White Tigress

by Jade Lee

  She glanced up at his face, wondering at the trace of humor in his voice. Or perhaps it was pride, she wasn't sure. Either way, his expression did not hold her attention for long. She was soon looking again at his organ. "You are too long?"

  "A dragon's best length is that which matches exactly his woman's cinnabar cave. It is one of the requirements when seeking a tigress with whom to practice." He paused. "I have not found a woman yet who matches me completely."

  "What of Shi Po? Isn't she your mentor?"

  He sighed and shook his head. "Shi Po and I do not match in this manner, and so we have been unable to perform certain exercises. I believe it has hindered my advancement significantly."

  "Perhaps you will find one soon," she responded. "Then you will no longer need me for more yin."

  He did not answer, and she did not press him. The thought of him with a suitable tigress was not one she wished to dwell upon. Instead, she hunched herself lower, looking at the sac beneath his dragon. She recalled such from her studies in her father's book, but she did not know its purpose. Fortunately, he answered her questions before she could even phrase them.

  "That is the base of the dragon, sometimes called his house. It is the center of yang essence and where my yang fire begins."

  "Then it must be released from there?"

  "No. It is where the fire begins." Then she felt him extend his hand, lifting her chin to look directly at him. "A man is built differently than a woman. A woman's fire builds, lifting naturally to her breasts and to her mind. But nature directs a man's fire outward, spending it uselessly outside his body. It is the work of the tigress to build a man's fire, then stop it from flowing outward. This takes much focus and control on the man's part, but with practice, it can be directed upward, to the mind. If enough yang and yin combine, that energy will flow upward launching him into immortality."

  She merely stared at him, trying to understand his words.

  "Do not worry," he soothed. "You do not need to understand this to help me."

  "But I do understand," she finally said. "You wish me to build your yang fire so that it can heat your mind. And when that happens—"

  "It cannot be done alone. It must combine with yin."

  She nodded. "When it has combined—"

  "And the fire is hot enough."

  "Then you will become immortal?"

  He nodded, a surprised smile on his face. "Yes. The exact manner in which the combination takes place is unknown. Many have ideas, and there are mental images we use to encourage the process. But you understand the essentials."

  "So a tigress would build your fire but prevent its expulsion from your body." She frowned. "How is this done?"

  "When a tigress knows that the fire is about to erupt, she presses on two places. The first is the dragon's mouth." He reached down and demonstrated, using his thumb and forefinger to squeeze closed the tiny hole at the tip of his dragon. "She also presses upon the jen-mo point. It is here, behind the dragon's home. It is exactly where the cinnabar cave is located on a woman." So saying, he lifted up his dragon home to give her a better view.

  She tried to see, but it was in shadow, and no matter how much she twisted her head, she could not understand where he meant. At her sigh of exasperation, he reached out with his free hand for hers.

  "You must press it now, Li Dee. I will tell you when you find it exactly."

  "Touch it?" she practically squeaked. "Now?"

  He smiled encouragingly. "Yes, now. Otherwise, how will you know what you are to do?"

  "Of course," she said, mostly to herself. "How else will I know?"

  And so, with his hand to guide her, she reached forward, between his legs. But her aim was not accurate, and her hand touched the side of his thigh. She had no more than brushed against him, but he jumped back as if burned.

  "Your hand is very cold, Li Dee," he said by way of explanation.

  She looked down at her hands, sympathy rising inside her. "Oh. Sorry."

  "Rub your hands together."

  She did, but her skin remained ice cold. "I cannot get them to warm up."

  "Let me." And so he pressed her hands between his two larger ones. His heat was like a blast furnace, surrounding her and sending a shiver of appreciation all the way down her spine.

  "Your hands are smaller than I expected. For some reason I thought all English were larger."

  She smiled, her entire body warming under his attention. "Some of us are. But some of us aren't. The English like long fingers, and I am afraid I never quite grew enough."

  He shifted his grip, adjusting his hands so that he cradled hers. "Your hands have an excellent shape. Usually water people have doughy hands that look plump like a water-filled sack. But your hands are narrower, without the plumpness of water. This means you have gold in your body and that your art may make a great deal of money."

  He raised her hands to his mouth, blowing gently upon them as he spoke. "That is why I have hope for your designs and will allow my customers to see them."

  "Because my hands aren't fat?"

  "Because your destiny is shown in your body." He gently released her hand. "Try to find the jen-mo point now."

  She nodded, looking stupidly at her hands. They weren't cold now. Indeed, she felt as if his breath had scorched them into a hypersensitivity. And he was already gently guiding her to that spot between his legs.

  "Curl your fingers, but don't use your nails. Many tigresses use their middle finger, but any solid pressure will serve."

  She didn't respond. What would she say? Instead, her entire focus seemed to be on her hand. The edge of her thumb brushed his thigh, and she started. He, too, jerked a bit, his dragon bobbing its head in a most interesting manner. But he did not release her hand. He guided her higher, while a kind of power seemed to envelop her hand. It was warm and tingling, coming from all sides of his body.

  "I... I think I feel your yang fire."

  "It is most strong there," he concurred. Then he began to release her hand. "Feel around. Gently. I will tell you when you have found it."

  She did as she was bid, nervously brushing her fingers across the back of his dragon home. The flesh moved slightly with her, and she marveled at the wrinkled texture.

  "You are doing well, Li Dee. Explore. It is good to understand the dragon's environment if you wish to draw him out."

  "Your dragon is already well out," she said, stunned by her own brazenness. But when he rewarded her with a low chuckle, she felt emboldened even further.

  Without further hesitation, she began to stroke his sac, noting the two solid ball-like things beneath the skin. She tested them very carefully, lifting them to feel their weight. She even squeezed—very gently—to see his reaction. She looked up at his face, seeing that his skin had indeed flushed rosy, and that his breath was harsher and louder as he breathed.

  "Are you in pain?" she asked, abruptly pulling her hand away. But he guided her back.

  "You are merely stoking the yang fire. It is just like when I prepare you to release your yin. You are bringing the yang to life."

  And so she continued, cupping his dragon home again before sliding her finger further back.

  "There."

  She froze. "Here?"

  "Yes. Push one finger in. Excellent. That will hold back the yang release and allow me to channel it correctly."

  She slowly removed her hand, wondering at what she was supposed to do now. She had a guess, and all too soon Ru Shan began guiding her hand to its next location.

  "It is time for you to meet the dragon, Li Dee. First you must touch it with your hands, stroking it from its home all the way to its head."

  "Touch it?" she echoed softly, her voice thankfully more normal than before.

  "With your fingers first. Then your mouth."

  She jerked backward. "My mouth?"

  He smiled. "Of course. Just as I sucked upon your breasts, you must also suck upon my dragon."

  She looked at his huge dragon,
feeling anxiety knot her stomach. She didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure she could put it in her mouth.

  Then once again, he was lifting her chin to look directly at her. "You said you wished to help me."

  "Yes, but..." She didn't know what to say. "Have you ever put your finger in your mouth? Have you ever sucked on it after eating, or perhaps after pricking your finger?" She nodded. "Yes. Of course."

  "I tell you now that my dragon is cleaner than your fingers, for I am extremely careful with it. I keep it protected from the outside dirt and bathe it more often than most people wash their hands."

  She nodded, torn somewhere between nervousness and excitement. But before she could resolve herself one way or another, she heard him sigh.

  "I have pushed you too fast again. You English are difficult to manage."

  "We most certainly are not!" she exclaimed, unsure why she reacted so strongly to his statement. "It is simply very new to me."

  "You do not need to do this if—"

  "No," she interrupted. "I want to learn." And she did. Very much.

  And so with that thought in mind, she took hold of his dragon.

  From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng

  21 December, 1873

  Dearest Li Hua—

  The Starving Mongoose Captain is back! Oh, he makes my stomach sick, but he wants more cloth and Sheng Fu wants to sell it to him. Sheng Fu has had the stitchers embroidering day and night now on long bolts, just so we can sell it to him. The work is very shoddy, very ugly, but Sheng Fu says the ghost people will not notice. He is wrong in that, but he would not listen to me. That is the first thing the Mongoose Captain said—that our work is worth very little.

  I had hoped that the Mongoose Captain's words would anger Cheng Fu, but my husband simply smiled stupidly at the man. He is so greedy for the English gold that he has lost all sense! I pretended to be hurt by the captain's words. I began to sob loudly, then ran away as if I was too upset to continue. Cheng Fu was left to stare helplessly at the captain, unable to do any business at all that day.

  But I paid for my deception last night. Cheng Fu was very angry, and now I must hide my face until it heals. I did not mind so long as it kept me away from the Starving Mongoose, but this morning Cheng Fu took our son away from his studies. He said that if I was too ill to translate, he would take Ru Shan.

  There was nothing I could do, Li Hua. I had to go back to the store. I could not allow Ru Shan to be distracted. He is too unsettled a student for me to allow him a full day's escape. So I went to the store, limping on my bruised legs, my face painted and hidden behind a fan. I even brought Cheng Fu his favorite lunch of pork dumplings and prostrated myself before him in shame. I thought that with my contrition, he would send Ru Shan home.

  He did not. He kept the boy at his side as a threat to me. To show me that I would have to cooperate or he would keep Ru Shan from his future as a scholar.

  And that was not the only surprise, either! When the Starving Mongoose appeared, he brought someone else with him. I do not remember the man's name. I call him Mr. Lost Cat because he had a beard like whiskers pointing in all directions—some even straight out from the side of his face! He seemed to look at everything, his beard quivering like cats' do when they are sniffing. He seemed to me like he was lost, looking all over for something familiar. Perhaps the pathway home. And so that is how I named him.

  The captain said Mr. Lost Cat knew Chinese and would interpret for us. Truthfully, he speaks very badly, and only in the way of the Cantonese First Boys—the servants of the other English. But I think he is less lost than I first believed. I think perhaps, like me, he understands more than he shows, and so now I must be very careful when I translate for Cheng Fu. I cannot lie anymore about what is being said.

  —Mei Lan

  Zen has nothing to grab on to.

  When people who study Zen don't see it,

  that is because they approach it too eagerly.

  —Ying An

  ~

  Chapter 8

  This should have been easy. But then, Ru Shan was beginning to understand that nothing with Li Dee was easy.

  Over the years, he had been with many tigresses, from the most inexperienced all the way to Shi Po, who had developed techniques that strained the lengths of any man's control. Especially with the cubs—the novice tigresses—Ru Shan had learned to stand still, to focus on channeling his yang fire almost to the exclusion of all else. The woman, whether novice or experienced, became almost incidental. Irrelevant.

  But not Li Dee. How an inexperienced white woman could so disrupt his concentration, he couldn't understand. But that, he supposed, was what he needed to learn. Or to overcome. He wasn't sure which.

  Her hands were tentative, but not afraid. They were simply careful as she explored the length and girth and texture of his jade dragon. But then she became bolder, pulling slightly at his foreskin, moving the dragon left and right. She even sniffed it, unaware that her gentle exhalation against his dragon mouth had his entire body tightening with greedy anticipation.

  He reached down, guiding her hands as he showed her how to slide his foreskin up and down.

  "Like pumping the bellows in a smithy," he explained, "that will help the yang fire burn hot."

  "But I thought you wanted me to... I mean, you said I should use my tongue."

  He shook his head. "If you are not ready—"

  "No," she interrupted. "I want to. I want to learn."

  Of course she did. Li Dee was very bright and very curious.

  "Do what you choose, but be very gentle. I will not react. I am going to begin the work of diverting the yang fire." At her confused look, he did his best to explain. "Nature makes a man expend his yang because that is how a child is planted in a woman's womb. But if I have no wish to create a child, all that qi—that energy—is wasted. What a jade dragon does is rechannel that energy, directing it not outside the body, but into the creation of an Immortal."

  "You?"

  "Yes. If I succeed."

  "And so you wish me to heat your yang fire so that you can use that energy to become immortal." She tilted her head, looking at him with a mixture of awe and confusion. "This is possible? People have done this?"

  "Oh yes."

  "They live forever?"

  Clearly she wanted to learn, so he crouched down before her, deciding to help her understand. "Their bodies eventually die, though their physical life is much prolonged. It is the spirit—"

  "Your soul?"

  He shifted onto his knees. "I do not understand this word 'soul.'"

  "It's our spirit. The part of us that lives forever. Everyone has one. After our bodies die, the soul continues forever with God."

  He frowned. "But does your consciousness—your mind—walk with the Eternals now? With your God in the Heavenly Realm while you still breathe here on Earth?"

  She shook her head. "No. Of course not."

  "Then how do you know this spirit embryo—this soul—exists within you?"

  She bit her lip, obviously thrown. "I don't know," she finally said. "It is what we are taught."

  He sighed. "Then I believe you have an inkling of the truth, but do not possess full understanding. Your 'soul' does not exist until it has been created by mixing male yang and female yin. When the two are sufficiently stirred together with enough energy and fire, then an Immortal is created."

  "But what does that mean? I mean, how do you know when you have stirred enough?"

  "Because our minds go to the Heavenly Realm, and then we walk with the Immortals."

  She gasped, wonder lighting her beautiful face. "Truly? Always?"

  He smiled, remembering that he had asked the exact same questions so many years ago. "Truly," he answered. "But not always. Our bodies do need sustenance, so we return here. But a true Immortal can visit the Heavenly Realm often."

  She glanced down, looking at his chest, his still hungry dragon, at his entire naked body. "Are you close?"

>   He sighed. "I was. I have entered the Chamber of Swinging Lanterns three times now. But I have not progressed further. And I have not even gotten that far for the last two years."

  "But you want to try again. Because you have so much yang?"

  "Yes. And because you have given me so much yin." He straightened. "Do you wish to help me?" He wasn't sure why he asked. She was his slave. He could order her to assist him. But he had no intention of angering the woman holding his genitals. And besides, Li Dee had a good heart. She seemed genuinely interested in helping him.

  True to his expectations, Li Dee straightened her shoulders. "What should I do?"

  He smiled in appreciation, then began his instructions. "Continue to stroke the yang fire but do not seek my advice or help. It will disrupt my focus. I will appear as if in a trance and can stay that way for many hours." He felt his lips curve into a smile. "The creation of an Immortal takes much time."

  She nodded and gently reached out for his jade dragon. "I will be gentle."

  "I know you will." And then, in a supreme act of trust, he closed his eyes and began the process of redirecting his yang.

  As before, she learned quickly. With little more than an occasional murmur from him, she understood how much pressure was required, how fast a stroke, how firm a grip. Soon, he was able to enjoy the sensation of his yang building, the exquisite feel of a woman's tongue on his dragon, the warmth of being surrounded by Li Dee's yin.

  She was an extraordinary woman, he thought, even as his mind began to stir his yang into the eternal circle of creation. Both his major river of yang and the minor river of yin began to flow, and all was kept in wondrous agitation by Li Dee.

  She had a beautiful laugh. Low and throaty, and so different from the Chinese women he knew. They had high-pitched giggles, like very young girls. Even his mother had tittered rather than laughed, and he was startled to realize that he preferred Li Dee's more open sound.

  She didn't laugh in his presence. No, she made soft low moans of enjoyment when he suckled her yin, but she had never actually laughed. But he had heard her. Nearly a week ago with Fu De. She and the servant had been studying each other's languages, practicing the written words with sponge brushes. Ru Shan had come to the apartment early and ended up standing out in the hallway, wondering at the joyful sound from within. Just hearing that sound—so happy and carefree—had churned the yang within him into hot lava.