Chapter Two: Stolen but Paid For
A/N: Hey guys. Thanks for the support on the story so far! I appreciate it, and honestly, sometimes I just kind of… run out of steam. I'm not going to hold chapters ransom for reviews and the like, but I have noticed a marked increase in creativity when I do get them… so do as you please. Such as, for instance, one of my "ghost followers." Many thanks. Anyway, the song for this chapter is "Tulip" by Jesca Hoop. The tone and lyrics just… fit. Please visit my profile to find a newfangled link to a YouTube playlist I have constructed with past (and a few future) songs for chapters. :)
I would also like to remind my readers that this does take place in 13th-centuryish China (Song Dynasty), and I have tried to be as accurate as possible with my writing of its social policies. This reminder is twofold; one, to apologize if I am in fact inaccurate and offend anybody, and two, to ask my readers not to judge Chao too harshly, as he is acting in what is acceptable for the time. As an additional fun fact, during this time, the order of most-to-least respected socio-economic groups were shi (scholars or gentry), nong (peasant farmers), gong (artisans and craftsmen), and the shang (merchants). This means that as far as our storyline goes, Lixue has seen her father go from shi to shang pretty much overnight. ONWARD!
"Stupid, stupid," Lixue slapped the water with her open palm, her foul mood ensuring privacy as she bathed. "Bartered away, like something cheap and tawdry, a bauble to adorn some wealthy and pompous ass to make him look good." Plunging her face under the water, she blew angry bubbles, the already-steaming water beginning to boil from the heat of the fire lurking under her skin. She could not draw comfort from it, her tension only building.
I need to get out of here. Kill something. Maim, at the very least.
No sooner was the thought in her head than her departure from the bath, carelessly tossing on whatever the servants had left for her without even bothering to dry herself off first. The cloth clung to her, steam rolling from her superheated flesh, her agitation drying her swiftly as she beelined for where she knew the armory to be.
She threw open the door, only to grind her teeth in exasperation. It was empty, save for the vacant stands and shelves. Were they really so poor as this?
"What good is a castle with nobody to defend it, nothing to defend with, and nothing inside of it?" She groused, inspecting the area nearby. The training field, overgrown with weeds, targets and practice dummies broken or molded; the smithy, one side of the forge completely broken, with large rocks strewn over the ground, years-old ash clinging to the sides, the anvil missing (presumably sold or stolen); the watchtower, dust so thick on the aging ladders and ropes that she sneezed, the banners that should have been bold and beautiful instead the color of mud, tattered and hanging on by only one corner, barely flapping in the stiff breeze and instead clinging sullenly to the stone. The two hanyou brothers in shoddy armor appeared to be the only real security presence on the grounds, but even that seemed to be a generous description of their ability.
This. This was what she was worth, being traded for; it was not even enough to be a joke.
She craned her head back, shielding her eyes from the nearly-noonday sun with her hand as she contemplated scaling the wall to get a look at the land around. Her subconscious suggested that the castle, though perhaps better labeled as a fort, held most of its value from its location rather than its contents. Gripping the smooth indents in the rock with her claws, the tigress nimbly scaled the tower, resting her haunches on the incline of the roof as she breathed in the air. Leaning back, she stared at the sky, uncaring that bits of debris and wood were clinging to her clothes. Her anger had dissipated in the face of her father's destitution and the desperate choices fronting him.
Biting mindlessly on the edge of her claw, she thought. The sun felt good on her skin, even through the layers between her and it; she did not care a bit about her precarious position on the aged tower, focusing instead on the last few hours. Things were half-there in her brain; two images, juxtaposed over one another, smudging and confusing details. Her memories, and the other memories that was also hers, simply a different Lixue. Two paintings of the tigress on translucent silk, overlaying one another. She simply had to find the contours of the right one, and refuse the misdirecting stripes of the other.
She knew that she was currently a rough half of the age she should be; her scent seemed to be correct, also, as it had changed as suddenly as she had (if the double takes and comments were to be believed); she held knowledge of war, though which 'she' knew it seemed unimportant, as her father's words indicated that she had always had an interest in it. He, too, was a common stroke between the paintings – though this one seemed to be of a watery ink, thin and nearly washed away.
The lowing of an ox interrupted her contemplations, and she sat up, curious. From her vantage point, she could see over the gate to the road beyond. A wagon, pulled by a pair of oxen the color of old dust, with a handful of armed men trailing around it. Her father's reminder that what's-his-name would be arriving today for a "social visit" pushed her back into a sour mood. For a brief moment, she felt a familiar rebellious urge to just leave and wander for a few days in the forest… but she only entertained it for that one sweet second before alighting on the ground in a noiseless plume of dust. No matter what her father thought of the situation, she would not be traded away, but neither could she leave him to face his mess on his own. There had to be another solution.
Shaking her hanfu's outer layer free of evidence, she purposefully ignored the gathering near the door and began to retreat to her room. Her hair was now dry, so she might as well put it somewhere where it wouldn't get in her way. But it was not meant to be.
"Lixue!" Her father spotted her and summoned her with his finger. She wanted to bristle, but couldn't bring herself to, the forge's scattered stones weighing on her temper, and instead approached with her fingers entangled in her hair. He smiled at her, his pleasant demeanor undampened by her reluctance.
He guided her by the shoulder to stand beside him, presented to their guest, who bowed politely before her. She raked his body with an unimpressed eye, delaying her own bow as long as possible before it was considered rude. He was barely her own height, dwarfed by her father, his skin soft and unbroken under the well-worn but well-made cloth of his shirt. He was not diminutive, nor strong, nor weak, nor stupid, but plain and uninteresting in every way. This she knew even before he opened his mouth to speak.
"It is a pleasure to see you again," the tiger smiled, his red-clay eyes soft and his hand gently holding a small object wrapped in cloth. "Though it is admittedly a pleasure that derives from knowing that a flower as beautiful as you would consent to being held in my humble hands."
Her father moved to interrupt, but she spoke before he could silence her. "I have agreed to nothing," she sighed. "Please, skip the flattery."
"Flattery…? I do not understand." He moved his plaintive gaze to her father. "It was my understanding that she had agreed, Xing Chao."
"Forgive her, Kuno. She is still a girl, and prone to a girl's whims of heart." He turned look her warningly in the eyes, frowning. "She doesn't know what she wants."
"I may be a girl, but I know my own heart very well." She did not drop her gaze, keeping her tone impassive.
"Ah…" Kuno glanced between them, his unease revealed in his sigh, before clumsily changing topics. "Well, regardless of if you have agreed, I am pleased to see that you like your hanfu. You've refused to wear it for me so far, and I was worried that it might not fit you well. I see now that it was a silly worry."
She glanced down at the garment. It had seemed to be of quality make, and she had not thought to its origins, misplaced as it was among the haggard castle. "This was from you?"
He smiled and nodded at her. "I had it made especially to complement the hue of your mark."
The implications… that she, perhaps, was not averse to the idea of him, or that she may have some measure of affection hiding away in her "girl's whims of heart" … these would be solidified if she allowed it to remain now that its nefarious purpose came to light.
Xing Chao nearly swallowed his tongue as his daughter casually disrobed in front of everyone, neatly folding up the hanfu and handing it back to its original owner with a bow. Thank the gods she was wearing a zhongyi under it. Kuno, confusion plain on his face, accepted it with one hand, the other still clutching what was most likely a now-forgotten gift. Before he could gather his thoughts, however, she left, leaving them with the assurance that she would be back once she retrieved a replacement from her room.
"I… oh." Kuno's crestfallen gaze fell to the bundle of sage silk, still warm from its occupant, his cheeks a glaring ruby hue.
Chao ran a hand through his hair, mussing up its neat appearance. He should count himself lucky that Kuno was progressively-minded; most men, upon hearing a woman speak so boldly and so selfishly, would have struck her. One had, before, and Chao had barely been able to grab his infuriated cub to restrain her. If he had been but a few feet further, he had no doubt that the 'interloper' (as she had called him) would have been returned to his family as fleshy scraps. Since then, he had been much more careful as to who she was permitted to speak to.
He apologized to Kuno, who brushed the dishonorable actions of Lixue away with a laugh, the tinge of embarrassment fading slowly from his cheeks. Kuno was a good man; he may not be much in the way of wealth, but he maintained his meagre holdings well, and he had no doubt that Lixue would lift him higher if she gave him a chance to charm her. Chao also knew that he had been offered the daughter of an imperial concubine's youngest brother, a human whose bloodline traced not only human nobility but a rather respected dhole demon as well – yet Kuno had expressed an interest in Lixue when she had come of age. Kuno's own bloodline, while respectable in its own right, was hardly pure; it was only within the last generation that the human taint had fallen below an eighth, the shorthand for the generation where the blood no longer hobbled its owner. This meant that the 1/16th of human blood – begun nearly five centuries prior – in Kuno was no longer manifested in the body. It was, however, still there; any demon descending of a pure bloodline would pass him over if there was a purer, if weaker, demon available. This was the cause and result both.
In that same vein, Lixue had received many suitors, even before she was old enough for her hair-pinning ceremony; the lesser of the reasons being that, should the proper mishaps occur and a single marriage arranged, her mother's heritage gave her a nearly direct line to the Japanese shogunate. The primary reason that Lixue was considered desirable as a mate – even to the odd human or two – was her unusual coloring. Like his own coat, the hue of her fur bore a striking resemblance to depictions of Bai Hu, the White Tiger of the West; she could be used as a powerful symbol of divine favor, despite being a yaoguai. Her natural ferocity and intelligence would greatly benefit any warlord who won her heart.
But that wasn't the life he wanted for her, his only child, his only daughter. He turned away the generals, he refused the gifts and vassals; he sheltered her from her mother's promiscuity and her blood, hiding his daughter away and letting the cub grow in the direction she pleased until her personality solidified on its own. She took to her blood quickly and deeply, the tigress she would be painted on her in broad strokes. From her first tottering steps, she held a warrior's heart, her charcoal stripes the barest smudge against the steely hue of her roly-poly body, her tiny growls not yet beyond a raspy hiss, always preferring her fur to clothing and brandishing her miniscule claws at any who dared oppose her.
She had calmed down somewhat with age, internalizing her thoughts and fashioning a veneer of demure reservation; she had gotten quite good at it too, and men such as Kuno who continued to be interested in her after her stripes began to show themselves were rarer than he would have liked.
However, the uneasiness Chao had felt earlier that day had yet to dissipate, only increasing his disquiet toward this proud and uncanny creature peering out from the argent of his daughter's eyes.
"So, Xing Chao," Kuno's soft voice picked the older man out from his thoughts. "I don't suppose you've heard about what's brewing up north."
"A lot is happening up north," came the response, fatigue clear in his voice. "Would you mind filling me in?" The pair began to walk to the dining area, the attendants to Kuno's wagon taking time to load and unload stacks of merchandise.
"You remember the, uh… Dog General, I think it was, who died a few years back?" Kuno snapped his fingers as he recalled, Chao nodding at him curiously.
"Yes, I recall. The one from Japan, that handed the Khan his own ass on a platter when he invaded," he chortled. "What about him?"
"There have been rumors that his son, Sakurumaru or something, has been dealing with his old man's enemies, land grabs and the like. There's quite a lot of bloodshed going on over there right now."
"Enemies? I only ever heard positive things about the Dog General." Chao rubbed his nose – the air was getting humid. It would rain soon. "I'd almost met him, once. Is the son as good as the father?"
"I don't know. I just heard a rumor and thought I'd share… I don't follow foreign politics, let alone families."
"Right, I don't expect you would. My apologies. Would you care for some tea?"
"Yes, thank you…"
Kuno sipped the tea offered him, the conversation trailing into silence. Both men found their gazes pulled to the windows, the edges of the table.
The faint patter of droplets on the sheer pane of the glass announced a spring storm, likely to pass as quickly as it had come.
The drizzle and haze approached quietly.
The leaves of the trees framing the window began to sag and languidly drip.
"This is a dreary room." Lixue's presence, while not cheerful, lit the cloud-dark room and the silent men within it. She had redressed herself, exactly as she said she would, though she had taken her time in returning.
"Ah, my daughter." Chao gestured to a place between himself and Kuno, an empty cup soon filled for her. She picked it up but chose to kneel next to the window, watching the rain pass by. If she had been of a poetic mind, she would have written a haiku about the gray on the ground and the gray in her eyes and the mist as a living thing. As it stood, though, she was simply trying to remain as non-threatening as could be.
"Papa," she addressed him without looking at him, choosing a term of endearment to soften him. She had been near enough to hear their conversation, though faintly. He always forgot when exactly he was out of earshot. "I believe you should try once more to follow your true calling."
"True calling?" Kuno blinked at Chao. "You don't want to be a merchant?"
Chao took a careful sip of his tea, buying himself time to put his words in order. "My daughter believes that I am better suited to diplomacy than trade."
Lixue bit her cheek. Anything would be better suited than to see you here, trying to make money from the sweat of another man's back and crippled by your honest nature.
Kuno looked at her, keeping his thoughts to himself beyond noting that Chao spoke as though he were a diplomat already.
"But," Chao sighed, "if I did decide to pick up the cloth, it would take a tremendous effort simply to begin. I have contracts and debts, which I remind my daughter that she also has."
She pinned him with a sidelong glance. "I am neither bartering material nor am I bound by your debts."
Her expression did not change, her father's cheeks and forehead reddening immediately as he stiffened. What would he do?
"My daughter will not dishonor me thus!" He stood, and she blinked, slow and unperturbed. "This man has assisted us beyond his calling and offers you a comfortable life! Apologize to him immediately!"
"After I am gone, what will happen to you, hmm?" She spoke softly, her fangs barely catching faint light on their tips. "Your only daughter bartered away, you will have nothing more to offer, and you will lose your home come the next hardship."
Chao glared at her, torn between listening to her counsel and enforcing manners on her.
"You know my words are true, papa. You know true words when they are spoken and keep a calm heart even now. Finish your contracts, and use the money to travel where you are needed." Her gaze flicked to Kuno, who watched her, gaze fixed on her mouth, before she continued. "Do not give me to a man I do not love, do not take away my freedom, and in return I will aid you in far better ways."
He stood over her, one arm crossed over his chest and the other propped in his hand, fist pressed to his cheek as he studied his daughter who even now sat demurely by the window, steam from the tea in her cup curling around her hand. She watched him deliberate, that particular glint in her silver eyes lighting them from within. The glint of a perfect riposte, her blow delivered, waiting for her prey to flee before its sudden and immediate collapse. She was sure she had won this battle of words, and he was drawing little evidence that she hadn't. Stranger still was her mention of love. It had, as a whole, never been of import to her. She respected power, but men in power didn't respect her.
"Ah, if I may," Kuno spoke up, unaware of the intent behind the glare Lixue shot him. He could mess this up for her – her father was an honest man. One word of broken debts, a reminder of promises and oaths, and he would wall himself off again, beholden to his word. Maybe she would kill him. A dead man collects no debts.
He cleared his throat, smelling the murderous twinge she had suddenly acquired, before speaking again. "I don't want to force myself on a woman that truly doesn't want me." He tried to smile reassuringly at her, but it withered under her scrutinizing stare. "I had suggested this arrangement to you under the impression that she had been willing to at least consider me. I see quite clearly now… well, in either case, I would be willing to accept repayment in coin."
Chao grimaced. "She is all I can offer you. I haven't even enough coin to protect the goods I have; they've been sitting in storage for weeks, but nobody will risk their lives for so little pay. I can't make money because I have none. She speaks truly. Even if she were willing, it would only stall the inevitable end of this."
Lixue observed, her piece spoken. All that remained was to rely on her nudge to move things in an acceptable direction.
"A suggestion, then," the younger tiger offered. "A compromise, if you will. I will provide guards for your shipment, and in return, I will accept one-half of the profit. The rest can be paid when you become a wealthy diplomat."
"How many guards are you offering to me?" Careful, careful.
"Four, of the six I brought with me today." He cocked his head. "Of course, they will expect payment also. The furs you mentioned would do nicely, I think."
"That's a very steep price," he sighed. But not as steep as all of it, I suppose. The thought was bitter in his mouth.
"A moment," Lixue interrupted. "I will escort it. Keep your guards."
Kuno gave an amused half-snort, as if to humor her, genuinely believing her to be joking. "A lady should not make such statements, even in jest." He looked to her father to back him up, but found his smile fade. "You aren't considering it, are you?"
"I am indeed." He studied his daughter, who lifted her chin in defiance but still remained sitting.
"A woman should not –" Kuno's objection was halted by Chao's gesture in the air.
"She is stronger than you give her credit for, gentle Kuno, and has her mother's spirit. She completed her first Hunt before she lost her milk teeth." He spoke to her, serious and soft. He was placing his future in the hands of this strange and familiar interpretation of his daughter that smelled of oleander and yellow lotus. "Do you truly believe you can guard it from here to the coast, alone?"
"I can." Simple, strong, sure.
Kuno protested, his desire to defend the tenderness he believed to be in her more than his desire to avoid offense by meddling in the affairs of another's house.
"If I can defeat your men in combat, four to one, will that appease you?" Lixue's solution was inelegant, but effective. Superiority and ferocity – things familiar to her, but unfamiliar to her form. Her hands were too soft, her skin nearly perfect, and it was time to tone it up to her standards with a little blood.
She was beginning to be able to separate the two, but only in the basest ways. Perhaps, over time away from the muddled memories here, she could truly begin to pull them away from each other.
It was not long, then, before she stood on the edge of the training yard, staring across the weeds and clods of dirt at the faint haze and the four men she needed to defeat. The rain perched on the fibers of her hair, her clothing, her skin, not yet heavy enough to do more than give her an air of otherworldliness as the droplets reflected the light.
Her father stood near the middle of the field, Kuno and their three servants beside him. The hanyou brothers were not to be seen, and she didn't care where they were. She waited, judging her prey. They didn't see her as a threat, obviously, nudging between themselves at the girl playing warrior. Take it easy, they mouthed. Use the back of your sword. Don't pull on her hair.
She watched, her stripes beginning their familiar tickle as they darkened and wandered on her skin. Even now, her fangs began to crowd her mouth. She had no weapon, desiring the feel of flesh on her claws, allowing no room for arguments to her skill with the sword instead of her skill in battle itself. She had decided this before she had even learned that she didn't have a weapon in the first place. They couldn't afford one.
"This is a battle to forfeiture." Chao's voice rang clear, bouncing between the parapets and the stone faces of the walls. He outlined the rules, almost in a leisurely way. He knew his daughter, and he knew that this was merely a formality. These rules were for the men's sake; she could not kill them, and if they knew when to tap out, she wouldn't have to toss them out of the yard to force their disqualification.
"Please step forward. We will begin in ten seconds."
The countdown. She smiled, taking a few steps into the ring. Might as well have some fun with it.
"Two... one. Begin!"
She released it, that twisting stream of power she gathered, bursting from her in a column of pirouetting azure flame, cloaking her as she shifted. The ground trembled with the resonance of her threat, fangs displayed with the lifting her lips, the tiger's smile terrible and hateful and interposed by the burning blood hue of her eyes.
When his daughter shifted, Chao no longer entertained the idea that she hadn't changed through the night. He nearly shook outwardly as she swelled and shifted, the rattle of her snarl a practiced and awful promise, deeper and harsher than anything he could produce. Her flames were a bright and searing blue, visible even before the superheated air touched his face, the shimmer above her speaking to her heat. But even more than these things, her most noticeable change was in her sheer size. Yesterday, she had been average for her age, standing but a foot or so above an oxen at the shoulder. This Lixue, this snarling visage of war, weighed at least seven times more, more than twice his own height had he the mind to shift.
The battle, if it could even be called that, was succinct and unsatisfying for Lixue. Two of the four immediately laid down weapons when she snarled. One was batted away with the back of her paw when he charged her, and the other twisted his ankle dodging away from a gout of fire. He was unable to stand, and was automatically disqualified. The entire thing had taken less than a minute.
She smiled her toothy smile at the man who thought himself worthy of being her mate.
The rain hissed as it met her fire, the weeds burning and curling away from her feet.
Imagining wit, you endeavor to cage fire; free, it burns your hand.