Chapter 10

 

Joanna pulled on her shirt, pleased with the afternoon's work. Not only had she found out her monk's name, Zou Tun, but she had also made her position clear. She was a strong American woman who would not be lied to. She didn't need him. She needed... Her thoughts trailed away, as she was unsure how to finish.

She needed something. But it wasn't him. And so she'd shown him.

She would have completed the gesture by walking out of the room, but truthfully she didn't know where she'd go. Though she worried about her father, she didn't want to go home. Her whole idea several days ago had been to spend some time away, to help mastermind a great revolution against an imperial oppressor. She hadn't expected to land here, but then, she hadn't expected the revolutionaries to attack her either.

Which meant what? At the moment it meant that she wanted to learn what the Tigress Shi Po taught. It meant that she would stay here, even performing certain exercises with certain men that left her insides quivering and her hands unsteady. She would stay even if her face remained flushed and her blood seemed to pulse, pulse, pulse throughout her body.

This was something she wanted to learn. She wanted Little Pearl's peace. She wanted to find her own center. Even if it meant she had to remain here with Zou Tun to get it.

She walked to the door, pulling it open to retrieve a tray of food. Beside the tray lay parchment, ink, and a brush. It would be difficult to write a letter to her father in English with the Chinese brush, but she would find a way. Assuming, of course, that she could figure out the words to use.

Behind her she heard her monk—no, she corrected herself. She heard Zou Tun moving about, no doubt cleaning himself up and covering his shame. Listening to his movements she couldn't suppress a smile.

She had bested him! A man who could fight off five determined revolutionaries, a man whose body rippled with power and dominance—he was a man who was, after all, still just a man. One who could be bested by the simplest of techniques, in the simplest of ways. The way of the Tigress.

And though Joanna's father would be horrified by her actions, she didn't care. What she was learning here was power. And it was a power that could be learned nowhere else. So she intended to grasp it with both hands... so to speak.

"You are very pleased with yourself." His words startled her. She hadn't forgotten his presence; in truth, she was excruciatingly aware of his every move, his every breath. But she hadn't expected him to speak so calmly about anything, least of all what had just occurred. He was supposed to be hiding his shame or blustering in embarrassment. Not calmly evaluating her mood.

Still, she had decided on this course, so she would not run. She turned, facing him square in the eye. And then she allowed her most brilliant, smug grin to grow upon her face.

"Do all ghost people take such pleasure in humiliation?" he asked.

Her grin faltered but did not fade. Instead she simply shook her head, and pointed a long, angry finger at him.

He nodded. "Yes, I deserved such treatment. And I accept it as appropriate punishment." He folded his arms across his bare chest. He had not bothered to put any clothing on at all, but had come to his feet, his glorious body challenging her by his simple ease with his own nudity. "But I do not know if ghost people remain trapped inside their anger, reveling in another's anguish"—he lifted his chin—"or if they dispense punishment and move on. Is my humiliation complete?"

She swallowed, the last of her grin fading. His question was reasonable, and she was a reasonable woman. She saw no point in bearing grudges, especially as her point was made. The Tigress had selected them to be partners. She could be the bigger person and move past his transgression to a larger place. A better place. In the name of Christian charity or Tigress betterment, she would not hurt him any further.

She dipped her head. "I believe we understand each other." The words hurt her damaged throat, but she felt them important enough to say aloud. And he apparently agreed, because he too smiled. Warmly. Hugely. And in such a way as to make her incredibly wary.

"Excellent," he said as he reached for the tray of food. "Then I suggest we enjoy our meal." He extended his chin toward the paper and ink. "You intend to write your father?"

She nodded, looking dumbly at the writing implements in her hand.

"Good. We shall eat. You shall compose your letter. And then we shall begin your exercises."

He spoke the words casually, as if the plan were of no more import than whether they went for a ride on horseback or in a carriage that afternoon. But she caught a glimmer of malice in his eyes. Or was it anticipation? Or maybe it was just the simple pleasure of eating after so much exertion. He certainly was popping steamed dumplings into his mouth as if he were starving.

But if he was starving, why did his eyes linger on her? Why did his attention center on her breasts, which were modestly covered? And why had she not thought that he would want revenge?

Even if she thought the matter over, even if he stated he deserved and accepted his punishment, did he really mean it? Or did he intend to strike when she was at her most vulnerable?

He didn't speak, though he obviously understood her anxiety. He was starting to smile. More than smile, in fact. His grin grew and grew. It was there on his face when he offered her a bowl of rice. It was there in his movements when he shifted on the bed, offering her a seat. And it was there in his entire demeanor when she declined, choosing instead to try to compose her letter to her father.

There really wasn't any choice in what she wrote. Only one thing would quiet his fears, keep him from rousing the entire country searching for her. Still, she hesitated to write it with the monk right beside her, his enjoyment of her discomfort a tangible presence in the room. Her only comfort was that he probably couldn't read English. So she made quick work of her letter, folding it and setting it outside their door. She knew the Tigress's husband would see it delivered.

Which left her alone, once again, with the consequences of her actions: Zou Tun with an unholy grin on his face.

Rather than deal with him, she decided to eat. She didn't have much of an appetite—or so she thought. In truth, the moment she lifted the egg soup to her lips, she found herself ravenous. It was all she could do to keep herself from gobbling the food like a beast.

And all the while, the Mandarin just watched, his dark eyes glittering, his mouth pulled wide into a too-happy smile.

Then, abruptly, the food was gone. Her letter was written. And Zou Tun was clearing away the tray with large, cheerful movements.

He said, "The Tigress does not stint on food. I find that an excellent thing in a hostess, don't you?"

Joanna smiled, nodding because that was the polite thing to do. And wasn't that a ridiculous thing? Remaining true to good manners when she was about to... about to what? What exactly were they about to do?

She looked at him, and her question must have been obvious in her face because he slowed in closing the door, his good humor evaporating.

"You are nervous, wondering what is coming next. Correct?"

She didn't really want to admit to being nervous, not after her great show of independence, but it was the truth and so she nodded.

"We will work on your breast circles. Your yin is surprisingly pure." He paused, obviously thinking. Then he shrugged as if he had decided. "Even if it were not, I cannot stay in this location for much longer."

She frowned.

"A week more, at most." He sighed. "I would love to tease you, to pay back a little of the humiliation you just served me."

She straightened in alarm, but he was quick to reassure her.

"But we haven't the time. And even if we did, I would not have hurt you." He extended his hand, lifting her chin to see his earnest expression. "I meant it when I said I accepted my punishment from you. I deserve much worse, but am pleased that the anger is over between us." He searched her face. "It is over, is it not? Your voice is returning. You grow stronger with every breath."

She bit her lip, knowing what he said was true. Her voice was returning. But honesty forced her to say a little more. "There is still some anger. I cannot just will it away."

He released her chin, his manner equally grave. "That is natural, I suppose. But you will not let it interfere with our task, will you?" His question was part challenge.

It was a challenge she was more than willing to meet. "I am not petty," she said firmly, using her expression to ask the same question of him.

"And neither am I," he returned. "Therefore we will begin." He hesitated, still searching her face. "I know that enlightenment cannot be rushed. But I hope that we can pursue it aggressively." His expression intensified. "Do you agree?"

"Aggressively?" she whispered. Her throat was burning.

"I will not hurt you. But sometimes the awakening of a woman's yin, especially that of a virgin, can be unsettling. You will tell me if you become too agitated to continue."

She nodded, still very unsure of his meaning.

"Good. Then as you have drawn out my yang, I will open the flow of your yin."

He reached for her shirt, but she stopped him, her hands gripping his wrists with all her strength. "How?" she rasped.

"I will suck on your breasts." When her grip did not ease, he smiled gently at her. "It will not hurt. This I swear." When she still did not release him, he shifted slightly, fighting her enough to touch her face. "I will stop the moment you request it. I swear this by my honor and my name."

She waited. When he did not continue, she pressed him. "What name?"

He sighed, a sound that came from deep within him. But in the end he spoke, his voice a bare whisper. "Kang. My name is Kang Zou Tun. And now you know enough to get us both killed." He sighed. "I have many enemies, Joanna. And after three years in a monastery, I do not know who wishes me dead. Indeed, that is why I am hiding right now. To decide upon my course before I return to Peking." He focused hard on her. "Do not betray me. You cannot imagine the consequences."

She lifted her chin. "There are worse things than death."

His eyes abruptly widened, stark terror blowing through him. He grabbed her arms. "Do you plan suicide because of what we do here?"

She blinked, startled by his sudden vehemence. His eyes flew to the door, where her letter sat outside.

"Is that what your letter was—a note of farewell?"

She frowned, not understanding his tone, much less his words.

"Answer me!" he exclaimed. "Do you plan suicide?"

"No!" she exclaimed, pushing him away from her. She knew she hadn't the strength to force him away, but he released her nonetheless. "No," she repeated more firmly when his gaze did not waver.

"You will not kill yourself for honor?"

She stared at him, her stunned disbelief obvious. And then she watched as he nodded, his breath easing out of him, his body slowly relaxing.

"Of course," he said to himself more than her. "You are a barbarian. Such a thing would not be in your—"

"We know about honor!" she snapped. Her words were loud despite the constriction of her throat. "I will die for important things. Freedom. Justice." She released a small laugh at her own expense. "I wanted to join the rebellion." She focused on Zou Tun. "Now I want Shi Po's power."

He reared back as if slapped. "You would aid a rebellion? Against me?"

She would have laughed at that. She would have given him an entire lecture on the arrogance of thinking he embodied an entire empire. But her throat could not stand the pain, so she simply gave a single dip of her chin.

She watched him grow icy cold.

"I should kill you where you stand."

She swallowed, telling herself she was not afraid. That he would not hurt her. But her heart fought her words, which came out as a rasping whisper. "The beggar. Would you kill him, too?"

She hadn't said everything, but she knew he understood her meaning. Little Pearl's beggar had been maimed and cast off, all on the whim of a court eunuch. This monk could not possibly support such atrocities. And yet apparently he could, because he slowly settled onto their bed, his words more sad than guilty.

"The eunuchs are bitter and angry."

She walked over to face him, her stance making her opinion clear: No matter how angry or bitter men became, such abuses should not occur.

He did not look at her. "There are traditions, Joanna Crane. Ways of life that have lasted for thousands of years."

And that was when she saw it: not angry defense, not even passionate denial, but simply a soul-deep sadness. Like a black well with no bottom, an endless source of pain and grief. All in the name of tradition.

"You know," she finally whispered, awe and shock cooling her temper. "You know the empire will eventually fall."

He looked up, his expression fierce—not with denial, but with a crazy hope. "The people will not rebel against the Son of Heaven."

She snorted in laughter. The Son of Heaven was too young, and too much in the shadow of his mother, the dowager empress. She was the one who ran China. "They will rebel against a woman," she said softly. "Of what importance is a concubine?"

He looked away, and she knew he struggled with his own thoughts. He seemed to be at war with his arrogance. On the one hand, Manchurians were raised with the certainty that they were descended from Heaven. That nothing evil would happen to upset their position of power. And yet the rational part of him knew the truth—that no people would bear the oppressor's yolk indefinitely. Eventually they would rise up. And why not now, when a woman ruled China and the west brought the constant example of independence and freedom to their very door?

At last he shook his head. "Empress Cixi is... strong. If anyone can hold China against the barbarian hordes, it will be her. And her son."

He believed it. Joanna could see that in his body. Or perhaps he hoped with every fiber of his soul that it was true. And yet he was here, studying Tigress and Dragon teachings rather than sitting at his emperor's side, helping to make a difference.

"Why are you here?" she asked, wincing at the pain in her throat. "What will you do?"

He didn't answer. Or perhaps he couldn't answer, because he didn't know. He simply shook his head, his gaze remaining distant, his expression infinitely sad. And in the end he looked up, straightening his spine as if steeling himself. "I am here to help release your yin, Joanna Crane. Prepare yourself."

She wasn't surprised by his command. Indeed, she'd known he would end the conversation soon. He was too conflicted to allow her to probe his wound so easily. And there was a wound there; she just didn't know what it was. But she would know, eventually. Because she wanted to know, and he needed to tell.

But not now. Now was her turn to feel the yin river. And—if she was very strong—she would ride it to immortality.

She slowly drew her shirt over her head. Her breasts bobbed as she moved, and she was excruciatingly aware of his eyes on her chest. But this was what she wanted, she reminded herself. And indeed, her breasts were already peaking in preparation for his touch.

"Let me sit behind you," he said. "I will adjust our position when it is time."

She nodded, watching with increasing anxiety as he settled with his back against the wall and his legs spread. He was still gloriously naked, his dragon resting at his crotch like a thick, heavy rope. It didn't frighten her anymore. After what she had done earlier, she now knew it was a living thing, hot and pulsing to the touch. And from what she could tell, it seemed to have its own mind, stretching for attention when it wanted it and hiding away when it did not.

"Do not be afraid," he said, opening his arms so that she could settle between them.

She nodded rather than spoke. She was wondering if she too had a part of her body that could rule her, that could come alive as his dragon had. With the right touch, the right caress, would her breasts feel like his dragon? Or was there another place? Another—

She cut off her thoughts, forcing herself to turn away from the sight of her monk and focus on her exercises. There was already a wetness between her legs, a throbbing that made her wonder if that was the place of her dragon. But she was not given time to think as Zou Tun helped her sit between his legs.

Grabbing hold of her hips, he pulled her bottom tightly against his dragon. She felt it like a hot brand behind her, burning into the base of her spine. It wanted her. And she wanted...

"You should take off your pants. They will not be comfortable."

She jerked slightly, turning to face him. She couldn't speak. Her throat was too hot, too painful. But her question was clear nonetheless. Why? Why should she take off her clothing?

"It will make you more comfortable," he repeated. Then he closed his eyes. "I won't even look. And you can cover yourself with the sheet. But there should be no fabric between your heel and your cinnabar cave."

She didn't respond. She hadn't the voice or the words, only a fluttering panic like a stuttering flame that twisted and contorted right behind her chest.

"You will feel more comfortable," he repeated a last time.

She stared at him. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed. His naked body was relaxed.

He did have a point, she realized. Obviously he had felt more comfortable without the interference of clothing. And indeed, she did not like the idea of rough fabric pressed so intimately against her cave. But to completely undress? She didn't know if she could do it.

And yet what choice did she have? If she wanted to learn the Tigress's power, she would have to undress eventually. She had looked at the Tigress scrolls. There had been little time, but she had unrolled one, scanning its pictures, reading what she could. She knew that there were deeper intimacies to come. More... openness. The things she had done to Zou Tun would be repeated for her.

She knew this. So why was she delaying? If she wanted to learn, then she would have to disrobe.

She did. As quickly as possible. Then she scrambled into the bed, pulling the sheet up to cover herself as high on her waist as she could.

And yet she felt her nakedness like a brand. A tattoo. A loud declaration to the world of what she was. But she had no name for it. She wasn't a tigress. Not yet. She wasn't ashamed, either. Well, not exactly. She wasn't even her father's daughter anymore. Not since leaving home.

Now she was... what? A naked woman in a Mandarin's arms. But what did that mean? Who was she?

The questions twisted in her mind, heating and coiling with the flame that churned inside her. They made her feel ill, these questions, this fear. This nakedness.

Until she felt him touch her. His hands settled quietly, gently upon her shoulders.

"Try to breathe steadily. Find your center in your mind."

She hadn't even realized her breath was coming in jerky gulps until he spoke. But with his warmth upon her shoulders and his quiet words, she began to calm herself. She focused on steadying her breath, and in time it calmed the frantic beat of her heart.

Was this her center?

"I will not force this upon you, Joanna Crane. If you want to change your mind..."

She shook her head, quickly and with force. Then she spoke, the words more important than the pain. "I want to learn."

"So be it," he responded. His hands began to move ever so slowly down her arms. "You must pull your right leg in. With your heel..."

She remembered. She pulled her leg up, but she could not get herself settled. She felt clumsy, the sheet uncooperative as it continually tried to slip off her hips. Her hands became frantic, her breath once again stuttering and gasping.

Until, once again, he touched her. This time his hands slid all the way down her arms to still her trembling.

"Why are you shaking?" he asked. "Is it shame?"

She shook her head. She knew she ought to feel shame, but truthfully, she did not. So much was denied to women. All over the world they were treated as less than a person. That she had found a way to give herself power was not a shameful thing. That it might be a key to something so much larger was glorious. So no, she did not feel shame exactly.

"Is it fear of what is to come?"

Joanna hesitated, then once again shook her head. She was not afraid of the future so much as curious about it. Or perhaps nervous was a better word. But very, very interested.

"Joanna Crane. I do not understand. Why—"

"Change. " She said the word. She rushed it through her lips, wishing she could explain herself more completely. She wanted to become this new thing, this Tigress. Her life had been so terribly unfulfilling before. And yet she shook with fear of taking the next step. She felt terrified and anxious and excited and confused all at once. And she could not explain it to herself, much less to him.

He seemed to understand. He patted her hand, and his voice took on a lighter tone. "The Chinese have a very large book. It is called I Ching, The Book of Changes. Many poems, many words are devoted to the changes that happen in the heavens, in our worlds, and most especially in our minds." He reached up his hands, casually adjusting her braid. "There is one that I think fits you."

She twisted slightly so she could see him. She had heard of The Book of Changes, but knew very little about it.

" 'The Arousing.' It is also called 'Shock and Thunder.' Would you like to hear it?"

She nodded, latching onto his words as a way to steady herself. Perhaps they would help her understand her own needs.

" 'Shock brings success,'" he began." 'Shock comes—oh, oh! Laughing words—ha, ha! The shock terrifies for a hundred miles, and he does not let fall the sacrificial spoon and chalice.'"

She remained silent after he spoke. The words were beautiful, but she didn't understand them.

"It means that shock comes from God. It is always terrifying. But laughter and joy come as well."

"Spoon?" she asked. "Chalice?"

He nodded. "Ah, you have seen the crux of the poem. When you remain centered, holding the spoon and cup of your faith, then you can embrace joy without being overcome by terror."

She tilted her head, thinking about his words. Could it be true? Was her terror of something profound? Something godly?

This wasn't what she had been taught. Christianity wouldn't agree with much of anything she'd learned here. But Zou Tun's words felt right, that God could be revealed within her own body. And that the revelation would be... unnerving.

"Do you understand?" he asked, his voice gentle.

In answer she scooted back, settling her spine against his chest and pulling her right heel in tight against her groin. As she feared, the sheet slipped away from her hips. Looking down, she could see more of herself than she wanted. And yet the sight of her own body did not upset her anymore. Especially as she tried to see God within her body, the divine in her heart.

With that thought held inside her, and with Zou Tun enfolding her, she steadied her heartbeat, and the twisting flame inside her grew calm.

"Ready," she whispered.

He nodded. "Close your eyes. Find your center. I will begin."

She did as he bade. Somewhere in her thoughts was the reminder that she could perform these breast circles on her own. She didn't need his hands on her body, his fingers starting just outside her nipples, pressing a long, pleasurable spiral around her flesh. But she said nothing, forcing her thoughts to center on her breath. And on the feel of his hands.

It was nicer with his touch, easier to think about her breathing. And the feel of his large, calloused hands made her shiver with delight.

His movements were exquisite, the pressure gentle enough to soothe, hard enough to be substantial. As her breathing deepened, she pressed harder against his hands, her body rocking forward against her heel. Without conscious thought, they began a rhythm: forward as he circled her nipple, backward as the circle expanded and her breath deepened. She'd exhale as his hands returned to a point just beside the center, and both he and she rocked forward again.

"Seventy-two," he whispered. She hadn't realized he was counting out loud. His breath was a hot echo of the fiery press of his dragon below, against the base of her spine. But now his circling stopped as she leaned back against him, her breasts a heavy, full weight upon her chest.

"I will reverse the circles now. This will draw the yin forward like a rising tide. After seventy-two spirals, I will lay you down on the bed and release it. Are you ready?"

She nodded, her breath too hot against her lips to speak.

"Change your leg position first."

She had forgotten. And, curiously, she did not want to move. But he helped her, reaching forward to lift her knee while she extended her stiff leg. There was a wet sucking sound as she moved, and her face heated with embarrassment. A hot lick of fire shot up her belly.

She was quick to move then, adjusting her position so that her other foot pressed deeply against her groin and the sheet again covered her. But she could not deny the feeling of moistness, and her embarrassment made her duck her face away.

"Your dew is plentiful and sweet-smelling. That is an excellent thing, Joanna Crane," Zou Tun said.

She didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing. She allowed him to gently pull her back, and they once again settled into a rhythm.

It was a simple movement, really. They began with her relaxed against him, slightly reclined, his fingers in the same position as before—at the top of the bone between her breasts. As she exhaled, his hands slid lower, underneath. It was only on their rise—when his hands were on the outsides of her breasts—that she began to inhale. And with that breath, he pressed forward, rocking her against her heel. His hands circled closer and higher.

He always stopped this spiral just before touching her nipples, no matter how much she strained for his touch. And then he would reset, pressing her back until she once again rested against him.

Except it was never completely like at the beginning. It was as if each cycle pulled or pushed or drew something from her. With each circle her breasts seemed to fill, expanding as they had never done before. And as his hands spiraled to her peaks, so too did her energy—her yin—until it began pressing against her nipples. The yin waited there, just behind the dark, tight disks of flesh. And no matter how overburdened she felt, she could not release that tension.

Still Zou Tun circled, drawing more and more of her power. Below, her heel continued to press rhythmically against her groin—harder with each cresting thrust. She did not do it consciously, and yet she knew it was happening. She felt the tension in her thigh as she drew her leg in tight. And she knew whatever was occurring below was creating more yin, infusing it into her blood so that Zou Tun could gather it and pull her to her peak.

In truth, the imagery was not so clear in her mind.

She simply felt full, and with each circling, each press, each near touch, she felt even fuller. And she did not want it to stop.

Was this what Zou Tun felt like when his dragon expanded? When it pushed out of its sheath? She felt his organ against her bottom, thicker, larger, harder than before. She knew she could make the dragon rain again, but she would not stop what she was doing. She wanted to feel her yin release, just as she had released his yang.

"Seventy-two," he said, his voice hoarse and breathless in her ear. Then he pushed her forward so he could step away from her. His movements were abrupt and ungainly, jostling her so that her heel slid from its position, pushing deeper inside her than ever before. She moaned at the exquisite feel, even trying to intensify the sensation.

"Lie back," he said. Then, before she could comply, he began helping her down, straightening her leg despite her protests.

"So full," she whispered. She wasn't entirely sure what she meant. Only that her blood was rushing, her breasts were throbbing, and there was a largeness to her body. The expansion felt amazing and frightening and wonderful all at once.

He didn't respond with words. Instead she felt him cup her right breast, shaping it, drawing it upward toward him. She arched as he did, her hips shifting restlessly on the bed. What did she want? She didn't know.

She tried to be analytical. She tried to understand these feelings as she would understand a text on philosophy. But the sensations were too overwhelming, the tide too high for her even to breathe.

And then he put his mouth on her nipple. His lips were wet, his tongue rough. When he sucked, he pulled her entire body with him.

Lightning shot through her. White-hot fire pulsed from his mouth—sucking, sucking, sucking—and to a point that throbbed between her thighs. It was like she had a thick dragon of her own, but this one was inside her, hungry, greedy, and alive.

He continued to suckle, and with each pull against her nipple Joanna's hips bucked. Her back was arched, her entire body bowed as she thrust herself toward his mouth. And still there was no relief, no release. Only a building of pressure within her body and mind.

She gripped his arms tighter. She didn't remember grabbing hold of him, but now she held on as if he were the only answer. She wanted something. She needed it as much as she needed her next breath.

And yet it would not come. The coiled beast within her would not release.

At last he opened his mouth, drawing away. Cold air hit her breast, sending another tremor along her spine, making the dragon writhe within her.

"I will try the other side," he said, and she had enough consciousness to hear the desperation in his voice. "I will take a little time to prepare you better."

She didn't understand. Even as he stroked and pulled at her breast, she had no thought to how she could be better prepared. She was prepared. She was more than prepared. She was desperate.

She felt his weight settle on her as he shifted position. Her legs were pinned down—open—but her only thought was for his mouth. His lips. He had to...

He thumbed her left nipple. He rolled it between his fingers and tugged it. She thrashed on the bed, her movements echoing the coiling twists of the dragon inside her. It was huge now, a beating monster that filled her entire chest.

"I will suck now," he said. "Once very hard. To open the gate."

"Now," she gasped. "Yes. Please, now." She arched her back, thrusting herself toward him as much as she could. She didn't need to push far. His head descended, his lips clamped on, and he sucked.

One hard, painful pull.

Inside, her beast shot forward, only to slam against the pain. Joanna screamed at the agony, which mingled with the burning misery of her raw throat.

This wasn't working. This wasn't working! She had no thought beyond that, even as he settled once again to his rhythmic suckling. But it wasn't working.

Bang! A door slammed against the wall.

"What are you doing?" It was the Tigress Shi Po, demanding something in a high, angry voice. "Stop this at once!"

Zou Tun abruptly released her, his body weight pulling off of Joanna with a suddenness that left her gasping.

"She isn't ready, you fool."

Joanna whimpered. Nothing made sense. And yet she knew whatever was happening, whatever wrong thing Zou Tun had done, she didn't want it exposed by Shi Po. She scrambled backward with shaking limbs, drawing the sheet against her chest, pressing it there as if a swathe of cotton could hold back the squirming dragon inside her.

Zou Tun helped. He shifted off the bed, standing to face the Tigress while still shielding her from view. But when he spoke, his voice was thick and guttural, as if he had as much trouble as she did in forming words.

"She wished to release her yin."

Even from her position on the bed, Joanna could still see the Tigress. She wrinkled her nose, sniffing the air. "As you released your yang?" She sneered.

Joanna saw Zou Tun's back muscles ripple at the insult, but he did not deny it. Instead he folded his arms across his chest. "She understands your teaching. She wants to learn."

"Your barbarian whore understands nothing."

Joanna shifted to her knees, fury burning through her. But it was nothing compared to Zou Tun's reaction. He shot forward, grabbing hold of the Tigress's arms with both hands. His grip must have been painful, because it bit deep into her flesh, and he raised her up in the air as he spoke.

"She is no whore!"

"Then why do you treat her as one?" Shi Po shot back. "Why were you lying between her thighs, your dragon poised to strike?"

Joanna frowned, doing her best to calm her raging blood. She needed to find the rationality to remember what had happened, to recall...

He had been between her legs. Her legs had been spread and his hips had been pressing her down, his dragon...

She did not remember his dragon. She did not know if he had been ready to plunge it into her. But if he had been ready, if he had wanted to take her virginity, to... to use her as his whore, she knew that she would not have stopped him. She would not have known what was happening until it was too late.

Meanwhile, Zou Tun had set the Tigress back on the floor. Releasing her arms, he straightened to his full height.

"I would not have done that."

The Tigress shook her head. "You had no control of yourself." She glanced disdainfully at Joanna. "Neither of you did." She folded her arms and glared at Zou Tun. "She is not to blame. She is a barbarian with no understanding of the qi power. But you are a monk, trained in the Shaolin way. You know what pure yang can do." She stepped forward, lifting his chin with a single sharp fingernail. "I tell you now that yin and yang combined are a thousand times more potent. They become a beast that can only be ridden, never controlled."

She shifted to look at Joanna. "You have hurt her this day, monk. As you have been hurting her from the very beginning." Her gaze shifted back to Zou Tun. "What preys upon you, monk? What gives you such pain that you must release your anger on a naive ghost girl?"

Zou Tun did not answer. His pain was too deep for him to explain it to one such as Shi Po. Joanna knew that, even if the Tigress did not. So while the woman waited for an answer, her impatience becoming palpable, Joanna drew herself together. Though neither Tigress nor Zou Tun paid the least attention to her, Joanna pushed her shaking body to stand, wrapping the sheet tighter around her body.

Then, before she could think about her action, she stepped between the two.

"I understand," she said. It was all she could manage.

Neither of the two so much as blinked. They were completely consumed with each other. Or perhaps not, because Zou Tun extended his hand, holding Joanna back when she would have stepped closer.

"The Tigress is right," he finally said. "Enlightenment cannot be rushed. If it is, we will end up rutting like beasts in the field. What we do here is supposed to be more."

Joanna shook her head, wishing she could explain. Now that her mind was clearing, she wanted to ask questions. But all she could do was shake her head and repeat what she had said before.

"I understand."

The Tigress turned to her. "You understand what, barbarian? That it felt good?"

Joanna shook her head.

Beside her, Zou Tun's eyes widened. "There was pain?"

She rolled her eyes in frustration, paused, then shook her head.

"No pain?" Zou Tun repeated, his eyes searching her face.

"There was a little pain," Shi Po translated. "But there was also pleasure, yes?"

Joanna nodded.

"That is natural. Your yin is not yet pure enough to flow without pain."

Joanna nodded again. But this was not what she wished to discuss. She turned to Zou Tun, pressing her palm flat upon his chest. "I... understand," she rasped out one last time.

Zou Tun wrapped his hands around hers, holding her tight to his chest. But his frown showed his confusion. Again the Tigress filled in the gaps, her voice less angry. "She understands you." Her eyes sharpened on Joanna. "Is that correct? You understand his anger?"

At last. They had finally figured out what she was trying to say. Except Zou Tun was shaking his head.

"She cannot," he said. "She does not know."

"It does not matter if she understands," the Tigress snapped. "It is the gravest of abuses to take advantage of another. Are you no better than a bitter eunuch?"

Zou Tun's gaze snapped to the Tigress. "I did not mean to cause harm. I thought she was ready."

"You thought. Because you are an adept in this practice," she sneered. "You can tell when a girl's muscles are prepared. When her mind is focused and her body is strong enough to manage the yin river."

Obviously Zou Tun was not an adept in these things, and so he bowed his head in shame. Though it likely cost him a great deal of pride, he continued his bow, dropping to one knee in an imperial kowtow. "How do I repair the damage?"

Joanna ached, her eyes burning to see him so shamed. She wanted to pull him to his feet, wanted to tell him she was not harmed. But her voice prevented it. And her mind told her that she did not yet know the extent of the damage. Because she, also, was new to this, she did not yet know what was true.

Shi Po sighed, her sharp eyes taking in Joanna's distress and Zou Tun's shame. "A burdened man cannot ride a tiger, and no monk—Shaolin or Jade Dragon—can reach Heaven while a worm eats at his insides. Root out your pain, monk, and seek to make amends."

She waited until he nodded. Then she shifted her gaze to Joanna. "Continue your exercises. He has accelerated the process, so you must be extra careful to remain pure of mind and body." Then she drew two stone balls linked by a short chain from her pocket. The first was small and made of jade. The other was nearly twice the size of the first and made of polished marble. "Put the small one inside your cinnabar cave. When you can stand upright for a thousand heartbeats without it slipping out, then you will be ready to experience the yin river."

She turned to leave, pausing at the door to throw one last instruction over her shoulder.

"He must not touch you until then."