Burning Tigress (38 page)

"But—"

"I am going," he stressed. "And I wish you to go with me."

"What?"

"It will be difficult and unusual," he admitted. A ghost of a smile skated across his lips. "But the surgeons allow a companion during the process, a man's best friend."

She was gaping at him, but pulled herself together enough to try to understand. "You want me to go with you?"

"We will dress you as a coolie and cover your hair. There are ways to keep your identity hidden."

"You mean hide my white skin?"

He nodded. "Yes. There is always money paid to the family. It would be enough for your passage back here, should you choose. I will send a message to Captain Jonas. He often has business in Peking. He could come for you in a few weeks. Or I could introduce you to some whites I know in the capital."

She shook her head. "I don't care about that."

He let his hands slip to hers. "But you should care. You also need to decide your future. I can help you decide it as we travel. And after I am dedicated, there will be money to pay for whatever you wish."

She closed her eyes. This was so bizarre. "You want me to be with you, to hold your hand as they cut off your... As they..." She couldn't even say the words.

"Is that not what best friends do for one another?"

"Maybe best friends talk a person out of his idiocies," she shot back.

"This is no idiocy. It is my true path. I am sure of it."

He believed it. God help her, but he clearly did. And the knowledge brought him peace. She could see that as well.

"I..." What could she say with him looking so earnestly at her? What a great leap forward they had taken today. He'd called her his best friend. He'd shared with her today more than he had shared with anyone ever; she was sure of that. And now, as a reward, she got to sit beside him. She got to hold his hand while some Chinese doctor sliced off his manhood. And she got to sit by his bedside and pray that he survived. What did she say to that?

"Are you sure?" she whispered, already knowing the answer. "Absolutely sure?"

"I have never been more certain of anything." Passion and truth rang in his words. Then his expression softened, and he looked as if he were begging her. "Will you come, Char? Will you help me?"

What could she say except... "Yes."

* * *

March 15, 1895

Brother Ken Jin:

You must attend my wedding. Kill your employer, steal his ill-gotten gains, and come prostrate yourself before the Empress as you beg my forgiveness.

You were the clever child, the unfilial one devoid of honor or loyalty. You stole my children and my future. Only you may give it back.

Wen Gao Jin

THE HEART—The heart reflex is found only on the left foot. Supporting the left foot with your right hand, use your left thumb to work the area in horizontal lines. [Work on the ball of the foot from the base of the big toe inward to the base of the fourth toe.]
The Joy of Reflexology

Ann Gillanders

Chapter 15

"What about your Dragon practice?"

Ken Jin glanced to the side of the small donkey cart and smiled at Charlotte. The late afternoon sun turned her hair to copper, making her look, for a moment, like a bright new coin. Surely that was an omen of success.

He still could not believe she had joined him on this journey—without complaint, without question. It had taken him barely an hour to arrange the last details. Most had been accomplished that morning when he bought this cart and donkey for the journey. It had been a simple matter to spend his last coins on food and coolie clothing for Charlotte. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that she intended to spend the entire journey trying to talk him out of his decision. He didn't mind, though. He liked listening to her voice.

"You have spent years practicing as a Dragon," she pressed. "Do you really want to abandon that completely?"

He shrugged. "A eunuch cannot store or refine his yang. I suppose I could still gather yin in the usual manner, but without my Dragon seat..." He shook his head. "I cannot see a reason."

"But... but..." Her voice sounded tight as she bounced in her seat. Amazing, that after seven hours on this hard board, she could move at all. He himself ached everywhere, from his knees through his arms, and most especially his behind.

"But?" he prompted when she fell silent.

"But we almost made it to Heaven. You have worked so hard. And that last time, I felt it. I felt... you know, everything."

He was silent for a long moment, the twisting of his heart making him hunch in his seat. He didn't want to make his next offer. The very thought was repellent, and yet he would not stop her just because he had chosen another path. "You may have it," he finally said.

"What?"

"My bed, the Dragon chair, all the things I have left in my rooms for practice. They are yours." He forced himself to look her in the eyes. "I sent a message to Captain Jonas before we left. He will meet you in Peking after my dedication. He will take you back to Shanghai if you wish. Then you can collect the bed and my other things. You could continue to practice."

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then she snapped it shut again only to fiddle with her coolie hat. Finally she sighed, her entire body drooping. "I don't want to keep practicing. Not without you."

He felt a surge of happiness at her words, selfish though that was. The idea of her with anyone else infuriated him, but he had no claims to her—as a partner or a friend. The moment the surgery was complete, he would live within the Forbidden City. The outside world would cease to exist for him unless the Emperor decreed otherwise. He and Charlotte would be, in practical terms, dead to one another. And that thought pained him more than any other.

He had not realized how alone he felt until she'd sat on his floor and demanded that he talk to her as a friend. Was it a measure of his deviance that his closest companion was a white woman?

Without a full understanding of why, he reached out for her hand. He did not shift his eyes from the road, but all his attention was centered on her—on the smoothness of her skin, on the way she seemed to grip all of him with just her fingers, and how perfect her qi meshed with his. There was no dissonance in their touch, only a simple press of palm to palm, heart to heart.

"I will miss you," he said, startling himself with his words.

"You don't have to, Ken Jin," she urged as her fingers intertwined with his. "Don't—"

"I have made my decision. Do not spend the last of our time together in argument." His voice was toneless, but inside, his heart pounded in his throat and temples. Clearly his qi was vastly out of alignment. "Will you help me tonight?" he asked, once again surprising himself with his question.

She started as well. He felt the slight jerk in her body through her hand. "Of course," she answered. "What... what do you need—"

"I would like you to help me insert the needles."

She flinched again, but he was holding her tightly. He did not release her hand even as she straightened on the hard seat. "Needles?" she asked. "As in acupuncture?"

"Yes. I cannot reach the places on my back. I will need you to—"

"I won't know where to put them," she rushed. "I... I don't want to hurt you."

"There is very little pain, and I can tell you what to do."

She fell silent for a long while. They would have to stop for the night soon, and he kept an eye out for the most likely place. At least the weather remained mild. The cool northern air was a welcome.

"Do all Chinese enjoy pain, or is it just you?"

Her statement was so odd that he thought he hadn't understood. But as he replayed her English words in his head, he knew her statement was exactly as it first appeared—completely bizarre and rather insulting as well.

He stared at her. She stared back. And so they sat for a long, long moment. Normally, she would break first; Charlotte never could remain silent for long. She would make a terrible servant in that regard. But in this case, she simply continued to look, her head tilted to one side as if she were inspecting a rare form of plant or insect. In the end, he was the one who felt compelled to speak, and he did so with a tone of great offense.

"I take no enjoyment in giving pain."

She rolled her eyes. "Not other people's pain. Your own."

"What are you talking about?"

"You stick needles into your belly. You want to cut off your dragon. You..." Her gaze abruptly dropped to his lap before jumping back to his eyes. "Maybe it's just your dragon you hate." She leaned forward. "Think about it. You have spent more than a decade denying its release."

"That is a Dragon's training," he snapped.

She shrugged. "Maybe so. But don't most men want to release their seed? I mean, doesn't it feel good?"

"I am not most men," he replied stiffly. "I have already explained the reason for this."

"Yes, yes, I know all of that. But still, most men would find it really hard to restrain themselves. Did you ever break? I mean, when you were with other women, did you ever—"

"No!" The word leapt from his strangled throat. "Not until you."

"Exactly. And you stick needles into—"

"Not into the
dragon,"
he said, switching to Chinese. The words came out as a kind of hiss, but she was undeterred.

"No, not exactly, I suppose. But close enough. Who wants to put sharp things right there?"

"It was a treatment."

She twisted on the seat to stare at him more fully. "A treatment? For what?"

"For impotence!" he shot back.

She frowned, obviously not understanding his word even though he said it in English. To make matters worse, the Chinese word for such a condition was "eunuch," which would further confuse matters. That meant he had to explain the condition.

"For a weak and limp dragon."

She frowned. "But isn't it usually limp? I mean, you can't always have—"

"Always," he ground out. "An always weak dragon."