Ken Jin loved the sight and had made a personal study of what brought the light to her eyes: her brother, when the boy managed to accomplish anything without disaster; her visits to the now absent Joanna; any unusual occurrence. There had been that light when she surprised him this morning during his dragon exercises. And there was light now, as they wended their way through Chinese Shanghai.
She took a breath to speak, and Ken Jin shook his head. He almost laughed at her frustrated sigh. Then, finally, he got his reward. She slipped her hand onto his thigh. She was leaning forward, obviously wanting to talk, and in her need to express herself she'd not only put her hand on his thigh but tightened her hold there, gripping him as firmly as any tigress would its prey. The moment was so delightful that he closed his eyes to savor the feeling.
It didn't last long, of course. All too soon she began to speak, her voice low and husky in the way of all stimulated women—though he knew she did not understand how a woman's yin automatically responded to a man's yang.
"Tell me about this school, Ken Jin," she whispered. Her voice and hand had his yang fires surging, but he was still driving the carriage. He had to focus on not crashing. Unfortunately, that required some movement, and his leg flexed beneath her hand. He was too late to freeze the muscle twitch, and much too late to stop her from realizing where she'd put her hand. Gasping in horror, she pulled back to sit excruciatingly tall beside him. He suppressed his sigh of regret even as he spoke in a sharp undertone.
"Slump, Miss Charlotte!"
She twisted slightly. "I beg your pardon?"
"Slump," he repeated. "Chinese ladies are not nearly so tall." In truth, no one who looked at her could mistake her for Chinese. Her clothing alone, not to mention the horse and carriage, marked her as an Englishwoman no matter how she covered her face and hair. But if she slumped, then she would need to position herself low in the carriage, low enough, perhaps, to steady herself by gripping him again.
He knew he was depraved to toy with a girl in this way, especially a white girl. What kind of deviant resorted to subterfuge just to have a woman touch his thigh? It was stupid, and she was, after all, his employer's daughter. No man pissed at the dinner table. Yet here he was, stirring his flagging yang fires with an innocent white girl. How much lower could he sink?
Very low, apparently, because he grinned as Miss Charlotte once again leaned forward, slumping in her seat and setting her long white fingers across his thigh. Perhaps if he scooted forward, her hand would slip higher.
"Ken Jin, you must explain where we are going," she whispered.
"Right here," he answered with regret. He pulled back on the reins, simultaneously sliding his hips forward. Unfortunately, his ruse failed. Miss Charlotte was already straightening, her hand lifting to her chest as she looked around.
No matter. His dragon was already well stimulated. So he set the brake and leapt down to the street. Except, he couldn't exactly leap because his dragon had stretched to large and happy life. Ah, what a joy to realize this morning's acupuncture had finally cleared his energy blockage. After more than a year of wilting nothingness, his dragon lived and lusted again. He didn't even care that it made walking difficult. He was a whole man again.
He extended his hand, assisting Miss Charlotte as she descended. Or such was his intent, but she hadn't waited for him. As he rounded the horse, she was already climbing out. Which required him to stand quietly and watch the shift and sway of her full buttocks. Ah, what great yin flowed in his employer's daughter! Her husband would be a lucky man—assuming he had the wit to tap her ample stores. But then she was down, and Ken Jin had to escort her to the door of the famous Tigress Shi Po.
"Ken Jin," she whispered. "Where are we? What shall I say?"
"Perhaps you should leave the satchel in the carriage. I can lock it in the boot—"
"No," she snapped, clutching the sack. "I wish to keep it with me."
"As you wish," he returned. He had to find some way of separating her from the scrolls. They were not for barbarian eyes.
They progressed to the outer gate and banged the gong. The Tigress's home was managed with the grace and style befitting a great leader, so he was sure the summons would be answered immediately.
Except, it wasn't. No one came to open the outer doors, and Ken Jin and his white companion were forced to stand outside and wait while people stared at them from all sides.
Charlotte tucked her shawl more securely about her head and face, but it was a useless gesture. No one could possibly mistake her for a Chinese. Even a blind man would be able to smell the sweet rose and lavender scent that clung to her skin. Only a white woman would choose such floral perfume.
He rang the gong again, his dragon withering from his anxiety. Silently he cursed whatever lazy servant had just cost him a morning's yang fire. With a grunt of disgust, he pushed at the gate. He did not expect it to give; the Tigress household used white men's locks. To his surprise, the large barrier swung open, and Miss Charlotte quickly ducked inside. He followed immediately behind.
Inside, he barely managed to stifle his gasp of dismay. The front courtyard was in shambles. Pottery lay in pieces, and ornamental plants were crushed. His nose twitched as he detected a strong odor.
"What happened here?" Miss Charlotte asked, her voice a bare whisper on the still air. "It smells like... like..."
"Soldiers. On horses."
She gasped. "But why would the British—"
"Qing soldiers," he snapped. How like a white barbarian to assume that theirs was the only military.
To her credit, she ducked her head in embarrassment. "Of course, of course. I am not thinking clearly." Her gaze settled much too keenly on his face. "But why would your soldiers come here?"
"I don't know," he lied. "Let us see—" Little Pearl burst through the reception door. Her hair was askew, her eyes wild, and her hands fluttered anxiously even as she skidded to a stop before them. "Ken Jin!" she cried. Her gaze hopped to Miss Charlotte and back. Over and back, over and back; then her expression hardened and her body stilled. "What an unexpected pleasure," she finally drawled.
Ken Jin opened his mouth to respond, but Miss Charlotte never gave him a chance. She stepped forward, extending her hand in a white-man's greeting. "I am so sorry to intrude," she said politely, "but we were—"
"She does not speak English, Miss Charlotte," Ken Jin interrupted. Then, before she could do more than blink in confusion, he rushed on. "Perhaps I could speak for you."
The last thing he wanted was for Miss Charlotte to switch to Shanghainese. In truth, her accent was respectable for a white person, but he knew better than anyone how condescending Little Pearl could act at the smallest offense. He had no wish to expose his employer to such venom.
He pushed forward, trying to walk ahead with Little Pearl—away from Miss Charlotte. He failed. No matter how they moved, Miss Charlotte hovered a bare half inch off his heels. "My gravest apologies for disturbing your day," he said to Little Pearl. "What has happened here? And where is the Tigress?"
He was trying to usher both women through the reception area to the inner courtyard. Once there, he was sure he could slip far enough away from Miss Charlotte to have a private word with Little Pearl. Except neither woman cooperated. Little Pearl stood her ground, her arms folded, her yin clearly poisoned by whatever had happened.
"Please, Little Pearl," he coaxed.
"Why have you brought another white whore here?"
Ken Jin froze. Silence was the only defense against this woman when she was in this mood. Unfortunately, Miss Charlotte stood behind him, clearly shocked into her own silence. But that wouldn't last long. He had to intervene. He had to say something.
"Please allow me to introduce my employer's daughter," he said in icily polite tones. "Miss Charlotte Wicks." Her foreign name seemed to crackle in the air.
Little Pearl put on her most ingratiating smile, bowing respectfully. Her Chinese words were anything but. "I have no time for you
r playthings. You cannot wallow between the dung slugs here. Not today."
Ken Jin could only pray that Miss Charlotte did not understand that dung slugs referred to white maggots—or fleshy white thighs. He stepped forward, barely keeping his tone polite. "I must speak with Tigress Shi Po. It is urgent."
"She is not here," Little Pearl snapped, already turning away.
And so Ken Jin did the unacceptable. Without conscious thought, he thrust his hand out and grabbed her arm. "Where is Shi Po?"
Little Pearl spun around, using his own force against him to break his hold. "Not here! No one is here! We are scattered to the four winds." She spoke in anger, but her fire quickly petered out. Her last words were spoken on a whisper. "Only I remain. And a few servants."
Ken Jin frowned, trying to sort truth from speculation. "General Kang was here yesterday." He had heard that from his Dragon friend Fu De. "But then the General left, and all was well."
"All was not well," Little Pearl growled. She gestured angrily at the ruined courtyard. "None of this happened yesterday. The General was most respectful."
"In the daylight."
Little Pearl nodded, and he saw the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. "Shi Po and her husband are gone. No one has seen them since evening meal."
So, they had been taken in the middle of the night. And Little Pearl was left to pick up the pieces. Which meant... "Was anything else taken?"
Little Pearl threw up her hands in disgust. "Everything was taken! Or desecrated. Or destroyed."
Ken Jin winced. The loss was devastating, but at least he knew some of the sacred scrolls were safe. They were right now clutched in the arms of the conspicuously silent Miss Charlotte, where they would have to remain. Right now the ancient texts were safer in a white woman's hands than at the school. Only the rats survived Imperial scrutiny.
Ken Jin bowed deeply to Little Pearl, trying to offer both respect and support in the one gesture. She would have none of it, of course. She had always become furiously angry when unsettled. He hoped she found peace someday, but for now, he could only offer his meager services. "I will learn what I can about the soldiers."
Little Pearl sneered and spat into the dirt at his feet. "The ghost peoples' stench covers you. Do not meddle where your influence will only bring a quicker death to those I love." And with that, she spun on her tiny bound heel and stomped heavily away.
Ken Jin closed his eyes, his blood ice inside his chest. Little Pearl had said "those I love"—as if he did not owe equal love and loyalty to the Tan family. But he would get no understanding from Little Pearl. He had forfeited that right long ago.
"My goodness, she's an angry little thing," Miss Charlotte commented from just behind him. Her tone was conversational, completely devoid of blame, and its warmth eased some of the constriction in his chest. Until she added, "Why does she hate you so?"
He shook his head, dropping his gaze in apology. "You misunderstand," he lied. "She hates whites. I should not have brought you here. I beg your forgiveness."
Charlotte waved off his apology with a quick snap of her wrist. "Nonsense. That woman hated you. True, she didn't like me, but I'm just a maggot."
Ken Jin winced. Obviously she had understood the dung slug reference.
"But she spit at your feet," she continued. "And named me as another of your whores." The light was back in her green eyes, shining with an intelligence rare in any race, his own included. "Why is that, Ken Jin? Do you often bring white women here to... to whore with them?" She sounded intrigued rather than horrified.
Ken Jin lifted his gaze to meet and defy the bright light in hers. "I have no concert with whores, Miss Charlotte—white or yellow. Little Pearl speaks from her own poisoned yin." He carefully did not elaborate on the source of that poison.
Charlotte did not reply at first, and he felt himself squirm under the force of her gaze. In the end, she sighed and turned toward the door. "I suppose you are right," she commented as they stepped out into the street. "I believe, technically, one has to pay for them to be called whores."
His breath thickened enough to choke him. And yet, somehow, he still managed to hand her up into the carriage. Some of his horror must have shown on his face, for she paused halfway to her seat.
"Men always think they're so clever." She rolled her eyes, and when he didn't respond, she elaborated. "I know you've lain with every white woman in Shanghai." Then she flushed a brilliant scarlet that in no way dimmed the intelligence in her eyes. "All of them, of course, except me."
A letter clutched in Wen Ken Jin's ten-year-old fist and handed to Tan Shi Po.
July 9, 1881
To dearest Tigress sister Tan Shi Po:
My daughter-in-law is insane. My son is possessed by a demon. Please, for love of the practice we both share, take this boy and protect him. I will send what money I can for his care, but he has no one. Please, I beg you, care for my grandson. He is the cleverest of the lot. He will bring you great fortune.
In wrenching grief,
Wen Ai Men
To relieve vertigo, apply pressure at the point which is about 2.5 cm/1 inch below the outer ankle-bone.
Tong Sing, the Chinese Book of Wisdom,
Dr. Charles Windridge
Chapter 3
She'd done it again; Charlotte had opened her mouth and something scandalous leapt out. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. If only she could keep her mouth shut as easily, but the urge was too strong: She had to explain herself. But what to say to the servant who sat in stoic silence beside her? He wasn't even taking up the reins. He just sat there and stared at the horse's ears.
"I am so sorry," she blurted. "I should not have spoken so bluntly. And on an open street, no less." She used Shanghai dialect so as to keep up the pretense that she belonged in this Chinese side of the city. Unfortunately, that meant the pair of women passing on the street overheard and understood. As one, they turned and stared, and Charlotte's face heated to a burning crimson. Lord, even her hands had gone red with embarrassment.
"It's not what it sounds like," she said hastily to the pair. "He's a modest man, most moral. Well, for a man, I mean. Not—"
Her words were cut off by a squeal of horror. One of the women—she was actually more of a girl, really, with a soft moon face and chapped lips—let loose a bizarre sound that was half scream, half Chinese wail.
"Really," Charlotte cried, desperate to end the spectacle. "He's not evil at all. It is only that my friends talk to me. About..." She trailed off. Nothing she said could possibly help. Besides, the women weren't listening. They just kept screaming or cursing or praying—it was hard to tell exactly what was happening; the Chinese words ran too fast for her to understand. Charlotte caught the phrase "ghost devil" and "fire tongue." Or maybe it was "fire head." It must have been the latter, because she heard Ken Jin curse before throwing her shawl back over her. She had let it drop in the courtyard and forgotten to hide her reddish blond hair.
"Oh yes," she scrambled to say to the two still-squealing women. "My hair. It is very bright, but—"
"Be silent!" Ken Jin hissed as he snapped the reins. The horse obediently kicked into a stately walk. The women followed, screeching.
"But I'm trying to explain."
"You're not!" he snapped in English.
"But I have damaged your reputation! I cannot—"
"They don't care that I lie with women!" he ground out in English, glaring at the growing crowd of pointing and squealing and jabbering Chinese.
"But then—"
"It is you!" he snapped. "An Englishwoman who speaks Chinese. They think you are invading."
She blinked, first at him and then at the pointing crowd. "But I'm not. How—"
He shook his head, clearly struggling with the words. "Not invading. Possessing. They believe you have possessed a Chinese person."
"What?"
"They think you have sucked out her brains. How else could you speak Chinese so well?"
The
horse was moving faster now, losing the worst of the crowd, but the shrieks still echoed in Charlotte's head. "They think I sucked out the brains of a Chinese person simply because I can speak Chinese well? That I am a white person who sucked out someone's brain?"
"Yes!"
She shook her head, dumbfounded. "But I learned Chinese with Joanna. From a tutor."
"I know." His words sounded as if they grated his throat.
"And they think—"
"That you are a ghost. Miss Charlotte, please, will you please speak English?"
"Oh!" She shifted languages. "But everyone knows I speak Chinese. I am practically famous for it."
"At home, yes, but this is here." Here meant a bare mile or two east of where she lived. But they were in Chinese Shanghai, where no white person ever went. Or at least no white people who spoke Shanghai dialect.
Charlotte pressed her lips together, annoyed with her own stupidity. And yet, her mind still struggled. "You mean, they don't care that you... that you..." Why was it more difficult to say in English? Her father whored. All his friends whored. But she could not say that aloud to Ken Jin in English. It would make it too real, somehow. "That you spend time with white women, but they're terrified I can speak Chinese?"
They were past the commotion now, turning into a street clogged with carts of vegetables and women carrying upside-down chickens. Charlotte stared at one of the poor birds tied by its feet onto a looped line. This particular hen was one of about ten, all still alive, all piled on top of each other as an old woman rushed to market. The chicken didn't move, didn't even cluck, but hung silently upside down like one banana in a bunch, completely unaware that it was destined for the chopping block. Soon it would see stalls that held live scorpions next to a water bin of bulbous squid beneath hanging ducks interspersed with black eels. And in all this chaos, a single white woman speaking Chinese produced screaming horror?
Charlotte sighed. The Chinese made no sense. She turned to Ken Jin. "So, how many white women must you lie with for it to be unusual?"
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 92
