White Tigress

by Jade Lee

It felt fabulous. More fabulous than anything else in her entire life. The only thing that kept her remotely sane was the vague dissatisfaction that always lingered after Ru Shan left. There was something more. Something beyond what she had already experienced. And when she had mentioned that to Ru Shan this morning, he had smiled and nodded.

  "There is more," he had said. "And I believe you are ready for that as well. Tonight. A woman's yin is strongest as the moon rises. That will be a good time to begin."

  And so he had left, and Lydia had begun to pace. And think. And worry. She already found it difficult to focus on escape. Her mind constantly lingered on Ru Shan. On what they had done last. On when he would come next, and what would be his mood. What would they do together? And for how long?

  If that were not bad enough, she still had to do her exercises with the stone dragon. Her muscles were amazingly strong now. Indeed, she had performed so well, he had given her two stone eggs connected together by a long thin chain. Her job was to insert one egg and, using just her muscles, lift and lower the egg. The other stone created a counterweight that would pull the first egg out if she allowed it.

  She didn't explore it, of course, but the constant shift and tug of the weight as she stood made for a kind of stimulation that she found vaguely unsettling, but mostly very intriguing. Very, very intriguing.

  Would Ru Shan's "next step" involve her muscles down there? Would it involve things that Maxwell would disapprove of? She strongly suspected it would. And she knew without a doubt that she couldn't wait. Her only salvation would be to find a means of escape before Ru Shan arrived. Then she would force herself to run as far and as fast as possible. No matter what she might be missing out on. What she might never know.

  But, of course, no opportunity came. And so when Ru Shan walked into her tiny room that evening, she greeted him with a mixture of resignation and secret delight.

  And then came dread, because Ru Shan was clearly in a towering rage.

  "My goodness," Lydia cried as he stomped into her little room. "What has happened?"

  "It is not important," he snapped in the way of all stubborn men.

  "Well, of course it is important," she argued smoothly. "You are not the type of man to be upset over nothing."

  The compliment seemed to mollify him somewhat, but he was still bullheaded enough to huff out, "You would not understand."

  She guided him to a seat on her poor bed, trying to make her manner submissive. She knew just how to do it. Had she not seen her mother do this a thousand times when something upset her father? Indeed, Maxwell too seemed to need such coddling at times. "I probably won't understand," she lied. Indeed, she was beginning to see that she very much needed to learn as much about Ru Shan as she could. "But it may help you to talk to me anyway."

  He turned and glared at her. "That is what Shi Po says. Women's nonsense."

  She stilled, her chest tightening even as she asked the question. "Who is Shi Po?"

  "She is my mentor in the dragon and tigress arts."

  He worked with another woman? The same way he worked with her? The very thought sent hot coals whipping through her system, but Lydia tamped down her anger. Right now she only needed him to talk with her. And so she pasted on a smile. "Then perhaps you should tell me. What is it that has upset you so this day?"

  "Another shipment of cotton fabric has not arrived. Today I learned it went to Shi Po's husband instead."

  "Her husband?"

  He glared at the floor. "My competitor."

  "Your mentor is also your competitor? Isn't that... awkward?"

  He straightened, clearly irritated. "Of course not. She is a woman and has nothing to do with her husband's business."

  Lydia sincerely doubted that, but she knew better than to argue.

  "Besides," Ru Shan continued, "teachers of her ability are rare. If I wish to become an Immortal, Shi Po is the only one who can guide me. It was a great honor to be selected to be her jade dragon, for all that she is a woman."

  Lydia nodded, startled to feel a twinge of rancor for this Shi Po. But then she chanced to look up into Ru Shan's eyes. Usually his expression was serene, almost masklike. But not now. And perhaps not nearly as much lately. At this moment, she read worry and anxiety in his face. "You do not believe she is as separate as she appears?"

  Ru Shan released a heavy sigh. "I do not know." He shifted on the bed, turning to look more directly at her. "My family buys cloth," he said. "We use that fabric to make beautiful clothing. My mother used to embroider the most stunning designs on them. We were sought throughout China for her embroidery." He gestured to his jacket, which sported a flock of delicate cranes in flight. "My mother stitched this."

  "You have the most beautiful clothing. I have always admired it."

  He reached out and stroked one of the flying birds. "She is dead now. Two years ago. And the shop has suffered greatly for her lack."

  "I am sorry. That must have been a great blow."

  He nodded, but did not answer. Then he sighed. "It was difficult, but never before have our shipments gone astray. If it were only one, there would be no fear. But there have been so many mishaps lately." His voice trailed off.

  "You do not think they are accidents."

  "No."

  "You think Shi Po has done something."

  He glanced up, his gaze sharp. "Shi Po has done nothing. It is her husband, Kui Yu. But what? And why?"

  She shifted to smile more fully at him. "The why is easy. You were never this vulnerable before. Your mother was still alive."

  "But Kui Yu has nothing to do with the shipments. How could he convince the weavers to send it to him and not me? We have always been good customers, treated the weavers fairly."

  That she couldn't answer, nor did he expect her to. He simply sat, speaking aloud as he worked his way through the problem.

  "I have heard there are rumors, but I do not know what. I have heard that someone is speaking lies, but I cannot discover who. Not yet."

  "But you will." It wasn't a question. Lydia knew enough about Ru Shan already to be sure he would discover the reason behind his current problems.

  He seemed to agree. "Yes, I will. But can I do so in time? If this continues, our shop will be empty, our customers gone."

  "You will find out. I am sure of it." Lydia didn't understand why she was working so hard to reassure her captor. For all she knew, his business could go bankrupt tomorrow. But she needed him to see her as a person, an asset with skills and value. Someone who should not be locked away. And if that meant soothing his worries, then she would soothe his worries.

  Besides, she liked it when he smiled at her. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his face seemed to lighten, becoming both brighter and less heavy. And then he reached out, cupping her cheek with his hand.

  "I am sorry, Li Dee. I had thought to expand your yin river today, but I do not have the focus. My yang burns too hot."

  She suppressed a twinge of regret at his words, which was echoed by an equally strong feeling of relief. Instead, she lifted his hand from her cheek, pressing her lips into his palm. "Is there a way to release your yang? As you do my yin?"

  He sighed, rubbing a finger across her mouth. The tingle he created made her purse her lips, as if to kiss him. But before she could, he pulled away. "There is a way," he said slowly. "But I had not thought to teach you such a thing."

  She lifted her gaze to his. "Why not?"

  "Shi Po tells me things about your people, things that the government has encouraged us to believe. But taken altogether, they contradict one another. You say that you do not live like monkeys—in colonies."

  She nodded, pleased that he was beginning to see her more truthfully.

  "Is it true that you stop up your passions? You are taught not to enjoy your bodies or another's touch."

  She hesitated, doing her best to answer honestly. "That is perhaps stating the extreme case. We are encouraged to enjoy wedded life."

  "Have you ever seen
a man's jade dragon?"

  She frowned, her glance slipping to the carved dragon he had given her. He gently pulled her chin so that she looked at him.

  "A man's organ."

  It took a moment for her to understand, and then her face heated with embarrassment. But rather than hide from the truth, she confronted it, confessing her shame. "I have seen statues. And pictures. In my father's anatomy books." She shrugged. "I found anatomy most helpful in my art." She rose to her feet, rushing to cover her awkwardness. She grabbed a pile of her sketches, shifting through them quickly to bring up her sketch of a Chinese man in western-style clothing. Or perhaps not completely western, as it incorporated both styles, giving him western trousers and a tie, but changing the jacket to an Asian cut with Chinese frog buttons. "See? My first clothing designs were too tight on men. It wasn't until my father showed me his Gray's Anatomy that I understood why they couldn't have high seams in that area."

  Ru Shan frowned, flipping quickly through the pages. "What is this?"

  She paused, at first not understanding what he meant. "My sketches? They are nothing."

  He shook his head, clearly distracted. "You have drawn people. In strange clothing."

  "I have always done so. Sometimes I make the clothing as well, but my stitches are not as even as a modiste's." He looked at her, clearly not understanding the word. "A seamstress. Someone who sews clothing."

  "But these dresses..." He slowed to look at a picture of a white woman in an Asian gown. She had not seen many Chinese women in her short trip through Shanghai, but she remembered every detail of what she'd seen. Like her previous sketch, she combined both Asian and English styles, using silk fabrics in a relatively narrow English gown. Then she added a tight, short Chinese-style jacket on top. Indeed, of all her sketches, it was her favorite design, and she planned to have it made the moment she escaped.

  "Do you like it?" she asked, unable to stop herself. Women dressed to attract their men. If Ru Shan liked it, then she knew she had a good design.

  "Yes." He said the word flatly, as if confused. But then he looked up, straightening to his full height. "I wish to keep these."

  She stared at him in surprise. He was clearly asking her permission, though the question was phrased as a statement. "They are just drawings," she said slowly.

  "Nevertheless."

  She smiled at his stiff phrasing. Clearly, he was unused to asking permission for anything from a woman. So she smiled, nodding regally to him. "Then of course you must have them."

  "You must show me any of your other sketches."

  She settled back on the bed beside him. "But those are all I have."

  "Then draw more."

  Her eyes narrowed as she considered him, wondering at his sudden interest. "Your shop. It adds designs to cloth. Do you also make clothing?"

  He nodded. "Of course. We employ many seamstresses."

  "You want to use my designs to make clothing."

  She watched his eyes widen in surprise at her understanding, and she nearly laughed out loud. Many of her friends had asked her to design clothing specifically for them. That he would want to use her talents in his business was not a large leap. And in the end, he confirmed her thought.

  "I will allow my customers to see your sketches. If they like the designs, then we will sew them."

  "You need more than just the rough sketch. You need directions for the seamstress."

  He nodded. "Can you do those as well?"

  She smiled. "Of course. I have done it many times." She leaned back, focusing all her attention on his face, making sure she made her next point clearly. Loudly. "Which makes me very similar to your mother, does it not? She created embroidery designs that you sold at great profit. And I have designed clothing that you will sell—"

  "No one has purchased anything yet!" he snapped, clearly irritated by her suggestion.

  "But my designs have been copied throughout England," she lied. In truth, some people had copied her gown designs. Others had called them ridiculous in the extreme. But she felt no guilt at her claim if it would make her seem more human to him.

  "This is not England," he snapped. Then he left her side, roughly pulling open the door and calling Fu De. Lydia could not follow their rapid exchange of Shanghainese, but she guessed what was happening anyway. Especially as Fu De bowed, then carefully took her sketches. After a quick, surprised look in her direction, he rushed out of the flat.

  Lydia shifted on the bed to lean back against the wall. "He is taking my pictures to your shop. To show to your customers."

  Ru Shan nodded, carefully closing the door before returning to the bed. But he did not sit. Instead, he began stripping off his jacket. "It is time," he said firmly, "for you to learn about yang."

  She had been relaxed, feeling a bit smug at her progress. But at his words, a shiver of terror slid down her spine. Exactly what was he going to do? What would she have to do? He didn't make her wait long. Indeed, his motions were brisk, almost as if he, too, felt uncomfortable about what would happen next, but was determined to see it through. It seemed impossible to her, and yet, as he continued to strip off his clothing, she saw the soft blush of embarrassment heating his skin. Then she had few thoughts at all as he continued to disrobe.

  Before long, he stood before her completely naked, his hairless body displayed openly before her.

  "Look all you want," he said, his voice somewhat constricted. "And then you must touch."

  Her gaze flew to his face in shock. She was supposed to touch him? Where? Then, even more shocking, he began to slowly turn, letting her see him from all sides.

  At first she could not get past her surprise. But then curiosity took root. She had seen her father's anatomy book. She knew about bones and muscles and what parts of the body went where. But lithographs and charcoal sketches were nothing compared to seeing a man in the living flesh. Especially a man with so little fat upon him. Indeed, as she reached out to trace the contours of his back, she could see the curve of each muscle. A few of them even rippled beneath her fingertips.

  His skin was so different, and yet so similar to her own. Maxwell called the Chinese yellow-skinned, but Ru Shan did not seem yellow so much as vellum. A fine, warm paper, mellowed with age, on which was written the power and strength of an entire race of people—if only she had the intelligence to read it. Next to him, her skin seemed pale and insubstantial. Like the ghost he sometimes called her.

  He began to turn, and she let her hands slide with his movements. When she had put both her hands upon him, she did not know. But she used them now to measure the breadth of his shoulders—a good eight or nine inches wider than her own—and the circumference of his biceps.

  "You are strong," she said softly, startled by the truth of her statement. His clothing did not hide lax, flaccid muscles, but a body rippling with power.

  "Fabric is heavy. It builds a strong back."

  No wonder she hadn't been able to escape him during their earlier struggles. He was much more powerful than she had ever guessed.

  She let her hands flow over his collarbone, feeling the solidity. She used it as an anchor, pausing there to steady her breath before letting her hands slide lower, over his chest. She didn't wonder why she felt so breathless, attributing it to the excitement of seeing such a beautiful man up close. Still, she needed a moment to calm herself before stepping back a bare inch or so, in order to give herself a better view.

  His chest was broad, the skin smooth. He felt warmer than silk, and now that she stood this close, Lydia smelled his scent as well. Musk and sandalwood together. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, barely even realizing she was memorizing it.

  Her hands slipped lower, over the hard nub of his nipples. She stopped a moment there, seeing how his body puckered as hers had, only smaller. Firmer. Glancing up, she looked into his dark eyes. "Should I suck on them, as you do to me? Will that release your yang?"

  His face seemed taut with tension, but his voice was smoot
h and steady. "It will release some, but not much. The breasts are the centers of yin, and so you will likely drain off the yin I have collected from you."

  "Oh," she said softly, and she rubbed her nail back and forth across his nub. It felt surprisingly like the raised portion of the snap fastener so popular with Americans. And yet it was more pliable, and so much more intriguing. Without even thinking about it, she found herself circling his nipples as he'd done hers, and she wondered if he felt the same tug of power within him that she experienced when he touched her.

  Then she slowed her fingers, thinking back over what he had said about the breasts being the center of yin. "I suppose I should not do that."

  "No," he agreed, his voice deepening as he spoke.

  She nodded, but her attention was already wandering lower. Her hands skimmed over his ribs, narrowing into the hollow of his stomach and the tight muscles of his belly. He must have seen where her gaze took her, because he gently pressed upon her shoulders.

  "Sit," he urged, and she complied, dropping somewhat heavily upon the bed.

  This, of course, brought her eye level with the most astounding sight she had ever seen. He was hairless here, though she saw a kind of shadow on his skin and wondered if he'd shaved. It must be difficult to wield a razor there, she thought with a frown. He would have to avoid the... item that stood hard and long right there in the way.

  And such an item it was. Flushed a dark red, it thrust upward like a thick arrow made of flesh. It jiggled slightly as he breathed and even had a tiny bead of moisture on the very tip.

  "This is a man's jade dragon," he said. "It is very sensitive, so it must be handled with careful respect."

  She tilted her head to one side, even holding out her hand with the fingers spread wide. But she did not touch it yet. She was measuring the length of his dragon, and thinking of the pictures she had seen in her father's anatomy text.

  "Are all men so long?" she asked. "If so, I fear I have miscalculated in the design of men's trousers."

  "Your designs are fine. I have performed many exercises to straighten my dragon. Unfortunately, that means it has also lengthened."