White Tigress (14 page)

He shook his head. "Her yin flowed easily and most heavily. I drank deeply and with much joy."

"That is excellent. But from your tone, am I to guess that it was not as satisfying as you hoped?"

He nodded, his dark mood already slipping past his restraint. "She still fights us. I don't understand it."

Shi Po frowned, leaning forward. "Truly? But how can that be?"

He set down his teacup, wishing he had the skill to read his own tea leaves. "I would not enjoy such a confinement. One room with nothing to do."

"But she is a ghost person, and a female at that. You cannot believe she thinks as we do. Ru Shan, they live in herds like oxen. They have more in common with a pack of dogs than they do with us."

Ru Shan did not look directly at his companion, but instead he let his gaze settle upon a fine ink painting of wild horses running free. "Some horses do not take well to breaking," he said slowly.

She nodded. "Then you must be firmer with her."

He shuddered at her tone. "I do not beat my dog, Shi Po. I will not beat Li Dee."

She sighed, but did not speak. Nevertheless, he felt her displeasure.

"What if we are wrong, Shi Po? What if the foreigners are people, just like us? With minds just as capable as ours, merely less educated." Given what he saw of Li Dee's intelligence, he had begun to believe it might be so. "If that is true, then I am doing her a grave disservice. I have stolen her freedom."

Shi Po's lips pursed in displeasure, but her voice remained calm. "I have a favorite dog. I believe he is happy to see me when I come home, and I think he purposely misbehaves when I am not there. Indeed, I think he is the cleverest of dogs, Ru Shan, but I never forget that he is simply a dog."

"The ghost people have made a great deal of money from China, Shi Po. They buy and sell land with intelligence—"

"With greed, you mean."

He nodded, knowing it was hopeless to speak of business matters with Shi Po—with any woman—but such was his distress that he persevered. "I think we judge the Englishmen by what we wish to see rather than what is."

"The finest men in China have said the ghost people are no more than oxen with hands. Do you doubt their intelligence? They have more experience than we do."

Ru Shan shook his head. "They come to my store. They buy things. I have even seen husband and wife, parents and children."

"They have learned a great deal from us. Like monkeys, they mimic quickly and easily. But to them a family is like a small herd. Have you not seen the men exchange their women like toys?"

He nodded. Of course he had seen it. One could not live in Shanghai without hearing of the Englishmen's debaucheries.

"I think you are searching for the difficulty in the wrong location. How does the shop fare? Have your fortunes turned around?"

"Not significantly," he answered without heat. In truth, his family's fortunes were going from bad to worse. In addition to the loss of his mother's artistic hand, his suppliers of fabric—cotton and silk—were turning away. Many simply did not deliver their goods. Others brought less than what was promised. He had no explanation for the sudden lack, but if it continued, then his family would be in dire straits.

Thankfully, Shi Po took his answer at face value, not questioning any further the matters that did not concern her.

"Very well, then tell me more of your work with your pet. Have you been telling her your secrets?"

"I have no secrets to tell," he argued. He'd said it before.

" 'If you turn your attention inward and observe yourself, the profound mystery is in you,'" she quoted.

Ru Shan nodded. He recognized the words of the Sixth Patriarch Hui Neng, but he was still unsure of Shi Po's meaning. "You wish me to talk to her, as a man would to a dog, and thereby learn my own secrets?"

Shi Po nodded but said nothing. Moments later, she stood and bowed respectfully to him before departing.

Ru Shan remained where he was, staring at his cooling cup of tea. This was a strange religion, he thought to himself, one that turned a woman into a teacher. Though he knew a woman's body naturally predisposed her to enlightenment well before a man, he still believed there were flaws in the method.

Shi Po, he decided, was not a good teacher, for she had that lack of understanding all women shared: she believed inherently that all men spoke the truth. She had been told that the ghost people were no more than large monkeys with an excellent capacity to mimic their betters, and so she believed. As Ru Shan had believed for many, many years.

Until lately. Now, he wondered if perhaps the Chinese had it completely wrong. Perhaps the white barbarians were not as barbarian as the emperor wished his people to believe. And if that were true, then Ru Shan's soul was in grave danger. He had helped in the murder of a man, not an animal. And he had kept enslaved a free woman, not a pet.

There was only one way to learn the truth, and in that his teacher had been correct. He needed to learn more about the ghost people. The only way to do that was with Li Dee.

Resolved, he pushed up from the cushions, slipping quietly out the back of the teahouse. He had much to think upon before tonight's session.

* * *

She was surprised to see him; that much Ru Shan could see as he stepped into the apartment. He had decided to spend his afternoon with her—an unusual change. But there was little he could do at the store while his mind was occupied with Li Dee, so he had gone to her residence and found her in deep conversation with Fu De. About fruit.

Dragon fruit. Mango fruit. Banana fruit. Apple fruit.

But what was even more bizarre was that she spoke in Shanghainese, and Fu De responded in English. And between them, in fading water upon the floor, were the Chinese characters for the fruit and English lettering beside it.

Obviously, they were teaching each other. As if to prove the point, Li Dee sprang to her feet and bowed politely to him, speaking slowly and clearly in Shanghainese.

"Welcome, Cheng Ru Shan. I am pleased to see you today."

Beside her, Fu De had already cleaned up their papers and writing instruments. He, too, bowed, his face split by a grin as he spoke in the foreign tongue. "I have learned a great deal of English," he said clearly. "But your skill is still far greater than mine."

Ru Shan felt his yang fires begin to churn. Like hot oil within him, his stomach twisted in fury at the sight of his servant and Li Dee so close together. What else had they been doing when he was away? What secrets had they shared?

He knew his reaction was illogical. He understood jealousy when its burning fire darkened his skin and tightened his jaw. But he had risked everything to buy Li Dee. He had borrowed money his family did not have to rent a home better than his own mother's room. And for what? So Fu De could reap the benefits?

No!

He felt his hands clench in fury and he took a step forward. "Remove yourself," he hissed in Chinese.

Fu De saw the danger. With a quick bow, he scampered out the door. But Li Dee, apparently, did not understand. Her own small fists settled on her hips and she stared at him in horror.

"Why do you send him away?" she asked in Chinese, her accent atrocious.

"He does not belong here," Ru Shan snapped in English, even more irritated that she thought to question him. In a few quick steps he grabbed the two tiny buckets of water, angrily tossing the liquid out the open window without even watching for people below.

"But we were doing nothing wrong," she pressed, switching back to her native language. "It was just a way to pass the time."

Ignoring her, he reached down to grab the parchment. It was of poor quality, meant for little more than a child's first attempts with ink and paper, and yet it infuriated him. Even this kind of paper was expensive. Was this how Fu De spent the money he was given for food? For Li Dee's comfort? On his own education?

"Fu De is my servant," Ru Shan snapped. "He serves me, not himself!"

"He knows that! I know that! Sweet heaven, how can we not know that?"

"Be silent, woman," he growled in Chinese.

"Or what? You'll lock me in a concrete cave with nothing to do, no way to occupy my time or mind?"

He stepped forward, the parchment crumpling in his fist. "Or I will sell you back to the whorehouse where I found you. You are still undamaged." He sniffed, scenting ginger mixed with orange blossom perfuming her skin. "And better scented. I may even make a profit."

She raised her hand to slap him—an obvious gesture and one he easily anticipated. He grabbed her arm, halting her in midswing.

"Think carefully, slave."

She swallowed, and he watched as the dull flush of anger burned through her pale skin. Tears pooled in her eyes, and her arm trembled within his grasp. Still, she would not yield.

Instead, she stood, facing him eye to eye as if she were his equal. A more ridiculous position could not be imagined for a white slave woman to take with her Chinese master. And yet, for some bizarre reason, it pleased him. He liked seeing her flushed with heat, her breasts heaving, the knot in her robe slipping open from her exertions.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

"I do not know," he answered truthfully. "Your yin was not as satisfying as I had hoped."

She swallowed, and he saw fear flash through her. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged, tossing her hand away from him with the motion. "It means I have done something wrong. Or you are not yet right. I do not know."

She folded her arms across her chest, her manner defiant even though she still trembled with fear. "Could it be that it is not right to lock a woman in a cage and use her for your pleasure?"

He looked at her, considering her words, unwilling to admit the possibility and yet unable to deny it. "Slaves are a fact of life in China. It is unfortunate for the poor, but they are treated fairly and given tasks suited to their ability."

"I am not a slave. I am a free Englishwoman."

He almost smiled. "You are my white pet, and you will remain with me until I choose to release you."

She stiffened, then softened and looked away, defeated. "Just so long as you do release me."

He frowned, surprised that the thought of releasing her did not please him. Up until now he had looked forward to the time when he would be rid of her expense, rid of the need to draw white yin from her. Yet now he disliked the thought, felt a stirring of unease at the idea that he would not see her each morning and evening.

Perhaps her yin had helped him more than he thought. Perhaps he simply needed more of it. He sighed. He did not know enough about this situation, about what he had begun. He had to learn more about these ghost people.

So thinking, he tossed the parchment aside, then ushered her firmly back into her bedroom. As always, they sat upon her bed. And though he felt the absence of Fu De most keenly—he still feared that she might escape him in a moment of surprise—she gave no indication that she intended to try.

Until, of course, she glanced at the door. Her expression lightened. "It will be better without Fu De here. More private."

He frowned. "Private? Do you understand the meaning of that word?"

"Of course I do! Why would you think I wish for an audience every time I bathe or dress or... or whenever we..." Her voice trailed away, but her meaning was clear. She was obviously insulted. In truth, he got the impression that she felt abused by the presence of Fu De in her chambers.

"But the English have great drawing rooms where people gather to view one another as the women dress. They have no desire for privacy." He shifted, completely baffled.

"We most certainly do!" But then she hedged, clearly forced to admit the truth. "I am told that the wealthy women dress themselves in their bedrooms, then come out to another room—a kind of parlor—for their closest friends. They chat there while she finishes her toilette. Her cosmetics and jewelry. But I most certainly do not do..." She gestured vaguely toward the bed. "These things with others."

He shook his head, knowing that it was not true. "I have heard of great gatherings of Englishmen and women alike for the purpose of copulation. Indeed, the Chinese talk often of such activities." He straightened. "You are like monkeys, living all together in a colony. The women are most comfortable with such scenes."

"We most certainly are not!" She was clearly agitated, jumping up from the bed to pace about the room. "How could you think that? It's disgusting!" She spun on her toe, turning to glare directly at him. "I do not know where you get these ideas, but I cannot believe that every Englishman in China has behaved with such... such... debauchery!"

He did not understand this word.
Debauchery.
But he guessed her meaning. She truly was upset, and her reaction verified one of his fears: that the Chinese has grossly misrepresented the nature of these foreign barbarians.

But before he could believe such a strange thought, he had to find out more. Leaning back against the cushions of her bed, he folded his arms. "I wish to know more about you Englishmen. How do you live?"