"Meditate upon the flash of passion...."

Zhizhu sat naked in the small kitchen of her condo; the linoleum was cool under her bare skin. She held a scalpel-like tool in one hand, the kind you’d buy at a crafts store. The blade was too small for a weapon, but the edge was razor sharp. Perfect for her meditation.

There was already a pattern of scars across her abdomen; it lay across her belly and hips like an intricately woven belt. She found where she had left off and placed the blade on her skin; with a swift cut she added the next line in the pattern. The pain followed a few moments later.

She closed her eyes, buoyed by that rush of sensation. Her thoughts wandered, images and snippets of conversation flashing by without meaning or context. She was not surprised to find herself remembering the previous evening. Her breath quickened, and a smile touched her lips. She had taken what she wanted, and on her terms. She’d have to repair a few things in her office, but that was small price to pay.

She cut another line.

She had taken a tremendous risk, allowing herself to be helpless with Shin. Her P’o still screamed at the stupidity of that particular action, but she did not regret that either. Her near obsession with control was a stumbling block in her path to enlightenment. Even earlier in the evening, she had held herself back. However, she knew now that she could relinquish control; she could act and react without thought and second-guessing. It would take time to live as a Devil-Tiger should—almost on instinct alone—but she had taken that first step.

Another cut, another painful kiss of the blade.

She had risen this morning only a little bit surprised to still be alive. Shin had, after all, told her that he had no reason to kill her. Still, she would not forget that she was gaki and he a Shih demon hunter. No matter what happened between them, nothing could change that. She was all too aware that they might still end up at the opposite ends of each other’s weapons. It was more than a slim possibility.

Shin knew what she was--she had told him months before about the Devil-Tiger’s path of pain and wickedness. But he had never seen what she could do. Would last night have happened if Shin knew about Yi? She was not pursuing torture as a road to enlightenment right now, but she would not turn from performing it if the circumstances warranted. She had killed innocents in cold blood. She had made a man into a slavering parody of humanity. It was her dharma’s way, but she knew that Shin would never understand.

Two cuts. She felt her blood dripping down to form a tiny pool on the cool, gray-and-white patterned flooring.

Shin had called her earlier that evening, to give her information about the kumo. She flushed again, recalling his voice saying, “Zhizhu-chan?” Japan was not her native country, and she still did not have a very good handle on the intricacies of its culture. She knew enough to bow, to know who to call –san and who to call –sama. She thought –chan was a suffix that denoted affection, but was not sure. The Japanese had layers upon layers of etiquette, and she sometimes felt like a paper boat swept along a swift stream.

She had wanted to think of it as nothing but sex. Yet that one little word had brought back her confusion. She took a deep breath, adding yet another cut to steady herself. Her P’o had taunted her with it, and she’d refused to listen. There was something there, some fluttering, heady feeling, but she was way out of her depth. Did he feel something for her? Was it simply the afterglow of a night of intense fucking? Did she… did she feel something for him—even something as simple as infatuation? It was so hard to recall the petty crushes she’d had on boys in high school.

Yuki might know. Her marriage had been a sad thing, but Yuki had had Kiku. Theirs had been a passionate relationship, and they’d had a deep love for each other. Zhizhu did not ever expect to feel anything like that, but perhaps Yuki could help her to sort out what feelings she did have.

She stood then, not quite healing the cuts on her belly. She grabbed a wad of paper towels to mop up the blood from her floor and then herself. There were plans to be made, and time enough to sort out her emotions later. She paused, frowning. They might not survive their dealings with the kumo. If that was her fate, such musings were a moot point. But if a few days were all she had left, she would make the most of them.