Chapter 13

 

Kui Yu didn't waste any time. Though he had been sitting on the pallet, he was more than capable of dropping his head and ramming the guard. The only thing that had prevented him up to this point was the hope of a peaceful solution. With that hope gone, he was prepared to devastate his foe by any means possible. He exploded forward the moment the door opened.

His head impacted the guard's chest hard enough to crack ribs. He kept going, driving forward until he rammed the guard against the wall. His foe dropped to the floor unconscious. Shi Po ducked forward and quickly removed the guard's sword and passed it to him.

He suppressed his surprise. He had expected maidenly horror at the violence; instead, his wife had acted with impressive practicality. He would have kissed her right then if they didn't have to run.

They rushed down the hall. They knew the only escape was to the left, through the guardroom and out into the main building. With luck, those places would be nearly empty.

No luck. Nearly a dozen soldiers crammed into the tiny guardroom, and the nearest were already advancing. Kui Yu pushed his wife behind him, despite her resistance.

"You can't fight," she said. "They'll kill you."

He didn't have time to argue that they were already marked for execution. At least this way, he would die fighting. He focused on his task. Their only hope lay in the narrow hallway: only two soldiers could attack at a time. But they were younger men, trained for battle and protected by armor.

He did the best he could. Shi Po as well, for she grabbed the weapon off the first man he felled; but he was doomed from the beginning. He hadn't the strength or skill to fight these men. And all too soon, he was knocked to the floor, his head ringing with pain, his breath slammed from his body by well-placed fists.

Then he was held by three soldiers while he watched them casually bat Shi Po's sword away. On her bound feet, she couldn't even run. They were faster, stronger, and merciless, and they shoved her to the ground and ripped off the last of her tattered clothing.

Kui Yu bellowed. With a surge of strength, he pushed to his feet. But then his knees were kicked out from behind. His arms were wrenched backward, and he was slammed sideways and down. As his face hit the floor, his left shoulder wrenched and he screamed. But the sound was cut off by the heavy impact of a knee against his back and a booted foot on his neck.

Still, he fought the pain. If only he could get free, if only he could fight... But there was nothing he could do. Even his view was blocked by the soldiers converging on Shi Po. He heard her scream. He heard—

A growl of a Manchu command. He understood nothing of what was said, only the tone.

The soldiers separated. Was it...?

Not General Kang. It was an older man with a sour expression that pulled at his battle scars, a captain by his uniform. The man's gaze barely flickered as he sized up Kui Yu. Then he turned to Shi Po.

Kui Yu tensed. He hadn't a clue what to do. He could barely hold on to consciousness. But he would do something. He would not let any Manchurian dog have his wife.

Another command echoed in the narrow hallway. A soldier jumped forward and pushed a wad of fabric at his commander, who didn't even touch it. Instead, his gaze cut to Shi Po. Coolie pants and a shirt landed with a soft whoosh on top of her bound feet. Shi Po snatched at the clothing and held it tight to her chest.

"Dress!" the soldier ordered in Shanghai dialect.

She did: pulling on the shirt first, then rushing to don the pants. They even allowed her to stand to do so. The guards pulled back to give her room as the captain watched with flat black eyes.

Kui Yu released his breath, feeling a small measure of relief. They wouldn't bother to dress her if they intended on rape.

Which meant... what? They were to be appropriately dressed for execution? But the Manchurians didn't have formal killings; prisoners just disappeared. Unless the executioners planned for Shi Po to be decently attired as they walked her to the killing pit. But why would they bother? Why dress a soon-to-be-dead woman?

Unless the guard had lied. Unless they weren't about to be killed, but presented to someone. Unless...

There were no more "unlesses," for the captain barked another order. The soldiers were quick to obey, and hands flipped Kui Yu onto his back. The boot that had been on his neck now shifted to his chest, while a sword point pressed into his cheek below his eye.

He stilled, despite the shoulder pain that burned through his body. He barely breathed as the captain came to stand over him. Kui Yu couldn't seem to focus clearly on the man's flat expression, because of the blinding sheen of sharp metal extended upward from his cheek.

The captain flicked his wrist, and the boot lifted off Kui Yu. Kui Yu still didn't breathe deeply, though, because the swords remained very close.

The captain stepped forward. Another wrist flick, and Kui Yu was shifted onto his good side, the sword point hovering just above his face.

"Leave him alone!" Shi Po cried, and was roughly cuffed for her pains.

Kui Yu might have said something to reassure her. He had an idea what was coming, though he could hardly believe it possible, but he had no breath to explain as the captain shoved a boot hard into his hurt armpit. Then, before he could draw breath, the man grabbed his damaged arm and yanked.

Kui Yu's shoulder popped again. He felt it, but couldn't hear it. He was too busy screaming.

* * *

Pain. Pain.

He was on a horse, belly down, strung across its back like a sack of rice. His head bounced like a upside-down chicken's, and he had just vomited. Agony came in rhythmic waves matching the horse's gait.

He tried to move, but he was bound tight. The ground rushed past. Pain. Pain. Pain.

* * *

Ground—cold and hard. Near a campfire. No more pounding. Not on a horse. Soft hands dripped water onto his face. And there came the clink of metal. Chains? Shi Po.

He tried to move, to reach for her. His arm was bound tightly by strips of cloth. The rest of his body barely twitched.

"Shhhh," she whispered. "Sleep." He fought waves of darkness. He needed to know something. He had to do something. Protect her?

He took a breath to speak, only to have his words lost in a hacking cough. The pain overwhelmed him.

* * *

Pain.

The horse again. No food to vomit up. Fuzzy head. Hacking cough. Would it never end?

Pain.

* * *

Fever.

She said it. He heard it. The Goddess Kwan Yin, smiling, bathing his face:

What would you give up to get your heart's desire?

Pain.

Cough.

Shi Po.

* * *

Cough. Burned through his chest, bringing awareness. Pain.

Not on a horse. In a bed. A soft bed with sweet-smelling sheets.

Home?

Not home. Where?

A woman cried great wracking sobs. Kui Yu frowned. Not a woman. A child. A girl-child? Who?

He was sick, his mind fogged. He remembered sex. Prison? A horse?

How long had he been ill? Days?

Tea. Bitter. Cool. It wet his lips, filled his mouth. He swallowed out of reflex. Then pain swamped his consciousness again.

No more darkness! Use the agony. Focus.

Where was he?

"Drink," the voice said.

Kwan Yin? Shi Po?

He swallowed again. This time the pain was manageable. The liquid tasted terrible, but then his wife's potions often did. Bitter taste, good healing. Or so she claimed.

When would that child stop crying?

He swallowed again. And again.

"Good," she said, and she set his head back down.

He tried to speak, but no sound came out. His mouth opened, but only on a sigh.

She smiled. It was his beautiful wife. "Get well, my husband," she said. "I have need of you."

He nodded and pushed himself upright to help her. He rose to whatever task she needed. Or so he thought. A moment later he realized he had only imagined the action. Against his will, his eyelids drooped down and he slept.

* * *

Shi Po pressed her fingers to Kui Yu's face, pleased that his fever had finally broken. She still worried about his cough, but all in all, he seemed much better. He slept easier now, and praise Buddha, they no longer traveled on those cursed beasts. Horses were a Manchu's first playground. She had heard they ate, slept, even copulated on their horses. Not so the men who had escorted them here. They had simply roped their beasts nearby, right next to their chained prisoners.

She rubbed at the raw marks on her wrists. The chains had been removed the moment they arrived, so ordered in curt tones by General Kang's wife. Shi Po had not understood the words, her Mandarin rusty from little use, but the meaning had been clear. The captain had abruptly ordered their manacles released, then had carried Kui Yu to this bedchamber.

Shi Po had stayed by her husband's side, of course. She had even managed to obtain the appropriate tea to ease his pain. But she had learned nothing new. She'd done nothing but sit by his side and sponge his brow for the last few hours.

That, and listen to a young girl sob as if her heart or her feet were breaking.

Shi Po stood. This was ridiculous. She would not sit imprisoned in this room just because she was too timid to learn more. She needed a bath and fresh clothing, Kui Yu needed a strengthening broth, and someone needed to see to that bawling child.

She took one last look at her husband. He was resting peacefully, his fever a thing of the past. He would sleep for many hours yet; she had no fear on that matter. And yet, she was strangely reluctant to leave his side. How many days had they lived in the same household and barely seen each other except to know that the other still breathed? How many mornings had he left before she woke? How many evenings had she been deep in class while he ate his dinner alone?

If it weren't for Kui Yu's frequent visits to the nursery to chat with their children, he and Shi Po might have never seen one another. He was a capable man, well on the mend. She was an intelligent woman who needed to learn more about their situation. Indeed, their very survival might depend on what she could figure out now.

Yes, she had to go. And yet, she had not left her husband's side for over two weeks. Not even for the barest second. She found it excruciatingly difficult to walk away now, no matter the reason. What if she could not return to him? What if he began to cough and she was not there to... what? Hold him and worry? There was little she could do but watch.

And yet...

Shi Po forced herself to stand, and to stop mirroring her husband's illness. He slept; she had to find the strength to act. So she turned away from him and willed herself to walk out the door. Once started, she found herself moving quickly, desperate to accomplish her task.

The Kang estate was built in a traditional Chinese design, with living quarters arranged around a central courtyard, situated behind a gate, settled behind another garden and another gate and guardhouse; that much she had seen when they first arrived. They were in the country, some distance from Peking—or so she guessed from the Mandarin she heard. Their bedroom was on a side wing designed for guests, which is why the child's sobs were so unusual. Would not the girl be in the children's area; in her own bedroom?

Shi Po wandered the narrow hallway in search of the sobbing child. She found her quickly enough, despite the fact that the girl was tucked away underneath a table. Her face was buried against a tapestry, her black pigtails askew, her tiny body shaking with the force of her grief.

Shi Po had not necessarily meant to talk with the girl, especially since she doubted the tiny thing spoke Shanghai dialect. Her plan had been to assure herself that the child was safe, and then leave her to whatever adult eventually found her. But when she saw the little girl—likely no more than four years old—Shi Po could not turn away. Those miniature shoulders shook with grief as she lay on her side, her tiny hands wrapped around her knees. And as Shi Po advanced, the girl wiggled tighter against a tapestry, probably trying to hide beneath it.

How many times had Shi Po wanted to do just that: to shrink into the smallest of dots until she just disappeared? She knew of only one pain that could so destroy the child of wealthy, powerful parents, only one reason for a girl to want to disappear.

But why would a Manchu bind his daughter's feet? The Qing Emperor had long since declared the practice anathema.

The mystery was enough to push Shi Po into action. She wanted to crouch, but knew better. Even in coolie pants that allowed such a position, Shi Po's feet would not have supported her. So she dropped onto her bottom and tucked her feet demurely beneath her. Reaching out, ignoring the girl's suddenly fierce struggles, she picked up the child and pulled her into her lap.

It took some time, but Shi Po was familiar with how to comfort a child in this stage of foot binding. One glance at the poor girl's feet showed that the child was in the worst stage—for the mother: her tiny bones were not yet broken, her feet simply restricted. She was small yet, and it was the way of some mothers to slowly introduce their daughters to the horrors to come.

Yet for now, there was full awareness and rebellion. Naturally, a child used to running free would despise her bindings. She would scream and sob, refuse to walk, and rip off the strips of cloth whenever possible. Indeed, this child showed bruises on her hands and arms—evidence of disciplinary actions.

Apparently, they worked, for the girl's feet were still wrapped.

Shi Po sighed and smoothed the girl's forehead. She had more than once wished for a different world, one where daughters were not so deformed. But wishing did not bring excellent marriages, and only a woman with correctly shaped feet under five inches in length could marry into wealth. And only women with wealthy husbands could ensure that their children grew strong and prospered.

It was an ugly cycle, and one against which the Qing empire struggled. It was said that even the Emperor thought bound feet hideous. But China had been thus for countless dynasties. One man—even an Emperor—could do little against tradition. And one woman could do even less.

So Shi Po held the young girl and rocked her tiny, shaking body, while murmuring Confucian dictates on appropriate female behavior. The words meant nothing, of course. Not to the child or to herself, remembering binding her daughter's feet and her grandmother's botched creation of Shi Po's own misshapen lumps.

At last the girl quieted. Shi Po still held her, though her back ached from her hunched position. And when the girl reached up and brushed away Shi Po's tears, she knew they'd reached an understanding.

"Your mother is Han Chinese," Shi Po said as she inspected the child's facial features. Obviously, the mother was Han, for only they bound their daughters' feet. But the father was clearly Manchurian. Probably General Kang himself.

The girl didn't understand, so Shi Po switched to halting Mandarin. This close to Peking, the girl probably spoke the official language.

"My name is Madame Tan," she said.

The girl's eyes widened. "I am named Wen Ai," she responded formally. Then she blinked, and—in the way of the young—discarded all ritual in favor of simple directness. "Why are you in my home?"

"I don't know," Shi Po answered honestly. "Do you think you could help me find out?"

Tears flooded the girl's expression, and she shook her head. "I can't walk," she whispered. "I can't walk or jump or run or... or... or..." Her words ended on a hiccoughing sob, and Shi Po clutched her even closer.

"You will again," she murmured, repeating the lie told to all young Chinese girls. "You just have to practice." Then she extended her own tiny feet. "These are huge compared to yours. They are wide and ugly and badly done. Your mother is very wise to bind your feet now. You will have many wealthy men vying for your hand. You will have a big home and fat children and your husband will value you above all others because of your tiny, perfect feet." She lifted the girl's chin and said, "Is that not worth a few tears?"

No, it isn't, said the girl's mutinous eyes. But she was trained well enough not to speak the words aloud. That would be too disrespectful. And in that moment, Shi Po felt the crushing weight of despair. In that moment, she experienced shock and disgust and fear, all because of one simple realization:

Life wasn't fair.

That was it. Or, more specifically, life for females wasn't fair.

And wasn't that a ridiculous realization? After all, even the youngest girls knew that life did not treat women equitably. Her father doted on her idiot brother. His only attention to Shi Po had been to order her feet bound.

Yes, she'd known from the first that life was not fair for girls. And yet now, with the added maturity of years, she could see that it was not just girl-children who were bound, but all Chinese women. What decree said that a widow should be locked away, never to venture out from her home, as if a woman without a husband was a shame to be hidden away? Who ordered that women could not be educated, could not learn anything beyond beauty and gossip? That girls should have no choices in their lives beyond what their fathers, brothers, and husbands ordered? And who said that a girl's only value was in her beauty and her obedience to those very men?

No one. No one had decreed it, and yet all Chinese women followed these rules. It was insanity. They obeyed, and they taught their daughters, and any soul who dared step outside of their rigid lines was roundly condemned. Usually by fellow women.

Which was why Shi Po's life was hampered and fettered and bound as tightly as her feet. Except, it wasn't. She had the freedom to explore her Tigress teachings, to instruct other women in this form of liberation, to stretch out her hand and reach for immortality. She alone was allowed such freedom, and by her husband, Kui Yu. He let her do as she willed, even to the point of supporting her choices against the condemnation of society.

Which was why she loved him.

And there was the true enlightenment. Shock echoed through her system, cracking open her mind like an egg crushed beneath a mountain. She loved her husband. And that love bound her more tightly to him than any rope or chain. Which meant that he was the real reason that she had not reached immortality. Because she was too Earth-bound. Because she loved her husband.

So, Kui Yu was the real reason she'd failed at her goal. He was the anchor that held down her spirit, and all she needed to do in order to finally attain Heaven was quickly and simply sever her tie to him. She had to end her love for him, or his for her, for no true tie could occur unless the attachment was mutual.

Yes, she realized, they loved each other. And unless she wanted her life's work to end in failure, she had to end that love completely and irrevocably. In short, she had to choose: Kui Yu or immortality. Which did she want? Because she couldn't have both.

She burst into tears.

The child had no idea, of course, what to do with a suddenly sobbing adult. In fact, the situation was so bizarre that she immediately scrambled away, pushing to her feet and crying out in pain even as she bellowed for her mother.

The mother must have been nearby, for she came quickly, too soon for Shi Po to control her sobs. Then mother and child stood nearby, their eyes dark, their demeanors somber. They watched as if neither had ever seen a woman cry before.

Shi Po bit her lip. She took deep breaths. In time, she even managed to think of something other than her husband or immortality. Only then did her tears subside. Eventually she was able to look at the other two with an equal measure of silence. Until the mother finally stepped forward.

"You are the witch Shi Po of Shanghai," she said.

Shi Po shook her head, tears still perilously close. "I am nothing but a stupid woman." She took another breath. "I am Mrs. Tan. And you?"

"Wu He Yun. And my daughter, Wen Ai."

"Wu? But are you not..." Shi Po cut off her words, but it was too late. Obviously this woman was General Kang's servant, not even having the status of a third or fourth wife. She and her child had the run of the Kang estate and dressed richly, but with a surname of Wu and a Han Chinese face, she was clearly not a wife. It had only been stupidity—and extreme distress—that had made Shi Po so careless with her tongue.

The woman hunched over her child, clearly expecting scorn.

"My deepest apologies," Shi Po hurried to say. "I am not thinking clearly. My husband is ill and I..." How to explain her situation? "I am so lost in this place." She pushed to her feet, tottering slightly before steadying herself. Then she touched He Yun's hand. "Please, can you tell me what is happening here?" The woman already knew her name and title; surely she would know something of what General Kang planned.

"You are to be his new concubine," He Yun said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But I cannot marry him. I have a husband." And General Kang had gone to some expense to bring Kui Yu here alive.

The Woman nodded. "That is his pattern. He finds a woman he desires and brings both husband and wife here. Then he forces the husband to watch."

Shi Po felt her breath stop hard in her chest.

"The shame is so great," He Yun continued. "My husband..."

"No...," Shi Po whispered, not wanting to hear.

"A weapon is made available. But there are too many soldiers to fight and no escape."

Shi Po understood. Kang toyed with his prisoners, just as he had toyed with her in Shanghai. He offered the illusion of escape, but in the end the only choice was in the manner of death. Kui Yu would be allowed to die fighting or in an honorable suicide. "What did your husband choose?" If there was to be any hope for her and Kui Yu, she had to know what had happened before.

"He attacked the soldiers. He took the sword and fought, but they were ready for him. He..." Her words ended on a sob.

Shi Po touched the woman's hand, offering comfort. She didn't want to press, but she had to know. "What of you? What will become of you? And of me?"

"If you are entertaining, then you will be allowed to live." He Yun's gaze hardened. "I am to learn your Tigress secrets."

Shi Po shook her head. "I will die first before I pleasure that man."

The woman tucked her daughter tight to her chest. "Then do so quickly. He holds the children as ransom." Tears shimmered in He Yun's eyes. "I have a son. He prospers, or so I am told."

Shi Po didn't think the constriction of her chest could grow any tighter, but it did. Fear for her two sons nearly bent her in two. "How many times?" she managed to gasp out. "How often does he do this?"

He Yun dropped her head against her daughter's, her sorrow a palpable force. "There were two before me and one since."

"How have you survived?"

He Yun lifted her chin, her expression growing defiant. "I spy on the new women for him. I tell him their secrets."

Shi Po reared back. She had already suspected as much, but to have the woman say it out loud surprised her.

"I will make a bargain with you," He Yun continued. "You tell me your secrets, and I will tell you the general's."

"Why would I hand my power to you? My only value is in my Tigress secrets."

He Yun shrugged. "Because without me, you will know nothing of what he intends. He tells me secrets, and I can tell you. But only if I have something of value to give him." Then her eyes abruptly hardened. "What choice do you have? No one else offers you friendship."

What she offered wasn't friendship, but He Yun was right in one thing: she knew more of what went on in this household than Shi Po did. Which mean Shi Po would have to at least pretend to agree. So she nodded slowly as she looked at little Wei Ai, the only true innocent in this household.

"Do you hope for a better life for her? Is that why you bind her feet?"

He Yun shrugged. "The General commanded it. He likes tiny feet. And he thinks girls run too fast otherwise."

Shi Po understood. Of course a cruel man would insist on a cruel tradition. Very well. If nothing else, it gave Shi Po something to offer this woman. "I know of a tea," she said. "One that numbs pain, especially mixed for daughters with tiny feet. It helps quiet their crying."

He Yun looked up, excited. "Tell me how to make it," she whispered. "Please. The General does not like noisy children."

"No man does," agreed Shi Po, but as she stepped forward, she too winced. Bound feet were not made for riding horses. Nor were they intended to pass day after day without a change of cloths. She herself needed the tea.

He Yun noticed immediately. After all, her own feet were shod in lovely curved four-inch shoes; she would recognize a fellow sufferer. The woman straightened, though her shoulders retained some stoop. "We will bathe Wen Ai's feet and mix her tea together."

 

Night Vigil

Chen Yu-Yi (1090-1138)

 

Our boats we anchored by Hua Jung County

and over the lake spread the brightness

of a moonlit night; too cold to sleep

I stood pondering, listening to the sound

of reeds rustling around us; thinking

of all the disappointments of my life

which make even this beautiful scene

one of foreboding; and now in the third watch

watching fireflies over the gravemounds,

looking up into the heavens at the Milky Way

hiding the great unknown behind it, and

remembering that here it was that Tsao Tsao,

King of Wei, was brought to bay, with now only

the quiet majesty of hills and rivers as a

memorial; so does one ponder over rise and

decline thinking that it is in vain for a poor

scholar like me to feel so anxious for a better

world; yet what can we do about all the wars?

No clear solution can I find, though my hair has

turned so gray.

* * *

August 16,1880

 

Fairest Shi Po—

I cannot leave my position right now. I will never have enough money to open a shop. The only other choice is to become an opium trader, and I will not do that. Can you not delay your marriage for a few years? Perhaps a womanly complaint? Or deep grief over your uncle's death? I pray nightly to Buddha for a miracle.

Yours in deepest love,

Kui Yu

~

A Parting Song

Tu Mu (803-856)

 

So young and

your lovely figure

supple as a vine

in early spring; now

coming to Yangchow,

a warm breeze has removed

screens from doors

down all the streets, but

of beauties seen, none

are such as you.

 

How can a real love

be lightly disguised?

How may we smile so lightly

through our parting meal?

Even the candles share

our emotion, weeping tears

as we do, until the

morning breaks.

* * *

August 20,1880

 

Kui Yu—

My uncle was a good and excellent man. I could never, ever use his death to my own ends, even to delay my marriage. That would be despicable. What must you think of me to suggest such a thing?

In grief,

Shi Po