Burning Tigress Page 5

  So now Charlotte wished to learn what he had taught her friends. The goddess who had appeared before him so many years ago wished to descend to his chamber and feel what other women felt. He ought to be grateful. His flagging yang responded lustfully to Miss Charlotte. He should be thrilled that she came to him on the very day he regained hope for his weak dragon.

  Instead, it made him feel worn, old, and a little sad.

  Odd, how this morning had held such hope. His dragon had reawakened, his investments showed promise, and he'd even received an encouraging letter about his nephew's academic progress. But that was this morning. Now, a bare three hours later, his mentors Shi Po and her husband, Kui Yu, were in prison, sacred scrolls were in barbarian hands, and his employer's daughter demanded service that would likely get him fired.

  When Heaven turns its back, even the rats perish.

  He grimaced in disgust at the reversal in fortunes. He would need to be at his peak to weather the coming storm. Without conscious thought, he stripped off his jacket, shirt, and tie. Why the whites insisted on so many ridiculous layers, buttons, and ties, he would never understand; it prevented full breath in skin or lungs. But the master insisted, and so Ken Jin obeyed. Except, Ken Jin would not accept it now. At this moment, he needed a boost in vitality, so he shut and locked his door—or attempted to lock it. This morning's debacle had proved the mechanism was faulty. Then he pulled out his tools and knelt bare-chested in the tiny space between desk and bed.

  He knelt on a rug with a dragon design. He placed his knees on the belly of a cloud dragon, the tops of his feet extending toward the whipping, spiny tail. He had to unbutton the top of his trousers, as he could not afford to rip another pair. Then, once the fabric was rolled sufficiently down his hips, he carefully inserted a great needle into the Sea of Energy point, three finger widths below his navel. Two deep breaths, and then he raised his hands, pressed both thumbs and forefingers into the Gates of Consciousness.

  With fire below and openness above, all of Heaven is within reach.

  This time, his breath had an echo—a depth that told him his spirit stretched toward the divine. His eyes closed and he began the internal inventory that was his ritual. His mind was more scattered than usual, but he carefully brought it into focus. Starting with his head and flowing down to his toes, he surveyed his body. It was strong with no pains. His energy channels flowed clearly with only one obvious blockage. Wind, fire, water, wood, and metal coexisted within him at an acceptable balance.

  He turned his attention to the energy blockage in his pelvis at the gate to his dragon. This morning's work had opened up the channel, allowing some of his carefully stored yang to flow. His dragon lived and breathed again as it had not for over a year. In truth, the problem had begun long ago, perhaps even in early childhood. He did not know the cause, only that as he aged, the blockage became worse and his dragon began to wither.

  At first he thought his yang stores were simply weak. He devoted all his attention to purifying his male energies, carefully hoarding and cleansing his masculine power through privations and meditations, special herbs and careful exercises. After two decades, his yang was the rarified substance of the most devout practitioner. Unfortunately, there seemed to be too little of it.

  Then he learned that yang responds to yin; that a woman's energies give rise to a man's. So he became a gatherer of women. He teased them, he seduced them, he did whatever was needed so that he could drink of their fluids. And his yang responded... for a while.

  But three years ago, a blockage had appeared. Though his yang remained pure and strong, it could not flow to his dragon. His organ was slow to rise, quick to withdraw. And in the last year, it could not be woken at all. At least not until this morning. Not until his needles were inadvertently driven deep into his Sea of Vitality.

  Had he at last opened the channel to his yang stores? He fervently prayed it was true, even as he began his strengthening meditation. He would have to use all of his resources to build upon this new beginning. He would need special herbs, deep meditations, and yin—lots of female yin—to simulate the renewed growth of his yang and keep the dragon gate open. He would need Miss Charlotte's yin in great quantities.

  Odd, how the thought excited him as much as it repulsed him. But he had no room in his mind for doubts. He needed her yin to bolster his yang. She wished to give him her fluids, and he needed to take them. Any other thought had no place in his spirit.

  As if summoned by the thought, Miss Charlotte slipped into his room. He heard the rustle of her skirts, her futile effort to lock the door, and her gasp of surprise when she saw him kneeling on the floor.

  Ken Jin's hands slipped down and away, closing off his access to Heaven. He opened his eyes, automatically seeking out his prey. She wore the same burnt-orange clothes as before, including that impossibly tight waist contraption overlain by a cotton dress with sleeves that made her shoulders look like big fat roosters. And yet, for all the ridiculousness of her attire, he could not help but be drawn to the sparkling delight in her eyes. She seemed to bounce with energy before him.

  He did not speak. There was no need as he understood her desires. So he occupied himself with pulling the needle out from his Sea of Vitality, twisting it back and forth as he did in order to gain the tiniest bit more stimulation.

  "Oh, don't stop," she cried, rushing forward a step. "That is part of what I have come here to learn."

  He looked at her, and he felt his entire being—body, energy, and spirit included—focus to a concentrated point, one that could be directed wherever his mind willed. "I am preparing to teach you," he said.

  "Ah," she replied, though she obviously did not understand. "So... does the foggy stuff come out of there?" She pointed at the needle.

  He paused as it slipped free. "The foggy stuff?"

  She nodded, her eyes on the tiny welling of blood that seeped free. "The mist," she said in Shanghai dialect. "The cloudlike thing on the scroll. In the pictures, it came from the man's... from his..." Her face flushed a dark scarlet. "Does it come from there? Do you always have to poke a hole for it to—"

  "You misunderstand," he snapped, startled by the break in his control. There was no need for him to explain, and yet he did not stop. "These needles stimulate and enhance. They also release evil energies." He switched into English, using terms her father employed. "Bad humors or sicknesses. But that was not my intention here."

  She giggled, the sound high and nervous as she dropped to her knees before him. "Well, some evil humor has gotten hold of you. Perhaps you did not stick the right location."

  He felt his jaw clench, and had to concentrate to relax. It took so long that his needles were carefully stowed back in his desk before he could speak again. "As I said, that was not my intention today." Then he sighed, his blood cold despite the recent acupuncture. "I gather that you are ready for your instruction?"

  She had watched him put away his kit, an interested sparkle in her eyes. At his words, her expression grew somber. "Yes," she said with a nod. "I am ready."

  He stalled, knowing the risks outweighed the benefit. "You understand that my lock does not work. We may be interrupted."

  She shook her head. "William is in a bath, and I have already arranged for him to eat dinner in the nursery. Mama is handing out pamphlets with the priest, and Papa..." She shrugged. "Well, you know that Papa is at his club drinking and will not return home."

  "Your father is at the docks checking on his investments," Ken Jin lied.

  "Yes, yes, I know you are supposed to say that, but this is me. I know the truth, I have for years."

  He doubted she knew the full truth. No woman who called yang emissions "foggy stuff" could truly understand her father's debauchery. But before Ken Jin came to work here, Mr. Wicks had often brought his women home whenever Mrs. Wicks spent a night at the mission. Miss Charlotte had been young then, but never stupid. She would have learned a great deal. Fortunately, Ken Jin was able to convince his empl
oyer to take his sexual adventures out of his home, but obviously the damage had been done. Charlotte—and the friends she socialized with—had an undeniable curiosity about sexual relations. It was a testament to her mother's prudish vehemence that Charlotte had not come to his door long ago.

  She stepped forward, her expression earnest. "We will not be interrupted."

  She was right, and so he sighed as he gestured to the bed. "Very well. Please arrange yourself."

  She blinked at him, but did not move from where she knelt on his mat. "Arrange myself? How?"

  He looked at her, working his thoughts into the appropriate frame. It wasn't hard; Miss Charlotte was indeed a beautiful woman. Her dress lifted her breasts to just the right height for his hands. Her waist, of course, was impossibly small, due to the strange whalebone contraption all white women wore; and her skirt shifted and flickered about her folded legs like tempting yin flames, drawing the mind to the secrets concealed within.

  "You will have to remove your corset. It restricts your breathing."

  She flushed, color bursting across her features, but she did not comment. Nor did she move.

  He felt his hands clench and realized he was impossibly weary with these white women's games. At least at the Tigress school there was no confusion as to what one was about. No discussion, no illusions; it was simple practice. Except, of course, when it wasn't simply practice. But thoughts of Little Pearl soured his stomach, so he forced his attention back to Charlotte: beautiful Miss Charlotte, the flaming sun in the sky, the whore at his feet.

  Whore? The name would not reconcile, and so he grabbed her, startled by his own sudden anger. He took hold of her arms and quickly lifted her up to her feet. She was not a small woman, but he was strong and she was too startled to resist. So he set her on her feet and glared at her. His voice was harsh, his manner cold. And yet his body shook from the heat she generated in his hands where they touched.

  "Are you a virgin or a slut?" He spoke in English, making sure that there was no misunderstanding.

  She tilted her head, seeming not in the least bit shocked. "Can I not be both?"

  He frowned, wondering if he had chosen the wrong words. "How can one be both? Was the Virgin Mary a slut? Was the Whore of Babylon virtuous?"

  She didn't answer. Instead, she slowly folded her arms, using the motion to dislodge his hands. She stared at him as she often stared at young William: with a mixture of bafflement and superiority. Finally, she said, "You agreed to teach me, Ken Jin. It won't take my—my maidenhead, will it?"

  He shook his head. "Your virginity will remain intact." But her purity would not. Her sweet nature would not. Her very angelic image would fade away like so much dirty smoke. He ought to throw her out, but already his dragon was pushing forward in interest. This was the most virile he'd felt in a very long time. How could he stop?

  "Teach me," she insisted.

  Pressure built in his chest, an impossible pain that cut off his breath. What did he care what she chose to do with her white-woman virtue? What difference did it make to him if Miss Charlotte Wicks chose to follow her father's example rather than her mother's? Both paths were wrong for her—rampant debauchery or ascetic withering—and yet with no suitor in sight, she had no other choice.

  Therefore, he would service her, release some of her stopped-up yin, and not think beyond that. He mentally stopped the pain that clogged his throat and pushed his worries away. It was as simple as slicing off an arm, but he accomplished it even as he took one step backward.

  "Very well. Remove your clothing and lie upon the bed." His voice was not quite normal; it was higher in tone, though otherwise calm and detached. She, obviously, did not notice any difference, because she tilted her head and frowned.

  "Why should I need to do that? Is it not you who must remove..." She waved at his lower parts.

  He straightened, surprised. Most white women preferred him to remain clothed while he harvested their yin. He was, after all, simply a servant performing an unusual task, and servants remained clothed. Yet Charlotte obviously wanted the illusion of intimacy, and so he complied, stripping off his trousers with quick motions.

  When he was done, he looked up to find her calmly appraising him. Or perhaps not so calmly, for he saw a brightness in her eyes, a slight sheen of perspiration on her lip, and a kind of movement in her whole body but in such small ways that he could not isolate one from another. In short, she was excited and interested and so very alive the air seem to crackle with her energy.

  Even stranger, his dragon responded to the call of her yin. Indeed, her essence was so strong, he thought he could detect her scent in the air: musk and white-people flowers: the earthly and the heavenly combined. How strange, and yet how delightful to his dragon, which surged forward enough to poke its head out from its tunnel. Charlotte reached tentatively forward, her hand steady and her eyes focused.

  Ken Jin practically leapt onto his desk to get away. "What are you doing?"

  She looked into his face, her eyes wide. "Learning?"

  He straightened. "That is not how you learn." He dipped his head slightly in a mocking bow. "Please arrange yourself on the bed."

  She looked where he indicated and shrugged. Then she reached down and gathered her skirt, awkwardly climbing onto his small bed. She gasped slightly as she settled onto her knees, probably because her corset had just pushed her breasts up higher than usual. But then she adjusted, shaking her shoulders enough that a tendril of hair slipped down beside her cheek. She blew it away with an irritated huff.

  Looking back at him, she arched a single eyebrow and said tartly, "I cannot see how this will serve." Her gaze lowered to his thickening dragon. "You are tall for a Chinese, but really, Ken Jin, no man... Wouldn't it be better if I were on the floor?"

  She spoke as she often did to young William, her voice high, her tones smooth and coaxing, and Ken Jin's dragon shrank away in horror. "Remove your clothing," he repeated, louder this time, and in the exact manner he used when her brother disobeyed. "And lie on your back."

  She frowned and stared at the bed, then turned to face him. "On my back? But whatever for?"

  "Instruction!"

  "But that is not what was in the scroll!"

  He was already stepping forward, prepared to lift her skirts himself to get her to obey. After all, she was the one who had demanded that he do this. She should not make her own debauchery so difficult! But then her words finally penetrated, and he froze. Which scroll had she read? Which text was she studying? "What exactly did the scroll say?"

  Charlotte flushed a deeper scarlet, her color exceedingly beautiful. "Well, I couldn't actually read it."

  "The pictures, then. What—"

  "A woman on her knees before a man. She was..." She gestured weakly at Ken Jin's dragon.

  "Playing the jade flute?" At her look of confusion, he rephrased in English. "She had her mouth on his dragon? His long John."

  Miss Charlotte nodded vigorously.

  "That is what you wish to learn?" he pressed. "How to steal a man's yang? How to take his vital essence into yourself while he lies gasping and withered in your wake?"

  She shifted on his bed, and her breasts bobbled slightly. "I was under the impression that men eagerly sought out ways to..." She frowned as she struggled with the Chinese words. "To surrender their yang."

  "Of course some do. They are the unenlightened, the lewd, and the dissolute." He reached for his trousers. "But I am not such a man."

  "Then, what were you going to teach me? If not that, then..." Her eyes widened as understanding lit her features. "You were going to do the same to me, weren't you? You were going to take my yang—"

  "Yang is a man's power," he snapped, pulling on his clothing. It was difficult, because his dragon did not wish to be hidden. "A woman has yin."

  "Yin," she repeated, testing the word. "You were going to take my yin, weren't you?"

  "That is what a slut wants, isn't it?" He made his words deliberately
harsh.

  "To give up her essence to you? And then would I lie gasping and withered in your wake?"

  He didn't like the way she was throwing his words back at him. No white person—much less a barbarian woman—had ever demonstrated such cleverness with words. Still, he would not lie to her. "Yes, that is what I thought you wanted."

  "Because I am ignorant and lewd."

  He shrugged, unable to deny it.

  She abruptly pushed off the bed. "You are a pig, Ken Jin, and I would not take your yang if you begged me." She headed for the door, but he was there before her. "Get out of my way," she snapped.

  "Give me the scrolls, Miss Charlotte." He matched her threatening tone, but his words were more deliberate.

  She was not impressed. She flipped her hair out of her eyes and shifted her weight to step around him. "They are mine until Joanna returns."

  He was losing patience with this farce. "They are stolen property, Miss Charlotte. They belong to the Tigress school, and I will see them returned."

  She lifted her chin. "I don't believe you. And don't try to find them. I've hidden them where no one will ever guess."

  He doubted that, but he did not argue. He could not have her angry with him. His livelihood depended on the Wicks. Plus, he wanted those scrolls. So he switched tactics. No woman could resist a trained Dragon, and his skills were legendary. So he reached out and took hold of the bow tie Charlotte wore. It was a silly female parody of a man's, only serving to emphasize how very feminine she looked, but it was useful to him. He pulled it loose with a single flick of his wrist. Another tug and he held it in his hand.

  "What are you doing?" she cried.

  "You wished to learn. Indeed, you threatened my employment if I didn't teach you."

  "I have changed my mind."

  He shook his head. "Sluts are not allowed to change their mind. Indeed," he said as he took a firm step forward. "I believe some sluts particularly desire to be threatened. Pushed." His voice dropped. "Forced."

  She was shying backward—away from him, toward his bed. "Stop this immediately! This is most unlike you, Ken Jin."