White Tigress

by Jade Lee

  Bowing, he spoke with great ponderous formality. In English. "I do not understand your surprise, but it is clear Master Cheng has offered you a grave insult." Once again she opened her mouth to speak, but was forestalled. "I do not seek to reconcile you with your husband, Mistress Lydia. I offer a location for you to rest until such matters can be resolved."

  She nodded, fussing stupidly at her gown as if she had an alternative. "That is very kind, Fu De," she said slowly. "Where is this location?"

  "It is a place near..." He paused, clearly trying to explain. "It is a location near to where you spent last evening, mistress. Please..." He gestured imperiously at a nearby rickshaw driver. "Please, will you accompany me?"

  She bit her lip, automatically wary of going anywhere again with a strange man offering her a ride. Except Fu De was not a strange man. And she was not nearly as naive as she had been those weeks ago. With a nod, she smiled at him as warmly as possible.

  "Thank you, Fu De. You are most kind."

  But as she climbed into the carriage, she could not prevent her thoughts from returning to a different ride in a different vehicle yesterday with an entirely different man.

  How had she gone from being engaged to Max, to the ecstatically happy new bride of Ru Shan, to a runaway concubine, all in the space of twenty-four hours?

  Another thought struck her, one so funny she began laughing in painful gasps until the tears once again ran down her face: She was still a virgin.

  After everything that had happened, she was still a virgin. Which meant, according to her mother's teaching, Lydia was still pure as the driven snow.

  * * *

  Ru Shan stood staring at the broken ivory sticks in his hand. They were intricately carved—a tigress on one, a dragon on the other. In his mind, they represented himself and his Lydia, together forever, holding up the beautiful tendrils of her hair just as together they would support the entire Cheng family. He had spent much time selecting the gift for her and been overwhelmed with pleasure the moment he had first seen them in her golden locks.

  Now they were in his hand, the tigress broken in half, the dragon stained with dirt.

  He could not bear to think beyond that. Beside him, his family still made their mocking noises, but he had no room in his thoughts for them. Neither could he think of Lydia, her face half-smeared with bridal paint, her clothing torn, stained, and all in disarray as she pulled off her shoes.

  Only her words echoed in his head. "I. Loved. You." Spit out with such venom as to burn straight through him. "I. Loved. You." And then she had run.

  He had meant to go after her, was already at the door behind her, but Fu De had stopped him. He had spoken quickly, and in a low undertone that the Cheng family had not heard. Fu De promised to retrieve her. He promised to explain everything. And he promised to take Lydia to a place where Ru Shan could see her alone, without the disdain of his short-sighted family.

  Ru Shan had not wanted to stay. Well beyond the driving need to return Lydia to his side, he had desperately wanted to escape his family. To leave now, and to forget that they were firmly planted on his shoulders: his responsibility and his burden.

  Only one thing kept him rooted where he was. One person, rather. His son, Zun Ran. The boy had come to his side just after Fu De disappeared, nervously slipping his hand into Ru Shan's. They'd stood together, right by the open door, Ru Shan searching the streets while the boy lifted his somber face to his father. And in time, Ru Shan's gaze slowly slipped from looking outward to looking down.

  "A confusing time to be alive, my son," he said gently.

  The boy nodded, not because he understood, but because it probably seemed like the best response.

  He waited a moment, looking one last time out at the gates. Fu De had disappeared after Lydia. Though he prayed for the sight of his white wife soberly—no, joyfully—returning to him, he knew it was a vain hope. She would not come back. He would have to seek her out. Meanwhile, he had things to say to his still-laughing family.

  He straightened, barely caring to glance at his elders or first wife. Let them hear if they chose; he had no time for them if they did not. Instead, he looked at his son, speaking in a normal tone, simple enough for a child and soft enough that the others would have to cease their humor if they wished to hear.

  "They think I am insane. They think I do not know this, but I do. I suppose you knew of their opinion?"

  The boy glanced nervously at his mother, then at Ru Shan. "Yes, father," was all he said.

  "Their stupidity did not bother me before. I knew what I was doing and why. But it infuriates me now," he said. "Because it may have destroyed your future."

  His son's eyes widened and his jaw slackened in shock. The boy had never heard such an unfilial comment before. No good Chinese man ever spoke ill of his family, most especially his elders. Even within the family circle, where all was considered private.

  He saw doubt in the child's eyes, so Ru Shan confirmed what he had said. "Yes, my son. Only you have shown your worth this day, and your trust in me gives me great pride. The others have displayed only ignorance." He lifted his gaze to his stunned family. As expected, they had quieted enough to hear his words, and his father was already mottled with rage. Ru Shan waited calmly for the tirade to come, startled to realize how much he relished the idea. Just how long had he been aching for the chance to offend the man?

  "You rat-grubbing cur," his father spat. "You bring a barbarian woman here and dare call us fools?" He hobbled forward, his movements still powerful despite the awkwardness of his cane. "I have ears to hear and eyes to see. I know you have destroyed us with your white pet. I know that our store shelves stand empty because of her. And yet you dare bring her here. As a wife!" He reached forward, abruptly grabbing Zun Ran's other arm and yanking him away from Ru Shan. "You disgrace all of us!"

  Ru Shan barely even blinked. His father enjoyed making others lose their calm, but it had been some time since he had been able to crack Ru Shan.

  "Release my son," he said.

  "You are not fit—"

  "The boy is old enough to decide his own fate. Release him now." Ru Shan straightened. "Unless you are ready to claim him as your own son and no flesh of mine."

  His father's body jerked backward as if slapped. As did Ru Shan's first wife. Once again, the boy remained a quiet center of confusion standing amidst an adult maelstrom.

  "Of-of course you are Zun Ran's father," stammered the old man, releasing his hold on the child. "It is a measure of your depravity that you could suggest differently."

  Ru Shan did not respond. The Chinese were often hypocritical beyond reason, his father more so than most. Everyone here with the exception of his son knew the truth: that Zun Ran was Ru Shan's half brother. Still, that did not lessen Ru Shan's responsibilities to the boy. He turned his attention to the child, extending his hand.

  "Come, my son," he said, "let me explain to you what they do not know."

  The boy obediently walked forward, but he did not offer up his hand. Instead, he stood like a great scholar, waiting for instruction before making up his mind. Ru Shan paused a moment, hand still extended, but still the boy refused, his expression dark and intense.

  Behind them, the boy's great-grandmother released a nervous giggle, but Ru Shan found himself smiling even as his hand slipped to his side.

  "Your grandmother would be pleased with you, my son. A great man always listens before choosing his course." Then Ru Shan did a most unusual thing. He dropped to one knee so that he was eye to eye with the child. How odd that in doing this, he imitated his a-dou cousin, the failed scholar whom everyone loved. And yet the gesture seemed right, even if he appeared to be kneeling before his own son.

  "This family loves the white barbarians. Your grandfather loves their gold, and your great-grandmother their powder. Even your mother disdains jade, wanting their diamonds and emeralds upon her body. But foreign gold is hard to come by now that your grandmother is gone. It was her talent
s with brush and dye that the barbarians wanted. Her skills that the rest of us sold and prospered from."

  He spared a moment to look at his father. From Ru Shan's grandfather down the generations and now to Zun Ran, the truth would be spoken aloud.

  "It was your grandmother who supported the Cheng family, my son. We were merely the fleas upon her back," Ru Shan said. He straightened, turning to face his father's purple rage, knowing that he was merely adding oil to the fire. But these words would be spoken. "So now that Mei Lan is gone, who will support the Chengs? A dead woman makes no product to sell, and this wife"—he gestured disdainfully at the woman who had joined his bed when he was eight years old—"has no skill in such things." He turned back to his father. "So, how is it that the Cheng family will stand?"

  "That is your responsibility, my son." Though the words sounded polite, his father spat on the ground at Ru Shan's feet to show his disgust. "I am crippled now. It is a filial son's task to uphold the family honor and see to the pleasure of my old age."

  Ru Shan nodded, unable to deny the weight of his responsibilities. "And so I did. I found a woman Heaven-blessed in the ways of making the foreign gold this family loves so much. Did you not wonder, my father, who made the dress designs that spark so much interest in our shop? Did you not look into my wife's face and see that gold runs like water through her veins?"

  "The foreign devils bring nothing but pain," his father half growled. "I will not have them in my home."

  "Then you should not have killed the woman who supported us."

  And there it was. Spoken aloud for the first time ever in this courtyard. Spoken in the light of day from son to father and with such a cold certainty that even Sheng Fu could not deny it. Except, of course, that he would. He went into such a rage as Ru Shan had never seen.

  But Ru Shan did nothing. He didn't need to. His wife had already seen the tantrum coming and taken Grandmother inside to hide. She would hide inside her opium pipe and Wife One inside her bower with her dresses and jewelry. There was only Ru Shan and his father. And little Zun Ran watching from the side, half hidden behind the table laid out with a wedding feast.

  The rage lasted less than fifteen minutes. Sheng Fu had lost much in physical stamina and could not sustain his emotions for long. Still, he tried, roaring and stumbling about like a mad boar. Fortunately, Zun Ran was too fast to be hit by his grandfather's cane, and Ru Shan was still strong, easily blocking whatever violence came his way. In the end, all his father had left were curses to release upon the air, wounding barbs that Ru Shan expected. They hurt nonetheless.

  He was called all manner of ugly things; his character, body, and mind all attacked. Everything was damned as worthless, but in the end, his father retained some sense. He did not disown Ru Shan. He did not break the tablet on the family altar that bore Ru Shan's name. He spit on it. He gripped it and raised it high over his head as if he were going to shatter it into a thousand pieces. But in the end, he let it drop unharmed back into its place. He knew that the Cheng family would starve if Ru Shan left. He knew, too, that Ru Shan was his only hope for redemption.

  And that was the insight that Heaven visited upon Ru Shan as he stood there watching his father. The venom in his sire's words, the black qi of hatred flowing from Sheng Fu's body and soul, was directed at the one person who still damned him for murdering his wife.

  Ru Shan.

  Which meant Ru Shan was also the one person who could help his father find peace. For until he forgave his father's crime, Sheng Fu would remain bitter and dried up and wounded in body and soul. Until he found forgiveness.

  From Ru Shan.

  That realization vibrated in the air between the two men just before Sheng Fu collapsed in a sobbing heap at the base of the family altar. His hair was askew, his body filthy with sweat and grime, but his eyes were crystal clear. He looked at Ru Shan, the question clear despite the fact that it went unspoken.

  Could Ru Shan forgive his father? Would he?

  The pull was unmistakable. The need and pain in his father's eyes tugged at Ru Shan the way a dying man pulled at all who cared for him. Added to that was the weight of Ru Shan's entire culture; like the mountain he was named for, it pressed upon him, telling him to go to his father, for that was what a son did. Forgive your father, it said in powerful words that all heard but none spoke. Forgive him, and support him in his old age. That is what good sons do.

  Ru Shan took a step forward, a single step, as if pushed from behind. But that was all he could do before dropping to his knees. He wasn't even sure how he landed there, his feet behind him, his knees in a puddle of oily water. Then the motion continued, the weight pulling his head down, exposing the back of his neck while his hands remained tucked in his lap.

  He was laying himself bare, not before his father but before his mother's ghost. Before the sword he imagined she held in her hand. And in that moment, he longed for death.

  He was Ru Shan, faithful as a mountain. And yet he had failed his mother and abandoned his father. He could not forgive the man who had sired him. He could not release his mother's spirit to the afterlife. He could not even hold on to a white wife who could save the Cheng family.

  He could do none of those things until he accomplished one single task. He even knew what the task was. Shi Po had told him. She had seen it in a dream and knew it to be a true divination. So she had told him, and so he had done it—or so he thought.

  He had bought a white pet and milked her for her yin water to cool his yang fire.

  He had done this thing, risking what was left of the Cheng fortune on the task. And yet, he now understood that he had done nothing at all. Nothing at all, for Shi Po had neglected to tell him the last piece of her divination. It was a small thing, no doubt ignored by the tigress as a natural extension of the work they did. After all, who could spend hours milking a woman—even a white one—and not feel affection for the pet?

  It was such a simple thing, she had forgotten to tell him. But he saw it now. Saw it in the oily water before him as clearly as he had seen it in his father's tirade and his son's wide, somber eyes.

  He had to buy a white pet and milk her for her yin. During this process, he had to love her. In the last, he had failed completely.

  Which is the nearer to you, your name or your person?

  Which is the more precious, your person or your wealth?

  Which is the greater evil, to gain or to lose? Great devotion requires great sacrifice. Great wealth implies great loss.

  —Tao Te Ching

  ~

  Chapter 17

  Ru Shan walked into his bedroom. He did not stumble, he did not crawl. But it felt that way nonetheless. He felt as if his entire spirit were broken as he inched his way to the sanctuary of his room. Indeed, he waited a moment outside the step up into his chamber, like a cursed ghost, before forcing up his legs to enter.

  Once he arrived, he felt the darkness enfold him. Though the sun continued to shine through the dull covering of clouds, its weak rays could not touch him. If any dared try, he quickly closed the interior shutters to ensure his utter bleakness.

  Why could he not love Lydia?

  He closed his eyes, understanding the question for a stupidity. Of course he could not love Lydia. She was white, a barbarian and a pet. A smart one, to be sure, but still beneath any true child of China, the blessed kingdom of Heaven.

  And yet the question still plagued him. Why could he not love Lydia?

  He shouldn't love her. She was a tool. A second wife, of little importance except that she could make the designs that would bring gold to the Cheng family. And, of course, that she supply the yin he needed to attain immortality.

  Except it wasn't her yin he needed. It was her love.

  He sighed. No, it was not her love; he already had that. Indeed, he had seen and felt her love last night. It had been a pure thing of joy that had humbled him with its power. Indeed, last night, Lydia his barbarian pet had humbled him.

  It wa
s not her love he needed. It was his own for her. And yet, he could not.

  Why?

  His legs weakened beneath him and he dropped onto his prayer mat. There had been no conscious will in the movement, only the touch of Heaven's hand. He collapsed into an attitude of prayer, his forehead pressed forward onto the cured reeds, his legs bent and folded beneath him. And in this pose, he poured out his anguish.

  To no avail.

  He had no understanding of how long he stayed in that position. He roused himself only once, when a messenger from Fu De arrived. Ru Shan listened without comment as he learned that Fu De had taken Lydia to a safe hotel—a place most understanding of tigress/dragon practices. Ru Shan could meet her there if he wished.

  But of course he could not. Without clearer understanding of his path, he could go nowhere. He had nothing to offer Lydia. Certainly as his Chinese wife, he could legally drag her back to his home—in chains if necessary. But he knew that would only deepen the evil that beset the Cheng family. She had to come willingly or any work she did would be cursed.

  He paused, his brows drawing together into a frown that frightened the young messenger. Ru Shan had not even realized how angry he appeared until the boy dashed off in terror, without even a coin as payment for his service. But his thoughts had sparked a memory, and that memory would not release him.

  And so he returned to his room, the image of paying for Lydia trapped in his mind.

  He had paid for Lydia: a free woman who had been enslaved by a madame, forced into a lifetime of prostitution simply because she was young and beautiful and foolish enough to trust someone she should not. Yes, Lydia had been caught, and Ru Shan had bought her.

  It did not matter that he had treated her honestly, that he had fed and cared for her better than he had for his own first wife. It did not matter that eventually she came to him freely, marrying him with an open heart and a pure love. He had taken advantage of her then as well, using her circumstances to push her into marriage.