White Tigress

by Jade Lee

  "L-Lydia." She swallowed back some of her misery to speak clearly. "My name is Lydia Smith."

  "I am Ru Shan. In your language it means 'Like a Mountain,' in that I am steady and constant." He sighed. "Or I would be if all my elements were in balance."

  She hesitated a moment, scrambling to fit the pieces together. It took a while, but eventually she thought she understood.

  "That's why you need me. My water. You think that I will... will quiet your fire." This, at least, was a concept she recognized. She had heard other people—one of her uncles most especially—who became downright surly if he did not have relations with his mistress on a regular basis. Clearly, he was like her uncle, needing relations on a regular basis. "No matter what the country, men are still men," she intoned bitterly.

  He nodded. "Yes, I suppose that is so, but I believe you will find a significant difference with me."

  She did not respond, though she suspected her opinion was clear upon her face.

  "You do not believe me," he said gently. "Fortunately, my nature does not require your approval. What I require is your yin. Your water."

  She shook her head, frustration making her surly. "I don't know what that means."

  "It means that I require your feminine fluids. But not your virginity."

  She blinked, sure she could not have heard him correctly. "You do not intend to ravish me?"

  He shuddered—he actually shuddered—at the thought. "I am working to become an Immortal. Ravishment, as you put it, would require a release of my yang power—my manly fluids and energy—into you. That would decrease my ability to attain Immortality."

  She frowned, trying to understand. "But you need my female energy, my—"

  "Yin."

  "My yin to..."

  "To mix with my yang energy and create the power that will take me to the Immortal Realm."

  "You'll die?" she gasped.

  She thought perhaps his expression lightened at her dramatic statement, but his tone remained level. "No. I will become an Immortal. Any man or woman can visit Heaven, but only if they have sufficient spirit to take them there."

  "Spirit? You mean a mixture of your yang and my yin."

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "But that is..." She stopped herself short of saying ridiculous. She knew better than to insult any person's beliefs, no matter how preposterous they sounded. "It sounds impossible," she finally finished.

  "Perhaps it is for one such as you."

  She grimaced. "You mean a woman?"

  He shook his head. "Many believe the women have an easier time, since their fluids stay within their bodies."

  Then he looked sadly down at her. "It is impossible for ghost people."

  She frowned. "Because I am English?"

  "The ghost people do not have enough substance to attain immortality," he explained.

  She stiffened, absurdly insulted. "But you seem to think my yin essence substantial enough for you."

  He nodded. "In my particular case, you have exactly what I require. Or so I hope."

  She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he stopped her with a single upraised hand.

  "Enough questions," he said firmly. "I promise you that I have no interest in your virginity. I also promise that if you provide me with what I require, then I will release you to your Maxwell."

  "My... I..." She swallowed, sure she could not have understood correctly. "You will return me to Maxwell? Still a virgin?" she pressed.

  He nodded, one firm slash of his chin. "Yes. But first you must ready yourself to give of your yin." He straightened. "It will not hurt, especially as you have an overabundance. Now present yourself," he ordered. "I have already lost much time on you. I will not tolerate more delays."

  She nodded, absurdly pleased with the bargain. After imagining every possible future for herself, this seemed ridiculously benign. "Do you want me to cry?"

  "Do not draw away." And then, once again, he opened her robe, pushing it off her shoulders so it pooled about her hips.

  She tried not to flinch. Indeed, now that she understood she was not about to be raped, she felt the burn of embarrassment more than fear. But then he pressed the four fingertips of each of his hands on her collarbone in the center of her chest.

  She stiffened. She could not help herself.

  He frowned. "How can you let your yin flow freely when your body is tight, your breath caught in your chest?"

  She had not even realized she was holding her breath, yet even knowing that, she could not release it. She could only remain as she was, kneeling before him, her eyes pulled wide as she stared into his dark eyes.

  "I am going to move my hands now. Slowly. Breathe out with my movement."

  She couldn't even nod. But then he began to stroke his fingertips down on the hard bone between her breasts, and almost by magic her breath slid from her body.

  "Good."

  His hands continued, flowing underneath each breast, circling back around to the starting point.

  "That is one circle," he said softly. "We will do seven times seven circles, and then seven times seven again in the other direction."

  "But why?" The question was out before she could stop it, but he nodded as if pleased.

  "We must purify your yin before it can be of any use." He began another circle, and she found herself breathing with his movements despite her curiosity. "This motion pushes the waste from your body and encourages new yin liquids to form. Do you feel a change in your body?"

  She did, but she was too mortified to say so. Indeed, she had been doing everything in her power not to think of his hands as they circled her breasts, of the slightly rough texture of his fingers as they stroked her, of the warmth she felt seeping into her body from his hands. And most of all of the tingling he produced inside her. A tingling and a fullness.

  "Tell me what you feel!" he ordered, his voice sharp. But his hands continued to move despite his tone. "I cannot tell if the exercises are working otherwise."

  She swallowed, unnerved to have to say these things out loud. Certainly not in front of a stranger.

  "Li-dee!" he snapped, mispronouncing her name.

  "I...," she stammered. "I... no one has ever touched me here before."

  "Speak with the downstroke," he ordered, though his voice had gentled.

  She nodded, adjusting her thoughts to his rhythms. "I do not think this is proper," she said. And then she closed her eyes in horror. Of all the ridiculous things to say! Of course this wasn't proper. None of this was proper. But what she meant was that these feelings he engendered, this tingling awareness, that was not proper.

  "Why?" he pressed, as if he could guess her thoughts. "Your breasts are part of your body. Why is it not proper to make them young and healthy?"

  She bit her lip. She had no answer.

  "Perhaps you believe what you are feeling is wrong? Perhaps you enjoy this feeling and so you feel shame?"

  She turned her head away. She knew better than to try and shrink from his touch. Besides, for some reason, she did not want to move away. She found his strokes... soothing somehow. And all the more unsettling because of it.

  "Look at me!" he ordered, and she had no choice but to obey. "This is a restful stroke. One designed to bring peace to the woman. Is that how you feel?"

  She nodded, though not with certainty.

  "You feel more than peace?"

  She wet her lips. She could tell by the intensity in his expression, by the focused stare of his dark eyes that she would have to answer. And so she tried to explain. "I feel uncertain," she said. And then her eyes dropped in shame. "And it feels... nice."

  He smiled. It was a small movement, but one that softened every feature in his Chinese face. As if he removed a tiny bit of his mask to reveal a gentleness she had not expected. "Honesty is good. Honesty with me is excellent. Honesty with oneself is absolutely necessary." Then he leaned forward, his voice dropping lower as his breath skated across her cheek. "I am going to
reverse the stroke now. Look into my eyes and tell me exactly how it feels. What you feel. Do not think of me or of anything but my hands on your breasts."

  She flinched slightly at his bald word, but then chided herself for such stupidity. He had been touching her for a good twenty minutes or more; why would he draw back from simple words? He was touching her breasts, she told herself firmly. And it felt...

  "Tell me!"

  She nodded, the movement unsteady. Then she did as she was told, setting her gaze on the fold of his eyelid, the dark circle of his eyes. This close, she could see the individual colors in his eyes. The iris was actually a circle of very dark brown hues radiating out from the black pupil in the center. It was bizarre to be thinking such things, and yet, the sight of his eyes gave her such an expansive feeling. As if she were slowly flowing outward from him. From the center of his eyes.

  Then, she began to breathe with his stroke; exhaling as he began the downstroke, this time on the outside of her breasts, to circle underneath. As he drew his fingertips up through the center of her chest, she inhaled, simultaneously drawing his hands up and pushing them deeper into her skin.

  "I feel the heat of your hands," she finally said. "They are so large. I know it is not possible, but I feel as if you are leaving a part of you behind with each movement. And that I..."

  "You what?"

  She inhaled deeply. "I am meeting it. I am meeting your heat, your fingers."

  "That is your yin, rising to greet my yang. Tell me more."

  "My br..." She could not say the word. "I am so warm. I feel as if I am growing. Expanding." Was it his eyes, or his touch that was doing this to her?

  And then something changed. There was a build-up of pressure, a swelling of some kind. Abruptly, her breath became tighter, more erratic. She tried to remain calm, but she could not. It was as if a fountain had sprung up inside her, welling up and up until her chest then her head began to swell. And with her gasp, it exploded. Quietly. But loud enough that she felt and heard a bang inside her ears.

  "Oh!" she said. "I... there was... a sound." She could not express it any more clearly than that.

  "That was your body throwing off its age," he responded, and she found herself grasping the soothing notes of his voice, using them to ground herself as yet another wave began to build.

  "I don't understand," she whispered, unable to find enough breath to speak normally.

  "You do not need to understand. Only accept. You are growing more youthful with every moment."

  "But—"

  "You are avoiding your feelings. Tell me what you feel."

  She flushed, knowing he was right. She would much rather think about his bizarre philosophies than about the way her breath was completely keyed to his movements, her entire body throbbing to his stroke.

  "I feel... everything." All of it. Focused on her breasts, flowing toward her breasts, aching inside her breasts. "I am so full." She had no idea what she was saying, but he apparently did. She watched his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

  "We are almost done. Let everything flow to your breasts. Let them grow full. Let them understand what it means to be breasts."

  She barely heard him, so wonderful was the experience of fullness. It was all drawing together, pushing toward some peak that she did not understand. That she wanted desperately.

  And then it was over, and he drew his hands away. So startling was the moment that she actually cried out when he withdrew. She looked down at her chest as if such a movement could draw him back to her.

  What she saw amazed her even more. Her breasts were pink and peaked, full and yet not nearly as large as she felt. It was as if her spirit had grown outward from her physical body. She even drew her hand up, holding it just beyond her skin. And she could swear she could feel it: the heat of her own hand, the pressure of her body against her hand, though she never touched herself at all.

  She looked at her captor, confusion filling her.

  "You must do this every morning and every night," he instructed. "To yourself if I cannot be here to assist you." Her hand was still held before her, a bare inch away from her skin. "But whatever you do, do not touch yourself here." He took hold of her hand, tilting it so that it cupped but did not touch her nipple. "This is your peak."

  And as he said the words, her hand jerked, pushing forward toward the tip of her breasts. It had not been her intention to do so, and yet she now knew that was what she wanted. That was where she wished to be touched.

  "Do not do it!" he ordered. "It will damage the work that we have already done." She looked up at him as his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Do you have the discipline to do this? To keep yourself from touching there? Or must I chain your hands away?"

  She pulled back in horror. "Do not chain me!"

  "Then listen to what I say."

  She nodded, her breasts feeling full and heavy and aching for the very thing he had just denied her.

  "I will return tonight. I do not think you can be trusted."

  She straightened, insulted by the implication. "I—"

  "Fu De will watch you during the day. Look for me this evening, and we will continue." Then he abruptly drew her robe back around her, careful to prevent the fabric from touching her aching breasts. He couldn't prevent it entirely, but what little did touch made her feel all the worse. She could feel the fabric about her, so close, so cool and silky. And yet she already knew that such a whisper of touch would not be enough. She wished for more.

  Evening could not come fast enough. To her shame, she desperately wanted to return to what they had been doing. And that thought horrified her more than anything else.

  She was a good English girl, raised to be chaste and modest. What was she thinking, what was she doing to so want a Chinese man to touch her like that? To do to her... what?

  Her body tingled in excitement, and her mind rebelled at her own eagerness. She was a captive, she reminded herself. A prisoner. Her only hope was to watch for a moment when she could escape, when she could rush outside and on to find Maxwell.

  And yet, as the outer door shut behind the dragon... What was his name? Ru Shan. As the door shut behind Ru Shan and Fu De came to stand in her doorway, watching her, Lydia could only think over her strange morning and her bizarre experiences. What was happening to her?

  Worse, if she was in such turmoil after one such session with Ru Shan, what would she be like by the time she was finally able to escape?

  From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng

  3 February, 1862

  Dearest Li Hua—

  A son! A son! I have given birth to a son! And such a handsome boy he is that all say he takes after his father. They have even named him Ru Shan for "steadiness as a mountain." This may seem odd to you, but you do not understand my mother-in-law. My husband is a handsome man, full of life and vigor. With my designs, the Chengs have prospered greatly.

  But not so greatly as one might expect.

  My husband loves his friends almost as much as he loves his customers. His father tries to moderate the damage, but Sheng Fu's temper is easily unleashed, and he is a large man with heavy fists. As he is the one who brings in the customers, he rules even over his parents.

  And so, when my son was born with a face so like his father's, my parents-in-law named him Ru Shan for steadiness. He will be the Chengs' hope for a wealthy old age.

  What they do not know is that I have already made offerings for the child before the ancestors and at the monastery. I escaped one day when I was supposed to be buying vegetables. Instead, I rushed to the monastery and gave them all the money I had saved from our food. You know how excellent a bargainer I am, so it was quite a lot of money.

  They promised me that the boy will be a great scholar. And truly, his head is very large, his brow most auspicious for study. He will be a great sage, perhaps even an Immortal. I have been assured of this!

  I must stop now, Li Hua. My labor has kept me from my work, and so I am very behind. Write me soon and te
ll me if you have made amends with your mother-in-law. Truly, they are the most terrible of creatures!

  —Mei Lan

  Where there are humans, you'll find flies and Buddha.

  —Issa

  ~

  Chapter 4

  The abacus beads hit with a satisfying clack, but the numbers still were too low and Ru Shan sighed. The family was depending upon him to make good on the promise of his name—Steady as a Mountain—or as grandmother phrased it, a Mountain of Wealth. Either way, he was not proving himself capable.

  After Ma Ma's death, the customers simply were not as interested in the Cheng cloth as before. With good reason. Without Ma Ma, the embroidered designs were not as inspired.

  "Your brow is furrowed, and your face burns. I sense that your yang still dominates."

  He looked up, grateful for and surprised by the interruption Shi Po provided, even though he knew she would buy nothing from him. Her husband was his nearest competitor, and so it would be a grave error if she were to be seen purchasing his wares. Indeed, it was a risk for her to even appear in his family store. So he immediately stood, ushering her to the tiny garden behind his shop. At least there she would be safe from most prying eyes.

  She nodded graciously, walking with great difficulty upon her bound feet, her tiny hands gripping the carved ivory cane she sometimes used. He wished to support her, to carry her, but he could not. It was not his place. And so he could only watch in excruciating stillness as she passed before him.

  Glancing outside, he saw her four men waiting for her, her ornate sedan settled upon the street between them. "Was it necessary to come here in so public a fashion?" he asked as she at last made it out the door.

  "Of course," she said with a smile, "as I am personally delivering an invitation for you to share wine with my husband next week." She handed him the thin paper, etched with gold leaf.

  "You do me a great honor," he lied. The truth was that her tight-fisted husband wished to check up on the loan he had given to buy Li Dee. Ru Shan still did not know how Shi Po had convinced her husband to offer such a generous sum. Likely, with her tigress skills, she had Kui Yu completely at her mercy. Either way, Ru Shan did not appreciate this invitation.