White Tigress (16 page)

No, it was not surprising that the Chinese men thought themselves more civilized than the English, or that the Englishmen believed themselves smarter than the Chinese. And both were completely wrong.

Who would have thought that her entire problem would boil down to misguided male ego? Or that she—a woman—was the only one who seemed to see reality? It was a very odd thought, given that she was locked in a tiny concrete cell.

Odd as it was, she still planned to find a way to escape. But how? She had very few leverage points, as her father would call them. She was a woman locked in a room. She had managed to parlay her charm into a working understanding of Shanghainese, thanks to Fu De. She had even convinced Ru Shan that she was heartily sick of her silk robe and wished some real clothing. He had given her soft but serviceable peasant clothes. She had a tunic made of soft brown cotton and matching pants with an unsewn crotch. Apparently, according to Fu De, peasants could not be bothered to leave the fields to visit a water closet. They simply squatted in the field, fertilizing the ground wherever they stood.

And they thought the English barbaric!

No matter. At least now when she finally escaped, she wouldn't be running through the streets of Shanghai in a silk robe.

Which brought her back to the problem of escape. Since Ru Shan's explosion of a few days earlier, Fu De had been extra vigilant during the time they spent together. They only conversed in Chinese (for her) and English (for him), which was wonderful, but never worked on the written languages. Which meant he never had his hands full and always maintained a strict focus on her face. It was hardly an easy escape environment.

At this point, she'd decided her best bet was to develop a relationship with Ru Shan. The more he saw her as a real person, the more likely he would see caging her was wrong.

She knew her chances were slim at best. No man liked admitting that he was wrong, and even fewer men liked giving up a possession that brought them joy. But it was her only plan, and so for the moment she decided to devote herself to becoming friends with her captor.

Strangely, the idea did not upset her. She found herself beginning to forget she was a prisoner. After all, until her father had grown ill, she had lived her entire life in London. True, there were excursions into the city, but only well supervised visits to family and friends. There was little money for entertainments or pleasure. So, for the most part, she had lived within the confines of her home, making her entertainment inside those walls. She had helped her mother with the cleaning, she had read, and she had painted. Indeed, the entire household had revolved around her father's coming and going, his pleasures, his needs.

All in all, life was not so very different here. Except, of course, that Ru Shan's needs were very, very different from her father's. And therein lay the difficulty.

She was beginning to like Ru Shan's needs. She was beginning to like them very much indeed. She truly did not want to think of herself in that manner, but she refused to fall into the same mistake as the men: She would face the truth, no matter how painful.

She knew Ru Shan thought of her as little better than a monkey. She knew he kept her as one would keep a pet, using its assets as one might milk a cow. But when he put his lips on her breasts, the yin flowing hard and fast into him, she truly did not care.

It felt fabulous. More fabulous than anything else in her entire life. The only thing that kept her remotely sane was the vague dissatisfaction that always lingered after Ru Shan left. There was something more. Something beyond what she had already experienced. And when she had mentioned that to Ru Shan this morning, he had smiled and nodded.

"There
is
more," he had said. "And I believe you are ready for that as well. Tonight. A woman's yin is strongest as the moon rises. That will be a good time to begin."

And so he had left, and Lydia had begun to pace. And think. And worry. She already found it difficult to focus on escape. Her mind constantly lingered on Ru Shan. On what they had done last. On when he would come next, and what would be his mood. What would they do together? And for how long?

If that were not bad enough, she still had to do her exercises with the stone dragon. Her muscles were amazingly strong now. Indeed, she had performed so well, he had given her two stone eggs connected together by a long thin chain. Her job was to insert one egg and, using just her muscles, lift and lower the egg. The other stone created a counterweight that would pull the first egg out if she allowed it.

She didn't explore it, of course, but the constant shift and tug of the weight as she stood made for a kind of stimulation that she found vaguely unsettling, but mostly very intriguing. Very, very intriguing.

Would Ru Shan's "next step" involve her muscles down there? Would it involve things that Maxwell would disapprove of? She strongly suspected it would. And she knew without a doubt that she couldn't wait. Her only salvation would be to find a means of escape before Ru Shan arrived. Then she would force herself to run as far and as fast as possible. No matter what she might be missing out on. What she might never know.

But, of course, no opportunity came. And so when Ru Shan walked into her tiny room that evening, she greeted him with a mixture of resignation and secret delight.

And then came dread, because Ru Shan was clearly in a towering rage.

"My goodness," Lydia cried as he stomped into her little room. "What has happened?"

"It is not important," he snapped in the way of all stubborn men.

"Well, of course it is important," she argued smoothly. "You are not the type of man to be upset over nothing."

The compliment seemed to mollify him somewhat, but he was still bullheaded enough to huff out, "You would not understand."

She guided him to a seat on her poor bed, trying to make her manner submissive. She knew just how to do it. Had she not seen her mother do this a thousand times when something upset her father? Indeed, Maxwell too seemed to need such coddling at times. "I probably won't understand," she lied. Indeed, she was beginning to see that she very much needed to learn as much about Ru Shan as she could. "But it may help you to talk to me anyway."

He turned and glared at her. "That is what Shi Po says. Women's nonsense."

She stilled, her chest tightening even as she asked the question. "Who is Shi Po?"

"She is my mentor in the dragon and tigress arts."

He worked with another woman? The same way he worked with her? The very thought sent hot coals whipping through her system, but Lydia tamped down her anger. Right now she only needed him to talk with her. And so she pasted on a smile. "Then perhaps you should tell me. What is it that has upset you so this day?"

"Another shipment of cotton fabric has not arrived. Today I learned it went to Shi Po's husband instead."

"Her husband?"

He glared at the floor. "My competitor."

"Your mentor is also your competitor? Isn't that... awkward?"

He straightened, clearly irritated. "Of course not. She is a woman and has nothing to do with her husband's business."

Lydia sincerely doubted that, but she knew better than to argue.

"Besides," Ru Shan continued, "teachers of her ability are rare. If I wish to become an Immortal, Shi Po is the only one who can guide me. It was a great honor to be selected to be her jade dragon, for all that she is a woman."

Lydia nodded, startled to feel a twinge of rancor for this Shi Po. But then she chanced to look up into Ru Shan's eyes. Usually his expression was serene, almost masklike. But not now. And perhaps not nearly as much lately. At this moment, she read worry and anxiety in his face. "You do not believe she is as separate as she appears?"

Ru Shan released a heavy sigh. "I do not know." He shifted on the bed, turning to look more directly at her. "My family buys cloth," he said. "We use that fabric to make beautiful clothing. My mother used to embroider the most stunning designs on them. We were sought throughout China for her embroidery." He gestured to his jacket, which sported a flock of delicate cranes in flight. "My mother stitched this."

"You have the most beautiful clothing. I have always admired it."

He reached out and stroked one of the flying birds. "She is dead now. Two years ago. And the shop has suffered greatly for her lack."

"I am sorry. That must have been a great blow."

He nodded, but did not answer. Then he sighed. "It was difficult, but never before have our shipments gone astray. If it were only one, there would be no fear. But there have been so many mishaps lately." His voice trailed off.

"You do not think they are accidents."

"No."

"You think Shi Po has done something."

He glanced up, his gaze sharp. "Shi Po has done nothing. It is her husband, Kui Yu. But what? And why?"

She shifted to smile more fully at him. "The why is easy. You were never this vulnerable before. Your mother was still alive."

"But Kui Yu has nothing to do with the shipments. How could he convince the weavers to send it to him and not me? We have always been good customers, treated the weavers fairly."

That she couldn't answer, nor did he expect her to. He simply sat, speaking aloud as he worked his way through the problem.

"I have heard there are rumors, but I do not know what. I have heard that someone is speaking lies, but I cannot discover who. Not yet."

"But you will." It wasn't a question. Lydia knew enough about Ru Shan already to be sure he would discover the reason behind his current problems.

He seemed to agree. "Yes, I will. But can I do so in time? If this continues, our shop will be empty, our customers gone."

"You will find out. I am sure of it." Lydia didn't understand why she was working so hard to reassure her captor. For all she knew, his business could go bankrupt tomorrow. But she needed him to see her as a person, an asset with skills and value. Someone who should not be locked away. And if that meant soothing his worries, then she would soothe his worries.

Besides, she liked it when he smiled at her. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his face seemed to lighten, becoming both brighter and less heavy. And then he reached out, cupping her cheek with his hand.

"I am sorry, Li Dee. I had thought to expand your yin river today, but I do not have the focus. My yang burns too hot."

She suppressed a twinge of regret at his words, which was echoed by an equally strong feeling of relief. Instead, she lifted his hand from her cheek, pressing her lips into his palm. "Is there a way to release your yang? As you do my yin?"

He sighed, rubbing a finger across her mouth. The tingle he created made her purse her lips, as if to kiss him. But before she could, he pulled away. "There is a way," he said slowly. "But I had not thought to teach you such a thing."

She lifted her gaze to his. "Why not?"

"Shi Po tells me things about your people, things that the government has encouraged us to believe. But taken altogether, they contradict one another. You say that you do not live like monkeys—in colonies."

She nodded, pleased that he was beginning to see her more truthfully.

"Is it true that you stop up your passions? You are taught not to enjoy your bodies or another's touch."

She hesitated, doing her best to answer honestly. "That is perhaps stating the extreme case. We are encouraged to enjoy wedded life."

"Have you ever seen a man's jade dragon?"

She frowned, her glance slipping to the carved dragon he had given her. He gently pulled her chin so that she looked at him.

"A man's organ."

It took a moment for her to understand, and then her face heated with embarrassment. But rather than hide from the truth, she confronted it, confessing her shame. "I have seen statues. And pictures. In my father's anatomy books." She shrugged. "I found anatomy most helpful in my art." She rose to her feet, rushing to cover her awkwardness. She grabbed a pile of her sketches, shifting through them quickly to bring up her sketch of a Chinese man in western-style clothing. Or perhaps not completely western, as it incorporated both styles, giving him western trousers and a tie, but changing the jacket to an Asian cut with Chinese frog buttons. "See? My first clothing designs were too tight on men. It wasn't until my father showed me his Gray's Anatomy that I understood why they couldn't have high seams in that area."

Ru Shan frowned, flipping quickly through the pages. "What is this?"

She paused, at first not understanding what he meant. "My sketches? They are nothing."

He shook his head, clearly distracted. "You have drawn people. In strange clothing."

"I have always done so. Sometimes I make the clothing as well, but my stitches are not as even as a modiste's." He looked at her, clearly not understanding the word. "A seamstress. Someone who sews clothing."

"But these dresses..." He slowed to look at a picture of a white woman in an Asian gown. She had not seen many Chinese women in her short trip through Shanghai, but she remembered every detail of what she'd seen. Like her previous sketch, she combined both Asian and English styles, using silk fabrics in a relatively narrow English gown. Then she added a tight, short Chinese-style jacket on top. Indeed, of all her sketches, it was her favorite design, and she planned to have it made the moment she escaped.