Out of her. Into him.
But only through the left breast. The right was left full and aching and closed.
And yet she barely noticed that, so amazing was the feel of his mouth. His tongue continued the circles just as his fingers had done. His mouth lifted her breast, just as his hand had done. But there was more. So much more, as her breast quivered from the flow. On and on he sucked, and she felt as if he drew her very last breath out of her.
Then he stopped—not suddenly, but slowly, gently narrowing his lips, tighter and tighter against her nipple, drawing the peak seemingly to the sky before releasing it with the gentlest of kisses.
And as he at last released her, so did she release her breath, letting the last of it flow outward from her mouth.
"It was helpful, yes? Releasing that yin?" he asked, his eyes gentle, his expression slightly dazed.
How to answer? she wondered. It had been more than helpful. It was incredible. And yet, it was not enough. "Please," she whimpered, not even knowing what she meant.
"Ah," he said, "your other breast is overflowing." And so, with the gentlest of touches, he began his circle again, but only on the right breast.
She felt the yin gather, just as before. She felt his palms press deep into her belly, just as before. But this time, she gave herself completely over to the experience. She not only experienced the flow of yin, she sought it out. She encouraged it. She wanted it. So that when he at last opened his mouth around her right breast, she thrust her nipple inside, crying out in joy as he began to suck the river from her.
This flow went on even longer than the other. The power, the pulse, the beat of her yin gushed into him, and she trembled with its leaving as she throbbed to the circling of his tongue, the pumping of his suction.
And when he at last released her breast, she stared at him in dazed confusion.
He said, "You must rest now. We will continue tomorrow."
He stood, a serene smile upon his face as he bowed deeply, respectfully to her. And after he left, Fu De came into the chamber, quickly releasing her bonds, before he too bowed himself out, closing the door behind him.
Lydia remained where she was, her body still humming, her mind still swirling in chaos.
What had happened? Had she really just released this Chinese yin? It could not be, and yet she could not deny the experience of the last hour.
Hour?
She looked out the window, seeing the total blackness of the night sky. It had been an hour at least. And at that moment she knew the truth: she had fallen into the abyss. She had tumbled, and now she was lost to the person she once was. It was not because a Chinese man had tied her down and suckled at her breasts. It was not because yin had flowed from her body into his.
She was lost because she had enjoyed it. Not just enjoyed it, but relished it. Wanted it. And she was nearly desperate for it to continue.
Was this his mystical release? Had this been intended to make her feel better? It didn't. She didn't. What she felt was achy and tired, and yet still humming with tension. Because she wanted more. She wanted to do it again. Now. This very second. And she wanted more of that yin flow. Rivers more. Entire oceans more.
Exactly what would she give up to get more of that experience? To do that again and again?
She didn't know. And she was frightened as never before.
From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng
14 June, 1873
Dearest Li Hua,
Another girl? Oh Li Hua, I am so sorry. I am sure, though, that she will grow to be like you, a credit to her family name. Like you, she will be a great beauty, a gentle woman, and a great friend to all those who love her. Treat her kindly, kiss her often, and then I am sure Heaven will reward your diligence with a son worthy of your courage and your husband's great strength.
My daughter, I am afraid, is not so blessed in her heritage. With my looks and her father's temper, she is not so favored by Heaven, only by her grandmother. My mother-in-law dotes on the girl, teaching her a hunger for things she should not have. Both seem to be infected with the ghost people's hunger for things without substance. She has even allowed the child to take breaths of her opium!
Fortunately, my husband was as angry as I at such a thing. He does not care about what the smoke will do to the girl, of course. He was furious that such an expensive thing was wasted on a child. Whatever the reason, little Ying Mei will not smoke again.
Ru Shan is also growing well. He is a strong boy with a good mind. Even his temper is as steady as his name promised, but I think that is because any childish outburst is met with the swiftest punishment. So little Ru Shan has learned to be a quiet boy who studies hard, as every great scholar must. I see him, though, staring outside, his tiny hands wrapped around the wood decorations on our windows. I know his heart longs to be out in the sunshine, and my spirit pities him. But a great scholar must find his freedom in his studies, and so I rarely allow him to escape. All his tutors are pleased with his progress, so I know the monks are fulfilling their promise; Ru Shan will achieve merit in his scholarship.
But Li Hua, there is one thing that I must tell you. One thing has been preying upon my sleep. My husband wishes to ship our clothing to England. Yes, to the barbarians in England! He says if the ghost people here are so easily separated from their money, then how much more would it take to bring in the gold from over there?
But Li Hua, he does not speak English. He does not hear the things they say when they think we cannot understand. All Sheng Fu thinks of is opening his hands and having the ghost gold fall into them.
I have tried refusing. I have tried pretending illness or exhaustion or even helping Ru Shan with his studies, but Sheng Fu will not hear of it. He has refused us money for food until I come speak with a ghost captain. I am to translate between him and Sheng Fu tomorrow. Oh, Li Hua, I am so afraid!
—Mei Lan
Once, an old man kept monkeys. When his grain was running short, he thought to cut down their food, but was afraid of their anger. He said to them, "I'm thinking of feeding you with acorns, three for the morning meal and four for the evening meal. Will that be sufficient?" The monkeys all rose to their feet in anger. Seeing this, the old man said, "Then how about four for the morning and three for the evening? I presume that will be enough." At this, the animals all prostrated themselves before him in joy.
—paraphrased from the writings of Lie Yukou
Chapter 6
Ru Shan walked slowly, trying to be mindful of his soul center, but finding his thoughts constantly wandering. He had expected to feel a great contentment all morning, but peace eluded him. Indeed, he had long awaited the moment he could finally start drawing off Li Dee's purified yin, and so had anticipated this morning's activities with great relish, imagining the joy and contentment that would surround him all day.
But it had not happened. Instead of quietness, he found himself especially disturbed. His mind constantly replayed moments from their morning activities. And not that joyful feeling when her yin flowed into his mouth, but the ugliness beforehand when she had run in terror.
What was wrong with him? Why did he focus on her terror, not his own pleasure?
He could only surmise that Li Dee's panic just before he began the massage had somehow polluted her energies.
And those pollutants had flown into him, giving him the same anxiety that Li Dee experienced.
But why had she been so upset? She had accepted her situation. Fu De said she even seemed happy. And yet she had run screaming in horror from him. Her overabundance of yin explained some of her reaction, but not all of it. And he was at a loss to explain.
Fortunately, it was time for his weekly meeting with Shi Po. Hopefully, she would have some insight to Li Dee's bizarre behavior.
He reached the tea house in good time. The business was owned by a fellow jade dragon, and so was often used for dragon/tigress meetings. It had a secret back entrance and many discreet rooms for conversation or practice. Ru
Shan had already sent a note ahead, requesting that tea with special herbs be set out for them. It was tea for conversation, not for study. They both knew they would not be practicing today. At least, not with each other.
Shi Po had made it very clear that they would not touch one another until he resolved his current disharmony. She would be especially distressed now that he had to report an additional failure. But there was no help for it. If he wished her cure, he had to tell her of the ailment.
She had already arrived when he entered, though she had waited to begin her tea. She wore a full dress of fine blue silk. The design was not as great as Ru Shan's mother's work, he noted with a bit of smugness, but nothing could detract from Shi Po's beautiful skin or youthful red lips. Ah, how he missed their sessions together. Though, he abruptly realized, he had not truly thought of them for some time. So perhaps he did not miss her as much as he'd first imagined.
Either way, it was good to see her, especially as she began pouring tea. He settled carefully on the reclining cushions, wishing he had more time to relax with her. As it was, he had less than an hour before he would be needed back at his shop.
As these thoughts bubbled in his mind, they began to speak the usual pleasantries. But all too soon, Shi Po was pressing into his distressing thoughts.
"Your brow is troubled, Ru Shan. Have you not been able to harvest some of the ghost woman's yin yet?"
"I began this morning."
"And yet, it does not seem to have helped. Were you unable to begin the flow?"
He shook his head. "Her yin flowed easily and most heavily. I drank deeply and with much joy."
"That is excellent. But from your tone, am I to guess that it was not as satisfying as you hoped?"
He nodded, his dark mood already slipping past his restraint. "She still fights us. I don't understand it."
Shi Po frowned, leaning forward. "Truly? But how can that be?"
He set down his teacup, wishing he had the skill to read his own tea leaves. "I would not enjoy such a confinement. One room with nothing to do."
"But she is a ghost person, and a female at that. You cannot believe she thinks as we do. Ru Shan, they live in herds like oxen. They have more in common with a pack of dogs than they do with us."
Ru Shan did not look directly at his companion, but instead he let his gaze settle upon a fine ink painting of wild horses running free. "Some horses do not take well to breaking," he said slowly.
She nodded. "Then you must be firmer with her."
He shuddered at her tone. "I do not beat my dog, Shi Po. I will not beat Li Dee."
She sighed, but did not speak. Nevertheless, he felt her displeasure.
"What if we are wrong, Shi Po? What if the foreigners are people, just like us? With minds just as capable as ours, merely less educated." Given what he saw of Li Dee's intelligence, he had begun to believe it might be so. "If that is true, then I am doing her a grave disservice. I have stolen her freedom."
Shi Po's lips pursed in displeasure, but her voice remained calm. "I have a favorite dog. I believe he is happy to see me when I come home, and I think he purposely misbehaves when I am not there. Indeed, I think he is the cleverest of dogs, Ru Shan, but I never forget that he is simply a dog."
"The ghost people have made a great deal of money from China, Shi Po. They buy and sell land with intelligence—"
"With greed, you mean."
He nodded, knowing it was hopeless to speak of business matters with Shi Po—with any woman—but such was his distress that he persevered. "I think we judge the Englishmen by what we wish to see rather than what is."
"The finest men in China have said the ghost people are no more than oxen with hands. Do you doubt their intelligence? They have more experience than we do."
Ru Shan shook his head. "They come to my store. They buy things. I have even seen husband and wife, parents and children."
"They have learned a great deal from us. Like monkeys, they mimic quickly and easily. But to them a family is like a small herd. Have you not seen the men exchange their women like toys?"
He nodded. Of course he had seen it. One could not live in Shanghai without hearing of the Englishmen's debaucheries.
"I think you are searching for the difficulty in the wrong location. How does the shop fare? Have your fortunes turned around?"
"Not significantly," he answered without heat. In truth, his family's fortunes were going from bad to worse. In addition to the loss of his mother's artistic hand, his suppliers of fabric—cotton and silk—were turning away. Many simply did not deliver their goods. Others brought less than what was promised. He had no explanation for the sudden lack, but if it continued, then his family would be in dire straits.
Thankfully, Shi Po took his answer at face value, not questioning any further the matters that did not concern her.
"Very well, then tell me more of your work with your pet. Have you been telling her your secrets?"
"I have no secrets to tell," he argued. He'd said it before.
" 'If you turn your attention inward and observe yourself, the profound mystery is in you,'" she quoted.
Ru Shan nodded. He recognized the words of the Sixth Patriarch Hui Neng, but he was still unsure of Shi Po's meaning. "You wish me to talk to her, as a man would to a dog, and thereby learn my own secrets?"
Shi Po nodded but said nothing. Moments later, she stood and bowed respectfully to him before departing.
Ru Shan remained where he was, staring at his cooling cup of tea. This was a strange religion, he thought to himself, one that turned a woman into a teacher. Though he knew a woman's body naturally predisposed her to enlightenment well before a man, he still believed there were flaws in the method.
Shi Po, he decided, was not a good teacher, for she had that lack of understanding all women shared: she believed inherently that all men spoke the truth. She had been told that the ghost people were no more than large monkeys with an excellent capacity to mimic their betters, and so she believed. As Ru Shan had believed for many, many years.
Until lately. Now, he wondered if perhaps the Chinese had it completely wrong. Perhaps the white barbarians were not as barbarian as the emperor wished his people to believe. And if that were true, then Ru Shan's soul was in grave danger. He had helped in the murder of a man, not an animal. And he had kept enslaved a free woman, not a pet.
There was only one way to learn the truth, and in that his teacher had been correct. He needed to learn more about the ghost people. The only way to do that was with Li Dee.
Resolved, he pushed up from the cushions, slipping quietly out the back of the teahouse. He had much to think upon before tonight's session.
* * *
She was surprised to see him; that much Ru Shan could see as he stepped into the apartment. He had decided to spend his afternoon with her—an unusual change. But there was little he could do at the store while his mind was occupied with Li Dee, so he had gone to her residence and found her in deep conversation with Fu De. About fruit.
Dragon fruit. Mango fruit. Banana fruit. Apple fruit.
But what was even more bizarre was that she spoke in Shanghainese, and Fu De responded in English. And between them, in fading water upon the floor, were the Chinese characters for the fruit and English lettering beside it.
Obviously, they were teaching each other. As if to prove the point, Li Dee sprang to her feet and bowed politely to him, speaking slowly and clearly in Shanghainese.
"Welcome, Cheng Ru Shan. I am pleased to see you today."
Beside her, Fu De had already cleaned up their papers and writing instruments. He, too, bowed, his face split by a grin as he spoke in the foreign tongue. "I have learned a great deal of English," he said clearly. "But your skill is still far greater than mine."
Ru Shan felt his yang fires begin to churn. Like hot oil within him, his stomach twisted in fury at the sight of his servant and Li Dee so close together. What else had they been doing when he was away? What secrets had the
y shared?
He knew his reaction was illogical. He understood jealousy when its burning fire darkened his skin and tightened his jaw. But he had risked everything to buy Li Dee. He had borrowed money his family did not have to rent a home better than his own mother's room. And for what? So Fu De could reap the benefits?
No!
He felt his hands clench in fury and he took a step forward. "Remove yourself," he hissed in Chinese.
Fu De saw the danger. With a quick bow, he scampered out the door. But Li Dee, apparently, did not understand. Her own small fists settled on her hips and she stared at him in horror.
"Why do you send him away?" she asked in Chinese, her accent atrocious.
"He does not belong here," Ru Shan snapped in English, even more irritated that she thought to question him. In a few quick steps he grabbed the two tiny buckets of water, angrily tossing the liquid out the open window without even watching for people below.
"But we were doing nothing wrong," she pressed, switching back to her native language. "It was just a way to pass the time."
Ignoring her, he reached down to grab the parchment. It was of poor quality, meant for little more than a child's first attempts with ink and paper, and yet it infuriated him. Even this kind of paper was expensive. Was this how Fu De spent the money he was given for food? For Li Dee's comfort? On his own education?
"Fu De is my servant," Ru Shan snapped. "He serves me, not himself!"
"He knows that! I know that! Sweet heaven, how can we not know that?"
"Be silent, woman," he growled in Chinese.
"Or what? You'll lock me in a concrete cave with nothing to do, no way to occupy my time or mind?"
He stepped forward, the parchment crumpling in his fist. "Or I will sell you back to the whorehouse where I found you. You are still undamaged." He sniffed, scenting ginger mixed with orange blossom perfuming her skin. "And better scented. I may even make a profit."
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