The Way of the Tigress 1-4

by Jade Lee - The Way of the Tigress 1-4

  "There's nothing to worry about," she promised happily. "Everything will work out perfectly." Then she pushed up on her toes. The movement was so quick, he had no time to stop her and no time to think. She pressed a kiss to his lips, then danced away. Then she gave a happy sashay and a hop before she dashed up the stairs to her bedroom.

  He could have followed, of course. He could have run after her and told her this was impossible. No First Boy could partner with the daughter of the house, not if he expected to keep his life, much less his job. But he couldn't stop himself or her.

  Nothing had changed, he suddenly realized. He had lost all his yang, and yet he would not leave this path. He toyed with his entire financial future, but he would not be swayed. She was his Tigress, and he was her Dragon. Despite the risks, they would see this through to the end.

  Still, he could not shake a sense of doom. He turned away from the stairs to collect the cold teapot and cup, his thoughts caught in this intuition of disaster. Surely his fortune could not withstand this risk. Heaven would not bless practice with a white woman.

  Then he understood. The answer came as a blinding flash through his mind. The grip of inspiration was so powerful, it dropped him to his knees. He had not been blessed this night. Heaven had not reversed his fortunes or kissed his spirit. Indeed, it was merely continuing his curse, but in the most cruel of ways.

  Not only were his labors doomed to make the white men rich, but now his devotion was fated to make a white woman immortal. Just as his work had not brought money to his coffers, this practice would not take him to Heaven. His work would profit the white master, his yang the white daughter.

  And for him? Nothing but toil and emptiness. And the cruel, taunting illusion of hope.

  (To Wen Ken Jin from one who serves the Imperial Dragon throne: Eunuch Wen Gao Jin.)

  September 20, 1895

  Kind Sir,

  Have you visited Peking lately? The Wen Acupuncturist shop has fallen in reputation of late. The remaining son, Feng Jin, is the only acupuncturist left. He works night and day seeing patients, and has no time to mend the benches or clean the basins. His wife is a lazy shrew who gives no supervision to the many children that run screaming through the building. Newly arrived cousins give no relief, having descended like locusts at last New Year's holiday. All waited for them to leave, but the latest shift of the Yellow River has ruined their family. Their farm is destroyed and so they never left Peking. They remain underfoot, demanding food and giving no thought to the expense.

  Even I am not immune to the Wen despair. Not two days ago, water flooded the eunuchs' room of sacred treasure. Every one of our manhoods suffered taint, but mine worst of all. I arrived barely in time to rescue it from the ravages of a rat. Such sorrow, such a devastating curse for a once prosperous family!

  Wen Feng Jin searches desperately for an end to the family's misfortune. I visited the Empress Cixi's fortune-teller, who told me the curse could only be lifted by an act of great charity. It is the only hope for this once prosperous family.

  There is a solution. The Wen family has a cousin who resides in the shop with them. Yan Wan is aptly named for her beauty and peaceful nature. Though not yet nine years old, she already has many admirers. Unfortunately, all fear that she will grow sick for lack of proper food and clothing.

  If only a husband would apply for her. If she were betrothed, no one would look askance if the husband-to-be paid for her maintenance, and the health and growth of her entire family. Such a man would be prized above all for his charity. The two could be wed immediately upon her sixteenth birthday. Then, perhaps, the Wen family curse would lift. Indeed, I am sure Feng Jin would hire the greatest calligrapher in Peking to inscribe the man's name on the family altar.

  Sincerely,

  Eunuch Wen Gao Jin

  * * *

  June 17, 1895

  To Wen patriarch Feng Jin,

  Please accept this humble gift as a token of the esteem I hold for Wen Jan Wan. Tales of her virtue and beauty have reached as far as Shanghai. I know she is of a young age, but such is her glory that I would be honored to bear the burden of her education and growth in anticipation of our joyous union.

  In hope,

  Wen Ken Jin

  (Attached, two bolts of the finest Shanghai silk and two bolts of fine cotton. The first silk bolt is celebration red, with embroidered images of happiness and good luck such as would be worn on holidays. The second is a rich blue, the design of a thousand cranes soaring in the sky, to be worn on special occasions, but not during weddings or New Year's celebrations. The two cotton bolts show a variety of bird and flower designs as appropriate for daily use.)

  The tongue is the sense organ of the fire element and the energetic extension of the heart. To exercise the tongue, bring the tip of the tongue in front of the upper teeth inside the lips. Circle the tongue down to the inside lower lip. Continue to circle in front of the teeth and inside the lips about thirty-six times and then switch directions.

  Sexual Reflexology

  Chia, Wei

  Chapter 10

  The Tigress Shi Po had an excellent gardener. Charlotte looked about the front courtyard and allowed herself to relax into the beauty of the place. Ken Jin had brought her here two days earlier, but at the time, this entire front area had been in broken disarray. Now everything was in order. Beauty was restored, and peace reigned. If only her heart would stop racing, she could thoroughly enjoy it. Instead, she could only glare at the huge expanse of green and damn Ken Jin for disappearing on her.

  Four days. Four days ago, he had left the house to work away from home. "Hide" was more like it. Why would he do that—especially when both her mother and father were out of the house? Charlotte didn't know. Men were unfathomable, and Chinese men were even more so. Whatever the reason, Ken Jin had been completely unavailable to her. So she was no closer to returning to Heaven, which meant she had made no progress on reuniting her brother with his full spirit. Where was the man? Didn't he want his yang restored? Wasn't that what all men lived for?

  Left alone, she had tried to study the Tigress scrolls, struggling with the strange characters, memorizing each and every picture, even trying to practice. Indeed, because of those exercises, her breasts had spent the last four days in achy fullness and her groin in a wet heat. But Ken Jin had not returned to her. He left early in the morning and returned long after she'd fallen into a frustrated, restless sleep.

  She knew he had work to do. Apparently multiple shipments had arrived, and there was something about a corrupt dock person. She realized his work took a great deal of time. But he hadn't even answered the messages she'd placed carefully under his pillow. Indeed, if not for the instructions he'd left the staff, she would have wondered if he came home at all.

  Then yesterday, she'd made the greatest sacrifice of all. She'd left the Tigress scrolls on his bed. When she'd woken this morning, she'd found a present on her pillow—a bottle of Ken Jin's oil and a razor. Thinking he meant to come to her today to assist her in the task, she had dressed with special care. But when she'd descended the stairs, she'd learned that he was gone and would return before nightfall.

  That was the last straw. If he would not teach her, she would have to find direction elsewhere. Moments later, she'd changed into her Chinese clothes. She'd covered her head in a coolie hat, grabbed an inordinate amount of Chinese money, and set off for Chinese Shanghai. Thank God she and Joanna had done this enough that it wasn't a problem. She'd left notice with the staff where she was going. If Ken Jin wanted to find her, he could.

  A short hour later, a rickshaw had deposited her in front of the Tigress school and now she paced about the immaculate front courtyard waiting for Little Pearl. What she hoped to gain wasn't exactly clear in her mind. Information, mostly, anything that would help her understand her experience. She couldn't stop thinking about that night.

  From Ken Jin's caresses, to the Antechamber, to Heaven, to William's angel and Ken Jin's kisses—it
was all too much to understand. She needed someone to talk to, someone who understood what had happened, what was to come, and what it all meant.

  "And what does Ken Jin's newest pet want with me?" drawled a familiar voice in Shanghai dialect.

  Charlotte spun around, startled once again not only by Little Pearl's obvious acrimony, but by the woman's overwhelming beauty. "Teach me how to stimulate Ken Jin's yang." She spoke without thought, because Little Pearl had demanded an answer. But as she heard her own Chinese words, Charlotte gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. This was not at all how she'd intended to approach this woman.

  Little Pearl's lip curled in disgust. "So, he has thrown you over for someone else and you want him back."

  "No, of course not!" Charlotte snapped. Then she felt her face heat in shame. The fastest way to reveal a lie was to vehemently deny it. "I mean..." She bit her lip. She didn't know what she meant because, of course, Little Pearl had voiced exactly what she feared: that Ken Jin was disgusted by her, that he loathed her forward ways and had gone looking for a more virtuous woman.

  "Go home, ghost girl," Little Pearl growled. "I have no time for Ken Jin's games."

  "This isn't a game!" Charlotte cried, but Little Pearl didn't respond. She was already walking away, her tiny steps covering ground with alarming speed. Charlotte rushed after her. "He has been teaching me. I... I have been doing exercises."

  Nothing. Little Pearl reached the door and pulled it open.

  "I have gone to the Chamber. The one with swinging lights."

  Little Pearl stopped, her hand on the open door. She turned, and her eyes narrowed. "I do not believe you."

  Charlotte reared back and her hands clenched into fists. "I have been there."

  "Describe it."

  Charlotte hesitated. How to describe the indescribable? "It was wonderful: dark and scary. There was a song, but it was velvety and quiet. I was terrified, and I met my brother." She raised her hands in confusion. She knew she wasn't making sense, but then again, wasn't that why she was here—to try to understand? "It was terribly confusing. I will do anything to go back."

  Little Pearl didn't speak, and dismay chilled Charlotte's belly. Clearly this woman didn't understand, or if she did, she had no desire to help a ghost woman. Charlotte sighed. Why were best friends so hard to find? Very well, she would just have to find another way. She lowered her head in a respectful bow. "My apologies for inconveniencing you. I can see that there are no answers for me here." Then she turned and headed for the street.

  "Come inside."

  Charlotte was halfway through the courtyard before she heard Little Pearl's words, repeated with some force.

  "Ghost woman! Come inside!"

  Charlotte barely understood the meaning at first. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Little Pearl inside a fully open doorway. The woman's head was lowered, her hand turned palm-side up as she gestured to the interior. It was a formal sign of welcome.

  Charlotte didn't trust it. No one changed that radically, that fast. But she was so desperate to discuss her experiences with someone else—anyone else—that she quickly crossed back to the woman.

  "Please to follow me," Little Pearl said in awkward English.

  "I speak Shanghai dialect quite comfortably," Charlotte replied in that language. Indeed, they had been talking in Chinese, so why the woman suddenly wished to change to English was beyond her. But there was no time to discuss more, as Little Pearl led her into the compound.

  They moved quickly through the reception hallway, past papered windows and elegant black lacquered furniture. Then they entered the inner garden, and Charlotte glimpsed crystal ponds and ornamental shrubs. A caged songbird dangled from a gingko tree above a very old turtle hidden inside its shell.

  "This is stunning," Charlotte breathed. But as she slowed her steps, Little Pearl grabbed her arm. The woman had a tiny hand with long fingernails, and gripped with surprising strength.

  "Please to walk fast." English again, in a terrible accent.

  Charlotte speeded up. "Where are we going?" she asked in Chinese.

  No answer. In fact, the woman didn't speak again until they made it to a building in the very back of the inner courtyard. Pushing open a door to a darkened interior, she wrinkled her nose, clearly sniffing the air before nodding in satisfaction.

  "Please to enter."

  Charlotte slowed, then eventually stopped. She couldn't see a single thing inside that dark building. Who knew what lurked there? The woman could have henchmen in there ready to lock her in chains before selling her into white slavery. Such things did happen. So she folded her arms across her chest. "I have no wish to offend," she said in her most polite Chinese, "but I do not have much time."

  "You, you! Come!" Little Pearl abruptly cried in Chinese. It took Charlotte a moment to realize the comment wasn't addressed to her, but to a male servant crossing the courtyard. At Little Pearl's call, the man abruptly changed direction and rushed over.

  He bowed deeply. "How may I serve, Tigress Pearl?"

  "Bring candles, tea, cakes. We have a guest." She gestured to Charlotte, and then she clapped her tiny hands. "Immediately!"

  The man bowed and ran off. Little Pearl frowned at him, then gestured to a different building. "We wait here," she said in English. Then she half led, half pulled Charlotte to a sitting room in the same building, but with a separate entrance. This room, however, had two large windows over elaborate wood designs. They were papered, to prevent flies, but at least some light came through to illuminate a minimal sitting room with a low couch, fragrant cushions, and a serving table.

  "Please to sit," Little Pearl said as she firmly shut the door behind them.

  Charlotte complied, still feeling uneasy but reassuring herself that now they could speak. "Can you explain to me," she asked in Shanghai dialect, "exactly what is taught in this school?"

  Little Pearl shook her head. "Aie, aie! Too hard!" Clearly the woman would not budge from her broken English. Perhaps she thought it would be rude to speak to a guest in anything other than the guest's native tongue, even though her command of English was tenuous at best.

  Charlotte sighed and pressed on in Chinese. Eventually, she prayed, the woman would see how fluent Charlotte was and give in to simple practicality. They obviously could not carry on a substantial conversation in English.

  "I have studied the scrolls, but I cannot read Chinese well," she said, flushing. Truthfully, she couldn't read it at all. "But I understood the pictures. Indeed, they are quite detailed." She stared at the suddenly pale Little Pearl. "Is that what you teach here? The exercises shown on those scrolls?"

  "What pictures?" the woman said in English. "Show me!"

  Charlotte shook her head. "I don't have them with me. They are at home in a safe place."

  "Not for you!" Little Pearl snapped. Then she descended into a long muttered curse that likened Ken Jin to a diseased dog. Truly, it was quite alarming. Charlotte would have gotten up to leave, except right then the servant returned with tea and sticky rice cakes enfolded in dark bamboo leaves.

  "Aie aie!" cried Little Pearl to the servant. "No good for our guest! She is Eeenglish!" She drew out the last word with a sneer. "Take it away!"

  "No, no!" cried Charlotte, feeling bad for the shamed servant. "No, I love sticky rice. This is fine. Truly, don't take it away."

  The man started, his eyes huge as he realized she spoke Chinese. Charlotte smiled, then quickly grabbed chopsticks and plate, deftly plucking up the delicacy and flipping open the leaves. Sickly sweet steam rose from the patty, but Charlotte ignored it. In truth, this was not her favorite food, but she had no wish to prolong her visit. She certainly didn't want to sit while the kitchen struggled to find English food for her.

  Both Little Pearl and the servant continued to stare as she ate small bites of the rice. "Ken Jin teach you this?" Little Pearl asked in English.

  Charlotte frowned and shook her head. "How to use chopsticks? No, no. My best f
riend taught me. We used to have tea parties and teach our dolls how to use them, too."

  The servant goggled as if he had never heard of anything so strange. Little Pearl, too, seemed stunned, but then she busied herself by dropping tea leaves into the two teacups.

  There were a variety of different dried leaves on the tray, each in its own little china container. Charlotte had no understanding of any of them, but Little Pearl obviously did. She was quick as she selected the exact brew—different leaves for each of them—then poured hot water into both cups.

  It wasn't what Charlotte was used to. Who brewed tea in the cups and left the leaves swirling in the water? The Chinese, obviously, so she smiled in false appreciation. When in Rome, and all that.

  So when Little Pearl handed her the cup, urging her to drink, Charlotte was true to her upbringing; she sipped whenever Little Pearl sipped, drank whenever Little Pearl drank. And before long, two cups of the stuff were gone, and the sticky rice as well. It was frustrating, really. Whenever she asked a question, Little Pearl's answer was to urge her to take more food. Even the blandest inquiry was deflected into the niceties of afternoon tea. Indeed, Charlotte was disgusted to realize that, despite the woman's sudden friendliness, Little Pearl would still not give up any information. And so, Charlotte set down her chopsticks with a hard click.

  "This has been a lovely meal, Little Pearl, and I thank you, but I came here with questions. I need..." She swallowed, startled to realize how hot her tongue felt. The food had been spicier than she thought. "I want to learn."

  Little Pearl looked hard at her. Charlotte returned the look in equal measure. Indeed, she felt a fire building within her, a heat that fueled her anger. She spoke harshly, though the words were difficult to form with a mouth suddenly on fire.