Burning Tigress

by Jade Lee

  Jade Lee

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  CORNERED TIGRESS

  Awards & Reviews

  5 Stars – Night Owl Reviews

  ~

  "Jade Lee again amazes with another addition to her Tigress series."

  ~Night Owl Reviews

  A lively fish is a good omen. Its tenaciousness symbolizes the fish's immortality. Thus, to eat a fish that fights to the very end is to ingest the ultimate in long life and good fortune.

  Chapter 1

  Number One Slave paused outside the doorway. Without moving a muscle, he took visual stock of his clothing and his thoughts, even ran a hand over his shaved head. All was in order, and yet he could not stop the rising panic in his chest. Rather than fight it, he nurtured it. He allowed fear to tremble in his hands and narrow his vision. In this manner, he stayed alive in his master's presence.

  He entered Su Jian Lie's eating chamber on his knees. Master Su did not require such acts of his top slave, but Number One had seen many others before him become overconfident in their status. Even his older brother had succumbed and it had eventually cost him his life. So Number One remained on his knees before his master to remind himself that for all his wealth and status, he was still a slave.

  Master Su's eyes did not even flicker as Number One entered the chamber. The morning ritual was well established, and so the master finished his tea in silence while the breakfast congee was removed and sweet leaves were thrown in the brazier to chase away the smell. Sparks momentarily flashed on the master's jade bracelet: a five-toed dragon, an obviously imperial gift to the most well-connected businessman in all of Shanghai. Then, with a twitch of his finger, Master Su commanded his first slave to speak.

  "The day dawns bright, plum blossoms open to the sun, and a branch trembles in the wind. Mayhap it will fall. The dog whimpers in fear and awe." The poem was not his best, but the meaning was clear. It had nothing to do with the actual weather. In truth the sun was middling today, the sky gray even in this most exclusive neighborhood of Chinese Shanghai. Winter was fast approaching and no early spring blossoms appeared anywhere. The poem was about various people his master controlled. Or soon would control.

  "Speak of this branch," Master Su said.

  "Farmer Luk has an ill crop. His debt is only three quarters paid."

  "Daughters?"

  "Already sold and not very pretty." Barely enough to pay the interest.

  "Sons?"

  "Three."

  "Pretty?"

  "The eldest."

  Master Su tightened his lips. It was a grave thing to sell a man's eldest son. "Speak of the dog."

  Number One hesitated, weighing his words as was appropriate when passing judgment on a man and his family. "Farmer Luk acknowledges your power and trembles in all humility. The dog acts as a dog should."

  Master Su's eyes flickered. He would be merciful, not because he was a forgiving man but because, on this day, he appeared bored. Whipping a beaten dog would not entertain. "Sell the youngest to the emperor as a eunuch. Then sell the ox. Let the other boys pull the plow. He shall have an extra month."

  Not so merciful, then. Number One dipped his head in obedience. No farmer could pay the debt in one month when the harvest was already counted and sold. And the loss of the ox would make even that a hardship. But another month as a free man was no small thing.

  Master Su poured himself more tea. "Speak of the blossoms."

  "Two grow upon the branch. One is dark and ready to wither, the other small and barely begun."

  Master Su's eyes did not rise as he drank with reverence, but Number One had seen the twitch in his fingertips. Master Su was surprised that two blossoms had appeared. As was his custom, he dispensed with the dullest first. "Mr. Wang does not pay his tax?"

  "He lied about the receipts as you predicted." The smallest touch of admiration colored Number One's tone. It was not feigned and it helped to hide the anticipation that quickened his heartbeat. Master Su was innovative in his murders, especially when bored.

  But the expected death was not to be. Instead, Master Su raised his eyes to the calligraphy on the wall. It was a Confucian adage about the timely use of all resources, including people. "Then opportunity is given to the dog."

  Number One acknowledged the statement with a nod. Farmer Luk would be allowed to force Mr. Wang to confess his lies and pay appropriate recompense. Whatever money the farmer could threaten or force or torture out of Mr. Wang above the initial debt would be applied to his own payments. In this way, Master Su received the money due and a new slave as well, all without expending any effort at all. Of course, neither Wang nor Luk would understand their enslavement. No one did until it was much too late. Always debt brought them within reach, then greed kept them inside while Master Su feasted on the profits. In the end, all served to their best ability while Master Su's coffers grew.

  "And the second blossom?"

  "Tan Kui Yu and his wife, the Tigress of Shanghai, were taken last night. They are imprisoned by General Kang and questioned regarding a missing son." Number One delivered the news in the same even tone as he used for everything else, but inside, his belly quivered with excitement. He had gone to great effort and expense to cultivate the spy network that had brought him the news. Now he would know if his efforts were worthwhile.

  Master Su took a long time thinking. While his gaze remained abstract, his right forefinger stroked each of the dragon's toes on his imperial-gift bracelet. Such was his way when presented with a fresh blossom. But this possibility had everything the master searched for: chance for great gain in wealth and power, revenge against a family that had opposed him, and best of all, a challenge to relieve the ache of boredom.

  "Who knows of this?"

  Number One swallowed. Here was the most dangerous part. He had acted with initiative. If he had guessed wrong, then he would be killed for his impertinence. "None who still live," he answered as smoothly as possible. "Save General Kang, who has left for Peking, and the guards who watch the forgotten prisoners."

  Master Su's brows lowered in dark fury. "You would kill soldiers of General Kang in my name?"

  "Never!" Number One rushed to answer. "Drunken brawls are common among soldiers, and no general values a man with a loose tongue. General Kang will not miss his men." Number One said the words and prayed they were true. More vital, he prayed that his master believed them to be true.

  With horror, Number One saw his master reach beneath the table to finger the white man's gun. It was an ignoble weapon, hidden so a man could not see death coming, and Master Su was lethal with it. His breath in his throat, Number One considered his options. There were none. No way to run without being shot, and no way to talk his way free. Master Su had been known to shoot babblers on principle. Number One could only press his forehead to the floor and pray the end would be swift.

  Finally, the master made his pronouncement. "A gift of a dog to the hawk who saw this blossom."

  Number One lifted his head, his mouth gaping. Had he heard true? As the hawk who brought this opportunity to light, was he to be given a reward? He saw the truth in Master Su's profile as the man stared at the Confucian adage. His reward was Farmer Luk and the farmer's charge, Mr. Wang. The terms would be as usual: a premium to Master Su on all receipts from the farmer's land and Wang's gem store, but the rest would be his own. With prudent management, Number One could be very, very rich soon.

  Number One banged his forehead three times on the floor in gratitude and then scurried backward on all fours, out of the room. He did this in thanks and in remembrance, knowing that Master Su would understand the significance. For all that Number One had just gained the wealth of the elite, he was still a cockroach before his master.

  * * *

  A man's high-pitched scream cut through the coolie a-ho chant that droned in the distance. Captain Jonas Storm cursed as he spun around, his gaze immediately finding his sailor dangling from the rigging. Beside him, the Chine
se customs official peered as well, but his eyes would be less able to discern form and function in the early morning glare.

  Lester dangled upside down, halfway up the sail. One leg was clearly snapped, but Jonas couldn't tell if the man was unconscious from the pain or something much worse.

  "Dead?" asked the official in badly accented English.

  Jonas narrowed his eyes as he watched the half-Chinese boy Adam scamper up the ropes. That child was quick and agile as a monkey. And, more important, he wasn't thinking about drinking and whoring like the rest of his suddenly careless crew. Even better, he was a calm boy, levelheaded in a pinch and smart as a whip. But for all that, the child was still young and would react badly at the sight of his first dead body.

  Jonas waited, his fingers idly toying with a small brass key in his pocket, as Adam checked the sailor. Suddenly, the boy audibly cursed and punched Lester. Jonas sent a silent prayer of thanks to Mother Mary. Obviously Lester wasn't dead, just stupid. Of course, the customs official beside him didn't know that. So Jonas began his own set of fluid curses, half in English, half in Shanghai dialect.

  The official turned stunned eyes back to Jonas. "Man dead?"

  "I am cursed!" he said in English. Then he repeated it in Chinese just to make sure the man understood. "His mother will hex me when she finds out. Me and all I commerce with."

  The official shied sideways. "What is 'hex'?"

  "A magical curse. Very evil and very powerful." Then he groaned and spat into the greasy Shanghai mud. "Ill winds surround me like flies," he said, irritated to realize that for today, at least, it was true. Then he pretended to gather his thoughts to focus on the paperwork. "You say that Tan Kui Yu has not taken care of this? He has always sorted through the papers as we dock." It wasn't a lie. Kui Yu should be there with all the customs work already completed. He swore again. "Bloody hell, the curse is spreading to my associates."

  As expected, the customs man looked terribly alarmed. By nature, sailors were a superstitious lot, but the Chinese made his crew look like pragmatic bean counters. Mention a curse, and their yellow skin turned almost white.

  "I suppose you'll have to inspect the cargo, too," Jonas continued. "We'll be hours together."

  That was all that was needed to completely terrify the official. No one wanted a white man's curse polluting their luck. "No, no!" the man stammered, obviously anxious to be gone. He pulled out his tiny box of red seals called chops and began stamping with a vengeance. "I'm sure Mr. Tan had everything in order. No need to trouble you anymore, especially on a day like today." One last uneasy glance at the unconscious Lester, currently being lowered from the rigging, and the official fled.

  Jonas allowed his grimace to ease. Really, he ought to thank Lester for pissing up this morning. Instead, the horny bastard would be nursing a busted leg and a neglected dick. Well, experience was the best teacher. Meanwhile, Jonas had his own pile of problems to be sorted. He'd spoken the truth when he'd said this morning had an ill stench to it. Since the very beginning of their association, Kui Yu had never failed to meet him at the pier. The man always came well ahead of the customs official with plenty of time to direct the storage of the more sensitive goods.

  So where was he? And where was Frank? The Auspicious Wind should have arrived a week ago, but he hadn't seen it or her ship's captain anywhere. No Frank, no Kui Yu, and now Lester had taken a tumble. He did not like the smell of that.

  A bellow from the ship caught his attention. The men were wondering what to do with the injured Lester. Jonas bit off a curse as he trudged up the gangplank, his tasks already itemized in his head. First, he would square away Lester and the cargo. He would use Kui Yu's usual warehouse for the regular shipment. The sensitive cargo would have to wait until later.

  Second, he would find Frank and get an accounting from him for The Auspicious Wind's cargo. Truthfully, he needed the cash more than an accounting, but he would demand both.

  Third, he would find Kui Yu even if it meant traveling to the man's home. He'd already named the Tan compound The House of Beautiful and Angry Women. Not a place he wished to visit on an unlucky day. But with a hold filled with rapidly spoiling cargo, he had to move his shipment now. And that meant finding Kui Yu.

  Assuming, of course, no other witch chose to spit on his day.

  * * *

  "What trickery is this, you diseased son of a monkey? These aren't fish! They're foul minnows." Little Pearl straightened away from the market stall with a sneer of disgust. In truth, the air tasted of dying fish not yet spoiled, but she didn't say that.

  "Aie, aie! What abuse you spew!" returned Mr. Gui. "This is the thanks I get for saving the best of the catch for you? All morning long, shoppers come to me and ask to pay exorbitant amounts for my fish. No! I cry. They are saved for Little Pearl of the Tan household."

  "Then they must have switched fish when you weren't looking, you blind old fool. What is here is not fit for a dog."

  Mr. Gui threw up his hands. "A dog! General Kang's chef was just here, praising my fish to the skies. Said the general wanted more for His Honor's table. That he had a distinguished—"

  "Bah!" Little Pearl said, cutting him off. "What do soldiers know of cooking? Mr. Tan, however, has an excellent palate. He knows a lively fish when he tastes it, and Mrs. Tan feels the qi in every bite. She told me if I bought from you again, I would be thrown out on the street!" She peered down at the bucket by his feet containing three fat steelheads squirming in the tiny space. There were the fish he had saved for her, and after a moment's study, she judged them acceptable. "You have nothing I want," she said as she hefted her market sack.

  "Wait, wait!" Mr. Gui called. "You have not seen the best yet." Then he brought out the bucket.

  Little Pearl made a show of sneering. She and Mr. Gui both relished their daily squabble. She would not shorten it too soon. "Average," she groused. "Nothing more than average."

  "What! Are you sick as well as stupid?" Mr. Gui went on, pouring his yang into defending his fish and insulting her senses. She let him rant, a part of her appreciating his fire. In truth, Mr. Gui was in rare form today and she should enjoy the display. But the morning was advancing fast and she was anxious to be in her kitchen cooking for the afternoon meal.

  "Very well," she finally sighed, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I will take your diseased fish at your ridiculous price, but I will have those shrimp as well."

  "You are crazy!" he cried.

  "You are stupid!" she retorted.

  Then they got down to serious bargaining. In the end, Little Pearl had her steelhead fish, her shrimp, and a small squid. Mr. Gui had the last of her purse and a happy wave as she left. They would both eat well tonight.

  But Little Pearl's smile faded long before her tiny, bound feet made it out of the market. It was a sad day indeed when a riotous session with Mr. Gui could not make her happy. Her store of male yang energy was obviously depleted. It lasted less and less time lately, and she had no understanding of why. Female yin, she had in abundance. It kept her skin fresh, her step light, and her body amazingly youthful. Indeed, no one would guess her at nearly thirty years of age. She looked and dressed more like a mature sixteen.

  But the yang energy, the power willingly surrendered by men in their sexual emission, this energy she could not seem to retain. She harvested as much as she could. She daily sat in contemplation and purification of that yang. But bit by bit, her fire faded, her assertive power and male strength withered long before she could use it. Once she could retain the fire for weeks on end. Now, she was lucky if it lasted a few days before listlessness returned.

  What was happening to her? Without enough male yang, she would never be able to attain Heaven and become a Tigress Immortal.

  A few months ago, a white woman—Lydia Smith—had reached the highest level a tigress could and became an Immortal. Such a thing had shocked and revitalized the entire school, Little Pearl included. Little Pearl had devoted what extra time she had to increased
study and meditation. But without yang, she would be unable to reach even the antechamber to Heaven, the mystical Chamber of a Thousand Swinging Lanterns.

  She passed a group of cripples and beggars that congregated on the Tan side of the market. Her gaze expertly scanned the group, picking the men who would be good sources of yang for herself and her fellow students. The women she disdained, her stomach churning at the scent of dirty women. There were some who would appreciate the added yin, but Little Pearl was not one of them.

  By the time she made it to the Tan household, her feet were numb and her calves burned. If she hadn't spent the last of her purse on the squid, she could have taken a rickshaw, but she counted the excellent food well worth the pain in her legs. The mistress had a fondness for squid made with just the right amounts of ginger and plum, and Little Pearl would suffer much for the great Tigress Shi Po. Without Mrs. Tan, Little Pearl would still be a drugged prostitute spreading her legs for whatever dog paid Madame Ting. Instead, she was creating culinary feasts and teaching the pathway to Immortality to China's discarded women. It was a good life, and one she valued greatly.

  With that happy thought in mind, she entered the front courtyard. She stopped dead, her sacks of fresh food slipping in her grip, but not tumbling to the ground. Even a destroyed courtyard, even horse dung and smashed roof tiles could not make her spill good squid in the dirt. Something terrible had happened last night, and Little Pearl choked on her fear for the Tans.

  Swallowing down the bitter taste, Little Pearl ran through the main gate. "Mistress Tan! Mistress Tan!" she screamed as she rushed past the receiving hall. The scent of torn herb pillows lay heavy on the air. Even the family garden was in disarray, the lovely fountains smashed beyond repair. "Mistress Tan! Mistress Tan!"

  Her words echoed back to her in the empty courtyard. She could tell by the way the sound fell like stones that no one was about: no students, no servants, no family. Only Little Pearl and her dying fish that still squirmed faintly in her sack.