White Tigress

by Jade Lee

  In short, he had begun badly with Lydia, buying her when he should have simply freed her. And that one evil act had tainted his whole life thereafter. He had not attained immortality despite the power in Lydia's yin. He had not saved the Cheng family despite the money her designs would bring. And worse yet, his own emotional well—his yang, and what little yin he possessed—had completely deserted him. He could not forgive his father. He could not even face his son with an open heart. Little by little, the curse of his own evil act—buying a free woman—was destroying him.

  He had to reverse this curse. He had to find a way to obtain forgiveness—from Lydia and Heaven—and in so doing, return to the middle path. But how? The answer was simple, for all that it made his body tremble. He had to release Lydia. He had to set her free, legally and morally.

  The very thought terrified him. He still believed she contained the yin he required to reach immortality. He also thought her the only possible chance to save his family. How could he release her, cut all the ties that bound them together? Would she not flee in terror, just as she had earlier this day?

  She would leave and never return. He and the Chengs would be lost.

  There had to be another way. Had to be.

  Resolved, he returned to his chamber and his prayer mat. He burned incense, paper money, and even his own clothing as a symbol to Heaven of his earnest pleas. He did not eat at all, not even water as he prostrated himself upon his mat before the tiny altar in his chamber. He begged and moaned and wept in prayer.

  Yet as the hours slipped past, he came to one inescapable conclusion.

  He was offering prayers to the wrong person. His earnestness, his devotion, and most especially his humiliation were useless before Heaven until he did the same before Lydia. There was no alternative, no other way to evade his fate. He had to release her and pray that she came to him of her own free will.

  When the sun slipped beneath the smoky horizon, Ru Shan emerged from his chamber. He called for bathing water and his best clothing, but spoke no more than that. His every action was like a prayer, performed in complete consciousness of intention.

  He went to the storage room, taking the best silk embroidery, stitched by his mother's own hand—and expensive oils from his grandmother's collection. From his father he gathered Imperial jade rods, the currency most often used between Chinese men of wealth. And from his first wife, he took diamond earrings. Then, finally, from his own back garden, he harvested his best ornamental plant, tended from a seed by his own hand.

  These things he would give to Lydia, hoping that they would weigh down her feet and prevent her escape. Altogether, the price was barely a fraction of what he had already spent to buy her. But these things were owed to Lydia, and he didn't begrudge the expense.

  Not so the rest of his family, but they knew better than to complain. His grandmother merely closed her eyes and reached for her opium pipe, finding she had to share the white smoke with Ru Shan's father. His first wife tried a different approach, bringing him sweetmeats and juicy fruits while dressed in her sheerest gown.

  Ru Shan was tempted, though not by his wife. His interest in her had died the moment he began learning the ways of a jade dragon. Indeed, she had not graced his bed since he was a boy too young to understand such things. It was the food that tempted him, for he had not eaten since the day before. The steam rising from the dumplings alone nearly brought him to his knees. But he would not appear before Lydia impure. And he would certainly not allow his first wife to steer him from his course. So he passed her by, stepping quickly past the tray of food lest weakness overtake him.

  It did not. Not until he had gathered everything together and was heading toward the front door. It was at that moment that he faltered.

  His son stood before him, the boy's dark eyes somber and hands filled with a long velvet pouch. "You have not yet taken my gift, father," Zun Ran said, and he held out his package. Before Ru Shan could speak, the boy quietly opened the pouch, withdrawing a long scroll of finest parchment. "It is a prayer," he said, unrolling the paper to reveal the characters written upon it. "Though a poor example, it is the best I have ever done."

  Ru Shan felt his heart twist painfully. "You have an excellent hand, Zun Ran. And..." His voice trailed away, at last seeing the characters his child had painted. "That is a prayer of good journeys." He swallowed, his throat painfully tight. "Why would you give that to my second wife?" He took a deep breath. For all that his son was still a boy, there were times when Zun Ran understood things that were beyond an adult's comprehension. "Do you believe she is leaving?" The very thought made his blood run cold.

  "It is for you as well, honored father," said the child. He bowed again, his small body folding nearly to the ground.

  Ru Shan frowned, setting the basket of other gifts aside. "But I am not leaving. I am merely going to make amends. Whatever happens, I shall return here." He said the words, even believed them, but in his heart, he began to wonder. What did his son know that he did not?

  Zun Ran did not answer, but his eyes spoke of a sorrow so great, Ru Shan could not believe it came from a boy barely eight years old. And so, twice in one day, he knelt before his son, dropping down to the child's height as he spoke.

  "I am a man of honor, my son. I do not abandon my responsibilities." Then he abruptly reached forward, needing to touch the boy. "Come with me," he pressed. "Put your gift in her hands. Show her you wish her to return to our home."

  He saw a flash of yearning in his son's eyes, but in the end it was quieted and finally disappeared. "You must go alone, my father. I am needed here."

  "Surely you can be spared your chores for one night...," Ru Shan began, but the boy scampered away. Ru Shan continued to stare into the courtyard long after the child escaped. He remained there as the servants lit lanterns in the darkened skywell. He remained there, listening to the sounds of the Cheng family as if Heaven had increased their volume a thousand-fold.

  He heard his grandmother's deep hacking cough as it rattled through her where she lay on her opium-saturated sheets. He heard his father and his first wife grunting in their exertions, consoling one another in their pain. He heard the servants in the kitchen, the vendors outside as they shuffled to their homes. He even heard the cats and the vermin that scuttled beneath the floorboards.

  But in all that, he heard nothing of his son. A memory whispered through his mind, the words as loud as a clanging bell, despite the silent nature of such things.

  I am needed here.

  Ru Shan shuddered. It was a full-body shaking that rattled his teeth and tormented his joints. It was as if a great tiger grasped him in its jaws and shook him like a toy before dropping him once again in the middle of the skywell, just before the front gate.

  I am released.

  That was the thought that came through Ru Shan's mind. The great tiger of China, of tradition, of filial piety had released him. As simply as that, it had opened its jaws and released him to escape with his barbarian lover if he so chose. He could leave with Lydia to another home, another world, another life of his own making—with her.

  He could, if he so chose.

  And with that knowledge came a sure and certain fury. As fierce as any storm, it blew through him, mounting upon a great, hot wind, searing everything in its path.

  "I am Ru Shan!" he bellowed. "I am the Cheng mountain, and I will not abandon my duties!"

  As his vow exploded out of him, Ru Shan looked to the second floor and his son's room. All around him, the sounds stopped. His grandmother's cough silenced. The kitchen activity ceased and the vermin quit their scampering.

  Yet no sound came from his son. Neither did the boy's face appear in the upper hallway. It was as if his words had never been spoken, his vow to remain true to his family duties as insubstantial as the rantings of a madman.

  "I am Ru Shan," he repeated, but this time in a whisper. "The mountain of the Cheng family."

  Again, there was no response. And so, in the end,
Ru Shan had no choice. He had to present his gifts to Lydia before it grew too dark and dangerous to walk the Shanghai streets. With heavy steps and an aching heart, he gathered his basket and went to prostrate himself before his concubine.

  * * *

  Now what?

  Lydia truly did not want to think. She didn't really want to cry anymore either, so that left few other options.

  Thanks to Fu De's excellent hotel, she was cleaned and fed. Her concubine dress was tossed aside into a corner of her sparse room, and she frequently glared at it whenever she felt the need of more anger. Right now, she wore a loose-fitting shirt and coolie pants. A pair that was closed at the crotch. If she forgot the fact that her attire was scandalous beyond belief, she actually felt comfortable.

  Certainly much more comfortable than in her beautiful courtesan gown.

  But now that she'd bathed, dressed, and eaten, there was little left to do. Nothing except pace around the large bed and glare at her silk dress. And think. Except, the only thing she could think of was a two-word question.

  Now what?

  She didn't know. Life as a concubine was out of the question. Even to Ru Shan, the man she loved. Tears blurred her eyes. She loved him, the damned Chinese dog! How had it happened, and why?

  She spun around and glared at the dress until her tears dried. Then she took a deep breath before dropping miserably back on the bed.

  Now what?

  She could go back to England. Assuming, of course, that she could borrow the money from Fu De. If he had it. She was already deep in debt to the man anyway; why not throw in the cost of passage back to England? That was the land of one man and one wife in love.

  Tears threatened, but she'd barely looked away from the dress, so it was easy to glare at again. Which, of course, meant the cycle repeated itself until she could manage to think about going home without the distraction of love, or men, or could-have-beens, interfering with her decision.

  Could she go back to England? In truth, she'd already asked Fu De to inquire about the various ships leaving port. At the moment, she had wanted to get as far away from Ru Shan and things Chinese as possible. But now... She didn't know. Was England where she wanted to be?

  She certainly could crawl back into her mother's arms. She could eat a good hot plum pudding and read her favorite book by the fire. But after that, what would she do?

  She knew her mother would never understand the things Lydia had experienced. Indeed, no one she knew could possibly comprehend. China had changed her. Ru Shan had changed her. She had fallen desperately in love and discovered many wonderful things. He had been the tenderest of lovers. The most patient of men. The...

  No, no, no, no, no!

  She would not deify the rat either! She ought to burn his dress as an act of defiance. No, no, then she'd have nothing to glare at. She could rip it to shreds. She sighed. She truly hadn't the heart to destroy such a beautiful garment, no matter its significance. Besides, it was the only thing she had in her possession.

  She supposed she could sell the dress, use the money to repay Fu De. But it would have to be cleaned first, and she hadn't the heart to start on that now. Besides, she couldn't glare at it if she sold it.

  So the garment remained crumpled in the corner, and Lydia remained stuck right back where she'd been hours ago when she'd first finished her bath.

  Now what? She did not truly want to go home. She couldn't imagine how she'd explain what had happened to her. Worse, she couldn't see herself calmly taking up the reins of her old life, even if her mother found the money to support them both. After all, that was the reason she'd left for Shanghai in the first place; there was not enough money for both her mother and her. Lydia simply had to find a way to support herself.

  At the time, she had expected a glorious life with Max. Then she had leaped joyously into wedded bliss with Ru Shan. And now... what?

  "No men." That was her first resolution. Perhaps that had been her mistake all along. As bizarre as the thought was, she simply could not face a future with any man in it at all. She was done trusting them. Men simply could not be relied upon to keep her safe. And so they were gleefully tossed out of her future, whatever that was going to be.

  Well, with that decided, she would have to find a way to support herself. What exactly did women do when they didn't have a man to support them? The obvious answer was out. No prostitution in any form. In her opinion, there was little difference between walking the streets and being a second wife to the man she loved.

  Or so she told herself, glaring at the gown.

  Yet, what else could she do? Her only marketable skill was in clothing design. It was something she loved, something she was good at. And since she was a tolerable seamstress, she could find a job doing that.

  But with whom? Where?

  Ru Shan's closest competitor leapt to mind. She didn't remember the name, but she would wager anything that Fu De knew. Assuming he would tell her. It was Shi Po's husband.

  Would she do that? Go work for Ru Shan's enemy? Could she do that?

  She looked at the silk gown again, this time actually stopping to look rather than glare. Could she learn something from its pattern? Could she remake it into a gown to use as an example of her abilities? Could she use it to market herself to a different employer?

  She bit her lip, slowly moving to the corner. She actually hesitated, somehow fearing to touch the dress. As if picking up the thing would inevitably suck her right back into that evil Chinese rat's clutches. But that was ridiculous. It was just a gown, after all. Fabric and stitches and decorations. A gown.

  And one that could start her on a new future.

  Without another moment's hesitation, she snatched up the gown, rushing before she could stop herself. She quickly called for scissors, needle, and thread. And then, moments later, she sat down to begin carefully picking the damned dress apart.

  * * *

  Ru Shan arrived in good time. The hotelier knew him, so was able to quickly and quietly direct him to Lydia's room. But despite his rights as Lydia's husband, Ru Shan could not bring himself to open the door.

  What would she do when she saw him? She claimed she had once loved him, and yet she had done so in fury, storming out of his home seconds after her declaration. With such a woman, how could any man know her next action? A wife was supposed to see to her husband's comforts, not leave him standing before her door in anxiety.

  But such complaints were useless at best. He had known from the beginning that Lydia was different. Neither barbarian nor Chinese, she was her own soul. And a higher compliment could not be given to anyone—man or woman, barbarian or son of Heaven.

  With sudden resolve, he knocked on her door, knowing he came in supplication to this creature, this woman. His Lydia—or so he hoped.

  "Come in. My hands are full, so you'll have to open the door yourself."

  Her voice did not sound thick with sobs or tight with anger. She sounded calm. Rational. A good sign, he thought. And so he pushed open her door, his heart in his throat despite his thoughts. But what he saw terrified him even more.

  She sat on her large bed, calmly picking apart her wedding gown. She had not torn it into pieces in a fury nor burned it as women often did in the grips of their humors. No, Lydia was methodically disassembling, stitch by stitch, the symbol of their union.

  His heart sank like a stone, and his hands grew slack where he held his basket. She did not appear to be a woman in a temper, or one easily swayed by pretty gifts and words of poetry. She would demand logic and cold practicality. Unfortunately, he had little of such persuasions to offer.

  "Good evening, Lydia," he said, mostly because he had no idea what else to say.

  "I thought you were Fu De," she said, her eyes wide with surprise. "He said he would bring me..." Her voice trailed off, and Ru Shan frowned.

  "What?" he demanded, stepping into the room. "What can he bring you that your husband cannot?" Fear made his stance firm and authoritative, even
though he knew such a tactic would not work on her.

  True enough, her chin shot up and she glared at him. "News of the boats leaving China." Then she deliberately turned her focus back to her work. "And I have no husband."

  He dropped his basket of gifts on the floor, quickly crossing to her side. He should have dropped to one knee before her, but he was terrified. And so he stood, needing his pride, if nothing else, to keep him from sobbing like a small boy. "You know we are married, Lydia. By both our laws."

  She looked up, the bleakness in her eyes cutting at his soul. "Even if English law accepted a marriage to a man who was already married..." He watched her eyes shimmer with tears, but she did not allow even one to fall. "I am still a virgin, Ru Shan. I can get the ceremony annulled."

  Then she swallowed, using the movement to look away from him. "As for your country, what do I care about your barbaric ways?"

  He winced, knowing she chose her words deliberately to wound him. It was her people who were barbaric, discarding wives like old shoes. But such arguments were useless, and they would not get her back where he wanted her—in his home, in his bed.

  He abandoned his superior pose. It was vanity in any event, and would not help him here. Instead he knelt beside her, drawing his basket of gifts to his side before displaying them one by one before her feet.

  "My family feels most unhappy for the way they have treated you. They have sent gifts with me to you. To show you their shame and to beg your forgiveness." Out came the silk and oils, the jade and diamonds, but Lydia barely glanced at them.

  "I did not expect your family to embrace me, and they were not the ones who hurt me," she said, her voice flat and dull.

  "And this plant," he continued as if she had not spoken, "is from my own garden, raised by my own hand."

  No response.

  "This is from my son. He wrote it himself. It is excellent work for a child." He did not tell her the content of the poem. He had not the heart.

  Instead of a recognition of his son's goodness, Lydia merely sighed, dropping the fabric to wrap herself in her own arms. "Ru Shan, this is pointless. You have a wife. A son. A family. There is no place for me in that." This time she did not prevent the single tear that trailed down her cheek. "I can't share you, Ru Shan. I... I just can't."