented little beast at you, but there we were.”
“You made for a good fox,” Ningguang sniffs, “rather more tolerable than you’d been in life.”
“Hey now.”
Ningguang’s hands close around Beidou’s. “I think we shouldn’t quibble over these details. Shall we, my captain?”
They eye the door before them. Director Hu’s going to come chasing after them if they don’t hurry up. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. Here, Ningguang’s infinite wants are finite, with the gap in her soul finally closed over.
“For luck,” she murmurs as she kisses Beidou’s cheek.
But this time, they depart together.