White Tigress (38 page)

Noises surrounded her. Sounds not much farther than her own gasping breath. They were foreign sounds. Chinese sounds. But she wanted nothing to do with anything Chinese ever again. Nothing! So she blocked them out, covering her ears when they would not go away.

Another sound penetrated her consciousness. English words, muffled, but clear enough. She straightened slowly, allowing her hands to slip from her ears.

Definitely good, solid, English words. Spoken in a foreign accent.

FuDe.

She wanted to slap her hands over her ears again but knew it would be childish. Besides, she had now actually lifted her gaze from the pavement to see a mass of babbling Chinese people on a strange street. She was completely lost, dressed bizarrely, and without the heart right now to find the Shanghainese she needed to sort it all out.

She needed help. And right now, that help was Fu De.

Slowly, she pushed to her feet. A thousand tiny hands helped her up, though the result was that people crowded ever closer to her.

"Fu De?" she croaked, the sound barely above a whisper. She swallowed. "Fu De?" she called, her voice gaining strength and clarity.

"Mistress Lydia!" Fu De answered as he pushed through the crowd. "Mistress Lydia!"

She winced at his words, even though he surely didn't understand the other meaning of the word
mistress.
He simply knew it as a form of address, and likely intended it as such.

But she knew the truth now, didn't she? She knew that she was something worse than a mistress. After all, in London, some courtesans were actually lauded as intelligent, amazing women desired by all. A mistress was simply one step below that.

Not so a concubine. That was a foreign word, indicating a woman trapped in slavery to some foreign devil.

"Mistress Lydia, please wait!"

She did, though she doubted he could see her. And then the young man finally appeared at her side, his long queue in disarray beneath his sweat-stained cap.

"Mistress Lydia! Please, I beg you..."

"Take a breath, Fu De," she said with as much calm as she could muster. "I am not running anymore." She didn't know what made her say that, but once the words were out, they felt correct. And they strengthened her. She wiped off her face with her stained gown and tried to take stock of her surroundings. "Back away, please," she said in Shanghainese.

All around her, people gasped in shock and stepped back. Apparently a white woman in concubine clothing was not nearly as remarkable as hearing her speak their language. Whatever the reason, Lydia and Fu De abruptly had more breathing room.

"Mistress Lydia," Fu De began in English. "You cannot run about Shanghai like this. It is unseemly."

"More unseemly than marrying a married man?" she shot back. She instantly regretted her words, because Fu De simply blinked in confusion. She waved her hand in his direction, intending to tell him to "never mind," but he was too quick for her.

Bowing, he spoke with great ponderous formality. In English. "I do not understand your surprise, but it is clear Master Cheng has offered you a grave insult." Once again she opened her mouth to speak, but was forestalled. "I do not seek to reconcile you with your husband, Mistress Lydia. I offer a location for you to rest until such matters can be resolved."

She nodded, fussing stupidly at her gown as if she had an alternative. "That is very kind, Fu De," she said slowly. "Where is this location?"

"It is a place near..." He paused, clearly trying to explain. "It is a location near to where you spent last evening, mistress. Please..." He gestured imperiously at a nearby rickshaw driver. "Please, will you accompany me?"

She bit her lip, automatically wary of going anywhere again with a strange man offering her a ride. Except Fu De was not a strange man. And she was not nearly as naive as she had been those weeks ago. With a nod, she smiled at him as warmly as possible.

"Thank you, Fu De. You are most kind."

But as she climbed into the carriage, she could not prevent her thoughts from returning to a different ride in a different vehicle yesterday with an entirely different man.

How had she gone from being engaged to Max, to the ecstatically happy new bride of Ru Shan, to a runaway concubine, all in the space of twenty-four hours?

Another thought struck her, one so funny she began laughing in painful gasps until the tears once again ran down her face: She was still a virgin.

After everything that had happened, she was still a virgin. Which meant, according to her mother's teaching, Lydia was still pure as the driven snow.

* * *

Ru Shan stood staring at the broken ivory sticks in his hand. They were intricately carved—a tigress on one, a dragon on the other. In his mind, they represented himself and his Lydia, together forever, holding up the beautiful tendrils of her hair just as together they would support the entire Cheng family. He had spent much time selecting the gift for her and been overwhelmed with pleasure the moment he had first seen them in her golden locks.

Now they were in his hand, the tigress broken in half, the dragon stained with dirt.

He could not bear to think beyond that. Beside him, his family still made their mocking noises, but he had no room in his thoughts for them. Neither could he think of Lydia, her face half-smeared with bridal paint, her clothing torn, stained, and all in disarray as she pulled off her shoes.

Only her words echoed in his head. "I. Loved. You." Spit out with such venom as to burn straight through him. "I. Loved. You." And then she had run.

He had meant to go after her, was already at the door behind her, but Fu De had stopped him. He had spoken quickly, and in a low undertone that the Cheng family had not heard. Fu De promised to retrieve her. He promised to explain everything. And he promised to take Lydia to a place where Ru Shan could see her alone, without the disdain of his short-sighted family.

Ru Shan had not wanted to stay. Well beyond the driving need to return Lydia to his side, he had desperately wanted to escape his family. To leave now, and to forget that they were firmly planted on his shoulders: his responsibility and his burden.

Only one thing kept him rooted where he was. One person, rather. His son, Zun Ran. The boy had come to his side just after Fu De disappeared, nervously slipping his hand into Ru Shan's. They'd stood together, right by the open door, Ru Shan searching the streets while the boy lifted his somber face to his father. And in time, Ru Shan's gaze slowly slipped from looking outward to looking down.

"A confusing time to be alive, my son," he said gently.

The boy nodded, not because he understood, but because it probably seemed like the best response.

He waited a moment, looking one last time out at the gates. Fu De had disappeared after Lydia. Though he prayed for the sight of his white wife soberly—no,
joyfully
—returning to him, he knew it was a vain hope. She would not come back. He would have to seek her out. Meanwhile, he had things to say to his still-laughing family.

He straightened, barely caring to glance at his elders or first wife. Let them hear if they chose; he had no time for them if they did not. Instead, he looked at his son, speaking in a normal tone, simple enough for a child and soft enough that the others would have to cease their humor if they wished to hear.

"They think I am insane. They think I do not know this, but I do. I suppose you knew of their opinion?"

The boy glanced nervously at his mother, then at Ru Shan. "Yes, father," was all he said.

"Their stupidity did not bother me before. I knew what I was doing and why. But it infuriates me now," he said. "Because it may have destroyed your future."

His son's eyes widened and his jaw slackened in shock. The boy had never heard such an unfilial comment before. No good Chinese man ever spoke ill of his family, most especially his elders. Even within the family circle, where all was considered private.

He saw doubt in the child's eyes, so Ru Shan confirmed what he had said. "Yes, my son. Only you have shown your worth this day, and your trust in me gives me great pride. The others have displayed only ignorance." He lifted his gaze to his stunned family. As expected, they had quieted enough to hear his words, and his father was already mottled with rage. Ru Shan waited calmly for the tirade to come, startled to realize how much he relished the idea. Just how long had he been aching for the chance to offend the man?

"You rat-grubbing cur," his father spat. "You bring a barbarian woman here and dare call us fools?" He hobbled forward, his movements still powerful despite the awkwardness of his cane. "I have ears to hear and eyes to see. I know you have destroyed us with your white pet. I know that our store shelves stand empty because of her. And yet you dare bring her here. As a wife!" He reached forward, abruptly grabbing Zun Ran's other arm and yanking him away from Ru Shan. "You disgrace all of us!"

Ru Shan barely even blinked. His father enjoyed making others lose their calm, but it had been some time since he had been able to crack Ru Shan.

"Release my son," he said.

"You are not fit—"

"The boy is old enough to decide his own fate. Release him now." Ru Shan straightened. "Unless you are ready to claim him as your own son and no flesh of mine."

His father's body jerked backward as if slapped. As did Ru Shan's first wife. Once again, the boy remained a quiet center of confusion standing amidst an adult maelstrom.

"Of-of course you are Zun Ran's father," stammered the old man, releasing his hold on the child. "It is a measure of your depravity that you could suggest differently."

Ru Shan did not respond. The Chinese were often hypocritical beyond reason, his father more so than most. Everyone here with the exception of his son knew the truth: that Zun Ran was Ru Shan's half brother. Still, that did not lessen Ru Shan's responsibilities to the boy. He turned his attention to the child, extending his hand.

"Come, my son," he said, "let me explain to you what they do not know."

The boy obediently walked forward, but he did not offer up his hand. Instead, he stood like a great scholar, waiting for instruction before making up his mind. Ru Shan paused a moment, hand still extended, but still the boy refused, his expression dark and intense.

Behind them, the boy's great-grandmother released a nervous giggle, but Ru Shan found himself smiling even as his hand slipped to his side.

"Your grandmother would be pleased with you, my son. A great man always listens before choosing his course." Then Ru Shan did a most unusual thing. He dropped to one knee so that he was eye to eye with the child. How odd that in doing this, he imitated his a-dou cousin, the failed scholar whom everyone loved. And yet the gesture seemed right, even if he appeared to be kneeling before his own son.

"This family loves the white barbarians. Your grandfather loves their gold, and your great-grandmother their powder. Even your mother disdains jade, wanting their diamonds and emeralds upon her body. But foreign gold is hard to come by now that your grandmother is gone. It was her talents with brush and dye that the barbarians wanted. Her skills that the rest of us sold and prospered from."

He spared a moment to look at his father. From Ru Shan's grandfather down the generations and now to Zun Ran, the truth would be spoken aloud.

"It was your grandmother who supported the Cheng family, my son. We were merely the fleas upon her back," Ru Shan said. He straightened, turning to face his father's purple rage, knowing that he was merely adding oil to the fire. But these words would be spoken. "So now that Mei Lan is gone, who will support the Chengs? A dead woman makes no product to sell, and this wife"—he gestured disdainfully at the woman who had joined his bed when he was eight years old—"has no skill in such things." He turned back to his father. "So, how is it that the Cheng family will stand?"

"That is your responsibility, my son." Though the words sounded polite, his father spat on the ground at Ru Shan's feet to show his disgust. "I am crippled now. It is a filial son's task to uphold the family honor and see to the pleasure of my old age."

Ru Shan nodded, unable to deny the weight of his responsibilities. "And so I did. I found a woman Heaven-blessed in the ways of making the foreign gold this family loves so much. Did you not wonder, my father, who made the dress designs that spark so much interest in our shop? Did you not look into my wife's face and see that gold runs like water through her veins?"

"The foreign devils bring nothing but pain," his father half growled. "I will not have them in my home."

"Then you should not have killed the woman who supported us."

And there it was. Spoken aloud for the first time ever in this courtyard. Spoken in the light of day from son to father and with such a cold certainty that even Sheng Fu could not deny it. Except, of course, that he would. He went into such a rage as Ru Shan had never seen.

But Ru Shan did nothing. He didn't need to. His wife had already seen the tantrum coming and taken Grandmother inside to hide. She would hide inside her opium pipe and Wife One inside her bower with her dresses and jewelry. There was only Ru Shan and his father. And little Zun Ran watching from the side, half hidden behind the table laid out with a wedding feast.