White Tigress

by Jade Lee

  The music softened and another sound joined with theirs—an angel's music coming from a beautiful goddess. She simply appeared before them, her brow radiant, her robes not cloth but tendrils of light that emanated from within her. She smiled at them, and he heard her music shift, becoming deeper, clearer, and even more resplendent; but no more or less beautiful than Ru Shan's and Lydia's.

  "Welcome, Ru Shan. Welcome, Lydia. I am so pleased you have come to join us," she said. Then around her he felt an echoing chord, a single vibration that set the entire palace to shimmering with welcome.

  Ru Shan wanted to answer, wanted to speak poetry or song, wanted to find some excellent way to convey his gratitude. But he had no words, and yet as the thought entered his mind, his entire soul fit the emotion to sound. Together, he and Lydia made their own music, a vibration of thanks that fitted perfectly with this place.

  The goddess smiled. "I wish you could stay longer, but I am comforted that you will make many more journeys here."

  Ru Shan felt and heard Lydia's start of surprise, especially as it exactly mirrored his own. "We have to leave?" she asked.

  "Soon," the goddess answered with obvious regret. "But first, I have something to show you." Then, with a wave of her hand, the palace of gold disappeared and Ru Shan felt himself plummet.

  It was a curious sensation, not in the least bit frightening even though he knew he—with Lydia and the goddess beside him—was dropping out of Heaven, falling back to China with startling speed. His body felt heavier, the air thicker, and the tones—the beautiful ringing notes of Heaven—became more like the slow beat of a very deep drum.

  "Do you wish to see?" the goddess asked him.

  He nodded. "Of course."

  But the goddess shook her head, and he realized he had misinterpreted her words. She had not asked if he wished to see. She asked if he wanted to understand. But again, his answer was the same. "Of course," he repeated.

  "Then you must step outside yourself. You must know what parts of your mind are your own and what has been taught."

  He frowned, not truly understanding. He only knew enough to realize he was afraid. He desperately wanted to say yes. Indeed, he kept repeating the word to himself—yes, yes, yes, yes—a long litany of acceptance and agreement, but in his heart, he could only feel fear. And the more he feared, the faster and more real his plummet to Earth became. Which made him all the more fearful.

  "Ru Shan!"

  The words of alarm came from Lydia. He looked up, expecting to see her well above him, waiting at the higher place with the goddess. But she was not up there. She was still beside him, holding on desperately. They were falling together, and she was now as terrified as he.

  The goddess spoke, her words a dim echo of notes, barely heard over the pounding of his heart. "Remember what brought you to us."

  His mind grappled with the thought. What had made them succeed? How had they made the climb to Heaven?

  Love. Their love. It was a simple answer, and one he should have remembered immediately. But there was no time for recriminations. Their surroundings were nearly pitch-black. Soon they would fall back into their bodies and would have to start the entire process over again. He had to think of Lydia, of love. Except, that wasn't working. He was beginning to feel the heavy, oppressive weight of his body again. He had to...

  Not think. Feel.

  Love.

  And so he caught Lydia's face. How he did it didn't matter. All that was important is that in his thoughts, in his heart, he held his love. He pulled her close, seeing her frightened eyes, feeling the frantic beat of her heart.

  "Shhhh, my love. Do not fear. We are together."

  He didn't know if he spoke the words or simply thought them. It didn't matter. What was important is that he felt it. He felt the overwhelming need not just to protect her, but to hold her, to be with her, to surround her with his love. To be inside that love.

  To be love.

  For her. For him. For all.

  Their plummet stopped. The sky turned rosy pink, then yellowish white, and then it shimmered again with the beautiful vibration of love—neither black nor white, nor any one color at all, but every color and feeling and presence wrapped together.

  Heaven.

  The goddess returned. "It is normal to fear change, Ru Shan. But know that you come from love, live in love, and go to love. There is nowhere and no change that can separate you from it. So why then should you fear?"

  There was no reason for fear—not with Lydia beside him, a goddess before him, and the love of Heaven around him. And so he did not, or at least he tried not to fear. He stepped up to the goddess and dropped into a deep bow.

  "I am ready," he said when he straightened. "What must I do?"

  "You must say you release your fears..."

  "I willingly release my fears."

  "...and wish to see your life in all directions of time."

  He answered quickly, not allowing his conscious mind to question. "I wish to see my life in all directions of time."

  And so he did. But not with his eyes. He felt his body separate into two pieces, as if he stepped outside of a suit of clothing, except that suit was his entire body, his entire life on Earth as Ru Shan. He was not Ru Shan. He was a being of light and beauty and love, gloriously alive, wonderfully joyous, and so free that his mind could not contain it. Indeed, he did not even try. He merely felt whole for the first time in a long, long time, and the whole was so large, so vast that he could not be contained. He was part of everything—a single, changing note in an infinite symphony and the whole symphony as well.

  And in that state, he knew Lydia as well. Not only the Lydia of Earth—the body and the life—but also the being of light. Another note in Heaven's song and the whole song as well.

  He began to laugh. He could not contain it. And that too, was added to the music that surrounded them.

  "Look now at Ru Shan," the goddess directed.

  He had known this part was coming. He had known but not wished to see that creature he was and was not. Because he would see his mistakes and frailties. He would know what a failure he was.

  Except that when he looked, he saw something completely unexpected. He saw all of himself—his intentions, his education, his actions—but with the all-encompassing eyes of love. Like a parent viewing a child's growth, he watched his birth and childhood. He saw his shift into adulthood and, stretched ahead into a blurred future, he saw his old age. But not just one old age. Many. Many possible futures, many possible directions.

  "What should I see?" he asked, needing direction to sort through the chaos of the infinite future.

  But there was no direction, no answer. Merely the gentle and swift fall into one moment in his life. One night, one place.

  One person.

  Ru Shan. And Lydia. In the hotel bed. Their bodies still twined together while outside the sky lightened into dawn.

  To express your courage outwardly is to concern yourself with death.

  To express your courage inwardly is to encounter life.

  The celestial Tao does not push, yet it overcomes everything.

  It does not speak, yet it acknowledges all.

  It does not provoke, yet it cooperates.

  It is quiet in its methods, yet always effective.

  —Tao Te Ching

  ~

  Chapter 20

  "It wasn't what I thought." Lydia swallowed, pulling her knees in tighter to her chest even as she curled closer to Ru Shan. "I thought... I don't know what I thought. Angels with wings? A palace with a white throne?" She shook her head. "They were all there, and yet it was nothing like I expected."

  "And so much more," Ru Shan whispered. "So much—"

  "More," she echoed.

  She frowned in frustration. There were no words to express their experience. Everything was inadequate, and yet Ru Shan understood. He knew what she meant.

  Beauty. Joy. Love, all encompassing and total. Infinite. Amazing. She an
d Ru Shan had said all these words, and yet none of them were right. None of them fit. And yet they all did. It all was. And he understood.

  "What did you see?" she asked. "What did you do?"

  "I separated from my body. I saw me... as Ru Shan. And yet, I was not Ru Shan. I was..."

  "More."

  He nodded. "Much, much more." He shifted slightly to look into her eyes. "What did you see?"

  "The same as you. Lydia... me... that I'm not what I thought I am. I'm—"

  "More."

  She nodded. It wasn't the right word, but it was the only one they had. And so they kept repeating it even as they searched for better.

  "Bright," she whispered.

  "Fulfilled."

  "And not full."

  He nodded. "Because we can be more. So much more."

  "And yet, we are more." She pressed her ear to his chest, liking the sound of his heart. "We are perfect as we are, and yet..."

  "Ru Shan can be better," he said.

  "And Lydia, too." She shook her head. "But we're not Ru Shan and Lydia. We're..."

  "So much more."

  "Yes."

  "Much, much more," he repeated.

  Then they looked at each other, and she saw shock in his expression.

  "We're immortal," they said together, the word feeling alien and cold compared to what they had just experienced. Compared to what they were.

  She turned away. "It's not what I expected," she murmured. "It's not like I thought."

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Yes. It's so much more."

  * * *

  "What do we do now?"

  Lydia's voice was soft and tentative, but Ru Shan heard her nonetheless. Unfortunately, he had no more answer than she, though they had been sitting on this bed for most of the morning discussing that very thing. Or perhaps they had been avoiding that discussion, focusing more on the night's experiences rather than the day's questions.

  But now, as the day wore steadily on, well past lunch and heading toward evening, simple things began to intrude. What to eat. Where to live. What to do.

  "I don't know," he answered as he tucked her tighter against him. "I want to try again," he said as he stroked his hand down her arm. "But not now."

  "No," she agreed. "Not yet. But I do want to go back. I want to know more."

  "I want to understand more."

  "Yes," she agreed. And then again, they fell into silence.

  Finally, she shifted onto her knees, her lush body—already beautiful—radiant with the memory of what they had shared. Of where they had been. "I will go back with you. I will be your second wife."

  He shook his head. "No—"

  "I know now who I am," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I know that I can be that person wherever I am—concubine or wife, slave or master. I am..." She paused. "We both are..."

  "We all are beings of light, Lydia," he agreed, knowing she understood. "We merely forgot for a while."

  She nodded. "But I remember. And you do too, so it doesn't matter where I live. I know now who I am."

  "Yes," he said slowly, but he knew that the experience faded. Flush with the glory of their experience, she could not imagine that such feelings, such wonder could fade. But it did. Time and money and Earth life interfered, and soon even the best of the Earth-born Immortals could forget. "My family would destroy you. They would beat down your spirit until there is nothing left." He sighed. "We cannot stay in China, Lydia."

  She shifted slightly, her eyes suddenly intense. "We?"

  He looked at her, seeing not her luscious body, but the heart and soul of the woman he loved. Her body meant nothing to him. She was what mattered. "I love you, Lydia," he said, knowing now that it was a poor phrase to describe what he felt. "I will not release you. Ever. If you were to leave me, I would follow you. I will abandon everything, do anything if only I can stay with you."

  She smiled, and he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. "I am not going anywhere, my love."

  "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, we are."

  She tilted her head but didn't speak, waiting for him to explain.

  "China is a large country, weighted with the traditions of five thousand years. There is much good in my country and our traditions, but they would not treat you as you deserve, Lydia. And I find I am not willing to wait for them to learn."

  She laughed at that, the sound mellow and sweet. "Women are not treated well all the world over, Ru Shan." Then she sobered. "But you think it will be very bad for me here."

  He would not lie to her. "You will not be happy. We will move to your England."

  She shook her head. "Even we barbarians have traditions, Ru Shan, and I have broken many of my people's unwritten laws. Neither of us will be happy in England."

  "Very well, then. We will go find another country, another place."

  She shifted, chewing on her lip as she thought. "Nowhere I know will treat you kindly, Ru Shan."

  He nodded, having expected that much. But it did not matter. "I am the Cheng family mountain and an Immortal." He took hold of her hand, drawing her back into his arms. "I am strong enough to weather anything." He tilted her face toward him. "So long as we remember together who we are."

  She smiled, her face lighting with the joy of Heaven. "I loved you before we became Immortal, Ru Shan. I will not forget now." Then she kissed him, her heart and her love easily flowing into him, just as his joy melted into her.

  They might then have begun their practice, merging into one another in the way of all lovers, but she pulled away from him, a frown on her features. "What of your family, Ru Shan? What of the Chengs?"

  He sighed, hating to bring them into this moment, into their joy. "They will not leave China. And I cannot abandon my son." He lifted his gaze, searching her face. "Will you love him, Lydia? If you—"

  She cut off his words with a swift kiss. "I love everything that is from you. Your son will be the easiest of all."

  He shifted uncomfortably. "In truth, he is not from me. He is my half-brother."

  Her answer came without hesitation. "Then I will love him all the more."

  He reached up, stroking her face, feeling the long slide of her body against his. His yang fire had already heated, his dragon was strong and eager, but he did not move. Instead, he simply touched her face and luxuriated in the whisper of her skin against his.

  "What are you smiling at?" she asked, her voice playful despite the rosy flush of yin in her cheeks and lips.

  "How strange that a ghost woman has taught me the one thing of substance that I have needed all my life." He brushed his lips across hers. "Loving you has given me Heaven." He pulled back, looking directly into her eyes. "You are everything, my love."

  She grinned, nipping at his mouth. "And how strange that the man who bought me as a slave has shown me how much I am truly worth. Together, my love, we are worthy of Heaven."

  He sobered. "The future will not be easy for us, no matter where we go."

  "Wrong, my husband," she said. "Heaven and all its glories lie ahead for us." Then her eyes sparkled with mischief as she began to slip lower on his body. "That is, as long as we get busy practicing."

  The fundamental delusion of humanity is to suppose that I am here and you are out there.

  —Yasutani Roshi

  ~

  Epilogue

  Shi Po sank behind the curtain of her sedan chair, tapping her long nails in irritation. Ru Shan's ship had just sailed, taking him and his white pet to America. It was rumored that he took his son with him as well, but that the rest of the Cheng family had refused to sully themselves by living among the barbarians.

  They had not disowned him, though, in the hope that he would send barbarian gold from across the sea back to support his family. In the meantime, the servant Fu De had charge of the Cheng family store. Worse, he was running it well. The English people flocked to buy the clothing patterns the white pet had left behind.

  The Chengs would be able to r
epay their debt to her husband after all.

  That, of course, was not what caused the steady tap, tap, tap of her long nails against her seat. She cared little for matters of business. Her husband did not need to add the Cheng store to his ever-growing interests. Neither did they require the money repayment would bring. Either way, Shi Po had enough wealth to live in comfort while she pursued her studies.

  What truly incensed her was that Ru Shan and his ghost pet had both achieved immortality. Ru Shan had come to see her before his departure, the tendrils of Heaven radiant as they swirled around his serene face. Even her unenlightened husband had noticed his calm, his joy. But she with her tutored eye had seen more than joy. She had seen glory and beauty and immortality.

  And then the white pet entered the room.

  Cheng Lydia was her name, Ru Shan's second wife. But Shi Po was required to call her Immortal. Worse, Shi Po had been required to write that barbarian name in the tigress book.

  How could a barbarian woman achieve what she had not? How could an English pet succeed where years of dedicated study had brought precious little to Shi Po?

  A full day's meditation had not brought her closer to an answer. Neither had a night's fasting nor another two nights' practice. It was maddening. And now, Ru Shan and his ghost bride had sailed to America where Shi Po could not even learn from their achievements.

  She grimaced, lifting the curtain to stare again at the retreating ship. She wished Ru Shan well with his barbarian bride in a land wilder than Mongolia. She supposed the Enlightened had no need for culture or refinement.

  She ought to feel grateful. She should be pleased, because Ru Shan's departure assured her own success. Normally the Immortal Ru Shan would now be China's foremost teacher in the dragon/tigress practices. But in his absence, Shi Po remained the preeminent one. All knew that he had been her pupil. If they could not learn from him, she was the one they would turn to now.

  But how would she lead where she had not gone? How could she teach where she was but a pupil herself? She had no answers, no guidance, and more students knocking upon her door every day.