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“So what happens next?” I said. “Does every god in that room, like, battle-royale it out? Last deity standing wins?”
Guanyin gave me a look of distaste for my violent suggestion. “No,” she said. “It’s less of a tournament and more of a quest. Candidates are elected by the assembled pantheon and head out to defeat whatever evil is threatening the cosmic order. The Great White Planet goes along and judges their performance. Whichever god acquits themselves the best in his eyes becomes the next ruler of Heaven.”
Guanyin explained in a tone that let me know exactly what she thought of this method of determining regime change. Boys and their games. “It’s that simple?” I asked.
“It’s how the Jade Emperor got the job in the first place,” Quentin said. “A long time ago, an ultra-powerful demon threatened Heaven, so he meditated for a billion years until he was strong enough to defeat it. Or so the story goes.”
Huh. That was a far cry from the image I had of the Jade Emperor as a do-nothing windbag. A deep, rhythmic drumming broke the silence coming from the other end of the line. It started low and steady, a primal chant, and grew louder and louder.
“As I have witnessed the mandate pass before, so shall I witness the mandate pass now!” The Great White Planet was really picking up momentum, casting off the mantle of Hobbit Gandalf and going full-blown Lord of the Rings Gandalf. The windows of our conference room vibrated with force. “Gods of Tian! Name thy warriors!”
“Prince Nezha!” someone cried out, timing themselves with the drumbeats. The name was picked up enthusiastically by the assembly. “Nezha! Nezha! Nezha!”
The gods shouted with hypnotic unity, a sharp contrast to how disorganized they were before. This was serious business, like European soccer.
“Wow, they like this Nezha guy a lot,” I said. “Who is he?”
“Front-runner,” Quentin said. “He’s young, popular, enough of a traditionalist that he won’t rock the boat. Kind of bland, if you ask me.” Quentin seemed impatient, as if he were waiting for the good part of a movie.
The calling for Nezha made way for a single voice, high and clear. I assumed it was the nominee.
“Thank you, my friends,” Nezha said, the drums backing his speech. “I swear upon my own bones that I will never let harm come to Heaven!”
We had to wait a while for another round of cheers to die down. “Who else is worthy of the mandate?” the Great White Planet said.
“Guan Yu!” a group in the back roared simultaneously, as if they’d rehearsed it. “Guan Yu! Guan Yu!”
Quentin whooped so loud it hurt my ear. He did a full flip out of his chair, bumped a dusty ceiling panel loose, and landed back down in his seat butt-first. The impact burst the compressed air out of the height-adjustment column.
“Take it down a notch,” I hissed at Quentin. “What’s the big deal?” To me the name Guan Yu was associated with the red-faced, bearded man whose image was kept in the shrines of shopkeepers and restaurants. My parents had a small shrine of Guan Yu they’d placed behind the counter of their furniture store. I never understood what he was supposed to do, because he certainly never brought them luck.
“Guan Yu is the warrior god of integrity, brotherhood, and righteousness,” Quentin said. “He works hard and parties harder. He’d make a great King of Heaven.”
Judging by the crowd, Guan Yu had a smaller but equally fanatical cheering section. If this were a stadium, then Guan Yu was the favorite of the ultras and hooligans. Quentin pounded loudly on the table in support, as if they could hear him.
I waited for the god to step up and acknowledge his selection, but instead the applause petered out to an awkward silence.
“Where is Guan Yu?” whispered the Great White Planet to someone standing nearby, using the drums as cover.
“He skipped out because he ‘hates meetings,’” Nezha muttered. “The last I saw, he was in the training pavilion drinking wine and seeing how many boulders he could smash with his forehead.”
Oh dear. I was beginning to see why Quentin liked this guy.
Instead of naming more names, the split crowd shouted for their respective champions, forming two unyielding blocs. The Great White Planet hammered away with his staff until a semblance of order returned.
“All right then!” the Great White Planet shouted over the low-level buzz of background excitement. “It seems like our two candidates are obvious. Now, in accordance with my sworn duty, I declare that—”
I jammed my finger against the unmute button and leaned as close as I could to the mouthpiece of the bridge.
“I nominate Guanyin,” I said.
13
I could only guess at what the crowd reaction was in the glorious hall of Heaven. Because the two divine beings sitting in this office conference room with me right now were so mortified that their lifespans could have been shortened to a fruit fly’s.
Quentin stared at me, his jaw slack and his eyes swimming with disbelief. His chair had been rolling to the side at the moment of my interruption, and he was too shocked to stop its motion. He gently traveled across the room until his armrest hit the wall next to him.
Guanyin, surprisingly, was even worse off. She looked like I’d taken a battering ram to her stomach. Her skin became pale and wan before my very eyes. At this rate she would fade to nothingness soon, chalk washed away by the rain.
