Heart and Soul (46 page)

But now, here, in this little cave, in the depths of a mountain, alone with Wen, she didn’t know what to do.
It’s been too long,
she thought desperately, as her mind tried to summon to itself the images and words she’d been taught about various sexual acts. There had been line drawings, almost too schematic for her virgin brain to make any sense of. And then there were names. She remembered Two Butterflies Sporting on Silk Chrysalis, but since that involved the presence of two girls and one man, she very much hoped it wasn’t something that Wen dreamed of.

He took a deep sigh and sat up, offering her both his hands. “My wife,” he said softly. “Third Lady. My fox-fairy.”

She sighed in return because his voice made every word sweet, but she didn’t know what to do, and she had the terrified feeling that he would expect more expertise from her than she had any idea how to show. Because not only was she a were-fox—creatures who were widely believed to be lascivious and utterly devoted to the body and the senses—but she was also a singsong girl, someone who had been taught—at least in theory—the pleasures of the flesh and how to make men feel good. And she wanted to make Wen feel good.

She wanted their time together to be such that she would be the only woman he’d ever want. She wanted her sister-wives, who did not love Wen as she did, to never have visits from him and to either quietly divorce him or to simply enjoy their honors but not Wen. She wanted her ability to be such that Wen would never even consider another woman, not even her sister-wives. She wanted to be branded on his heart and soul.

And he was, earnestly, intently, attempting to undo the ties of her gown.

“Wait,” she said, desperately. “Wait!” And she cast about for forgotten teachings in her mind.

He looked like a child denied a treat, as he brought his hands down. There was almost a hint of the old, hesitant Wen, as he said, “You don’t…You do not wish to attempt…” He blushed. “That is, you had said before, and I know it was only an excuse, but—”

“No, no,” she said, rapidly, and then realized she might be misunderstood. “I do wish it. Oh, I wish it more than anything! But I want to know…That is, in which way can I best please you?”

He blinked at her. “I’m sorry?” he said. “I don’t understand.”

“In which way can I make you achieve the highest pleasure?” she asked, hearing the slightest edge of hysteria in her voice. “Do you wish to engage in Maiden Boiling Milk?”

He frowned slightly. “Is that where we—”

“I see not,” she said, realizing that if he didn’t even know the name for the position sketch, it was highly unlikely that he’d long dreamed of that particular pleasure. Thinking desperately, she extracted another image from the long-ago depths of her mind. “Would you then wish for Fluttering Bird on a Branch?”

His hands had returned to the ties on her gown. They had managed to undo the right side, and were now working on the left. “My dear Third Lady,” he said, and there was something in his voice that trembled and fluttered.

She realized she was failing him terribly, and, calling to mind the drawing of the Fluttering Bird, realized it would indeed be far too tame for a husband who had waited this long for consummation. “Tiger Lapping From a Milk Stream,” she said.

He pulled her overgown over her head, and looked at the little looped string that closed the undergown, like a man examining a mystery. “I have no idea what that means, precisely,” he said, “but it sounds entirely too tiring.”

She sighed. There had to be something in her teachings that would serve to delight her suddenly hard-to-please lord. “Junk Sails Swelling in a High Wind?” she said, hopefully.

“Altogether too many sails and too vigorous a wind,” he said. He pulled her undergown over her head, and smiled wistfully at her body.

He was doubtlessly thinking how beautiful she looked, and yet wondering how she could be as ignorant as she was. His hands caressed her softly, climbing from her waist to her breasts and circling toward her dark nipples, causing them to stand out, eagerly, as though seeking more of his touch. Bewildered by the emotions rising in her, she sighed, and said, “ He-Xiangu Grinding Peaches.”

He grinned at her, an utterly wanton smile. “Only if one of us wishes to achieve immortality,” he said. “And I’d say that’s also too much work.”

“But—” she said.

“Well, as the one immortal who is the patron of virgins…” Wen said, taking his hands off her body, where they’d been moving restlessly, as if they couldn’t quite get enough of the feel of her skin. He pulled off his jacket and pants rapidly, appearing as naked as she was, “…I hope He-Xiangu will look kindly upon the both of us at this moment.”

“Oh, but then you mean that you never—”

“My dear, I was twelve when my soul was confined to the underworld.”

She looked at him, the soft beautiful eyes, the velvety golden skin stretched over just enough muscles to remind her that he was a male. And the rather obvious proof that, despite her clumsiness, he still wanted her, rising proudly at that moment—since she was sitting on the bed and he had stood to undress—directly in front of her eyes.

Wide-eyed, she looked at the proof, then up at his face. He deserved the best. He deserved pleasures reserved for the gods. She wanted to make this true wedding night the best anyone had ever dreamed of. She wanted to belong to him body and soul. She wanted him to belong to her.

Weakly, she suggested, “Rose Petals Atop Bamboo Stalk?”

He smiled. “Maybe later? For now I’d like the more obvious.” He sat on the bed by her side and smiled at her.

“More obvious?” she asked. “You mean Phoenix Rising Over Volcano? Or Lizard Feasting on Octopus?”

He took her hands and held them for a moment, his hands very warm. Then, gently, he reached up and pulled at the pin that held her hair. He caressed her hair as it fell—a black cascade—down her back. Then he cupped her face in his hand. “Look at me, Precious Lotus,” he said.

She looked. Their eyes met, and their gazes seemed to hold each other as if caught in an invisible net. He brought his face so close to her that she could feel his breath upon her face. “I have spent so much time separated from my soul,” he said, “that perhaps the feeling has just become part of me, but I’d swear, my lady…”

“Yes?”

“That part of my soul is captive within you.”

“Oh,” she said, in confusion, feelings warring within her for which she had no name. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember any of my training. I must be the worst wife who ever lived. I know that you expect much from fox-fairies, but I—”

“Shh,” he said. “Shh.” And then, slowly, “My love, my wife, my fox-fairy, the only pleasure I want and wish to experience with you right now is Dragon Seeking Refuge in Fox’s Cave.”

In a sudden panic, Third Lady tried to imagine what he could mean, but her quick mind could not find a schematic drawing that corresponded to such a phrase.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said in a hurry. “I never learned that position.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, smiling at her, his lips slightly parted, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I shall teach you.”

“But—” she said.

And then he laid her down upon the bed and embraced her. And suddenly she understood.

THE ELDERLY DRAGON OF PEARL RIVER

The fox apothecary brought out several pills and laid
them before Nigel and Jade. And though Nigel could not understand a word of what was being said, he understood enough—particularly when a cup of tea was also placed before him—to know he was supposed to take the pills at his elbow.

One of the pills was bright red, and the other one appeared to be a miniature egg painted with various branches and flowers in delicate golden swirls. He wondered why anyone would take so much trouble painting a pill, then he wondered if the gold was poisonous. And then he stopped wondering, because he realized he truly didn’t want to know what was in either of these pills.

Alchemy anywhere in the world was the thing of madmen and fools. Because of its magic properties, the ingredient wasn’t potent for its own qualities alone, but for those qualities conferred upon it by the emotions of the alchemist—even when those emotions were shock, horror or revulsion. In fact, no matter what the intent or the end in view, shock, horror and revulsion seemed to be emotions that alchemists or their suppliers often sought to evoke. Perhaps because they were strong emotions that were relatively easy to achieve—as compared to love or hatred or undying devotion.

Only the notorious case of Burke and Hare, who’d robbed cemeteries looking for unhallowed bodies whose parts they could sell to alchemists—and sometimes created less than hallowed bodies whose parts they could sell—had caused the Crown to take an interest and to regulate the ingredients that could be used for public consumption in England.

Nigel was going to assume that Burke and Hare hadn’t had a similar effect in China. At any rate, from the things he’d read, the Chinese were far less likely to be squeamish about what went into their pills and medicine than the most sturdy of the English alchemists. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jade take her pills—a bright green one, and a red one just like his.

Well, then, if Lady Jade could take them, so could he. Otherwise, surely she would think he was too squeamish and too solicitous of his own culture’s mode. He lifted the golden pill first, and swallowed it. There was…a feeling like a flutter all over his body, and as he reached to pick up the other pill, he realized that his hand, instead of looking its normal pale color was now a gold bordering on the brown.

He heard Jade say “Oh!” and wondered what he looked like, but was afraid to ask. So he took the other pill and swallowed it, quickly. A burst of strange flavor exploded in his mouth and seemed to overwhelm his brain. He closed his eyes, as explosions of light erupted behind his closed lids, and as he opened them again, he found Jade looking at him curiously.

“Do you understand me now?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said. And then he realized she had not spoken English. His mouth dropped open. “What…what do you mean?” And then he realized that he wasn’t speaking English, either. He had to think, and forcefully, too, to switch to English, as though the mode he was in called for Chinese. “What is it? Is it possible then to learn a language by taking a pill?” In all his years of careful and diligent study of other cultures and languages, it had never occurred to him that such a shortcut existed. He felt slightly duped.

She laughed and shook her head and blushed and answered—in Chinese. “No, they tell me that you can access that part of my brain that knows the language. It will work across any distance, so you can now speak and understand Chinese.”

“How convenient,” he said, amused, but also somewhat flustered, because he was in part of her mind. Oh, it didn’t matter it was only in the language part of her mind—he was touching her. He was touching her in a more intimate way than he’d ever touched another human being.

Looking away, he said, “How long does it last?”

“As long as both of us are alive.”

“Oh,” he said, and then confused and humble, “It is a great gift. I thank you.”

He realized that while they were talking the man who’d been with them had left, and Nigel had a moment of alarm. He was about to ask Jade if she thought there was a problem, when the man came back. He brought with him two sets of clothes and a small hand mirror. The clothes, for both of them, were much like those he had seen Jade wearing the first time he’d met her—loose pants and short, heavily embroidered jackets.