He almost laughed. Sex is normal for a husband and wife. No need to show another purpose.
She hesitated, and he knew she wavered. Though he knew observing others was a normal part of the Tigress practice, he didn't think Shi Po had ever allowed herself to be watched. To do such intimate things here—with a bored guard perhaps watching every act through a peephole—would naturally revolt her.
But how else would he understand her passion if not to learn it himself? And how else would he ever return to Heaven to answer the Goddess Kwan Yin if not with her aid? She had to agree, and so he continued to push his thoughts on her.
Is there another way to keep our energies pure?
She shook her head. There was no other way.
So he looked at her, slowly moving his hand. Her blouse was ripped down the front, exposing her breasts. He knew what to do. He'd studied the texts carefully, and even secretly watched as she performed this daily exercise. But would she let him do it? He could tell by her stillness that she hadn't decided.
Up and up his hand moved, brushing her upper arm, across her shoulder. It took little for him to brush open the fabric, but she was curved away from him, her shoulders hunched forward.
He didn't yet move toward her breasts. Instead, he lifted his hand, caressing her neck as he touched under her chin to draw her taller. And to stroke her lips.
You want to go to Heaven, she wrote on his chest. Her face was both awed and jealous. You want my yin.
He didn't deny it, though she was completely wrong. He wanted her, not the fulfillment of her religion. But what was the point of arguing?
These exercises will not give yin, she continued. Only—
He used his free hand to catch hers. The touch of her fingers on his body was clouding his thoughts. His yang was already surging, his dragon thrusting forward in eagerness. If he wanted to pursue her religion, if he wanted to return to Heaven to speak again with Kwan Yin, as his wife believed, then he would have to contain his yang. He would have to learn control, beginning with touching her and not descending to mindless rutting. Which meant, for now, that she would have to stop stimulating him.
"I know what to do," he whispered. "Will you allow it?"
She actually smiled. How long had it been since she'd turned such radiant beauty his way? How long since her face had shown simple joy without restraint? Too long. And it was too strange that it would come now—here—when she had never been so kind in their luxurious home.
"I know my duty," she answered as she straightened. But as she did, his hand slipped lower to rest at the top swell of her right breast.
He paused, then stroked a question high on her chest. Duty?
Practice, she answered. He paused. He knew better than to ask his next question, but such was the disquiet in his mind that he pressed the point against all logic. "What of love?" he asked.
They sat close enough together that he felt her entire body flinch. "What?" she gasped.
"Love," he pressed. "Is not sex a part of love?"
"We do not speak of such things!" she said in her most aristocratic tones.
He nodded. He knew that to be true. The elite did not sully themselves with petty emotions. "But I am a commoner, and I wish to know."
She shook her head, her body still withdrawn from him. "There is no love in practice," she said firmly. "Love is an earthly attachment. One that keeps us from Heaven." She leaned forward and cupped his hands. "That is why husbands and wives do not practice together. A tigress's partner is a convenience. It is easier to focus when a partner stimulates. It has nothing to do with feelings."
He could see that she believed it, that she spoke with complete honesty. All these years, her sexual partners had been simple convenience? "There is no attachment?"
She grimaced. "Of course not! It is an earthly tie. We strive for Heaven."
He wanted to ask about the two of them; if there was love between them. But he hadn't the courage. After all these years, he couldn't risk finding out that she had never loved him.
"Shi Po...," he began as she shaped his hands into the correct position. Then she pressed his fingertips to each of her puckered nipples.
"Begin," she whispered.
But he didn't move. Instead, he straightened his spine. He would be a man in this. He would face his fears. "What of us, Shi Po? What of our love?"
She smiled. "We will strive to overcome it."
So there was his answer. If there ever had been love between them, her tigress practice had destroyed it. Now he understood why she could embrace death. She had daily fought to distance herself from him and their children, from every tie that bound her to earth. "And what if I do not wish to overcome it? What if I wish to love you with my every breath, the very essence of my being?"
She pulled away from him, and her tone was that of an instructor who gave a failing grade. "There is no halfway in this, Kui Yu. Either you wish for heaven or earth. You cannot have both."
"And love is of the earth?"
"Yes." Then she sat in absolute stillness as she waited for his decision. Obviously, she had already chosen. Years ago, she had decided to abandon him, to discard their love—if they'd ever had it—and to walk without earthly ties into Heaven. He could try to dissuade her. He could woo her with soft words and tender kisses, but his wife had always been steadfast. Once her mind was set upon a task, nothing would sway her.
So she was already lost to him. His only hope was to understand what had stolen her from him.
He swallowed, feeling his spirit tremble. Last night's practice had begun in anger and desperation, but today was different. It had nothing to do with their location or situation. Nothing to do with the guard outside or the fear that still lingered in the room, poisoning everything they did. Today, he chose this for himself. Today, he began to work with conscious intention. He would learn this religion. He would return to Heaven. He would understand what his wife so desperately sought at the cost of their love and life together. And, he would have an answer for Kwan Yin.
With that thought firmly in place, he banished all doubt. He pushed aside all tender feelings and set his mind on Heaven. Then he began the worship of his wife's breasts.
July 20, 1880
Kui Yu—
My aunt has many women for you—great, small, expensive, or cheap. You could shower your wealth upon them, and they would leap to do all that you ask.
Come Thursday evening to the Garden of Blushing Flowers. I will introduce you.
Your dearest friend,
Lun Po
* * *
July 26, 1880
Lun Po—
I have more blushing flowers than I can handle. They throw their petals at men of wealth. They use their twisting, creeping vines to trap men of influence.
I wish for the sweet innocence of a Chinese blossom untainted by cloying perfumes.
Kui Yu
Once there was a lazy fellow looking for an easy job. A friend told him to work at the graveyard. "There's no easier work around."
So the fellow took the job but soon quit. When asked why, he loudly exclaimed, "It's too unfair! They're all lying down while I have to stand there all by myself!"
Chapter 10
Shi Po closed her eyes, doing her best to relax into her daily ritual. She had already shifted her legs to pull her left heel hard against her cinnabar cave. Her back was straight, her breath steady, and her breasts pressed forward into her husband's hands.
And right there, her mind faltered. She had always performed these exercises herself. Never—even at the very beginning—had she allowed another soul to do this most important purification task for her. And yet today, she had not even suggested that she do this herself.
She had no idea why suddenly she wanted Kui Yu's touch so desperately. Why her breasts were already heavy; her nipples long and hard in anticipation. But they were, and her belly trembled even as she tried to steady her heart and mind.
He began. He performed the dispersa
l strokes first, starting on the inside of her nipples, circling ever wider as he cleansed all negative energies from her yin. Small tight circles first. Then the spiral expanded, opened, flowed.
He had large fingers and thick hands. Yet they were a man's hands, strong and calloused from labor, and she found she liked the texture. The rough slide against her skin reminded her that he could lift heavy bales of cotton as easily as he smoothed tiny ripples in silk. She had seen him do both, and yet he seemed to be treating her as something finer even than his fabrics, something more delicate than the thinnest silk.
She closed her eyes, liking the image, enjoying even more the touch of his fingers on her yin center. His yang heat left a tingling wake along her skin, and she wanted to push deeper into his hands, more fully into his energy. But that wasn't part of the exercise, and so she maintained her discipline and contented herself with deep breaths that drew his power into her lungs.
"Forty-nine," he said.
She opened her eyes, startled to realize she hadn't kept count. When was the last time she had lost the mental click that marked the passage of time? And when was the last time her heel came away from her cave slick with yin dew?
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I lost track. There must be a great many pollutants in my yin."
She watched his smile grow, pure male satisfaction lighting his eyes. "I like it when you lose track," he said. "Your face flushes—"
"That's the yang heat—"
"And your lips turn celebration red."
"When yang combines with yin, there is a heat—"
"And you begin to babble, especially when you become self-conscious."
"It brings..." She blinked. "I do not babble."
"Of course not," he laughed, his grin huge. "I must be mistaken."
She arched her eyebrows at him, and tried to reflect injured dignity. But her husband had never cared much for such dignity, and so she lost the image of it and reflected his amusement instead. "You are a very strange man to say such things to me," she remarked with a smile.
"And you are a beautiful woman, too tenderhearted to be offended by my coarseness."
Her lips curved into a deeper smile and—strangely—the motion made the rest of Shi Po tingle even more. "I suppose I have a weakness for coarse things."
"Truly?" he asked, surprised.
"You did not know?"
He shook his head, and his hands hovered slightly above his lap. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and his expression remained confused. Until it became wary.
"Kui Yu?"
He did not reveal his thoughts, except to look down at his hands. "Do you wish to continue?"
Yes, of course she did. But she didn't say so. Instead, she reached out and enfolded his hands in hers. Except, her hands were so much smaller. She could only cup him, not restrain him. "If we are to be partners, we must remain honest with one another," she lied. In truth, the practice only required the exchange of yin and yang; honesty was rarely part of the deal.
Fortunately, he didn't know that, and so he answered, his voice low and hesitant. "I am coarse and lowborn." He twisted his hands, turning so that he grabbed her left wrist to press her fingers against his palm.
"Extend your fingers," he said.
She did, and her largest finger barely reached his second knuckle. "A woman is supposed to be small where her husband is large," she remarked. "We are flowers as compared to—"
"A lumbering ox?" He laughed, and she pulled back.
"You are no dumb beast."
He sighed. "I am large—"
"And I am small. Yes. Male. Female—"
"Laborer. Scholar."
She nodded, knowing his background. But still, he continued.
"I am poor and ill-bred, while you are rich and refined."
She sighed. "Opposites, Kui Yu. That is all to the good."
Finally, he raised his gaze to her, and she saw a darkness in his eyes. "Is that why you chose me? Because we are opposites?"
She shook her head, the denial automatic even if it was prevarication. "My father chose you. I had little to do—"
His hand shot out, covering her lips with his fingers. He didn't hurt her. Indeed, his skin barely touched her. But he surprised her enough to silence her casual lies.
"Honesty, remember?"
She didn't respond. Indeed, there were some falsehoods so ingrained that when taken away, they left her feeling bereft. But she had forced him to be honest with her. As his mirror, she had no choice but to reflect his own goodness back. She reached up and pulled his hand from her mouth.
"You are strong. Strong body, strong mind, strong yang. When one is surrounded by weakness, such power shines like a beacon."
He looked at her, their hands poised in the air between them. She could not tell what he was thinking, and so she became emptiness: a blank reflection that slowly changed to quietness.
They did not speak more. She wasn't surprised; such was his way: absorbed in silence, speaking only when necessary. If she was a mirror, he was the wind, hearing without comment, knowing without unbalancing. Until it was time. Then the furious winds would blow and whole cities could be laid low.
Which made it all the more exquisite when he at last used his fingers to caress her breasts. Hot wind would warm her coldness; strong yang stimulated her yin. And his wonderful hands started in the center point of her chest and circled. But this time, he narrowed his spirals until he touched her nipples.
She actually purred at the thought.
She was pleased when he flattened his hands, using four fingers to flow over the tops of her breasts and skating around her sides, then raising up from below. Years of this kind of exercise had kept her skin tight, her breasts high despite age and nursing three children. And yet, some deterioration was inevitable. Her nipples pushed downward as if reaching for his hands. Her muscles grew lax with pleasure, making her breasts droop even more.
Kui Yu did not seem to mind. When she looked at his face, she saw rapt attention. When she let her gaze slip lower, she saw dragon hunger. And still his hands narrowed in their spiral. They drew higher on her breasts, closer to their tips.
Higher. Tighter.
She breathed in with his downstroke, then exhaled fully as he traveled upward. Waiting. Wanting. When would he finish?
Now.
His fingers were beside her nipples, and her cinnabar cave tightened in anticipation. But then he stopped. He lifted his hands and reset them on the center of her breastbone.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, frustration making her curt.
He frowned. "The exercise—"
"Finish the stroke!" she ordered.
"I did," he responded, equally firm.
She shook her head, forcibly moving his hands back to their places next to her nipples. "You are to squeeze the plum flower."
He did not move. "That was not in the sacred text I read."
She frowned and pretended to think. She knew it wasn't in the text, but it was how she had been taught. She gave her students the choice. But for her, she always ended the stroke with pain.
"It is how it is done," she said.
"But—"
"It is how I have always done it."
He didn't move at first, and she feared he would be difficult. But in the end, he nodded even as he pulled his hands back to her breastbone.
"At the end of this stroke," he said.
She nodded and used her Tigress discipline to quiet her disappointment. She knew how to wait for pleasure.
He began again: the long stroke from center to top, around and down before narrowing slightly. His hands rode higher on her breasts and lifted closer to her peaks. She breathed with his movement, the tingle in her skin expanding, growing hotter with each breath.
He was close. So close. And then...
She felt a soft touch, the lightest of presses. It shot like lightning through her body, saturating her womb with yin fire. But it was not enough. It seemed w
eak and insubstantial, despite her reaction.
"What are you doing?" she snapped. The pulse had left her unsettled.
"That's what you wanted," he returned.
"No! You must do it harder. Firmer." She cupped his hands and forced him to surround her breasts. Then she made him squeeze. Hard.
He resisted, and the confusion made her hips squirm against her heel.
"Harder!" she ordered.
This time he pinched her with some force, but so quickly as to make her tremble but not flinch.
"No," she muttered, annoyed with her own lack of clarity. What did she want?
Abruptly, she brushed away his hands and performed the exercise herself, as she had for so many years. Her hands moved by rote, and her thoughts quickly settled into the familiar pattern. Her hands narrowed, her breath increased. Then she reached the end.
She not only squeezed long and hard, but she also twisted. The pain made her muscles tighten and her breath clench. There was no lightning stroke of excitement. Only the welcome bite of pain.
"That is how it is done," she said to herself.
"But that must hurt."
She opened her eyes and read confusion on his face. "That is how I was taught."
"But it hurts. It must."
She looked down to watch herself as she performed the circles again. Pinch. Twist. Hold. Yes, her nipples were flushed, their dusky peaks raw.
She looked up at her husband, the memory only now coming back to her. "It is to remind us that nothing happens without pain. Conceiving a child, birthing a new life, even the most casual of practice must be accompanied by pain. Because that is life."
"That is not in the texts, Shi Po." He frowned. "Who taught you that?"
She hesitated, knowing what his reaction would be.
"Honesty, Shi Po. Remember, we look for the cause of your problems. The reason you have not made it into Heaven." He lifted his chin, his expression one of simple interest, not interrogation.
She had to answer. But when she spoke, different words came out. "This is why we cannot practice together, Kui Yu. You question too much. You—"
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