by Jade Lee
The whites in China had simple requirements: money and sex. Both were easily provided, given his employer's wealth and his own sexual resources. Therefore, living among the barbarians, Ken Jin had built himself an easy life.
The Chinese, on the other hand, dealt in different coin: money or power. Unfortunately, Ken Jin had exhausted the first and possessed none of the second. Which meant that in all things Chinese, Ken Jin was useless.
He had spent the day trying to be Chinese. He had tried to bribe, threaten, or exploit anyone he could into gaining the Tans' release from prison; and he had failed utterly. That meant the two people he loved more than anyone—the Tigress Shi Po and her husband, Kui Yu—would rot in jail, probably for the rest of their short lives. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Cursing under his breath, Ken Jin tossed the tack into its bin and stomped to the Wicks mansion. He had worn Chinese clothing today, even allowed his Manchu queue to hang down his back like a damned tail, but to no avail. Chinese or English, no one was allowed in to see the prisoners. And now his best silk jacket smelled of horse.
He was halfway up the stairs before a maid spotted him. She was a new girl, hired as a favor to his fellow Dragon Fu De, pretty in her own way but still somewhat lost in an English house. Her curtsey showed more fear than respect, her speech had more awkwardness than style. And in an Englishman's house, style was paramount. That requirement, at least, the English had in common with the Chinese.
"What is it?" he snapped, startled by his show of ill temper.
"Miss Charlotte has asked for you. Many times. All day."
Ken Jin nodded and moved past the girl. "I was already on my way."
He was on the top step before he realized what he had said: He was already on the way to see Miss Charlotte. In fact, he had spent the last hour speeding home in anticipation of seeing the woman. But why? She was a white girl, no more interesting or different than any other. She had given him her yin, and he had been satisfied. That was all.
He swallowed, recognizing his own lies. Last night had not been like any other night, and Miss Charlotte's yin was nothing like anyone else's.
He had been satisfied. That alone left him stunned, especially as he had been satiated to the point of drowning and still her yin had flowed like a river of golden sunlight. His hands had actually tingled as she pulsed around him. Even now his dragon pushed forward, seeking her cinnabar cave, and his mouth salivated for another taste of her yin dew.
Never before had he felt such power. Never before had a woman—white or Chinese—infused him with such hunger. Was it any wonder that he sought her now? Especially after a day as frustrating and humbling as today? Of course not; and yet he did wonder. Something was wrong with this attraction, something was not as it should be. But he had no focus to understand his vague misgivings.
He paused, intending to head for the back stairs, to his room and desk so that he could puzzle out this situation logically, but his body did not obey. All too soon he stood at the door of Master William's nursery.
It was evening, long after the sun had set, and dinner had been served and cleared. He knew that Mr. Wicks would be at his club and soon afterward with his mistress. Mrs. Wicks would be at prayers in her room and then would retire. Master William would be fighting the maid and the nightly press to bed, and Miss Charlotte would be attending some party.
Except, he knew that she would not be out tonight, not after last night. She would be too unsettled to depart and too hungry to miss a chance to see him again. Therefore, Miss Charlotte would be at home; and when she was at home, she was with William.
He knocked politely on the door, then entered quietly. If the boy was asleep, she wouldn't want to call out.
He stopped a bare six inches into the room and his heart dropped into his stomach. The boy must have had a fit. The room was stripped bare. Charlotte sat with her back against the far wall, her arms and a navy blanket wrapped around William. She sang to him, a monotonous tune that soothed. The boy's eyes were shut, and he appeared to be sleeping. Unfortunately, at sixteen he was much too large for her to carry to bed.
Ken Jin stepped to her side and crouched down. It took some time for him to work his hands beneath the boy. She helped him, lifting as best she could, but the work remained his as he burrowed his fingers between child and woman. He lifted the boy. It took all his strength. Worse, it took all of his will not to keep his hands deep against Charlotte's thighs, close to her warmth, an inch away from her cinnabar cave.
"Thank you," she whispered, and her voice woke his dragon.
He stood, the boy in his arms. Charlotte did the same. It took some moments for her to straighten; she had obviously been sitting for a long time. He watched her movements because he could not stop himself. Her slow undulations as she returned blood to her limbs tortured his dragon, filling it with insatiable lust.
After a moment, Charlotte moved through the nursery to William's bedroom. Ken Jin followed, then stood behind her, watching as she bent over to pull back the covers of William's bed. The mattress was on the floor, and she dropped to her knees to arrange the covers just so for the boy. Which meant her bottom was raised as she worked. Ken Jin stood behind her, the boy in his arms, watching her present the Stepping Tigress position.
Lust slammed through him, stiffening his dragon to the point of pain. Vague embarrassment filtered through his consciousness, but he could not deny the joy he experienced, too. She finished her task and slid out of his way. He gently set the boy in bed, but as he moved, he realized he was not acting normally. At this moment, his every task was suffused with awe. His tasks were worship, his every moment in her presence filled with reverence. To him, Charlotte was a yin goddess, and he could not wait to continue their practice.
Eventually, the boy was settled to Charlotte's satisfaction. The blanket was arranged just right, the door moved to the correct angle. And then, finally, Ken Jin and Charlotte withdrew to the hallway.
As expected, she glanced around before canting her eyes to her sitting room. "Could I have a word with you, Ken Jin?"
He bowed with deepest respect. "Of course, Miss Charlotte."
They moved as one to her sitting room door, which he held open for her. She crossed to her favorite chair by the fire while he stared hypnotized by her smallest action. How had he missed it before? How had he not seen that yin power saturated her every breath, the smallest of her most feminine movements? Whatever the reason for his earlier ignorance, he saw it now and lauded her for it.
He waited until she was situated. He would have gone to his knees before her if that were the custom. As it was, he remained standing until she urged him to sit. He did not. Instead, he knelt before the coal fire and started a blaze. She remained silent as he worked, though he knew she fiddled with some stitching. She was embroidering a beautiful waistcoat for her brother—an odd gift for a boy who still stripped off his trousers whenever and wherever he became hot. But such was the nature of families. Even barbarians held dreams for their eldest sons regardless of reality.
"Tell me about Chinese medicine, Ken Jin."
Her voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He'd been staring into the fire to make sure it flamed just right—neither too hot nor too cold—but her lilting words made him rise to her side. He didn't dare touch her yet. Virgins had to come to you.
"What do you wish to know, Miss Charlotte?"
His dragon was straining against his trousers, and his blood ran hot with yang. He had no idea how long the condition would last. Even his practice with Little Pearl had never been this intense. But did that mean her power over him would burn out all the more quickly?
"Well," she began, then stopped. Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, then disappeared behind her white teeth as she bit her lower lip. "I don't see many... many... The Chinese don't seem to have any slow children. I wondered if Chinese medicine held some secret that we English—"
"Boys such as William are hidden away, Miss Charlott
e." Or worse. "You would not see them."
"Oh," she said. Her entire body seemed to deflate. "So, what you were doing with the needles the other day when you poked them into... well, when you..."
"I was opening and strengthening energy channels."
She nodded as if she understood, though he knew she did not. "I have seen people on the street sometimes with needles in their necks or arms. Even their feet."
He nodded to cover his surprise. He had not thought her so observant. "Acupuncture is used for a wide variety of ailments. I learned the technique from my parents. As a boy, I saw them treat infected limbs, stomach weaknesses, even brain fevers."
She looked up and he saw hope shine in her eyes. "So, perhaps there is something to be done for William, something we English don't know..." Her voice trailed away as he shook his head.
"You love your brother and so you search for an answer where there is none. Your brother's energies are different from ours. He must grow as he grows without the burden of inaccurate expectations."
She obviously struggled with his words. Indeed, such thoughts were difficult for him as well. So he sat down in a chair across from her and leaned forward to explain. "The Chinese believe every child has a large number of influences upon them: the year, date, and time of birth, the legacy of parent and grandparent, even birth order as compared to siblings—all these things contribute to a child's basic nature."
She nodded. "There are those in English society who believe that as well."
He nodded. "So you understand. It is every child's responsibility to make the best of what he is born with, to bring honor to family and ancestor." He spoke without inflection, stating simple fact; and yet, his blood cooled with his words and parts of his body went numb.
"But what if a child can't make the best of it? William can't..." She looked into the fire, unable to finish. "Do you know he's heir to a baronetcy? He'll never inherit, of course. Uncle Phillip will eventually have something other than daughters. But still... what if he did? He can't possibly be a baron. He can't even tie his own shoes."
"Your brother has a path, but every time he tries to walk it, he is hemmed in by your expectations."
She stared at him, stricken. "Mine?"
He shrugged. "All of you. To your mother, William is a punishment. To your father, he is..."
"An embarrassment."
He nodded. "And to you—"
"I just want him to be my brother," she whispered.
He didn't answer. They both knew she wanted more, and in time she dropped her gaze. "Is it wrong for me to want him to dress himself? To grow like other boys?"
"Of course not." He wanted to touch her, but he could not; she held herself too far apart. "Have you not noticed that William takes off his clothes when he is hot? That he sings when he is happy? That he dances and sits whenever he wants?"
"That he kicks and screams when he wants," she added dryly.
"But only when his natural desires are stopped."
She looked at him, completely appalled. "You cannot be suggesting we allow him to run wild."
He shook his head. "No, of course not. Compromises must always be made. A child must learn discipline."
She nodded. "But you think we are instilling too much?"
He looked at his hands, wondering why they were so cold. The fire in the hearth was hot, the room pleasant, but his hands felt shrunken and chill. "I believe," he finally said, "that the weight of everyone's hopes distorts William's qi—his energies—and distorted qi brings on fits."
"Can his energies—his qi—can it be balanced? With those needles?"
"Not by an acupuncturist. The problem is too scattered." Her expression became tormented, so he rushed forward to clasp her hands. The heat from her fingers was painfully intense, especially when compared to his own chilled flesh, but he pressed tightly so that she would listen.
"William's qi is very strong." She shook her head, ready to argue, but he spoke firmly. "Qi is energy, not intelligence. Sometimes the lowest beast has the strongest qi. The boy's energy presence... believe me when I say it is very strong."
Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?"
He shrugged. "I feel it. I have purified my energy to the extent that I can feel very strong fields." He did not admit that the reason he was so sensitive was that his energy was so very weak. Instead, he focused on her. "You also are very strong."
"And my parents?"
He sighed. "Your father is very weak. You should not be surprised by that."
She nodded, and her words came out on a sigh. "Weak in will, weak in discipline."
"But your mother is very strong. Her prayers make her very powerful."
Charlotte tilted her head. "So, I should pray to make William better? Just like my mother..."
Her voice trailed away as he shook his head. How to explain an entire philosophy in one moment? "Your mother's qi is strong, but she focuses that energy on making William into her punishment."
"But she is praying to make him better!"
He shook his head. "She is praying to absolve her sins, which she believes will make William better. She does not support him, Miss Charlotte. She makes him into a divine tool to beat herself."
"And that's why he has episodes?"
"What happened just before his last fit?"
"My mother..." She swallowed and looked away. "My mother went in to comfort him. But she was probably angry. My father was gone all night. She said..." Charlotte pushed out of her chair. "She said William's fit was God's punishment because father was gone all night."
"And her energy would have pushed exactly that thought onto William."
"Creating the fit?"
Ken Jin nodded. "I believe so."
She stared at him. She stood before the fire, the hot coals creating visible waves of heat and light about her body, and yet the energy went nowhere. It was like the energy of many barbarians: all-enveloping but chaotic. It usually dissipated without direction or focus.
"Where did you learn this, Ken Jin? It sounds very odd."
He looked down at his hands. He should have known better than to expect a white person to grasp this concept, especially a woman. And yet, he desperately wished her to understand. A yin goddess should know what she was.
"You have such power, Miss Charlotte. You should learn to direct it."
"I thought we were supposed to 'grow naturally, without interference.'"
He pushed to his feet, irritated with himself for trying so hard. The barbarians did not understand the nature of things, they would not even try. Why was he wasting his breath? "Your qi has grown, Miss Charlotte. It has grown to the size of a great river of molten gold, but it is not refined and it is not directed. It can do no good for anyone in that state."
She folded her arms, no doubt responding to his angry tone. "I want to help William, not—"
"William must be left in peace, to grow as his energies direct, but your mother will not allow that."
She growled in frustration. "I cannot change my mother. I am not even sure I should." She reached up and toyed with the crucifix that hung just above the mantel. There was at least one in every room, four in the nursery. "My people put a great deal of faith in our God."
"Does your God direct that a child should be a punishment to the parents?"
She bit her lip. He knew she and her priest argued the point constantly. "Father Peter believes in vengeance, that sin is punished."
He nodded. "I believe our energies create our punishments." He waited for her to make a decision. When she did not, he pushed her. "What do you believe, Miss Charlotte?"
She turned back to the fire, gazing deep into the coals as if the answer was written in the shifting patterns of light and heat. Finally she spoke, her voice a low crackle of sound. "I believe that my mother's prayers have not worked."
She abruptly straightened. She had been so drawn to the flame, so connected to it, for a moment it seemed to Ken Jin that she had stepped out from th
e hearth, growing from the flames into a living, breathing woman of fire. Her energy infused the room and tingled against his skin. "What must I do?" she asked.
He straightened, doing his best not to smile. "You must take off all your clothes."
She didn't react at first; she simply stared at him. But he knew white women. He had spent many years harvesting yin from virgins and trollops alike. All they needed was a reason. Usually he talked about pleasure, explained away their fears, whatever they were, and eventually they all surrendered to him. Miss Charlotte would be no different. Especially since she now had the best reason of all to surrender: She needed to purify her yin. She needed to understand how to use the power she possessed.
None of his thoughts showed on his face. Virgins, he knew, were especially skittish. But in time Charlotte released a soft exhale, surrender expressed in the most feminine of sounds. Ken Jin took a step forward to assist her with her clothing.
"I thought you were different, Ken Jin. I thought..." Her voice broke on the last word, and he frowned at her in confusion. Then she took a deep breath and focused. Her next words were delivered with strength and the heady power of full qi.
"Go pack your bags, Ken Jin. You're fired."
* * *
March 1, 1889
To Tigress Tan Shi Po:
Your assistant does indeed seem a most excellent young man. I envy you his strength and influence. Alas, I know of no magician who can aid him in reclaiming all that was lost to him. As much as he may wish to reunite with his family, other forces conspire against him.
I understand the difficulty of an insane family. You recall that my son and daughter-in-law are acupuncturists. They daily cleanse and strengthen their patients' qi energies, and yet they have the hardest hearts and most clogged energies of all. Even their last remaining son—the new heir—learns to close his ears to all I might teach them.
