The Way of the Tigress 1-4

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

  How many times had Shi Po wanted to do just that: to shrink into the smallest of dots until she just disappeared? She knew of only one pain that could so destroy the child of wealthy, powerful parents, only one reason for a girl to want to disappear.

  But why would a Manchu bind his daughter's feet? The Qing Emperor had long since declared the practice anathema.

  The mystery was enough to push Shi Po into action. She wanted to crouch, but knew better. Even in coolie pants that allowed such a position, Shi Po's feet would not have supported her. So she dropped onto her bottom and tucked her feet demurely beneath her. Reaching out, ignoring the girl's suddenly fierce struggles, she picked up the child and pulled her into her lap.

  It took some time, but Shi Po was familiar with how to comfort a child in this stage of foot binding. One glance at the poor girl's feet showed that the child was in the worst stage—for the mother: her tiny bones were not yet broken, her feet simply restricted. She was small yet, and it was the way of some mothers to slowly introduce their daughters to the horrors to come.

  Yet for now, there was full awareness and rebellion. Naturally, a child used to running free would despise her bindings. She would scream and sob, refuse to walk, and rip off the strips of cloth whenever possible. Indeed, this child showed bruises on her hands and arms—evidence of disciplinary actions.

  Apparently, they worked, for the girl's feet were still wrapped.

  Shi Po sighed and smoothed the girl's forehead. She had more than once wished for a different world, one where daughters were not so deformed. But wishing did not bring excellent marriages, and only a woman with correctly shaped feet under five inches in length could marry into wealth. And only women with wealthy husbands could ensure that their children grew strong and prospered.

  It was an ugly cycle, and one against which the Qing empire struggled. It was said that even the Emperor thought bound feet hideous. But China had been thus for countless dynasties. One man—even an Emperor—could do little against tradition. And one woman could do even less.

  So Shi Po held the young girl and rocked her tiny, shaking body, while murmuring Confucian dictates on appropriate female behavior. The words meant nothing, of course. Not to the child or to herself, remembering binding her daughter's feet and her grandmother's botched creation of Shi Po's own misshapen lumps.

  At last the girl quieted. Shi Po still held her, though her back ached from her hunched position. And when the girl reached up and brushed away Shi Po's tears, she knew they'd reached an understanding.

  "Your mother is Han Chinese," Shi Po said as she inspected the child's facial features. Obviously, the mother was Han, for only they bound their daughters' feet. But the father was clearly Manchurian. Probably General Kang himself.

  The girl didn't understand, so Shi Po switched to halting Mandarin. This close to Peking, the girl probably spoke the official language.

  "My name is Madame Tan," she said.

  The girl's eyes widened. "I am named Wen Ai," she responded formally. Then she blinked, and—in the way of the young—discarded all ritual in favor of simple directness. "Why are you in my home?"

  "I don't know," Shi Po answered honestly. "Do you think you could help me find out?"

  Tears flooded the girl's expression, and she shook her head. "I can't walk," she whispered. "I can't walk or jump or run or... or... or..." Her words ended on a hiccoughing sob, and Shi Po clutched her even closer.

  "You will again," she murmured, repeating the lie told to all young Chinese girls. "You just have to practice." Then she extended her own tiny feet. "These are huge compared to yours. They are wide and ugly and badly done. Your mother is very wise to bind your feet now. You will have many wealthy men vying for your hand. You will have a big home and fat children and your husband will value you above all others because of your tiny, perfect feet." She lifted the girl's chin and said, "Is that not worth a few tears?"

  No, it isn't, said the girl's mutinous eyes. But she was trained well enough not to speak the words aloud. That would be too disrespectful. And in that moment, Shi Po felt the crushing weight of despair. In that moment, she experienced shock and disgust and fear, all because of one simple realization:

  Life wasn't fair.

  That was it. Or, more specifically, life for females wasn't fair.

  And wasn't that a ridiculous realization? After all, even the youngest girls knew that life did not treat women equitably. Her father doted on her idiot brother. His only attention to Shi Po had been to order her feet bound.

  Yes, she'd known from the first that life was not fair for girls. And yet now, with the added maturity of years, she could see that it was not just girl-children who were bound, but all Chinese women. What decree said that a widow should be locked away, never to venture out from her home, as if a woman without a husband was a shame to be hidden away? Who ordered that women could not be educated, could not learn anything beyond beauty and gossip? That girls should have no choices in their lives beyond what their fathers, brothers, and husbands ordered? And who said that a girl's only value was in her beauty and her obedience to those very men?

  No one. No one had decreed it, and yet all Chinese women followed these rules. It was insanity. They obeyed, and they taught their daughters, and any soul who dared step outside of their rigid lines was roundly condemned. Usually by fellow women.

  Which was why Shi Po's life was hampered and fettered and bound as tightly as her feet. Except, it wasn't. She had the freedom to explore her Tigress teachings, to instruct other women in this form of liberation, to stretch out her hand and reach for immortality. She alone was allowed such freedom, and by her husband, Kui Yu. He let her do as she willed, even to the point of supporting her choices against the condemnation of society.

  Which was why she loved him.

  And there was the true enlightenment. Shock echoed through her system, cracking open her mind like an egg crushed beneath a mountain. She loved her husband. And that love bound her more tightly to him than any rope or chain. Which meant that he was the real reason that she had not reached immortality. Because she was too Earth-bound. Because she loved her husband.

  So, Kui Yu was the real reason she'd failed at her goal. He was the anchor that held down her spirit, and all she needed to do in order to finally attain Heaven was quickly and simply sever her tie to him. She had to end her love for him, or his for her, for no true tie could occur unless the attachment was mutual.

  Yes, she realized, they loved each other. And unless she wanted her life's work to end in failure, she had to end that love completely and irrevocably. In short, she had to choose: Kui Yu or immortality. Which did she want? Because she couldn't have both.

  She burst into tears.

  The child had no idea, of course, what to do with a suddenly sobbing adult. In fact, the situation was so bizarre that she immediately scrambled away, pushing to her feet and crying out in pain even as she bellowed for her mother.

  The mother must have been nearby, for she came quickly, too soon for Shi Po to control her sobs. Then mother and child stood nearby, their eyes dark, their demeanors somber. They watched as if neither had ever seen a woman cry before.

  Shi Po bit her lip. She took deep breaths. In time, she even managed to think of something other than her husband or immortality. Only then did her tears subside. Eventually she was able to look at the other two with an equal measure of silence. Until the mother finally stepped forward.

  "You are the witch Shi Po of Shanghai," she said.

  Shi Po shook her head, tears still perilously close. "I am nothing but a stupid woman." She took another breath. "I am Mrs. Tan. And you?"

  "Wu He Yun. And my daughter, Wen Ai."

  "Wu? But are you not..." Shi Po cut off her words, but it was too late. Obviously this woman was General Kang's servant, not even having the status of a third or fourth wife. She and her child had the run of the Kang estate and dressed richly, but with a surname of Wu and a Han Chinese face, she was clearly n
ot a wife. It had only been stupidity—and extreme distress—that had made Shi Po so careless with her tongue.

  The woman hunched over her child, clearly expecting scorn.

  "My deepest apologies," Shi Po hurried to say. "I am not thinking clearly. My husband is ill and I..." How to explain her situation? "I am so lost in this place." She pushed to her feet, tottering slightly before steadying herself. Then she touched He Yun's hand. "Please, can you tell me what is happening here?" The woman already knew her name and title; surely she would know something of what General Kang planned.

  "You are to be his new concubine," He Yun said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "But I cannot marry him. I have a husband." And General Kang had gone to some expense to bring Kui Yu here alive.

  The Woman nodded. "That is his pattern. He finds a woman he desires and brings both husband and wife here. Then he forces the husband to watch."

  Shi Po felt her breath stop hard in her chest.

  "The shame is so great," He Yun continued. "My husband..."

  "No...," Shi Po whispered, not wanting to hear.

  "A weapon is made available. But there are too many soldiers to fight and no escape."

  Shi Po understood. Kang toyed with his prisoners, just as he had toyed with her in Shanghai. He offered the illusion of escape, but in the end the only choice was in the manner of death. Kui Yu would be allowed to die fighting or in an honorable suicide. "What did your husband choose?" If there was to be any hope for her and Kui Yu, she had to know what had happened before.

  "He attacked the soldiers. He took the sword and fought, but they were ready for him. He..." Her words ended on a sob.

  Shi Po touched the woman's hand, offering comfort. She didn't want to press, but she had to know. "What of you? What will become of you? And of me?"

  "If you are entertaining, then you will be allowed to live." He Yun's gaze hardened. "I am to learn your Tigress secrets."

  Shi Po shook her head. "I will die first before I pleasure that man."

  The woman tucked her daughter tight to her chest. "Then do so quickly. He holds the children as ransom." Tears shimmered in He Yun's eyes. "I have a son. He prospers, or so I am told."

  Shi Po didn't think the constriction of her chest could grow any tighter, but it did. Fear for her two sons nearly bent her in two. "How many times?" she managed to gasp out. "How often does he do this?"

  He Yun dropped her head against her daughter's, her sorrow a palpable force. "There were two before me and one since."

  "How have you survived?"

  He Yun lifted her chin, her expression growing defiant. "I spy on the new women for him. I tell him their secrets."

  Shi Po reared back. She had already suspected as much, but to have the woman say it out loud surprised her.

  "I will make a bargain with you," He Yun continued. "You tell me your secrets, and I will tell you the general's."

  "Why would I hand my power to you? My only value is in my Tigress secrets."

  He Yun shrugged. "Because without me, you will know nothing of what he intends. He tells me secrets, and I can tell you. But only if I have something of value to give him." Then her eyes abruptly hardened. "What choice do you have? No one else offers you friendship."

  What she offered wasn't friendship, but He Yun was right in one thing: she knew more of what went on in this household than Shi Po did. Which mean Shi Po would have to at least pretend to agree. So she nodded slowly as she looked at little Wei Ai, the only true innocent in this household.

  "Do you hope for a better life for her? Is that why you bind her feet?"

  He Yun shrugged. "The General commanded it. He likes tiny feet. And he thinks girls run too fast otherwise."

  Shi Po understood. Of course a cruel man would insist on a cruel tradition. Very well. If nothing else, it gave Shi Po something to offer this woman. "I know of a tea," she said. "One that numbs pain, especially mixed for daughters with tiny feet. It helps quiet their crying."

  He Yun looked up, excited. "Tell me how to make it," she whispered. "Please. The General does not like noisy children."

  "No man does," agreed Shi Po, but as she stepped forward, she too winced. Bound feet were not made for riding horses. Nor were they intended to pass day after day without a change of cloths. She herself needed the tea.

  He Yun noticed immediately. After all, her own feet were shod in lovely curved four-inch shoes; she would recognize a fellow sufferer. The woman straightened, though her shoulders retained some stoop. "We will bathe Wen Ai's feet and mix her tea together."

  Night Vigil

  Chen Yu-Yi (1090-1138)

  Our boats we anchored by Hua Jung County

  and over the lake spread the brightness

  of a moonlit night; too cold to sleep

  I stood pondering, listening to the sound

  of reeds rustling around us; thinking

  of all the disappointments of my life

  which make even this beautiful scene

  one of foreboding; and now in the third watch

  watching fireflies over the gravemounds,

  looking up into the heavens at the Milky Way

  hiding the great unknown behind it, and

  remembering that here it was that Tsao Tsao,

  King of Wei, was brought to bay, with now only

  the quiet majesty of hills and rivers as a

  memorial; so does one ponder over rise and

  decline thinking that it is in vain for a poor

  scholar like me to feel so anxious for a better

  world; yet what can we do about all the wars?

  No clear solution can I find, though my hair has

  turned so gray.

  August 16, 1880

  Fairest Shi Po—

  I cannot leave my position right now. I will never have enough money to open a shop. The only other choice is to become an opium trader, and I will not do that. Can you not delay your marriage for a few years? Perhaps a womanly complaint? Or deep grief over your uncle's death? I pray nightly to Buddha for a miracle.

  Yours in deepest love,

  Kui Yu

  A Parting Song

  Tu Mu (803-856)

  So young and

  your lovely figure

  supple as a vine

  in early spring; now

  coming to Yangchow,

  a warm breeze has removed

  screens from doors

  down all the streets, but

  of beauties seen, none

  are such as you.

  How can a real love

  be lightly disguised?

  How may we smile so lightly

  through our parting meal?

  Even the candles share

  our emotion, weeping tears

  as we do, until the

  morning breaks.

  August 20, 1880

  Kui Yu—

  My uncle was a good and excellent man. I could never, ever use his death to my own ends, even to delay my marriage. That would be despicable. What must you think of me to suggest such a thing?

  In grief,

  Shi Po

  A scholar prepared to take the civil examinations. His wife was very puzzled by his constant worrying.

  "Look at you, you worthless wretch," she said. "You probably think that it's more difficult for a man to write an essay than for a woman to give birth to a child."

  "It's easy for you women," the scholar sighed. "You carry the child in your stomach, but I have nothing in my head, so how do you expect me to think of something to write?"

  Chapter 14

  Kui Yu heard his wife return. She tried to be quiet, but he had been waiting, dozing lightly, trying not to give in to the fear that she wouldn't come back. If only he weren't so damned weak, maybe he could do something. But at the moment, he found it difficult even to use the chamber pot without passing out. Though his fever was gone, his shoulder burned with a dull agony. Until, of course, he moved his arm. Then lightning-
like explosions of pain cut off his breath and darkened his vision to black.

  What a great figure of manhood he was. Now that he finally had an opportunity to shine before his wife, he was brought low by a fever.

  Shi Po's tiny hand brushed across his cheek and slid down his neck. She was checking for fever, especially the hot skin around his swollen shoulder, and yet he felt her touch like the sparkle of a bright jewel: ephemeral, barely noticed, but so brilliant as to be blinding.

  He would have laughed at his own ridiculous thoughts—he was often driven to bad poetry when thinking of his wife—but he was busy capturing her tiny fingers and drawing them to his lips.

  "You are awake!" she murmured in surprise. "I thought..." Her voice trailed away as he pressed tiny kisses along her palm and used his tongue to stroke tiny whorls along her flesh. "Kui Yu... I...," she murmured, her voice catching on a sob. Confused, he opened his eyes and peered through the darkness. He couldn't read his wife's face not because it was dark, but because she was tugging away from him, her eyes downcast.

  He did not release her but used her struggles to help him sit upright. "What has happened?" he demanded, alarmed.

  "Nothing," she answered.

  "Don't be ridiculous." His wife did not cry. Even when contemplating her death, she had approached it with cold logic. And though she sometimes appeared femininely soft to him, or sweetly maternal, he had never ever seen her cry. Until now.

  "What has happened?" he repeated, subduing his anger.

  She raised her gaze, apparently startled. Even in the dim twilight, he could see her eyes were red and puffy from tears.

  "Have they hurt you?" he demanded. He quickly perused her body. She wore a simple silk gown, clean and a little too large. She looked pale, but the loose garment could hide a great deal.

  "Light a lantern," he ordered.