Chapter 4

 

Zou Tun pushed himself off the barbarian woman, sickened by what he had just done. He was not in the habit of tying up any creature, much less a woman. But she had to understand that there would be no escape—for either of them.

He pushed himself to his feet, still feeling the heat of her burning into his body. How could such a creature ever be considered a ghost? She seemed more substantial than most women he knew, with the exception of the dowager empress. Of course, to compare that lauded woman with this barbarian was ridiculous—and yet he could not help himself. The two had the same fire within them, and he did not like the idea of restraining such energy, no matter what the reason.

But he had no choice, and so he secured her bonds before drying the tepid tea off his face and clothing. It had been a bold move, throwing the drink at him and trying to grab the key. Bold and surprising enough that it would likely have worked with a different man.

But he had been trained in fighting at the Shiyu monastery. He knew how to read the tensing of muscles and the sly look in a man's eye. Even so, she had surprised him enough that he was now wet.

Irritated with himself, and with her for causing such strange thoughts, for pushing him outside of his center, he stomped to the door and opened it. A girl was waiting, and he passed on a request to see the Tigress Shi Po. He was anxious to begin his training, which meant beginning the barbarian's as well. The sooner they began, the sooner this would end.

He waited impatiently at the door, passing the time by rubbing irritably at his new-grown hair. He had not yet decided if he would keep his shaved head or allow his Qin queue to regrow. And here, yet again he was showing unusual indecision. Was he a monk or a Qin heir? He wasn't sure, except to know it would be extremely difficult to be both. Indeed, he had spent the last few years trying to be both, only to end up with dead brethren, a captive white woman and a conscience so mired in guilt that he could not think straight.

That was why, he supposed, he had allowed the Tigress to trap him here. He could not return to Peking in this state of indecision. His enemies would eat him alive. So he was hiding here, "forced" into useless training while he decided what exactly he wished to do upon his return to Peking.

Because he had to return. He owed it to his father and his country to forgo the monastic life and his personal dreams of enlightenment. He was a Manchurian prince and he could not indulge himself in religious frivolity at the expense of his country. He would not.

At least, he would not for much longer.

He took a step into the hallway, his annoyance growing. He was forbidden from wandering about the large compound. That the Tigress lived in such wealth made him sneer. True religious sects disdained creature comforts as a distraction and temptation. But what could one expect from a female cult that glorified sexuality? Merely this: a focus on the lowest forms of comfort with complete ignorance of the higher possibilities.

Still, he was not above enjoying a comfortable bed or soft cotton sheets. Given his training at the monastery, he believed he could quickly master any tasks here. He would view the time as a restful vacation before returning to the capital. Fortunately, he was disciplined enough to enjoy his surroundings even when they included a barbarian.

Shi Po joined him, a servant girl following her. The Tigress moved gracefully as always, her beauty undeniable. But Zou Tun had seen the coldness within her, and so he felt no desire at the sight of her lithe figure.

"You wish to begin?" she asked, her voice low and melodic.

He nodded, gesturing behind him at the barbarian. Mindful that Shi Po believed the woman had come seeking the Tigress training, he said, "Her throat injury pains her greatly. I had to restrain her to keep her from causing further harm to herself."

The Tigress looked past him, a single brow arched. "She is violent?"

He shook his head. "Not generally. But the pain is significant," he lied. "I assume there are ways to begin training despite her circumstances?"

The woman nodded, then held her hand out to the side. The servant girl quickly handed over two scrolls, bowed and withdrew. The scrolls were then passed to Zou Tun.

"You must first purify yourselves. The instructions are written here for both you and her." Shi Po tilted her head slightly, indicating the other scrolls she had given him. "I assume you are able to read these?"

She was toying with him, seeing if she could insult him. She knew quite well that as a royal Manchurian, he would be able to read.

"Your kindness is unmatched," he drawled. "I am well able to read your secret texts, but I fear the barbarian will not be able. You will have to send someone to read them to her."

She raised an eyebrow as if in shock. "Oh, sir. All my girls are occupied with their own studies. They cannot spare the time. Nor would I ask them, as they are not knowledgeable in matters of barbarians. I am afraid you are the only one I would trust with such a task."

He barely restrained himself from growling at her. Why had he not just walked by when the Fists attacked the white woman? For whatever reason he had helped her, and now he was trapped. Naturally the Tigress Shi Po would force him to train the white barbarian; blackmail wasn't possible unless he was the one who touched the white.

Behind him he could hear the woman struggle with her bonds, her breathing controlled but no less furious. He knew she was trying to gain the Tigress's help, to silently communicate her situation. It was just as well that he was being forced to begin her training. Who knew what the Tigress might understand, even from a mute barbarian? Especially one as intelligent as Joanna Crane.

"Very well," he snapped. "I will call for you if I have any difficulty." And then, with a rudeness that belied his court upbringing, Zou Tun tried to shut the door.

The Tigress stopped him, her slender arm holding it open with a strength that startled Zou Tun. "Do not rush this process, Mandarin," she said, her voice hard. "Moving too fast will ruin it." She glanced disdainfully at the bed. "Especially with a restrained creature."

He nodded in understanding—a single, short movement—and then forcibly pushed her out. It was bad enough that he would have to purify the white woman himself He would be damned if he allowed this she-devil to watch.

He stomped back into the room, unrolling the first of the new scrolls as he did. The text was simple, the pictures graphic. He understood their meaning and purpose. It was; merely the thought of performing such actions that repulsed him.

Or should repulse him.

He set down the scrolls, turning toward the woman lying so open before him. Her robe covered her body a bit, though it would take nothing at all for him to strip her naked. Still, she remained covered now, only her ankles and a bit of one calf showing. Her bare feet remained in full view, white and pleasingly formed. But it was not her feet that would occupy him now.

He would have to touch her breasts, directly above her yin center. His hands actually twitched at the thought. He had touched her once before, but not with the intention of purifying her. He had been curious to discover her texture, her substance, and had learned she felt as warm and soft as any woman. So why was he anxious to do so again?

It was merely his baser self returning. During his time at the monastery, he had ruthlessly quelled the animal in his spirit. Every man had one, but the Shaolin subjugated that creature, channeling it into their fighting skills. But given the tiniest measure of space—such as when Zou Tun had indulged his curiosity on the road to Shanghai—it returned with full vengeance, demanding all manner of depravities.

And now he would have to give it even more space, allowing himself to touch this woman's breasts—to stroke them, to massage them, to purify them. But it would be a cold task, a necessary one done with no more interest than he would empty a chamber pot or set a man's broken leg. Such was his plan, and his only hope of returning to his center.

He sat down beside his bound charge with a determination rarely seen in even the most devoted of monks. "I must purify your yin now," he said slowly. "Yin is your female essence, your womanly energy. Time and coarse living have dirtied it, aging your body and muddying your true purpose of merging your energy with a man's. Therefore, it must be cleansed. Do you understand?"

She had gone absolutely still when he settled on the bed. Indeed, he feared she had stopped breathing. Her eyes were trained on his face, her stomach muscles rippling with tension as he spoke. Clearly she understood his words. If not, she knew he intended to touch her in ways that were not usually appropriate between strangers.

"I take no joy in this task," he stated, praying that such would be true. "I intend to complete it as quickly as possible. Do you understand?"

The woman shook her head, but not because she didn't comprehend. She was afraid, her panic making her breaths fast and shallow. She began pulling at her bonds, struggling ineffectively but with great strength. And when he lay the flat of one hand on her breastbone, her struggles increased to an absolute frenzy.

He knew better than to fight her. A mind caught in a panic had to be waited out. Quietly. Patiently. Eventually she would tire and see that he meant her no harm. Still, it was excruciatingly hard to sit impassively by, one hand pressed gently against her beating heart, while her legs and arms flailed uselessly at her bonds. Indeed, if she continued to struggle, he worried that she might cut off the blood to her hands and feet. The leather straps were meant for gentle restraint, and yet could still do harm if one struggled too fiercely.

Fortunately for the white woman, her throat pain quieted her long before she damaged her hands or feet. She had to stop struggling to breathe without great pain. And focusing on that alone eventually stilled the frantic tempo of her heart.

"This exercise is not meant to hurt you, Miss Crane," he said, surprised at the rough timbre of his voice. "It will increase and purify your yin. There will be no pain. This I swear," he said. Though in truth, he knew little about a woman's yin. "But for your own health, you must remain calm." He hesitated. "Perhaps I can help you find your center—that place inside you of perfect peace."

He didn't know if he could do it. He had never aided a woman before, much less a barbarian woman. But things would go much easier for both of them if he could. So he closed his eyes, willing his own peace to slip into her body, his own inner quiet to silence her terror.

He felt it work. Beneath his hand her breathing eased. A moment later he knew she had accepted what would come. There were no words to describe the moment, only a certain knowledge that she had bowed her enormous pride to the inevitable.

He opened his eyes and was startled to see a single shimmering droplet slip from her eye. A tear, and then another, from the other eye. And more. They came in a steady stream without sound, without wails, without even the stuttering sobs he'd heard from many women he knew. It was a single silent tear followed by others.

All he could do was stare, watching the silvery trails merge into her hair.

In the sacred Shaolin texts of Lao Tzu, the master spoke of the weak overcoming the strong. Of how water in its formless, harmless state gently penetrated and overcame the most solid of barriers. So too had this woman's tears dissolved Zou Tun's iron will.

It was a message to him, her tears, that he could not conquer her resistance by force. That her non-action was indeed more powerful than his determination. And he could not continue this action without completely abandoning the Tao—the middle path—by which all monks lived.

He withdrew his hand.

"Perhaps you are not strong enough for this exercise yet," he said. He sighed, once again feeling frustration eat at him. Now seemed the perfect time to begin. She had to accept her situation. Her struggles had ceased, and she lay docile upon the bed. Now was the absolutely perfect time to begin, and yet he could not. What a weak child he had become, when the sight of a ghost woman's tears swayed him from his course! And yet, much as he railed at himself, he knew that she had vanquished him.

He would not touch her without consent. So he turned to the second scroll, resolved to begin his own exercises.

Like the text on female yin purification, the yang ritual was equally explicit. Zou Tun cringed at the thought of performing such tasks in front of a white woman, but he knew it was necessary. If they were to become partners in this training, then she would have to grow accustomed to the sight of his dragon. And since he could not purify her, he needed to begin purifying himself. Still he paused, turning to the woman to explain.

"Since we cannot begin cleansing your yin, I shall have to start on my yang. I will not touch you, as this is not for you. But it would be helpful if you do not distract me during the process. It is very complicated," he lied. In truth, it was very simple. It was merely the control of his dragon that would be difficult.

She nodded in understanding, and so he took a deep breath, steeling himself to begin his task. He stood, excruciatingly aware of her eyes upon him, and slowly stripped off all his clothing. He did not have much. His shirt was wet anyway, so it was no loss to remove its clammy fabric from his body. His socks and boots were an equal pleasure to remove, as Shanghai was warmer than the north, and his feet appreciated the gentle air.

But then it came time to pull off his pants. He heard the woman hold her breath, obviously startled by his intentions. His back was to her, but he knew how she looked. Her eyes would be wide with maidenly shock, while underneath would be a woman's sly glee. All women enjoyed seeing a man at his most vulnerable—naked and hard, aching for what they offered.

Fortunately, he was not at his full length, and given this humiliating situation, he was not likely to be. Possibly never again. So he resolved to be a man, to accomplish his task whatever the cost. And so, with a stiff back and angry gestures, he untied his belt and let both pants and rope fall to the floor.

Before he lost his nerve he turned around. Let her look her fill. Let her reveal the sly character inside her female breast. Then he would have no interest in her at all, for he would see that this was just a woman like any other. Less than any other woman, in fact, because she was a barbarian.

That was his plan. Except, when he turned to face her, to let her look her fill, he saw no maidenly horror. Not even a sly superiority. Instead, she revealed a simple and unabashed curiosity.

As he stood there, naked before her, her eyes narrowed in study. She looked at him completely, from the top of his dark head all the way down his chest, and finally, ultimately, to his jade stem. He could not tell what she thought, and she had no voice to tell him. So he stood there, watching her study him with an intensity he had seen only in the most dedicated of students. Indeed, her gaze moved with a doctor's care over his entire form while she tilted and strained her head one way and the other to apparently see from a better angle.

She even wet her lips unconsciously, her tiny pink tongue bringing them to a glistening sheen. He did not believe she had lascivious thoughts; her manner was much too scholarly. And yet his body seemed to respond as if she were the most alluring seductress.

And under her scrutiny, his stem thickened and lengthened. His dragon had decided to appear, pushing its head out in hunger.

"I will begin the exercises now," he said, his voice tight with self-consciousness. Taking the seat opposite her, he sat down, his legs wide for better access. He placed the scroll on the floor, narrowing his eyes in the dim light to make sure he read the instructions correctly.

" 'That which is exhausted will be renewed,' " he read aloud.

With his left hand, he stroked his thumb from the base of his stem all the way to its dragon head. It was stimulating, of course. The exercise was designed to strengthen his resistance to just such activities. Fortunately, he had plenty of practice quieting his mind no matter what was happening to his body. Usually he ignored pain, not eroticism. No one could train as a Shaolin without pain. Nor could they sit without moving for twelve hours without learning to ignore great discomfort. But essentially the techniques were the same. And so he accomplished the seventy-two left-handed strokes without much more than a flushed face and a fully extended dragon.

It was only when he switched to repeat the process with the right hand that he began to experience difficulties. He had to shift positions slightly, adjusting his right elbow as he switched hands. That naturally broke his meditative state, and for the first time since he began, he again grew aware of the white woman watching him.

She didn't make a sound. Indeed, he doubted she had moved. But her eyes caught his, and when he met her gaze, he could not look away.

She had been watching his hand movements; he was sure of it. But not anymore. Now she looked at him, her focus intent, her face flushed, and her breath coming in soft, shallow pants. It was one thing to perform physical movements while maintaining a meditative state. He had mastered such things during his fighting exercises even before entering the monastery. But to stroke one's jade stem while a woman watched was something else entirely.

He could not return to his isolated thoughts. He could not imagine himself in a quiet center of stillness. She was there. In his center. In his circle of peace. And no silence could be found between them even as neither said a word.

Her expression was no longer accusing. He could detect no lingering anger that she was bound to the bed. Even her intellectual curiosity had faded, though he still saw sparks. She was not even absorbed by lascivious thoughts, though her body was obviously excited. Indeed, as he watched and continued his right-handed strokes, he saw her lips grow redder, glistening as she wet them again with her pink tongue. The silk covering her breasts fluttered as she breathed, and Zou Tun could not resist letting his gaze slip to the temptingly jiggling soft mounds.

But even that could not hold him for long. His gaze returned to her face. To her eyes, as she watched him watch her. And all the while, his dragon flushed larger and fuller in its hunger. A hunger for her.

He felt his groin tighten, and he knew he was close to release. He knew he could not contain himself much longer. And still, he could not look away. He could not see anything but this white woman's eyes of polished bronze.

What was she thinking? Did she like what she saw? Did she want to touch him? To taste him? Those thoughts spun in his mind when all should have been quiet. Images came as well, adding potency to the sound of her soft breathing.

Her legs twitched on the bed, her silk robe slipping open the tiniest bit as she moved. She stilled immediately, but the damage was done. Zou Tun's eyes jerked to a tiny sliver of white thigh visible in a crack between the folds. The fabric was trembling slightly with her breath, holding his gaze, teasing his mind with thoughts of what lay beneath. Would she be as warm as a Chinese woman? Given the heat that pulsed in the tiny room, he could not believe she would be cold.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight of her, struggling to regain his focus. He brought his attention back to his task, appalled to discover that he no longer stroked his dragon with one thumb, but gripped it in a full fist. He stopped, shifting back to using his right thumb, but his dragon clenched in protest at the sudden change.

And then her scent penetrated his focus, unique and distracting as nothing else could be. He knew the smells of men in all their varieties—sick or healthy, in ecstasy or drunkenness. Through odor Zou Tun had been able to identify a man's state by the time he was eighteen. Women, too, were no particular challenge. Mongolian or Han, young or old, in heat or in menses, he had made a catalog of such scents long before he'd found the peace offered in the Tao.

But this woman was different. And her scent was not covered in flowers or doused in opium. Her scent gave a honeyed taste to the air, fogged his mind with pepper spice. He opened his eyes, knowing her smell was more deadly to him than the vision of her flushed body. But sight did not stop her olfactory assault, and the perfume of her continued to fog his mind.

Once again he met her gaze and gripped his dragon. He tried to return to study, to the practice of this most bizarre Taoist path, but he could not find the meditative peace he sought. He tasted her on the air and saw the fire blazing in her eyes. Witch fire. Ghost-people flame. It seemed to consume his mind.

In her eyes he saw intelligence, curiosity, and a desire that had her body twitching beneath her robe. Some part of his mind registered the slight widening of her legs, the tremble of her belly and even the jiggling of her breasts. He knew what happened, absorbed the evidence of her arousal, but his attention stayed on her eyes: liquid bronze, shimmering in firelight.

His body clenched. His center was lost in the mists of those eyes. He was with her, and with one quick flash he leaped the distance between them.

Or so he imagined. In truth it was his yang, leaping forth from his dragon's mouth. White flame leaped forth as it had not done since before he'd entered the monastery. And with it went his yang power—not poured into the white woman's yin, but spilled uselessly onto his hand and the floor as if he were a boy seeing his first powdered breast.

He stared down at his hand, humiliation burning through his trembling body. What had he done? How could he fail at this simplest of tasks? And then, without warning, the bedroom door burst open.

Or so it seemed. Thinking back, perhaps he'd heard knocking. He'd ignored it, wanting only the roaring that preceded the dragon fire. It mattered little. The Tigress Shi Po stood before him now, her dark eyebrows arched in disgust.

He could not look at her. Indeed, he could do little but reach for his tea-stained shirt and use it to clean up his shame. This most simple of tasks was for the lowest practitioner, and he had not accomplished it.

"It is as I feared," Shi Po said, her voice low and sad. "My brother's monks have no discipline."

Zou Tun wanted to defend himself. He wanted to explain about the white woman and her witch fire. But he did not. Whatever the ghost woman's power, he was the one to blame. Only empty men blamed their failings on a woman, and he was not so. He pressed his lips together and waited while the Tigress sniffed the air with a wrinkled nose.

"Impure. Both of you." She advanced farther into the room. "Immature yang. Polluted yin." She waved at a servant who held a tea tray just outside the door. "I feared as much. I brought tea to restore you."

The servant entered, quietly setting her tray on the single table tucked behind the chair. Zou Tun did not speak. There was nothing to say. He waited like an errant child while the servant poured the tea and then bowed out of the room. Then, with a tightened jaw, he quickly downed the liquid though it burned his throat.

Shi Po crossed the room, going to the ghost woman's side. "You have not begun with her," she accused.

"No," Zou Tun responded. "She is not yet ready."

The Tigress curled her lip in disdain. "She is more than ready. Her body cries out in pain. Her blood swims with pollutants." She turned, looking pointedly at his dragon. "You feared your reaction should you touch her." She nodded to herself. "A wise man knows his limitations." She sighed and rolled up her sleeves. "Very well. I will do it this time."

Zou Tun straightened in alarm, but it was nothing compared to the white woman's reaction. Though it must have pained her, she whispered a harsh cry. She shook her head, fighting against her bonds, straining her arms and legs as she had not done before. Earlier, Zou Tun had feared for the woman's hands and feet. Now he feared she would break her wrists. Already her skin was discolored from bruising. Blood would soon follow.

"She grows frightened whenever someone nears," he said, moving toward the Tigress.

Shi Po shrugged. "Do not fear for my safety. Those bonds are stronger than they appear. They will not break." She reached down and flipped open the top of the girl's robe. One pert breast stood out stark and white.

Then Zou Tun did the unthinkable: He broke his vow against violence once again. Striking as a snake would, he snatched the Tigress's hand and held her still when she tried to pull away.

"Miss Crane does not wish to learn today." With his free hand, he pulled the ghost woman's robe closed.

Shi Po's eyes narrowed. "All animals fear what they do not understand." When Zou Tun still did not release her, her gaze froze him. "Can you not feel her sickness? She needs to be purified even more than you do. This is the only way with those who cannot learn."

"She is a barbarian, not an idiot." He glanced down at the white woman, seeing the way she panted fast and frightened. Yes, she looked like a terrified animal, but he knew she was smarter than most Chinese women he had met. That shallow panting was the only way she could manage her panic without passing out. It gave her the air she needed to breathe. "Her injury is greater than it appears," he admitted.

"Her fear is great, and you are too tenderhearted to do what is needed," Shi Po accused.

Zou Tun frowned, turning back to the Tigress. Something in her tone was different; something lay beneath her words that he did not understand. Then another voice cut in from the door. A deep voice. A man's voice, low and questioning.

"Do you wish her to be initiated as you were? In violence and in pain?" It was Kui Yu, the Tigress's husband. His questions were soft-spoken, but no less powerful.

Zou Tun still held Shi Po's slender wrist, so he felt the sudden tension and anger that radiated from her. Her eyes narrowed, and such was her fury that Zou Tun's hand loosened in surprise as she rounded on her husband.

"You dare interfere in my instruction?" she hissed.

Zou Tun grew even more surprised. Women never spoke in such a way to their husbands! Certainly not in public. In Peking such a woman would be whipped or hanged. And yet Kui Yu did not respond with anger. Instead he simply smiled a warm, almost comical smile. Indeed, Zou Tun might have thought the man an idiot if not for the intelligence of his words.

"Of course not," he said lightly. "I know nothing of this practice and would not dream of interfering. I am simply home early and wished to share tea with you. The day is dull without your beauty before me." He flicked an almost disdainful glance at the white woman. "Is this not our guest's partner in practice? Surely it is his task to purify her. You need not sully your hands with her."

Then Kui Yu reached out, gently lifting his wife's hand out of Zou Tun's hold before escorting her to the door. But she would not leave. Not before she gave one last acid glance over her shoulder.

"The ghost people fill themselves with death. For her own sake, that girl must be purified. And I will not allow such sickness in my house any longer." She pinned Zou Tun with her angry stare. "Tell me now if you cannot do this."

Beside him, the white woman stiffened in fear, but Zou Tun knew better than to argue. Miss Crane would begin her exercises whether or not either of them wished it. So he bowed his head to the inevitable.

"I will accomplish what is required."

Next, the Tigress turned her acid stare on Joanna. "You went through much to come here. I don't know why, nor do I care. Heaven has offered you a boon. Purity, health, perhaps even enlightenment can be found within these walls. Accept his attention now while your throat heals. Then, when you are ready, you may choose again. Enlightenment, or the sure steady withering of your body. You need not become a hag, white woman. But you will soon if you are not purified."

Zou Tun turned to see Joanna stiffen on the bed. Her eyes were wide, and he could see her gaze hopping from the Tigress to the servant. Both were beautiful, graceful women, both testaments to the restorative power of the Tigress regimen. Did Joanna Crane consider accepting this practice? he wondered. Surely not. Surely she was too intelligent to believe sex and enlightenment could be found together. And yet, he could not deny the simple lure of beauty. What woman would not wish for that?

He could see that Joanna wanted to speak. She stretched up from the bed, her eyes alight with intelligence. But there was no more time as the Tigress's husband interrupted once again.

"I grow thirsty, my wife. Do we have any more special tea? The kind with ginger and lily?"

Shi Po turned, frowning slightly even as her features softened. "Lily? There is no such thing as ginger and lily tea. Chrysanthemum flavors your tea, my husband. With other spices that only I know."

"Ah," he said, as they began walking down the hall. "I have no head for such things. Without you, I would probably drink mud and grass and be miserable."

So they departed, leaving Zou Tun and Joanna Crane alone in the room. Zou Tun quickly closed and secured the door, though obviously the Tigress had a key. Still, the locked door gave them some feeling of privacy, especially as he made sure it was stuck fast.

Then he turned, mentally scrambling for his own calm center so that he would have the strength to accomplish his task. He crossed to the white woman, slowly sitting down at her side.

"You understand that the Tigress feels these things. She will know if you do not perform her exercises."

The woman nodded her head—once—showing that she did indeed understand what was happening.

"I cannot let you leave. No more than I can run from here. Therefore, I must do this thing."

She swallowed, and he saw tears swim in her bright bronze eyes.

He reached over, lifting the relevant scroll off the floor. "They are simple exercises. You can see that they will not harm you."

He opened the scroll to show her, but from her tied position she could not see the text. The room was too dark, with the only light coming from high above. Even so, she obviously tried to read. Her eyes narrowed, and Zou Tun watched her focus flick from the written words to the diagram. Still, he knew she could not see much, and so he let his hands drop, bringing the parchment to his lap.

"I wish to untie you."

Her gaze had been following the scroll, even though she could not read it. At his words, her focus snapped to him.

"Shi Po is not a fool, and neither is her husband. There will be guards posted outside our door. You will not be able to escape even if you manage to move past me. Do you understand?"

He watched her expression droop, and knew he had guessed her intent. She still nursed plans to escape. "Do the ghost people keep their word?"

She blinked, then nodded vigorously.

"Many men have spoken of how the ghost people are as inconstant as the wind that blew them here. They promise with all goodwill until the mood strikes them differently. They are prey to their own bestial natures, and cannot control their actions. Is this so?"

Her frown became fierce. She vehemently shook her head.

"I believe it is so," he said firmly. "I believe the ghost people have such weakness, just as many of my countrymen do." He paused, making sure she gave him her full attention. "You also have shown yourself to be subject to your whims."

She opened her mouth to object despite her injured throat. He pressed a finger to her lips to keep the sound inside.

"You injured your horse because of such a whim," he reminded her.

She pressed her lips together, clearly disagreeing. Then, to his surprise, she nodded.

"Ah, so you do agree?"

She shrugged, clearly unwilling to give him complete victory. And for some bizarre reason, that made him smile.

"Very well. You have shown that you can learn. Learn this: We must purify your yin. For your own health as well as for further practice. The process will take many days."

Her eyes widened at the word days, and she shook her head in refusal.

"Yes. Days. But the sooner you are purified, the sooner we can begin the training and the sooner this captivity will end. I have no more interest in remaining here than you, but it is necessary."

Her eyes narrowed in anger. He did not care. It was the truth. He could not leave, and he could not allow her to return to her fellow barbarians until he was long gone. Therefore, she had to stay with him as his partner in this bizarre religion.

"I offer you a bargain. I will untie you if you will agree to remain here. Otherwise I shall leave you bound. Even worse than that, I shall demand a different partner," he lied. "I do not know who will purify you then. Shi Po will have the choosing, and she is not a tender woman."

The barbarian did not respond, but her very stillness told him she understood her choices exactly.

"Will you make this bargain with me?" he asked. "Will you accept the training from me? Without struggle?"

She didn't respond at first. Instead she stared at him, her eyes narrowed. Her gaze felt heavy upon him, as if she were weighing his worth and his honesty against those of some unknown stranger chosen by Shi Po.

Then Heaven intervened to assist her: A noise sounded from just outside the door. It was not a loud sound, merely the shuffling of tired feet. Zou Tun saw Miss Crane's eyes cut straight to the door, and he knew her thoughts. She wondered if the person outside would help or hurt her. Was the guard there to keep them locked inside? Or could he be turned to assist her?

Zou Tun decided to answer her questions. Without another word he grabbed the cold tea tray and unlocked the door, pulling it as wide-open as possible. Just in the hallway, standing right outside the door, was not one, but two heavily armed guards. There was no surprise on the men's faces when they looked inside and saw a ghost woman chained to the bed, merely a smirking envy. One of them took the cold tray from Zou Tun's hands.

Zou Tun shut the door, cutting off the men's leering looks. He walked back to the bed.

"Choose now," he said. "Will you make this bargain with me? If I untie your bonds, will you accept what I must do?"

She cast one last look at the doorway, her dismay evident. She did not want one of those men to touch her. And so, with a sigh, she nodded her head. She would accept his bargain.

Without another word he unbound her hands and her feet, helping her to sit as she tried to rub feeling back into her wrists. He waited patiently, knowing neither of them wished to proceed. Still, he was excruciatingly aware of the passing time. How long would Shi Po spend with her husband? How long before she came to inspect their progress?

He did not know, but he feared her reaction if they did not begin soon. With a voice as gentle as possible, he turned to Miss Crane.

"We must begin now. Please remove your robe."