White Tigress (35 page)

Until she heard a distant murmur of disgust.

She could have ignored it. She could have stayed here a little while longer, but that sound called to her. Or more specifically, his pain—whose pain?—pleaded for her attention.

Ru Shan. Her husband.

Lydia opened her eyes.

Her first sight was of his knees, slightly bent, the circle of his knee cap clearly outlined by tendon and skin. She frowned, once again startled that he was so very muscular. His typical clothing hid much physical strength.

Strength—or perhaps she should call it frustration—that was even now vibrating through him even though he appeared to be completely relaxed. She frowned, looking down toward his head. Why was she lying upside down?

She flushed, abruptly remembering everything they had been doing. Things she had not thought possible! Physical sensations she couldn't possibly have imagined, had she not been with Ru Shan. Had he not shown her, and with such patience and... thoroughness. It brought a smile to her entire body just remembering.

But as she pushed up on one elbow, she could see that Ru Shan was not pleased, not nearly as content as she. Indeed, he had rolled onto his back, his dark eyes staring angrily up at heaven.

"It did not work, did it?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He did not speak, but simply shook his head.

"It is my fault," she said as she slowly shifted to lie beside him. "I am not experienced in these things. But I will try harder next time. I will learn—"

"You are not to blame, Lydia." His voice was curt. She knew the harshness was not aimed at her; still, it hurt for him to be so angry and not talk to her. She wanted to help.

So she did what she could, snuggling closer, curling into his side. Eventually, his arm fell from his eyes and draped around her, his hand idly caressed her cheek. She sighed happily at his touch, knowing that if she could remain silent, he would eventually tell her what was wrong.

Or so she hoped.

Indeed, seventy-three breaths later, he finally spoke. "Your yin flowed like a never-ending fountain, Lydia. I have never seen or felt such a thing before." He turned, dropping a light kiss upon her forehead. "You are a miracle to me, my wife."

She smiled at his words, warmed through and through.

But she could not let him stop there. "What happened?" She pushed up onto her elbow so she could look directly into his eyes. "If I have enough yin, and I know you have enough yang, what stops you from becoming an Immortal?"

His hand dropped to the small of her back, and she felt it tighten into a fist. His anger was a palpable field, emanating from him like pulses of biting electricity. She even flinched from its power. Yet she could not run from this. If she did, he would never open up to her again.

"Please tell me, Ru Shan. I want to understand."

He didn't answer at first, but she felt his fist begin to relax. Not in the way of a man at last finding peace, but as an act of will. His hand opened in jerks, and then he flattened it against her hip, a hot, wide presence that was hard to ignore. Then Ru Shan spoke, his voice filled with a forced casualness that did not fool either of them.

"I suppose I am not worthy of immortality," he said.

"Don't be silly," she snapped. "Everyone is worthy of immortality, including you. Especially you." She pulled tighter to his side out of loyalty, but even as she moved she wondered if the Chinese gods worked that way. Just because her Christian God taught that all souls were worthy of salvation didn't meant that the Chinese ones did too. But she didn't voice her worry aloud. Instead, she tried to focus on Ru Shan, on saying what he most needed to hear. Assuming she could figure that out.

"Tell me what happened," she pressed again. "My yin was flowing." She couldn't help but heat at the memory of how very much her yin had flowed. "I thought I stirred your yang." His dragon had been thick and hard in her hand, his yang a blazing flame of leashed power. She had felt it—not just with her body, but in her mind and soul.

"Yes," he finally said. "All the ingredients were there."

"So?"

He sighed. "I felt the alchemical process beginning. I felt your yin and my yang combine. I was climbing the stairs to Heaven. I know I was." His voice was tight, but no more so than his body that was growing rigid against her. It was obvious, even now, that he still strained toward Heaven. But what had gone wrong?

His eyes clouded, and she knew he fought tears. "I was almost there," he rasped. "And then..." He was struggling, trying to find the words. Or perhaps an answer. "I fell off."

"Fell off?"

"My focus. My intent. I saw images. Memories. And then..." He waved his hand in disgust, gesturing toward the floor beside the bed.

She raised up higher, seeing their blanket crumpled and tossed to the floor. She looked closer and at last understood what he meant. He had released his yang seed. She had been so caught up in her own ecstasy that she hadn't even noticed. And while she floated in her joy, he had quietly cleaned up his disgrace and tossed it aside.

She bit her lip, wondering what she could say. Then, before she could frame a thought, he shifted, turning toward her as he asked his question. "What did you feel?"

She blushed red hot and was rewarded by his grin.

"So you experienced joy?"

"And much more," she whispered.

He had been correct when he said that he would require much of her tonight. He had kept her yin flowing for hours and hours. Never would she have thought such a thing possible. But he had done it. And her mind had fought and struggled to contain the experience. Wave after wave of turbulent yin had wracked her body. With pleasure yes, but such pleasure as could not be held by the mortal mind.

In the end she'd had to release herself completely to the experience, giving up total control of her mind, her ego, her individuality or risk going mad.

That was when the experience had changed. She'd become almost separate from her body, which continued to pulse and contract. She'd felt... not launched. Never anything so explosive. Lifted. She'd been lifted into a sea of beauty, merging seamlessly into that amazing wonder.

"You went to the first portal." Ru Shan's words startled her, not with their meaning but his total amazement.

She looked at him, feeling confused and a bit guilty. She could not have accomplished so quickly what he had worked years for.

He shook his head, still stunned. "I can see it in your face. You are glowing with peace such as I have rarely seen." He nodded, apparently sure of what she barely understood. "You made it to the first portal." Then he fell back. "And I have fallen in disgrace beneath your feet."

"No!" she exclaimed, leaning forward in her earnestness. "I do not know where I went..."

Behind her back, she felt his hand begin a gentle caress. "Do not be ashamed, Lydia. You are very gifted in this. I knew this from the first moment I saw you. Indeed, it is why I consented to..."

"To buy me."

He sighed, guilt bringing a ruddy color to his cheeks. "Yes. Because you were made for this kind of practice." He looked back into her eyes. "I am very pleased, my wife." Then he shrugged. "And very jealous."

"But you have gone to the first portal before, haven't you?" She prayed it was true.

"Yes," he answered. "Many times. But..."

"But you want to go beyond," she finished for him.

He released a bitter laugh. "Right now, I would be happy with such a thing. I cannot even make it there now, much less push further."

She sighed, slipping lower as she rested on his shoulder. Then she closed her eyes, silently praying to any Heavenly spirit who understood to give her the words to help her lost husband.

"Please tell me about the memories, the images you see." She didn't even realize she'd spoken until the sounds came to her ears. Then, once she'd heard her request, she doubted that Ru Shan would answer. She had pressed him so many times before.

But, to her surprise, he began to speak, his words slow and thick, as if each carried a great weight beyond their surface meaning. "I see blood, Lydia. And my parents. First my mother, then my father. I see them as they were many years ago, then as they are now. I see..." He paused as he swallowed. "I see death, Lydia. And such an explosion of hatred and anger that it boils past my restraints. I cannot contain it."

"And so you cannot contain your seed either, much less the power to send you to Heaven."

He nodded, but not just with his head. The movement seemed to curl in on itself. His chin dipped lower and even the arm behind her back pulled her into him. His other arm came around her, and suddenly she was being enfolded in his pain. A misery that had her crying the tears he would not.

She held him as tightly as she could. She allowed him to squeeze the breath from her lungs, and still she made no protest. Instead, she gave him all her strength and breath and power, wishing with all her heart that it was enough.

And eventually, it was. Or perhaps eventually he learned to be content with his pain, for he slowly released her, rolling onto his back with a silent whisper of sound. Not a sigh. More of a sob, except that no tears wet his face and no anguish showed beneath the placid mask he wore.

"Don't hide from me, Ru Shan," she whispered. "I can't bear it."

He glanced at her, surprise widening his dark, almond eyes. Finally he spoke. "I am unaccustomed to sharing such things with anyone."

"Even with Shi Po?"

He nodded. "Especially with Shi Po. As much as she was a great teacher, her first goal is always her own immortality." He shrugged. "I cannot fault her for that. We all wish to be great."

"You are great," she snapped. "And I certainly do fault any teacher who thinks of herself first and her pupils second."

Ru Shan smiled, his features softening for the first time since she awoke. "You are fiercely loyal, my wife." Then he dropped a kiss on her lips. "That pleases me greatly."

"Good," she answered, returning his kiss. But she did not let their play deepen. Instead, she pulled back, unwilling to let their conversation shift. "You said you saw your mother as she is now. But..."

"She is dead, yes. I see her as she was just before she died. And I see her again as we buried her."

"Oh, how awful!"

He merely nodded, his mouth pulled tightly shut.

"How... how did she die?"

His jaw worked. She could see the muscles flex, but he did not speak.

"Was she killed?"

He closed his eyes. "She fell down. Her neck broke."

Lydia didn't answer at first. She had heard those words before. Her father was a doctor, after all. He had used those words too many times to cover what she knew was the truth. She'd probably been beaten to death, likely by her own husband. "It would appear that there is ugliness in China as well as in London."

Lydia didn't know what triggered it, didn't understand what she had said, but at her words, the dam finally broke. Ru Shan pulled her tight to him as he began to sob. They were not soft sobs as she was accustomed to, the gentle misery of wives and mothers. This was a man's grief, and it tore at them both. It ripped from his chest with heaving gasps and clawed at his throat as it passed. His cries were guttural and frightening, but she knew better than to stop them. The sound, the pain, the aching horror of it all had to be released.

So she held on to him, cradling him as best she could while he sobbed and fought with his pain. It won, of course. He had been holding it inside too long, allowing it to grow into this huge thing that wracked them both as it escaped. Finally it was gone, and Ru Shan slept in her arms.

From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng

1 January, 1895

Dearest Li Hua—

My friend, I cannot tell you what I have done. It was wrong. Evil. I know it, and
yet...
Li Hua, the barbarians are beautiful. Handsome and strong and beautiful. I cannot say how I know, and yet I do. Perhaps I am like my mother-in-law, trapped in another drug like their opium. I do not know. I do not care.