Burning Tigress

by Jade Lee

  Squaring his shoulders, he settled into his chair, making sure his legs were spread wide so as to give his organ room to breathe. He pulled out the ledger, opening it... only to stare at the neat columns of barbarian writing. No, he abruptly decided, he would not work on white people's numbers today. His qi was in too much disorder to work in straight lines.

  The letters, then. Putting the ledger away beneath the abacas, he drew out Mr. Wicks's special letter paper. He curled his lip in disdain at its scent and feel: too flat, too cold. It never absorbed the ink correctly, not of a good Chinese brush at least. And so he had to use a "fountain pen"—a barbarian creation of metal that was too small and dead to properly control.

  No. He would use a brush to write his family, and he owed his brother a letter. That would be an efficient use of his time. And it would be an adequately Chinese pastime, to counteract the other forces in his life.

  He set down the pen, but did not take up the brush. Slowly, his hand curled into a fist. Abacas, brush, ink stone. Stationery, ledger, pen. What did he want? What should he do? A balanced man walked the middle path, but when the Dragon played near the Tigress's mouth, the Tigress seized the fallen jade. Ledgers or letter? Balanced path or Tigress play? White or Chinese?

  Who was he? Disowned by his Chinese family, he had to learn to be white to work and survive. Now the Chinese would not speak to him unless it was to take his money; the whites used him as translator and manager but still disdained him as a servant. Where was his path?

  His dragon wilted away to nothing as thoughts churned in his mind. His qi was weakening by the second. Grabbing his bills of lading, he abruptly strode out of the manor, pretending to head for the docks. In truth, he had no thought as to where he would go. Or rather, he had too many thoughts, too many responsibilities.

  Should he return to the Tigress school to help Little Pearl? Should he go to his private rooms for practice? He even considered a more public venue, with a willing woman where he could gather more yin. But no answer was right, nothing settled his disordered spirit.

  At last he decided to help the Tans. He would drive the Wicks carriage to the prison. He judged it would take half his money to bribe his way into the Tigress's cell, and the other half to arrange for her release. It would take a good deal longer and a great deal more money to arrange for her husband Kui Yu's freedom, but Ken Jin knew the man's honor; he would want Shi Po released first. And so Ken Jin hefted his tiny purse and prayed he had enough.

  Very soon, he realized he didn't have anything close to enough. In several hours, he spent two-thirds of his money just to verify that the Tans were indeed held exactly where he'd guessed, in Shanghai's military compound. The last third went toward the discovery that some guards could not be bribed. He did not even manage a visit to the "whore Shi Po" and her husband, the "barbarian-loving Kui Yu."

  In short, his scattered energies doomed him, and he spent everything he had to learn that lesson. He should have remained in his airless room at the Wicks household, where disordered qi reigned and conflicting desires found their own odd form of balance. But where to now?

  He did not go back to their home. Nor did go back to the Tigress school. He did not go anywhere for hours and hours; he simply drove around in aimless paths through Shanghai. He did not find true direction until the sun had left the sky when the city readied for sleep. Unfortunately, his final path was more a weakness, a total collapse of his resistance.

  He knew before he crossed back into English Shanghai that he would give in to Charlotte. His energies were too weak to resist the lure of her burning qi. Yes, he needed to get the scrolls from her. But even more, he needed to taste her yin, needed to feel her power stroke his yang to full strength. Without her, he seemed to be perpetually limp and withdrawn.

  He returned to the Wicks home, quickly grabbing his tools from his bedroom. And then in the quiet of a sleeping home, he crept up the stairs. Slipping easily into Miss Charlotte's room, he made sure to shut the door fast before stepping close to her bed. She had a washstand nearby—a perfect place to rest his tools. He did so quickly, arranging them for easy access. Then he turned to the bed.

  She was asleep, the red-gold flames of her hair crisscrossing every which way on her white pillow. He looked at her and his grip shifted on the hard metal implement. A balanced man walked the middle path. But what did an unbalanced man do? When the Dragon plays near the Tigress's mouth, the Tigress seizes the fallen jade.

  No! His dragon would not play anywhere near her mouth. She was no tigress to seize his ejaculated yang. And an unbalanced man should strengthen himself any way he could—even with stolen yin.

  With sudden focus, Ken Jin pressed a hand across Miss Charlotte's mouth. Her eyes flew open in surprise, but she had no time to cry out. His free hand stripped the bedcovers away.

  He felt her gasp. He would have to act quickly to stop a scream. He leaned down, his whisper harsh next to her ear. "The Tigress path requires courage even more than secrecy, strength more than desire. Are you brave enough, Miss Charlotte, to walk this path? Are you strong enough to take my yang while your yin gushes like a river?"

  She didn't understand his words. How could she? Despite her easy yin peak this afternoon, she was still a virginal barbarian, and he had come upon her in the middle of the night.

  "Understand this, Miss Charlotte, I am a man who has left the middle path. My weaknesses are legion, and my spirit has splintered into a thousand chaotic pieces. Only one thing keeps my qi strong, only one energy quiets my chaos." He pulled back far enough to look into her wide blue eyes. "Do you wish to know what that one thing is, Miss Charlotte? We call it the Peach of Immortality. Do you wish to know what that is?"

  He would not let her move. He barely allowed her to breathe. But to his surprise, she managed a sound. Not a whimper, not a cry, but a firm reply.

  "Shir." "Yes," spoken in Chinese.

  "It is a woman's rain, Miss Charlotte, the fluid of ecstasy, and I am quite a connoisseur."

  Her eyes grew wide, and he felt her breath suspend. He removed his hand to allow her air should she choose to take it; and while she stared at him, he straightened and turned to the wall sconce. With a quick flick of his wrist, he lit the gas lamp, drawing up the flame to cast a soft red glow over her bed. She still said nothing, so he turned back to her and began to slowly, deliberately, strip off his shirt and tie.

  "I want your yin, Miss Charlotte. Indeed, I must have it."

  "The scrolls?" she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, and she had to clear her throat before she spoke again. "What about the sacred scrolls?"

  He dismissed them with a flick of his wrist. "They reveal only isolated stones. I can show you the path."

  She lifted her chin. She made no movement to adjust her body or her nightdress. "But you want them."

  "I will take them. Tonight, after I am done."

  She bit her lip, and he knew she toyed with bargaining. He showed no compromise in tone or stance. In the end, her eyes dropped and she nodded. "What must I do?" she whispered.

  "Not scream." Then he reached for his razor.

  * * *

  Sept 10, 1881

  To Tigress Tan Shi Po:

  Dearest friend, the recipe you sent is most effective. My heart is greatly relieved, and I find myself much less warlike with my daughter-in-law.

  Unfortunately, I seem to have other ailments common to old women. Indeed, I find the cries of the youngest grandchild—a boy with grasping hands and a greedy look—to be most irritating. He is my son's new heir to all our fortune, but I feel as if he has supplanted my best hope. Do you have a recipe to relieve this agony? To reassure an aging heart that all can be well again?

  In hope,

  Wen Ai Men

  ~

  Sept 28, 1881

  Honored grandmother Wen Ai Men, Tigress sister:

  How pleased I am that my poor recipe eased your angry spirit. And of course I understand about the wailing of children. It can be most grati
ng upon elderly nerves.

  My newest assistant has copied a perfect recipe for you. He is a clever boy with a beautiful hand for calligraphy. He is the grandson of my sister's sister's sister, but she had a tragedy at home and would not feed him. Thus, he has come to me to live and learn. My sons adore him, and he has brought great order to my chaotic house. I am most pleased with my good fortune, and though I would be happy to return him, I am honored to share my love and fortune with him. Perhaps in time your grandson's wails will fade and he will find his proper place in the family. But until that day, please rest assured that all is well.

  Is it not strange that a single misfortune can disharmonize an entire family? In the meantime, please try the attached recipe for soothing the spirit. My assistant finds it most helpful.

  Sincerely,

  Tigress Tan Shi Po

  (Attached, a recipe labeled To Harmonize the Spirit, but in truth is a common recipe—known to all tigresses—for expanding the girth and power of a healthy dragon.)

  To relieve excess perspiration, press firmly or massage the acupoint which is three finger-widths from the wrist crease and in line with the thumb.

  Tong Sing, the Chinese Book of Wisdom,

  Dr. Charles Windridge

  Chapter 5

  Charlotte readied herself to scream. Her mother would expect her to scream; it was important to her virtue, to her immortal soul, that she scream and end this crazed Chinaman's presence in her room. Especially as he took his razor in one hand and the bottom of her gown in the other. Instead, she held her breath as he began to cut a single straight line that split her dress in two.

  She should definitely scream. She whimpered instead. Except, it wasn't really a whimper, not like a child or a frightened puppy would make. It was more a nervous crackle of sound, almost a giggle, but she wasn't laughing. And when she lifted herself up slightly on her bed, he pushed her back down with a single touch on her shoulder.

  She could have broken away. She could have thrown him off completely, but she didn't. She did nothing except sink down into her pillow. Her gown was tight about her neck, buttoned all the way up to her chin. The lacy sleeves held tight to her arms and her wrists. But down below, all was now open. Ken Jin's blade had slit high enough that her knees were exposed, and air touched a great deal more than was bared to his gaze.

  She should really tell him to stop. Her mother would be horrified if she ever saw this gown. Mama would order a full Mass and then send Charlotte to a nunnery. Charlotte had to remember to burn this gown in the morning. Fortunately, she had a dozen more gowns just like it.

  Cold air caressed her thighs. Fabric fluttered open higher and higher along her legs. Soon above her hips, and then her belly. Her legs shifted restlessly, but Ken Jin dropped a hand to her knee, stopping her nervous movement. His eyes remained on her face: cold and hard and penetrating, even in the darkness.

  "Do not move," he said.

  She felt a moment of panic. "I'm going to stay a virgin, aren't I?" Her voice came out a breathless whisper. "And there won't be any blood, will there?"

  He took a moment to answer. The light caused her white skin to glow, and she could see a flame reflected on the blade. But her eyes trained on his face, trying to discern his emotion. Though he remained in shadow, he was definitely frowning.

  "Are you going to scream?" His voice was low and smooth, and her pulse quickened. Clearly whatever he had done this afternoon still affected her. Their energies were still aligned, which made her feel nearly as powerful as he was dangerous.

  She swallowed. He stood above her, his knife working above her belly. She felt the jagged edge of her gown flutter against her hips, and knew that her sex was exposed to him. But his gaze was direct on her face even as each thread strained and broke. Higher and higher the blade cut. It was obviously very sharp. The buttons fell away with barely any resistance at all.

  The remaining fabric grew tighter against her chest. He could not lift the gown up very high. Indeed, she felt the cold back of his blade skate, then tickle, then press hard between her breasts. Finally, it stopped. "Are you going to struggle in any way?"

  "No," she said. The word came out in a rush, but she said it clearly, and a little too loud.

  His lips curved the tiniest fraction. "Then there will be no blood."

  She nodded, though she couldn't move her head very far. The neck of her gown was so taut that it was nearly choking her. "And my virginity?" she whispered.

  Her belly was completely exposed, and she knew she trembled. She could feel the fabric catch on her tightened nipples, abrading her with each of her soft, panting breaths. But it wouldn't stay that way for long. It was going to fall away, leaving her totally open to Ken Jin. She was going to be completely naked before her servant.

  His blade rose higher, neared her throat. The stitching made the fabric thicker there, and the lace tickled her chin. In fact, it tickled exactly the spot that Ken Jin had stroked and sucked this afternoon. The memory set her blood pounding in her face, her chest, her womb.

  "Arch your back," he ordered.

  She pressed her heels into the mattress to obey. But the moment she did, she realized her problem. She couldn't arch and still watch him. She had to pick one or the other. He paused, clearly sensing her dilemma, but his expression did not change. He would give her no help.

  Did she trust him? Could she look at the ceiling and await whatever he wanted to do?

  She wetted her lips, the memory of that afternoon vivid in her mind and senses. Her body was already on fire, and he had done nothing more than cut away her gown. She desperately wanted more of those feelings, of those experiences. But did she trust him enough to keep her virginity intact? To not damage her body or soul?

  No, a thousand times, no. She didn't trust anyone that far. And yet, even as she decided against him, the lure of what he could teach overwhelmed her reason. She let her head drop back and closed her eyes. The risks be damned; she wanted to feel.

  Ken Jin's blade slipped up to her throat. The fabric of her gown strained, pressing against the back of her neck. Then, with a soft whisper, it split. The edges drifted down and Charlotte felt the cloth catch on her nipples before falling away. Except for her arms, she was completely naked, and she felt her lips curve into a smile. How freeing this all was!

  He touched her then. He must have set down the blade, because she felt his fingers on her neck, brushing from her jaw to her throat. Two fingers—one on each side—pressed into her flesh, one after the other, moving to just above her voice box.

  "This is the spot of welcome," he said. "It will harmonize your qi with Heaven and Earth."

  Her back was straining, so she slowly let herself down. The mattress welcomed her, supporting her weight and enfolding her in its softness. But his fingers on her throat were what created the sensation. She could not explain it; she only knew that what he did made everything seem different. Better. She smiled, and he slid his two fingers slightly lower, to just below her voice box.

  Again, he touched one side and then the other, but this time his stroke circled. "This is the spot of rushing water. It will increase your yin rain."

  Charlotte didn't dare move for fear of dislodging his fingers. He touched only her throat, and yet she felt a tingling response in her entire body. And yes: Perhaps she did feel as if her blood were rushing, as if there was more... wetness... everywhere.

  He moved his hands lower. She licked her lips, watching his eyes as he watched hers. His gaze didn't waver; he didn't even blink, but his hands flowed downward, his touch exquisitely light—like feathers or leaves, barely touching her skin—until he found her breasts. She felt more of him then, his palms extending out to ten fingers as they surrounded her. His hands were larger than she'd expected. They seemed to engulf her breasts. But his skin was cool, certainly cooler than her own flushed body.

  He lifted her breasts, but lightly. His touch remained gentle. He flowed around her rather than pushed, and she felt her belly quiv
er. The distance between his hands narrowed as he drew them toward her nipples; but he moved slowly, twisting slightly, as if he wanted to feel her texture but not change her shape. His hands moved and she remained just as she was, trembling breathlessly beneath his exploration.

  He leaned forward. His face came close to hers and she felt her eyes widen. Would he kiss her? Did she want him to? She had no ability to grapple with that question, and no time either—especially as his hands continued to surround and narrow, surround and narrow, never quite reaching her nipples.

  Then his face shifted, and she felt his lips against her throat. Odd, how disappointed she felt, and yet what he did was so intriguing. His lips found the places on her neck he'd touched earlier. What were they called? She didn't remember, and she didn't really care. He was sucking, harmonizing her or something, and increasing her water flow. Whatever the purpose, it felt delightful and strange as he methodically worked on each of the four points. She barely had the consciousness to turn her head halfway through the process. But when she managed, she was rewarded by a swirl of his tongue over the left points.

  Finally, he lifted himself up. "Do you feel the increased flow?" He might have been asking about the weather. She nodded in silence, not having the control to speak. "Then I will continue."

  His head dipped again. His lips closed over her left nipple. His tongue swirled around it before he pressed his lips together and pulled away. She thought her breast would pop out of his mouth, but it did not. Instead, it slipped away in a slow withdrawal.

  "Your virginity will remain intact," he murmured into her skin. She had forgotten her question, but felt a relaxation of her fears at his words. She would still be pure enough for marriage when—if—the time came. Then her thoughts scattered as Ken Jin's hands moved down her body. His lips disappeared from her breast. She couldn't see him; her eyes had drifted closed. And yet she could feel his presence by the tingling shift of air on her skin, and knew he would soon circle and nip at her other breast.