"Captain?" she said stupidly. Then she recalled her trunk. He was no doubt bringing it inside for her.
"Sit, Rest," said her landlady, effectively distracting her from the captain's abrupt departure. "Drink tea," she continued, her voice deeper than Lydia expected. And significantly more nasal. Indeed, thought Lydia, she would have to work to understand this woman's English.
It was just as well that her first task in Shanghai would be to learn the language as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, her landlady's companion returned carrying a pot of tea in one hand and a small round tray in the other. As he slowly set down the tray, Lydia got her first look at Chinese teacups. Small and round, they did not even possess a handle. And once again, the decorations were done in gold paint. To match the decor, she supposed.
While she was still looking at the elaborate design—a gilded lotus—her landlady leaned over and poured the tea.
"Drink. Drink."
Lydia frowned. The woman was still standing over her, gesturing to the teacups. But there was more than one cup on the tray. "Won't you join me?" she asked. Then, in case the woman didn't understand, Lydia gestured with her hands, inviting the woman to sit at the table with her.
"No, no," answered the woman, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. "You drink."
Unsure what else to do, Lydia lifted her cup. Looking into the brew, she saw the dark swirl of a single escaped tea leaf. She smiled at the sight, feeling an inner tinge of satisfaction that she knew why. This was how the Chinese brewed their tea, with the leaves actually in the water when served, not strained out as in England. Maxwell had spent an entire letter on the evils of Chinese tea.
Yet she supposed if a whole nation of people drank their tea with the leaves in it, the brew would not kill her, so Lydia took an obliging sip, somewhat eager to taste her first real cup of Chinese tea. It was more bitter than she was used to, and also had an undercurrent of sickly sweetness, as if the Chinese woman had tried to make English tea but somehow failed.
Lydia set the cup down, frowning as she tried to analyze the taste. But the moment the cup left her lips, the woman was beside her again, actually lifting Lydia's hands to get her to drink.
"No, no. Drink. Finish tea."
Lydia did. Indeed, how could she not without appearing horribly rude? So she swallowed the stuff down, surprising herself by not spilling it. She wondered briefly if this was some Chinese custom—to drink the tea without stopping—and envisioned sharing this experience with Maxwell as soon as he returned. Would they laugh about her ignorance? Or about the landlady's obsessive need to have people consume her tea?
Oh, she had so much to tell him! When would he get here?
Setting down her cup, Lydia looked at her landlady. "Please, can you tell me where Maxwell works? I should like to meet him there."
But the woman wasn't listening. She was pouring Lydia more tea.
"Oh no, thank you." Lydia extended her hands to stop her, but the lady would have none of it. She finished pouring, then rudely shoved the cup back into Lydia's hands.
"Drink!"
"Please—"
"Drink!"
The woman's tones were strident, and so Lydia did as she was bidden, finishing the cup just as she had the last. But that was all she was going to drink until she had some answers. So, setting down the cup—somewhat harder than she anticipated—she frowned at the woman.
"Maxwell Sade—"
"Yes, yes," said the woman, nodding as she poured more tea.
Lydia frowned. She had not said that right. "Maxwell Slllade. Where does he woke? Work. Where does Max work?" How odd that her tongue felt numb. And she was having difficulty forming certain sounds. Meanwhile, the Chinese woman was saying something in heavily accented English.
"Your man come soon. You drink now." She was leaning over Lydia, pushing the teacup on her once again.
But Lydia had had quite enough for one day. She twisted her head away, pushing to her feet. The man was coming toward her from the other side, but Lydia ignored him. She regretting having to be rude to her new landlady—the first real Chinese person with whom she had ever had a chance to converse—but it was necessary. She absolutely refused to drink any more of the vile stuff.
Except, something was wrong with her feet. As numb as her tongue, they would not support her as they ought. Indeed, the moment she came to stand, she just as quickly began to collapse. Her head felt three sizes too large, and ungainly on her neck as well.
What is the meaning of this? she demanded of the woman. Or rather she tried. What came out, she was very much afraid, was something more like, "Wha!?"
Then she knew no more.
* * *
Cheng Ru Shan curled his lip at the opium stench that pervaded the Garden of Perfumed Flowers. Though not as strong here as in a lower class establishment, he could still detect the nauseatingly sweet scent. He caught other odors as well—perfume from the "flowers" of this particular garden, tobacco smoke from the men content to look at them, sweat and stale yang essence from those who wanted more.
All in all, Ru Shan found this garden as revolting as the "nail shed" shacks in the Shanghai slums, and he spun on his heel intending to leave. But his companion stopped him, her small white hand firm on his sleeve.
"To catch a tiger's cub, one must enter the tiger's den," she intoned softly.
"I have no need for a tiger cub today, Shi Po. And no patience for this..." What word to use to characterize the worst of what China had become? "This corruption."
She smiled at him, her beauty still somehow shining through the veil that obscured her features. "Have I not guided you well until now? Trust me a little longer, Ru Shan. All will be made clear."
Before he could reply, the Garden's proprietress came forward, along with a hulking half-breed standing guard behind her. "Greetings, greetings. How may I assist your honorable selves today?" she asked, her bow deep and respectful.
It was on the tip of Ru Shan's tongue to tell her to give up her occupation, free her unfortunate flowers and devote herself to ascetic contemplation, but he knew his sarcasm would be lost on her. Worse yet, it would serve only to inflame his already irritated temper. So he remained silent, knowing Shi Po would have her little game. After all, in this, she was the instructor and he the student. So he remained silent when all in his nature urged him to act.
Shi Po was looking about with the disdainful superiority that came from her husband's wealth. "We wish to view your whitest flower."
Greed flashed, hot and hard in the proprietress's black eyes, but her movements were slow and graceful as she bowed again. "Of course, but she is resting now. Perhaps you could come back later?"
Ru Shan recognized the ploy for what it was—a way to add anticipation to the purchase and a way to cover the real truth that the girl would always be resting: she was no doubt drugged insensible. But appearances had to be maintained, and so the game continued.
"Perhaps we could just glance at her a moment?" Shi Po asked. "We shall remain absolutely silent." They wouldn't, of course, because the girl wouldn't wake until the drugs were washed from her body. And that, sometimes, took days.
"She is very delicate," hedged the mistress.
"Then," Ru Shan snapped, his patience worn thin, "we should just leave her to her rest." He turned for the door, fully intending to escape.
He was stopped, of course, but not by the aged hag who ran this business. Shi Po's voice stopped him, her tone low and hard. "You came to me, Ru Shan. You asked for my help because I am the senior in these teachings, a tigress far ahead of you on the path to immortality. Will you take the instruction I offer?"
Ru Shan stopped. He had to. He was in desperate straits. His mishandling of this situation was simply a further example of how much he needed whatever aid Shi Po could give him. He bit back his sigh and turned around.
He didn't even hear if the proprietress said anything else. He merely followed mutely as he and Shi Po were led up the stairs. The half-
breed, of course, brought up the rear, his presence a significant obstacle should Ru Shan try to leave again. He would not. He had already shown himself much too intemperate already. He would not leave the middle path again.
Or so he swore to himself. As he had been swearing perhaps a dozen or more times each week for the last two years.
The mistress led them to the highest floor, and then to a tiny, stifling closet of a room in the back of the house. It was hard for Shi Po to totter on her bound feet even with the help of a cane, but she was determined. And that more than anything else told Ru Shan that the woman was in earnest. Still, he hated this place and this tiny back room where no window lightened the dark interior nor did any breeze lessen the stale air. How did anyone—man or woman—breathe in here, much less do anything else?
He knew the answer, of course. A pig did not care if his sty stank. Only the man forced to wade through it to find...
A white woman, round and pale, chained to a bed. The shackles were not obvious but hidden beneath a thin blanket. Still, Ru Shan could see the telltale bulges even in the dim light of a single lantern.
The proprietress was speaking, expounding on the woman's many assets—beauty, health, modesty, and of course absolute purity. He ignored her, stepping closer to search for whatever treasure Shi Po wished him to discern. The white woman's hair appeared dirty gold in the dim light, and her mouth was slack and revealed a dark, moist cave surrounded by full red lips. Her face was a pleasing oval, her ears round with long, solid lobes.
"Well?" asked Shi Po, interrupting his thoughts. "Do you see it?"
He frowned, annoyed that he would have to answer in the negative. "She is a white woman, drugged and chained to a bed. What should I see?"
Shi Po frowned in annoyance, then waved the proprietress away. The woman bowed out, taking her half-breed with her and giving them the illusion of privacy. But it was only an illusion. Every room in this establishment likely had at least two different peepholes. Shi Po obviously understood that as well, for when she spoke, her voice remained barely audible despite its hard note of censure.
"Look again at the girl," she ordered. "See how much water she has in her? See her breasts, how full and round they are? They will give much sustenance to a man with too much yang."
Ru Shan grimaced, knowing she referred to him. Indeed that was the source of his problem, according to her: too much male yang. Too little female yin. And he could not deny the hunger he felt when he'd first viewed the white girl's plump breasts, only half-concealed beneath a gauzy shift. Still...
"I need not go to a white slave woman for more yin," he snapped. That was why he'd gone to Shi Po. Still, he thought as his eyes drifted back to the full dusky circles of the girl's nipples, she would indeed give amply of her yin essence. Certainly much more than Shi Po, who was dominated by the wood element and could sometimes be quite stingy with her dew.
And while these thoughts flowed through his mind, Shi Po drew closer to him, raising up as tall as she could so that she spoke directly into his ear. "You must replace what was lost. What you destroyed."
"I cannot," he rasped, the pressure in his mind growing once again. "And if I could, it would not be with her."
Shi Po exhaled in a loud rush of heat that scalded his cheek even through the fabric of her veil. "You are too hasty in your estimate. You see an egg and expect to see it crow—"
"I see a crossbow and expect to see a dove roasting," he finished for her, the old proverb like ashes on his tongue. She was reminding him to be patient, to find the middle way of the Tao. "How can this woman replace what is lost?"
Shi Po moved away from him, twisting so that her back was to the wall most likely to contain peepholes. Then she folded her arms and spoke crossly, her voice nearly a hiss despite her low tones. "You killed a white man, Ru Shan—"
"I killed an animal!" he retorted, his voice equally low.
"If that is so, then why has your sleep been disturbed? Why do you fast one moment only to eat like a starving slave the next? If you killed only an animal, then why have you so clearly abandoned the middle path?"
He had no answer for her, because she spoke the truth. He was lost in the wilds and had been from that ill night over two years ago.
"What you have taken must be restored."
"I cannot bring him back to life. I do not even think I would if I could."
She nodded, silently agreeing with his statement. "But you can raise up another white soul. Teach your treasure to another white foreigner, and in so doing find your way back to the middle path."
He felt his jaw go slack in astonishment. She couldn't possibly mean what she was saying. "You cannot expect me to teach her to become immortal?" He twisted, looking at the ghost devil, as whites were often called. "These ghost souls do not have enough substance to become immortal."
Shi Po shrugged. "Perhaps not. But try. And in so trying, find peace on your pillow again."
Ru Shan shook his head, struck dumb by the thought of such a task. He? Teach a white woman what few of his own countrymen understood? It wasn't possible.
"Kui Yu tells me some of them can be quite smart in their own limited way," Shi Po commented, referring to her husband.
"Then let me teach one he knows. A man."
"As if you need more yang, Ru Shan," she sneered. "No, a man would only exacerbate the imbalances in your body. You need a white woman, and a water one at that." She gestured disdainfully at the girl.
"But I cannot teach her the ways of the tigress. Only a woman can reveal those secrets."
"You know enough," she interrupted. "And I can advise you as needed. She will not need to learn the higher rituals. She will not be capable of it, and she is not the point." Shi Po stepped closer, her spicy perfume mixing imperfectly with the scents of the house, pushing Ru Shan's mind into further turmoil. "You are the point, Ru Shan, the arrow that must be directed. She is merely the bow that will launch you into Heaven."
He understood her words, saw the purpose in them. And yet, Ru Shan still could not accept them. "I cannot come here every day. Nor can I be sure that she will remain un-contaminated in this house." He glanced back toward the door, knowing well that the proprietress would happily sell and resell the white girl's "purity" to any man willing to believe the lies. In truth, once the evening opium pipes began, he doubted he could ensure his own safety, much less a helpless white girl's. Even breathing the air would be a risk.
"Very true," Shi Po agreed. There was a hint of regret in her tone. At the mournful sound, Ru Shan began to hope that he had escaped this most unwelcome task. But then she lifted her chin, resolution clear in her stance. "You will have to buy her."
"What?" He exploded, his horror overcoming his restraint. "The cost of it... her price..." The thought boggled his mind. He had nothing in his store to equal the price of this one white girl. Indeed, she would cost as much as a year's income, if not more. "I cannot afford her. Not since..." Not since that night two years ago.
"You must borrow the money."
"No!" The very idea revolted him.
"Then you have abandoned the Tao and all the gains you have made these last nine years. You will never become an Immortal. Even your status as a jade dragon will disappear."
He felt his jaw tighten at the thought, the heat in his belly rising with his temper. Nearly a decade of study, of diligent effort and constant attention, all would disappear? Because he would not sacrifice his family to his goals? Not possible!
But one look at Shi Po, and he could see she would not change her mind. Ru Shan's name would be stricken from the records, his gains of the last nine years wiped away.
And yet, he could not do it. He could not risk his family's future. Not even if it meant forfeiting everything he had worked for since he'd first met Shi Po so long ago.
He bowed his head, accepting his fate. "I cannot get a loan, Shi Po. Any moneylender would expect collateral, and I have only two things to offer—the Cheng store and the Cheng home."
He straightened his spine. "I will not risk my family's home or livelihood."
Shi Po sighed as if she had expected such an answer. Then she continued speaking, her voice low and relentless.
"Your life is already at risk, Ru Shan, and your family home is the least of it. Do you discount the torments you suffer now? Do not think they will abate. Having once known the peace of the Tao, you will find eternal torment with the unenlightened. Your mind will never be at peace, your bed will never offer you a single night's rest. You will walk endlessly in the dark, lost and alone, for I cannot help you in this. Our time together will be over."
He shuddered with a violence that frightened him. He knew what was happening. What part of him remained in the Tao was revolted by her words, terrified enough to want to shake the very idea from his body. But he could not. Shi Po's words remained, their horror as pervasive as their truth. And so he spoke, barely even realizing what he was saying.
"I cannot continue as I have been. I shall go mad within the month. Already my body is growing weak." He held out his hands to her, revealing the latest of his shames. His hands trembled like an old man's, the unrest of his spirit fully revealed in his rapidly aging body. "I must find my way back to the Tao."
"Then you must buy the white girl. You must establish her in an apartment close enough to see her every day. You must partake of her essence every moment that you can." Shi Po stepped even closer, pressing her point. "And as her water flows into you, your family's fortunes will recover and your pathway back to the Tao will be revealed." She lowered her voice into a seductive murmur. "Your mind will find peace, your body rest. You will return to the middle path with new energy, and as her yin mixes with your yang, the spiritual embryo will be born. You will become an Immortal. You can, Ru Shan, if only you will do what is necessary."
He nearly wept at the picture she created, the dream for which he yearned during every sleepless night, after every intemperate act. "But how will I find the money?"
She bowed her head, slowly and gracefully lifting the veil that obscured her face. And as she did, he saw on her cheek the tear she shed for his sake. It glistened there, her yin essence glittering even in the dim light. In a rare act of generosity, she lifted that drop from her cheek and carried it to his lips, giving it to him. He drank greedily, silently wishing for more. An ocean more. An entire woman's worth more, to cool the yang fire that constantly burned him.
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