The Way of the Tigress 1-4

by Jade Lee - The Way of the Tigress 1-4

  He abandoned his superior pose. It was vanity in any event, and would not help him here. Instead he knelt beside her, drawing his basket of gifts to his side before displaying them one by one before her feet.

  "My family feels most unhappy for the way they have treated you. They have sent gifts with me to you. To show you their shame and to beg your forgiveness." Out came the silk and oils, the jade and diamonds, but Lydia barely glanced at them.

  "I did not expect your family to embrace me, and they were not the ones who hurt me," she said, her voice flat and dull.

  "And this plant," he continued as if she had not spoken, "is from my own garden, raised by my own hand."

  No response.

  "This is from my son. He wrote it himself. It is excellent work for a child." He did not tell her the content of the poem. He had not the heart.

  Instead of a recognition of his son's goodness, Lydia merely sighed, dropping the fabric to wrap herself in her own arms. "Ru Shan, this is pointless. You have a wife. A son. A family. There is no place for me in that." This time she did not prevent the single tear that trailed down her cheek. "I can't share you, Ru Shan. I... I just can't."

  He frowned, looking up into her face, seeing the misery there and desperately trying to understand it. "But you would share me with the shop. And I would have to wait as you worked on your designs as well. We could not live as we did on our wedding night. Not every hour of the day."

  She shook her head. "How could you get married at eight?" Then she frowned, as if that was not what she'd intended to say, and yet she still continued. "She must have been more than twice your age."

  He had no answer except the truth. "It is the custom, Lydia. Your people have done this as well. Marrying children as young as three or four."

  She shook her head. "Not for generations, Ru Shan. And even then, it was a matter of governments, not simple folk such as me."

  He almost laughed at the statement. Lydia was anything but simple. Rather than argue, he simply bowed his head. "What must I do to gain your forgiveness?"

  She was silent a long time, and he almost gave up hope. But he knew that as stubborn as Lydia was, she was also tenderhearted. If she once loved him as she claimed, then she could remember it. She would forgive him. He needed only to wait.

  True to his expectation, she set aside her half-disassembled dress and slid off the mattress to kneel before him. He lifted his head just as she was reaching for his face, drawing his lips to hers in the tenderest of kisses.

  His heart soared at the touch. Their mouths and tongues meshed together as man and wife. And yet, she was soon pulling away.

  "You are already forgiven, Ru Shan." Her voice was low and trembling, but not with passion or the forgiveness she spoke of. Instead, he sensed an aching sadness that filled her entire body. "I did not realize, but I've already forgiven you. This was merely a confusion of cultures. You did not mean to hurt me."

  He smiled at her, choosing to focus on her words and not her demeanor. "Then you will come home with me," he said, greatly fearing that she would not.

  "I can't, Ru Shan." She straightened, pulling firmly away. "I just cannot share you."

  "She is only a first wife!" he exclaimed, but he knew it was useless. He understood her meaning more than he let on. After all, how would he react if Lydia wished to have another lover, another husband? Indeed, if she wished to continue her quest to become a tigress, she would likely have many green dragons before she settled upon one of jade.

  The very thought filled his mouth with bile. He would not share her any more than he could ask her to share him. And that was such a strange thought that he truly wondered if this woman had made him insane.

  He tried again. "I would shower you with wealth, Lydia. I would see that my grandmother never abused you, my father never repudiated you. My son would treat you with honor and our children would revere you."

  She merely pulled her arms tighter around herself, her thin coolie shirt pressing against her slim back. "That is not what I require, Ru Shan. You know that."

  Yes, he did. He was beginning to see that she required more from him than respect and honor. She required his heart. It was as he'd feared.

  "You require my love." He spoke as if it were his death sentence. "I have no heart to give love, Lydia. It was lost long before I met you." He looked up at her then, knowing he was begging but needing to try nonetheless. "I should not have bought you, Lydia. That was an evil deed, and for that I am truly humbled and sorry. I would give you your freedom now"—he swallowed, looking at the undone wedding gown discarded on the bed—"but I believe you have taken it whether I give it or not. I will not drag you through the streets back to my home, much as I wish to do so. You are too fine for that." He sighed. "I believe captivity would destroy you. It is not in your nature to remain docile."

  She nodded, though the movement was slight. "No, I don't suppose it is."

  He shifted, looking at her pale face, revealed in a wash of red by the lantern that hung from a ceiling hook. "But what will you do, Lydia? How will you live?"

  "I don't know," she said, moving to sit on the opposite side of the bed from him. "I thought to offer my designs to your competitor. Shi Po's husband."

  He flinched, terrified at what such a thing would do. Those two would quickly see Lydia's worth. They would pay her well, use her designs to gain the white people's money. Unquestionably, the Cheng store would fade into obscurity.

  "Don't look so pale, Ru Shan," she said, her voice lighter now. "It was only anger." She shrugged. "I find I have little desire for revenge."

  "You could establish your own business. You might manage." He didn't know why he was suggesting it. As a white woman, she had no hope of doing such a thing. Neither his people nor hers would support her. But then again, Lydia had already accomplished so much more than he'd ever thought possible. Perhaps she did have a chance.

  She shook her head. "I thought of that, but I do not think I could do it alone."

  "It would be very, very difficult," he agreed. He stood, coming forward as a supplicant. "You could work for my family. We would pay you well for your designs. Well enough to have a home of your own, to be able to buy whatever you want, to do whatever you will. So long as the English continue to buy your designs, my business will prosper."

  She nodded, the movement thoughtful, as if she had also considered this. "But could you do it, Ru Shan? Could you see me every day, work with me every day and not touch me? Not want to hold me and continue as we have been?"

  He did his best to remain unmoved by her question, but Lydia knew him too well to be deceived. A moment after she spoke, she turned away.

  "Ah," she said with much wisdom in her tone. "I see that you thought we would return to how it was. And then you would once again have it all, wouldn't you? My designs for your coffers and my yin for your studies."

  "You would have an income of your own. You could be rich and independent. No Chinese woman can say so much."

  "And very few Englishwomen either." She bit her lip, and he waited anxiously as she thought. "I would be a fool to turn down such a thing."

  "And yet you intend to do just that," he said, seeing the truth in the slump of her shoulders. How did one deal with such a woman? He had offered her riches to no avail. Independence such as few people—men or women—could ever achieve, and she was not happy. "What is it that you want?" he exclaimed, frustration making his voice hard.

  She turned to stare at him, her expression surprised. "What I have always wanted, Ru Shan. A husband to love me. A man who will share my life, who will work alongside me, and who will help me raise children." She paused, her head tilted to one side. "Why do you say you cannot love me? Why do you say you have no heart?"

  She would have it all then, he realized. His humiliation and his pain. There would be no corner of his life that she did not invade, no part of his soul that was not open to her inspection. He would do it, he realized. He would cut apart his soul, spill it on t
he floor before her like his entrails. And she would at last understand that he was a broken man, and she would leave him.

  But she was leaving him anyway, he thought angrily. She had already made that clear. Why should he add this one last indignity to an already lost cause? He would not. And so he began to turn away, already intent on gathering his gifts. His family would have need of the money the things would bring.

  She did not allow him to escape. She was beside him in a moment, grabbing his arms to force him to look at her. She did not have the strength, of course, but he did not have the heart to deny her. And so he allowed her to pull his face close, his gaze to her own, and then, lastly, his lips to hers.

  The kiss was tender and sweet, almost like a gift shared between children. And yet, he also felt his body tighten with desire.

  "What are you not telling me, Ru Shan? What has happened to you?"

  He did not mean to answer. He meant to trap his pain inside him where it had festered for so long. But her yin had begun to flow into him. Her power rose like a sweet river before his parched throat, and as he opened his mouth to drink, he found his words escaped instead.

  "My family has a weakness for the ghost people," he began.

  Honor and shame are the same as fear. Fortune and disaster are the same for all. What is said of honor and shame is this: Whether absent or present, they are inseparable from the fear that they give rise to. What is said of fortune and disaster is this: They can befall any person.

  —Tao Te Ching

  Chapter 18

  Lydia didn't dare move. So taut was Ru Shan's body as he spoke that she feared even her breath would break the flow of his words. He appeared like a man caught in a nightmare: his eyes glazed, his body rigid. And yet he continued to speak, the sounds more like a shaped moan that would not stop no matter how he fought.

  "My family craves what the English bring," he said. "My father hungers for your gold, my grandmother cannot live without your opium. Even I am here with you instead of at home with my wife and son." His gaze lifted from her lips to her eyes, but only for the briefest of seconds. Then he closed his eyes, shutting her out. His words continued. "I am here with you," he whispered, "just as my mother was there with him."

  She frowned, unsure she had heard correctly. "Your mother?"

  "And a sea captain. English. With thick, wiry hair, strong hands, and an overpowering laugh." Ru Shan shuddered. "I thought him hideously ugly."

  Lydia sighed, already guessing the tale that was coming. "Your mother thought him handsome."

  "I don't know," he answered, his words slow as if he still could not fathom his parent's choice. "But I remember that she laughed when she was with him. I had never heard it before. Not like that. Sweet, like a melody. Such joy, I cannot describe it." His eyes opened with a yearning that startled her. "Joy, Lydia. My mother had such joy in her, and I had never known. Not until..."

  "Not until this sea captain brought it out," she finished for him.

  His gaze slipped to the floor, and his head dipped down, allowing his long braided queue to shift, exposing his bare neck. "My mother did not have a happy life."

  She leaned back slightly, still holding both his arms, but not pulled in so tight that she could not see him clearly. "Let me guess," she began. "There was an arranged marriage to your father, probably because she was such an artisan. Someone in your family knew she would bring great wealth to the Chengs. So she was married in and was worked as a slave, not only to create beautiful cloth to sell, but as a handmaiden to your grandmother."

  He lifted his head, his wide eyes clearly showing his surprise.

  "I have thought a great deal about what was in store for me," she said dryly. "Isn't that how it would be for me too? As your wife?"

  He did not answer, but the flush on his features told her she had guessed correctly.

  She sighed, the sound coming from deep within her. "At least I would be with the man I love. Your mother didn't even have that, did she?"

  Ru Shan's back remained firm, his tone stiff. "Such is how it has always been in China."

  "I'm sure that was a great comfort to your mother. Frankly, I would have taken a lover as well." Her statement obviously shocked Ru Shan. Indeed, it startled her as well, but she had no interest in giving sympathy to a country that made its women into slaves and married their sons off while the boys were still in leading strings.

  Then her attention returned to Ru Shan as he shook his head, his tone musing. "I do not think you would find yourself in such a situation. You do not have the weight of five thousand years of tradition upon your head."

  "No, I suppose I don't," she reluctantly agreed. And as she watched his bowed head, she began to see him in a different light. Did Ru Shan struggle beneath such weight? It certainly appeared so. And so she reached out, caressing his cheek before gently lifting his mouth to hers. But she did not kiss him. She wanted to, but he was resistant. He was still fighting the words that continued to flow out of him.

  "My father rarely spent time with Mei Lan, my mother, but he was not a fool. Happiness such as she had cannot be hidden, and he knew..."

  "He wasn't the cause of it." Lydia grimaced, hating that she knew the ending to this terrible tale. Hating that she'd guessed the truth a long time ago. "So one night, he grew so angry that he beat her to death, right? And that's how he got the limp. That's why you're steeped in guilt. Because you didn't interfere. And because your father killed your mother for being happy." She didn't mean to sound so callous, but she already knew these things. Worse, she'd heard a similar tale from some of her father's patients. Too many women in England and China both were brutalized by their husbands, and Lydia had little sympathy for any of the men associated with the crime—father or son.

  "No," Ru Shan whispered, his voice thick and hoarse. "That is not what occurred."

  She frowned, startled to find herself caught in her own assumptions. "But then..."

  "My father did not beat her. It was his right as a cuckolded man, but he did not. I think he had some fondness for her, and so forgave her."

  She paused, needing to reorient her thoughts. "But then... what happened?"

  Ru Shan looked down at his hands. "She was pregnant. With the sea captain's child." He sighed. "We all knew this. Though she tried, she could not hide it forever."

  "She died in childbirth?"

  Again, he shook his head. "Lydia, you do not understand the Chinese. We knew she had a lover." He took a deep breath. "We all knew because she was so happy. But only I knew the man was English. Only I knew that she took a white man to bed and that the child..." He swallowed, clearly unable to continue.

  "That the child would be half-English, half-Chinese."

  "Yes."

  She looked at him, seeing the anguish that permeated his entire body, and at last the pieces began to fall into place. "You told him, didn't you? You told your father the truth."

  He nodded, obviously struggling to explain. "In such situations, lovers are not... they are not unusual. And if the child is a boy, so much the better. The Chengs have few children. Another son would not have been a burden."

  "But a half-white child would be."

  "It would proclaim to all a great shame, Lydia. A great and terrible shame." He looked to her then, begging her to understand. "She had no choice, Lydia. She had to kill herself."

  Lydia felt a shudder of horror run through her entire body. "She killed herself? But..."

  "She could not bring herself to kill the child. And she could not face her family or anyone else once her shame was known." He swallowed. "She hung herself."

  "She..." She could not say the words. "But the child..."

  "Still died. Yes, I know. But that is how women think in China." He looked up at her, his expression pleading. He wanted her to understand something he obviously struggled with himself. "I believe you English feel it a great shame to kill oneself, but in China it can be thought a great strength. The ultimate honorable act."

&nb
sp; She could see that he himself did not believe it, for all that he tried to explain it to her. His body was still rigid, his hands shaking with the strain. And so she did the only thing she could think of. She reached for him, needing to hold him. Needing him to hold her.

  He held her away. "You do not understand!" he rasped, his voice harsh enough to make her flinch. "I was not home. I didn't know."

  "Of course not," she soothed.

  "I know he was trying to help her. He was helping her die with honor, but I cannot forgive him. I have tried, but I cannot!"

  She frowned, trying to understand. "The sea captain?"

  "You do not understand," he groaned. "She would have had no rope, Lydia. And no knowledge of how to do such a thing. But it is what tradition demanded. To keep the Cheng family pure." He released a strangled sob. "He thought he was being an honorable man, and yet I hate him for it."

  "Who?"

  "My father!" He gripped her arms in his anger. "Don't you understand? He gave her the rope. He taught her how to do it. And then he sent me away on a task that lasted all week. Out of kindness, he sent me away, while at home he helped her." He swallowed, his whole body shuddering with the effort. "For the good of the Cheng family."

  "Oh, my love," she whispered, but again he pushed her away.

  "It is not done, Lydia. You must know it all."

  She flinched. There was more?

  "He found out. The sea captain. He found out when he returned to port."

  She nodded, her thoughts struggling to keep up. "Of course, he would."

  "And he came to our home. Drunk. Furious. Screaming obscenities." He paused, and his next words came out softer, more in a whisper. "There was such grief in him. An agony such as I had never seen. Certainly none of my own family felt her death so deeply."

  She didn't respond. She was too sick at heart to do more than stare.

  "He attacked my father. I was home, Lydia. I was there, and yet, I was still so angry. They were brawling in the courtyard, churning up dirt and oil and filth inside my home. And I stood there and watched." He turned away from her, his hands tightened into angry fists. "My father is old, his bones frail. As his son, I should have helped. I should have defended him." He moaned softly, his shoulders slumping with the sound. "But they both killed her, Lydia. Her white lover and my honorable father." He seemed to spit out his words. "And so I watched, not caring who won or who might be hurt." He closed his eyes, and again his head dropped forward and exposed his neck. "I did not interfere."