And all the while, the Mandarin just watched, his dark eyes glittering, his mouth pulled wide into a too-happy smile.
Then, abruptly, the food was gone. Her letter was written. And Zou Tun was clearing away the tray with large, cheerful movements.
He said, "The Tigress does not stint on food. I find that an excellent thing in a hostess, don't you?"
Joanna smiled, nodding because that was the polite thing to do. And wasn't that a ridiculous thing? Remaining true to good manners when she was about to... about to what? What exactly were they about to do?
She looked at him, and her question must have been obvious in her face because he slowed in closing the door, his good humor evaporating.
"You are nervous, wondering what is coming next. Correct?"
She didn't really want to admit to being nervous, not after her great show of independence, but it was the truth and so she nodded.
"We will work on your breast circles. Your yin is surprisingly pure." He paused, obviously thinking. Then he shrugged as if he had decided. "Even if it were not, I cannot stay in this location for much longer."
She frowned.
"A week more, at most." He sighed. "I would love to tease you, to pay back a little of the humiliation you just served me."
She straightened in alarm, but he was quick to reassure her.
"But we haven't the time. And even if we did, I would not have hurt you." He extended his hand, lifting her chin to see his earnest expression. "I meant it when I said I accepted my punishment from you. I deserve much worse, but am pleased that the anger is over between us." He searched her face. "It is over, is it not? Your voice is returning. You grow stronger with every breath."
She bit her lip, knowing what he said was true. Her voice was returning. But honesty forced her to say a little more. "There is still some anger. I cannot just will it away."
He released her chin, his manner equally grave. "That is natural, I suppose. But you will not let it interfere with our task, will you?" His question was part challenge.
It was a challenge she was more than willing to meet. "I am not petty," she said firmly, using her expression to ask the same question of him.
"And neither am I," he returned. "Therefore we will begin." He hesitated, still searching her face. "I know that enlightenment cannot be rushed. But I hope that we can pursue it aggressively." His expression intensified. "Do you agree?"
"Aggressively?" she whispered. Her throat was burning.
"I will not hurt you. But sometimes the awakening of a woman's yin, especially that of a virgin, can be unsettling. You will tell me if you become too agitated to continue."
She nodded, still very unsure of his meaning.
"Good. Then as you have drawn out my yang, I will open the flow of your yin."
He reached for her shirt, but she stopped him, her hands gripping his wrists with all her strength. "How?" she rasped.
"I will suck on your breasts." When her grip did not ease, he smiled gently at her. "It will not hurt. This I swear." When she still did not release him, he shifted slightly, fighting her enough to touch her face. "I will stop the moment you request it. I swear this by my honor and my name."
She waited. When he did not continue, she pressed him. "What name?"
He sighed, a sound that came from deep within him. But in the end he spoke, his voice a bare whisper. "Kang. My name is Kang Zou Tun. And now you know enough to get us both killed." He sighed. "I have many enemies, Joanna. And after three years in a monastery, I do not know who wishes me dead. Indeed, that is why I am hiding right now. To decide upon my course before I return to Peking." He focused hard on her. "Do not betray me. You cannot imagine the consequences."
She lifted her chin. "There are worse things than death."
His eyes abruptly widened, stark terror blowing through him. He grabbed her arms. "Do you plan suicide because of what we do here?"
She blinked, startled by his sudden vehemence. His eyes flew to the door, where her letter sat outside.
"Is that what your letter was—a note of farewell?"
She frowned, not understanding his tone, much less his words.
"Answer me!" he exclaimed. "Do you plan suicide?"
"No!" she exclaimed, pushing him away from her. She knew she hadn't the strength to force him away, but he released her nonetheless. "No," she repeated more firmly when his gaze did not waver.
"You will not kill yourself for honor?"
She stared at him, her stunned disbelief obvious. And then she watched as he nodded, his breath easing out of him, his body slowly relaxing.
"Of course," he said to himself more than her. "You are a barbarian. Such a thing would not be in your—"
"We know about honor!" she snapped. Her words were loud despite the constriction of her throat. "I will die for important things. Freedom. Justice." She released a small laugh at her own expense. "I wanted to join the rebellion." She focused on Zou Tun. "Now I want Shi Po's power."
He reared back as if slapped. "You would aid a rebellion? Against me?"
She would have laughed at that. She would have given him an entire lecture on the arrogance of thinking he embodied an entire empire. But her throat could not stand the pain, so she simply gave a single dip of her chin.
She watched him grow icy cold.
"I should kill you where you stand."
She swallowed, telling herself she was not afraid. That he would not hurt her. But her heart fought her words, which came out as a rasping whisper. "The beggar. Would you kill him, too?"
She hadn't said everything, but she knew he understood her meaning. Little Pearl's beggar had been maimed and cast off, all on the whim of a court eunuch. This monk could not possibly support such atrocities. And yet apparently he could, because he slowly settled onto their bed, his words more sad than guilty.
"The eunuchs are bitter and angry."
She walked over to face him, her stance making her opinion clear: No matter how angry or bitter men became, such abuses should not occur.
He did not look at her. "There are traditions, Joanna Crane. Ways of life that have lasted for thousands of years."
And that was when she saw it: not angry defense, not even passionate denial, but simply a soul-deep sadness. Like a black well with no bottom, an endless source of pain and grief. All in the name of tradition.
"You know," she finally whispered, awe and shock cooling her temper. "You know the empire will eventually fall."
He looked up, his expression fierce—not with denial, but with a crazy hope. "The people will not rebel against the Son of Heaven."
She snorted in laughter. The Son of Heaven was too young, and too much in the shadow of his mother, the dowager empress. She was the one who ran China. "They will rebel against a woman," she said softly. "Of what importance is a concubine?"
He looked away, and she knew he struggled with his own thoughts. He seemed to be at war with his arrogance. On the one hand, Manchurians were raised with the certainty that they were descended from Heaven. That nothing evil would happen to upset their position of power. And yet the rational part of him knew the truth—that no people would bear the oppressor's yolk indefinitely. Eventually they would rise up. And why not now, when a woman ruled China and the west brought the constant example of independence and freedom to their very door?
At last he shook his head. "Empress Cixi is... strong. If anyone can hold China against the barbarian hordes, it will be her. And her son."
He believed it. Joanna could see that in his body. Or perhaps he hoped with every fiber of his soul that it was true. And yet he was here, studying Tigress and Dragon teachings rather than sitting at his emperor's side, helping to make a difference.
"Why are you here?" she asked, wincing at the pain in her throat. "What will you do?"
He didn't answer. Or perhaps he couldn't answer, because he didn't know. He simply shook his head, his gaze remaining distant, his expression infinitely sad. And in the end he looked up, strai
ghtening his spine as if steeling himself. "I am here to help release your yin, Joanna Crane. Prepare yourself."
She wasn't surprised by his command. Indeed, she'd known he would end the conversation soon. He was too conflicted to allow her to probe his wound so easily. And there was a wound there; she just didn't know what it was. But she would know, eventually. Because she wanted to know, and he needed to tell.
But not now. Now was her turn to feel the yin river. And—if she was very strong—she would ride it to immortality.
She slowly drew her shirt over her head. Her breasts bobbed as she moved, and she was excruciatingly aware of his eyes on her chest. But this was what she wanted, she reminded herself. And indeed, her breasts were already peaking in preparation for his touch.
"Let me sit behind you," he said. "I will adjust our position when it is time."
She nodded, watching with increasing anxiety as he settled with his back against the wall and his legs spread. He was still gloriously naked, his dragon resting at his crotch like a thick, heavy rope. It didn't frighten her anymore. After what she had done earlier, she now knew it was a living thing, hot and pulsing to the touch. And from what she could tell, it seemed to have its own mind, stretching for attention when it wanted it and hiding away when it did not.
"Do not be afraid," he said, opening his arms so that she could settle between them.
She nodded rather than spoke. She was wondering if she too had a part of her body that could rule her, that could come alive as his dragon had. With the right touch, the right caress, would her breasts feel like his dragon? Or was there another place? Another—
She cut off her thoughts, forcing herself to turn away from the sight of her monk and focus on her exercises. There was already a wetness between her legs, a throbbing that made her wonder if that was the place of her dragon. But she was not given time to think as Zou Tun helped her sit between his legs.
Grabbing hold of her hips, he pulled her bottom tightly against his dragon. She felt it like a hot brand behind her, burning into the base of her spine. It wanted her. And she wanted...
"You should take off your pants. They will not be comfortable."
She jerked slightly, turning to face him. She couldn't speak. Her throat was too hot, too painful. But her question was clear nonetheless. Why? Why should she take off her clothing?
"It will make you more comfortable," he repeated. Then he closed his eyes. "I won't even look. And you can cover yourself with the sheet. But there should be no fabric between your heel and your cinnabar cave."
She didn't respond. She hadn't the voice or the words, only a fluttering panic like a stuttering flame that twisted and contorted right behind her chest.
"You will feel more comfortable," he repeated a last time.
She stared at him. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed. His naked body was relaxed.
He did have a point, she realized. Obviously he had felt more comfortable without the interference of clothing. And indeed, she did not like the idea of rough fabric pressed so intimately against her cave. But to completely undress? She didn't know if she could do it.
And yet what choice did she have? If she wanted to learn the Tigress's power, she would have to undress eventually. She had looked at the Tigress scrolls. There had been little time, but she had unrolled one, scanning its pictures, reading what she could. She knew that there were deeper intimacies to come. More... openness. The things she had done to Zou Tun would be repeated for her.
She knew this. So why was she delaying? If she wanted to learn, then she would have to disrobe.
She did. As quickly as possible. Then she scrambled into the bed, pulling the sheet up to cover herself as high on her waist as she could.
And yet she felt her nakedness like a brand. A tattoo. A loud declaration to the world of what she was. But she had no name for it. She wasn't a tigress. Not yet. She wasn't ashamed, either. Well, not exactly. She wasn't even her father's daughter anymore. Not since leaving home.
Now she was... what? A naked woman in a Mandarin's arms. But what did that mean? Who was she?
The questions twisted in her mind, heating and coiling with the flame that churned inside her. They made her feel ill, these questions, this fear. This nakedness.
Until she felt him touch her. His hands settled quietly, gently upon her shoulders.
"Try to breathe steadily. Find your center in your mind."
She hadn't even realized her breath was coming in jerky gulps until he spoke. But with his warmth upon her shoulders and his quiet words, she began to calm herself. She focused on steadying her breath, and in time it calmed the frantic beat of her heart.
Was this her center?
"I will not force this upon you, Joanna Crane. If you want to change your mind..."
She shook her head, quickly and with force. Then she spoke, the words more important than the pain. "I want to learn."
"So be it," he responded. His hands began to move ever so slowly down her arms. "You must pull your right leg in. With your heel..."
She remembered. She pulled her leg up, but she could not get herself settled. She felt clumsy, the sheet uncooperative as it continually tried to slip off her hips. Her hands became frantic, her breath once again stuttering and gasping.
Until, once again, he touched her. This time his hands slid all the way down her arms to still her trembling.
"Why are you shaking?" he asked. "Is it shame?"
She shook her head. She knew she ought to feel shame, but truthfully, she did not. So much was denied to women. All over the world they were treated as less than a person. That she had found a way to give herself power was not a shameful thing. That it might be a key to something so much larger was glorious. So no, she did not feel shame exactly.
"Is it fear of what is to come?"
Joanna hesitated, then once again shook her head. She was not afraid of the future so much as curious about it. Or perhaps nervous was a better word. But very, very interested.
"Joanna Crane. I do not understand. Why—"
"Change. " She said the word. She rushed it through her lips, wishing she could explain herself more completely. She wanted to become this new thing, this Tigress. Her life had been so terribly unfulfilling before. And yet she shook with fear of taking the next step. She felt terrified and anxious and excited and confused all at once. And she could not explain it to herself, much less to him.
He seemed to understand. He patted her hand, and his voice took on a lighter tone. "The Chinese have a very large book. It is called I Ching, The Book of Changes. Many poems, many words are devoted to the changes that happen in the heavens, in our worlds, and most especially in our minds." He reached up his hands, casually adjusting her braid. "There is one that I think fits you."
She twisted slightly so she could see him. She had heard of The Book of Changes, but knew very little about it.
" 'The Arousing.' It is also called 'Shock and Thunder.' Would you like to hear it?"
She nodded, latching onto his words as a way to steady herself. Perhaps they would help her understand her own needs.
" 'Shock brings success,'" he began." 'Shock comes—oh, oh! Laughing words—ha, ha! The shock terrifies for a hundred miles, and he does not let fall the sacrificial spoon and chalice.'"
She remained silent after he spoke. The words were beautiful, but she didn't understand them.
"It means that shock comes from God. It is always terrifying. But laughter and joy come as well."
"Spoon?" she asked. "Chalice?"
He nodded. "Ah, you have seen the crux of the poem. When you remain centered, holding the spoon and cup of your faith, then you can embrace joy without being overcome by terror."
She tilted her head, thinking about his words. Could it be true? Was her terror of something profound? Something godly?
This wasn't what she had been taught. Christianity wouldn't agree with much of anything she'd learned here. But Zou Tun's words felt right, that God could be r
evealed within her own body. And that the revelation would be... unnerving.
"Do you understand?" he asked, his voice gentle.
In answer she scooted back, settling her spine against his chest and pulling her right heel in tight against her groin. As she feared, the sheet slipped away from her hips. Looking down, she could see more of herself than she wanted. And yet the sight of her own body did not upset her anymore. Especially as she tried to see God within her body, the divine in her heart.
With that thought held inside her, and with Zou Tun enfolding her, she steadied her heartbeat, and the twisting flame inside her grew calm.
"Ready," she whispered.
He nodded. "Close your eyes. Find your center. I will begin."
She did as he bade. Somewhere in her thoughts was the reminder that she could perform these breast circles on her own. She didn't need his hands on her body, his fingers starting just outside her nipples, pressing a long, pleasurable spiral around her flesh. But she said nothing, forcing her thoughts to center on her breath. And on the feel of his hands.
It was nicer with his touch, easier to think about her breathing. And the feel of his large, calloused hands made her shiver with delight.
His movements were exquisite, the pressure gentle enough to soothe, hard enough to be substantial. As her breathing deepened, she pressed harder against his hands, her body rocking forward against her heel. Without conscious thought, they began a rhythm: forward as he circled her nipple, backward as the circle expanded and her breath deepened. She'd exhale as his hands returned to a point just beside the center, and both he and she rocked forward again.
"Seventy-two," he whispered. She hadn't realized he was counting out loud. His breath was a hot echo of the fiery press of his dragon below, against the base of her spine. But now his circling stopped as she leaned back against him, her breasts a heavy, full weight upon her chest.
"I will reverse the circles now. This will draw the yin forward like a rising tide. After seventy-two spirals, I will lay you down on the bed and release it. Are you ready?"
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 47
