Down Frost

by Mockingtale

Before her death at his hands, Sima Shi's wife bequeathed him a letter, that recounts their short, turbulent though passionate relationship. Insane and icy as a blizzard she may be, but in the end, she will always bow to him.

I wrote this a long time ago but never got along to editing and uploading it. It's never been edited so there are several errors, but kudos to the longest chapter I've ever written.

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The lights are bright.

The songs are soft, the singers murmur- their voices like ice-silk dragged through honey and ivory brambles. There is a whisper-like quality to their voices, like a swarm of fairies singing- buzzing into my ear and humming against my mind.

The air is thick and heavy with their fairy song.

Noblemen and noblewomen twirl and glide around each other like delicate paper cranes, their robes of deep blue silk twining about their legs, fur-lined capes resting grandly on their shoulders and white petals woven into their hair. They are like snakes, like wolves, but dressed in sheepskin and bearing mantles of silver, bearing smiling lips rubbed with ochre and words like poisoned knives sheathed in velvet.

But the lights are bright, are pure, and their color is of the white ice caps of the faraway mountains, drifting from the open windows like a benevolent wind. It must be we, I think- who is oddly sentimental and fanciful today, we who our black hearts must be that which stain so thoroughly and uncaringly the white, gentle light that streams so lovingly from the high windows. Why else would it seem that the light about us, we nobles, so dark and cruel and red? It licks the grey walls like a hungry, twisted lover, leaving a malice that is both coy and strained in its wake. It is nothing compared to the light that streams from outside. How odd then, I think, that they way the light touches us, and the way we seem to twist it and turn it into something dark and red, is so representing of us, we nobles.

We nobles of Jin.

We are of a glorious dynasty. We are the phoenix newly risen from the ashes, riding the golden currents of China. We are the ones with the power to break or to make this large, humongous country. Power is concentrated here, more devastating than a fiery maelstrom and yet more subtle than the first powder of snow. China is here, it is taking place in this banquet right now- and we nobles are waging a war to have our hands on it

And why not? We would be fools not to make use of it. We are not of Shu and its kindness, nor are we of Wu and its fierce tiger loyalty. We are Jin, snakes and wolves, and we will befriend you and love you, only to stab you. We are Jin, and has not Jin always been about ambition? We hold black hearts, beating poison and dripping with liquid deception within our bodies. They froth like a disease within us, churning and vile. And yet still, we smile with our fair faces and starry, clear eyes. How poetic.

I turn my eyes away from the open windows and back to the gorgeous men and women clothed in ermine and silk, dancing like flowing streams around each other, circling and smiling like fairy nymphs. A smile touches my lips. They are more graceful than the dancers who grace this voluminous hall with their flimsy gossamer ribbons and fickle pirouettes, yet beneath this veneer of elegance and grace, like some silver-threaded cloud cover, we all know what's really going on.

We are playing a game.

It is remarkably like what we're doing right now. Dancing. But we do not only use our feet and arms, we use our lips, our stare, our touch. Somewhere in the hall, a woman laughs, her voice as clear and cold as frigid rain. My eyes drift over to her blue-clad form and as her eyes meet mine. I nod in respect to my mother. Her attention focuses back to the man she is so blatantly threatening, her words carefully chosen and so subtle that the implication is barely there. But the smile in her eyes is false, and her countenance as warm as the furthest stars.

The man opposite her is unblinking, almost amused, but there is a seriousness there as he listens to my mother's airy words. My clan is powerful, and the mere mention of our name invokes a wide range of responses from a reverent bow to a repressed, disgusted shiver. He knows not to cross my clan, but my clan too, knows not to cross him.

Jia Chong nods in response to my mother, and her saccharine smile widens, glazed with some superficial triumph. He smiles too, baring his wolf teeth and dark eyes of inky shadow boring into hers. He is a ghastly man, with a ghastly smile and a sinister purpose. A sliver of anxiety overcomes my mother and I restrain myself from sneering as I watch her fight hard not to cower.

Fool.

My mother was always a weakling putting on a front.

These banquets and balls. For all the ambition and power spread across China, there is an eternal dance about this dynasty that is always brought to a violently blooming climax in these banquets- a dance that requires a quick mind, the ability to layer words with deception. A coy whisper, a light threat, a smooth flutter of fingertips on bare skin and the tilt of fair lips as all the nobles' thread manipulation into every subtle action. It is a mesmerizing dance, magnetic and so utterly addictive to watch, this dance that is as light as the flutter of butterfly wings, yet as treacherous as the deepest, most crushing depths of the sea.

I stand here by the side, alone, admiring the treacherous scenery. Nobles and servants give me a wide berth, pretending with sweaty palms and nervously furrowed brows that they do not see me. A curious young man's eyes slide over my form, interest and desire woven into his gaze. But as his eyes rise to meet my mocking look, recognition and horror is suffused into his stare, and he hurriedly looks away.

My smile remains gentle and mild.

I raise a white hand to tug at my darkened caramel locks, brushing them behind my ear. I am just as competent as anyone at this dance. It is merely a pity that no one wishes to dance with me. My finger twirls absent-mindedly into my hair. My reputation seems to precede me. Bored, my eyes wander and soon rest upon a willowy woman clad in violet with shades of indigo and blue. Your mother. My lips quirk as I relieve a rather… fond memory. Lady Zhang Chunhua had graced my family's house with her vivid presence, and the conversation that followed both amused me and infuriated me.

Spring was here, bright and airy and bearing every symbol of anew. The gardens in the house were glorious and elegant, snatched out of a master's painting. Cherry blossom trees flitted at the edge of the land like dancing maidens, as willowy and enchanting as the damsel of Han. They bore a riot of color, all pink and mellow and gentle and swaying in the southern lovely breeze.

She and I sat opposite each other at the porch, a table of the finest antique oak between us. Vines and carvings delicately embrace the fine white china that stood daintily against dark wood, a plate of sugared treats for two lovely, delicate ladies to nibble on and to laugh.

But we are not ladies.

She sat facing the cherry blossom trees, half enraptured by their beauty, her entire purple-clad frame pointedly not facing me. I remained quiet and patient, both white hands clasped around my steaming cup as I waited for her to speak. She was so bright and vivid, such a melt of spring color; all dark honey and chaotic purple. My lips twitched. Such a murderous woman. And so utterly blunt about it too.

"Is something humorous?" she asked, her voice a restful murmur. The serene of the garden was starting to have its dreamy effect on her as she rested her chin on her palm. I responded by gently settling my cup on the oaken table, my green ice eyes flickering down modestly. "Nothing, my lady," I said, my voice an airy sigh.

A devious smile touched her lips. "So polite," she said, and straightened to look at me. I was in a humble pose; slightly bent with my limbs drawn against my body, ice silk hanging off my petite frame. I merely replied with a hesitant smile, a faltering visage worthy of the most fanciful and naïve of maidens. Inside, I was starting to grow impatient and restless. Why did the mother of the Emperor request to see me alone? Surely, not for some arranged marriage. In the imperial court, I was already labeled as an insolent child, a label most unbefitting a lady one wished to associate with the Imperial family.

Not that my parents would dare hold that thought in their heads. My lord and lady may be the head of the clan, but I was the icy spike who was capable of knocking them off that honored pedestal. They both knew it. That was why they always made sure to lock their chambers doors at night, or why their guard had strict instructions not to let me near them. No, my parents did not see me as an insolent child. They saw me as a monster, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I am a rather difficult child.

The lady had started sipping at her tea, now with the knowledge that it was not poisoned. Both our teas were poured from the same pot after all, and I had made it a point to take large noticeable sips from my cup while she sat there admiring the view.

"You are a rather poisonous child, are you not? Hmm? Daughter of Zhuge?" she said as if it was a humorous thing. My smile tightens.

"I really wouldn't say poisonous, my lady. Even I cannot compare to you." There is no point in timidly refuting it. This is a woman infinitely more skilled and deadlier than me. There is no shame.

She eyes me and gives me a warm smile. She is so motherly, so warm and affectionate and so skilled with blades that claw out your spine. Inwardly, there is a spark of envy. The sons of Sima Yi are so fortunate to have this deadly viper coil protectively around them, yet so warm with a maternal guidance. My mother herself has never looked out for my best interests. Although admittedly as of late, my best interests have morphed into an interest in seeing her dead.

"Oh no," comes her reply. Dark honey eyes meet mine with such motherly warmth and camaraderie that my heart is instantly gripped. How amusing that two minutes into this conversation and already I feel an emotion akin to love towards this woman, whom I sincerely wish had been my mother. "I wouldn't compare you to me," she says, her voice like a song. "We are fruits borne of the same tree, but our flavor differs greatly." She smiles, her lips like venomous honey. "In fact, my dear, you are as cold and cruel as a trek through a blizzard in the mountains," she says matter-of-factly. "Your parents would do well to see you dead."

This bluntly honest piece of news is thrown at me like an anchor, but I do not blink. Instead, an empty smile spreads on my lips as I ask, "And what of the Sima? Do they think it the best of their interests to see my desiccated corpse?"

She raises an eyebrow at me as if I am asking a frivolous question, the teacup dangling from her lithe fingers. "No," she replies as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. "As wintry and cruel as you may be, and as murderous and dangerous as you may be to everyone, I see you, my dear, like a desperate bull charging through a field of marionettes."

The answer is like a cold slap to my face.

"You are deadly and sly, very much like how I was when I was your age. But my lovely Zhuge, you are all the force of a hurricane with no set path. And as dangerous as a charging bull can be, it is so easy to destroy a confused bull with a single well-placed arrow."

I am gritting my teeth, my muscles coiled and ready to spring. Heat spreads and courses through my veins, hazing my vision red. An insult that stabs me in the back, even though insults have always been crumpled parchments fluttering against my cheek. Zhang Chunhua's words cut me like a knife.

Because it is so true.

I am a blizzard in the snowy mountains, the icy death that swarms you and seeps out your spirit. But that is all I am. No goal. No destiny. I am a force of dry winter with nowhere to go.

Outwardly, I am still smiling- cool and indifferent. But the blizzard is wailing.

"And you are the violently blooming Spring flower, bright colors belying your poison. Tell me, your majesty, have you come here to pry your fingers into my soul, or have you come here for my family's garden view?" I speak genially, friendliness in my hostile words. In return, her smile widens, and she looks as sweet and elegant as an orchid.

"Maybe not as wintry as I thought", she looks at me, her brown tresses spilling across her shoulders. "Sweet, charming, murderous Zhuge. You remind so much of me that I am almost touched."

The lady straightens, her chin no longer resting on her open palm. Zhang Chunhua's expression morphs from one sweetly playful to one coiled and coy.

"Hmm, no. I have not come here for your family's gardens. I have come here for your private gardens. I must remark, the smell is so… unbefitting."

My fists clench, the knuckles white underneath the table as I lean back carefully. My green ice eyes are trained on hers, immediately cautious. "Evidently my lady has seen my gardens. Tell me, what is my lady's opinion?" My hair trails in brown locks to my chest, and in a show of indifference, I reach out to twirl my fingers in them.

Her dark honey eyes flicker to my moving fingers before darting back to my face. A dangerous smile widens and nearly splits her face into two, it is no longer honey laced with venom. The smile she has right now is hard, like sharp rocks. Determined and cruel. "I", she starts, "am utterly appalled."

I shift forward, my ice silk robes rustling against my body. Placing both elbows on the table, I join my fingers together, my expression of mocking child-like curiosity. My hair shifts over my shoulder. "They are my private gardens, and I am nothing if not eclectic."

My grin is like shards of ice.

Her eyes narrow, and her smile immediately drops. There is now anger veined with disgust. "I applaud you for your taste in décor."

My mind flashes back to the images of dead men and women in my garden, stuck on sticks like meaty delicacies and hammered into the ground as their hair swayed in the wind, dried blood crusting on their rotting faces. The grin remains on my face. I do have good taste in decor.

"At least, my lady, the prisoners are being put to good use." Purposely, I allow my grin to turn sinister and malevolent, almost psychotic. I feel almost foolish, silly and entirely out of my character, but there is a keen desperation within me to frighten her, to put at least a sort of negligible fear- awe even, into the Poison Spring Flower's face. It is a desire for recognition. I recognize this itching feeling and resent myself immediately. I am burning to be recognized by her, as an equal.

How pathetic of me.

It is as I said. This woman is infinitely more skilled than me, more experienced, and in her vivid, violent presence, I am a sapling in the shadow of a riot of flowers.

Pushing aside all self-doubt, I search keenly within myself for my infamous wintry countenance. I am no giggling, inexperienced maiden. I am a Zhuge, and all tremble to be in the same room as me. My face smoothens, my grin vanishes. A noticeable change overcomes me and soon Lady Zhang Chunhua's dark honey eyes meet a blank sheet of snow, two eyes of green ice, broken from the polar ice caps, frosty and calm. I raise myself from the table's surface and straighten calmly, my face cold and steely.

"It is most unfortunate, however, that my lady had to chance upon my gardens. I think it proper we move to other things. Was there any other purpose to my lady's visit?"

I am mercury and frosted steel. Zhang Chunhua leans back, her hardened expression changes to one of careless frankness. Her dark honey eyes search mine, locking my gaze into place. A single fair hand is raised as she runs the tip of her thumbnail over the tip of her index finger, presenting a casual and careless sight.

I wait.

"There is no sugar-coating this, and I do not want any misunderstandings. I will make myself clear: I want you to stay away from my son."

The request and casualness of the tone takes me by surprise, immediately piquing my interest. A soft breeze ruffles my hair and a lock is splayed across my curious eyes. The tea on the table is no longer steaming, and the vibrant color of the treats has turned stale and dull. I am made speechless. What is she talking about?

"I'm afraid your words confound me", I say coolly, my voice almost freezing. "I do not interact with any of your sons." And you do not have the right to bar me, I think. I am not yours to command. I am not anybody's to command, and if you think I will string your sons along my tangled silken strings, well, now that you seem so against it, perhaps I will.

"No", her tone rings with a sharp finality. "But I know Sima Shi, and he believes himself in need of a woman like you."

"A woman like me?" I say, insulted by her statement. She talks as if I am some whore willing away men with my wily tricks. "How confusing, my lady. You are implying that the son of Sima Yi should not be with a woman you yourself claimed to be… a replica of yourself."

She stares at me, and we stare at each other, venomous warm honey and frosty green ice. The breeze is picking up, and the cherry blossom trees are shaking with an increasing ferocity.

I have made up my mind. I refused to be cowed by her, and for all the admiration and respect I have for her, I do have my image to concern about. She seems to have realized this, that her words no longer hold much meaning to me, and her eyes narrow.

"My son is not my husband, and you are not me. Watch your mouth, Zhuge"

My fingers itch to rake across her face.

A displeased snarl curls the sides of my mouth, but I shove that fleeting emotion of detest away. Zhang Chunhua, your mother, knows that I will rebel against her warning. It is a natural instinct. I am of Jin, am I not? And we have always been the one that bites the hand that feeds us.

But.

As rebellious as I may be, as insane as I may be, as cruel as I may be. My dear, I am not some petty, pathetic idiot.

I may take joy in decimating clans that are of no use to our court. I do, my dear, enjoy framing the odd nephew of so-and-so with some unspeakable murder of his dearly beloved cousin, or play, hmmm, the odd matchmaker of some clan lady and her utterly devoted new guardsmen. Do not mistake me, I am the force of dry winter, but as much as I love to wile away my time with watching some darling nephew get beheaded or some clan lady cast out to the streets pregnant and labeled a whore, I am if not loyal.

Don't cast me as a woman who claimed her title of terror. I earned it. And if I were to touch my diseased hands on the court of Jin and play my puppetry work, this dynasty will fall to ruin.

And how else will I get to have my pretty clothes and my pretty gardens? My dear, I do have my vanity too.

And then I saw you.

You were… You were a thunderstorm, a brooding mass of threatening lightening and thunder. You were so dark, so enigmatic, and as you entered the hall, my eyes were drawn towards you. I was captivated.

We all were.

You were wearing a mantle of dark silver, molten mercury cast at midnight. I cannot describe accurately the way you walked- you were a god of storms looking so utterly wicked and powerful. The energy you radiated settled on the outskirts of your aura and crackled, and the mask you wore merely made you all the more mysterious- all the more frightening.

You were the first person I truly feared.

All greeted the Emperor, and all lords with their lovely brightly-colored daughters all edged subtly towards. I laughed, my icy chuckles ringing like sleigh bells in the corner where I stood. Dark honey eyes caught my gaze and connected.

I understood now. You were so like your parents, a true Sima- and the Sima have always been so divinely special. As I watched you stalk your way around the nervous crowds, brooding and charismatic all at once, I understood.

You were not some brat on a high seat, not some intelligent scholarly, impressionable young man. Innocence is lost on you, most likely ripped away from you on the same day as your sight. I, the frightening blizzard of the Zhuge would be tamed by you. You were not a toy.

You would murder me first.

Lady Zhang Chunhua looked away, as did I, and a mutual understanding came between us. The heat and resentment, at that time, simply vanished. Your mother and I, throughout your entire courtship of me, would continue to maintain this pattern of amiable respect followed by angry resentment. We were too similar, I think, to tolerate our differences.

I turned towards the open window again, enjoying the fair light cast on the vivid peony petals. They sparkled and flashed a vibrant hue, and somewhere beyond the chatter of the hall, in the fair, bright gardens, I heard a birdsong.

Beautiful. I wish I wasn't here.

I turned around with the intention of slipping away quietly, only to be met with the dark hardness of your form. I stared up at you, both deeply surprised and annoyed. You merely smiled at me amiably, but your aura threatened to drown me and burn me.

"Your majesty." I greeted, bowing to you, and I hated it, dear gods, I hated it. You nodded back at me as was customary, and then promptly surprised me once again by extending a steel-tipped hand gracefully. Your fingers were gloved and sharp, and I remember a spark of humor back then, when I recalled that your mother favored her fingers the same. With an arm behind your back, your form hard and ramrod straight, you had wordlessly indicated your intention to me for a dance.

How rude. You didn't even know my name. My eyes darted to your hand before connecting back to your face.

"I hope Your Majesty is enjoying himself." I started indifferently, pointedly ignoring your outstretched hand. I saw a spark of irritation flare within your face before dissipating completely.

"I am. I am merely wondering why my lady has decided to hide away in a corner. Is she displeased by her Emperor's celebration?" you asked smoothly. Your hand had retreated and your eyes now looked at me intently, analyzing.

Amusement taps at my core. You are trying to guilt trip me and bait me into denying, like all the flustered, pretentious maidens you have dealt with before. Really, my dear, you have to admit this. You were really quite rude.

"Yes." I answer, and I gaze at your face looking for any reactions. You are not taken aback one bit. In fact, you look like you expected my answer.

"Pity." You intone, although you sounded neither sorry nor sincere. In fact, most outrageously, you sounded bored. This actually succeeds in twitching the sides of my lips.

So out of all people, the great Sima Shi has decided to dance with me. Is that not what we are doing right now? We, like everybody in this hall, are currently dancing with our silver tongues.

How exciting.

"Well, yes." I answer back almost insolently, although I fail to keep the amusement out of my voice. "Dances of this sort have never been quite to my taste."

"Oh?" and there is interest now sparking like sputtering flames in your tone. "I suppose you prefer the more jovial and exciting dances? Full of swift feet and wine?"

I laugh coldly and force my green eyes to look into your stormy ones. It takes me much willpower not to waver, but I think you saw my fear. I forced myself to sound uncaring and brave, shoving a cruel, frosty smile on my face. "I prefer very, very fast dances." I answer with a grin nearly splitting my face into two. "With too much footwork, too many clumsy falling people and voices which are too loud." And too much blood with too much clashing of blades and the cries and shouts of the lovely people dying.

You finally smile, and when you do, you present me with a vision so stunningly dark and cruel and so absolutely beautiful. You understand what I mean. I enjoy the dance of the battle. And as you smile, I understand that so do you.

That is why, during a cold winter's afternoon, as I was washing blood from my feet, it came as no surprise that you visited my household.

You visited my private gardens first, to my chagrin. (Secretly, I had the guards who allowed such an action put to death) It was extremely ungracious and rude of me. I was the host, made so the moment you crossed my threshold and became a guest. And a good host should never leave her literal skeletons out for her guest to see. I was quite irritated at myself.

As you sat across me on the same chair your mother once graced, you did two things: The first was to ask to court me formally. The second was order me to burn my gardens. I replied yes to the first, even though then the only time we had conversed was at that banquet. To the second, I clasped my white hands on the table demurely and asked you what you thought of my gardens.

You actually answered the same as your mother. One, you were disgusted and two, I had good taste in décor. I looked at you in amusement and asked you quite frankly if you knew what you were doing.

You responded by leaning forward dangerously and promptly daring me to kiss you.

I dared.

And as we pulled away, you had that dangerous, wolfish spark in your eye. You grabbed me violently by my throat over the table, nearly bodily hauling me across the oaken exterior. You answered me quite cheekily– I might add, that you knew exactly what you were doing. And then you told me quite bluntly that I would not go overboard, or you would quite, sadly, kill me.

You were… interested in me. In my madness, I think, the way I could be cold and eerie then abrupt and violent the next. I was quite mad, and I fascinated you. How touching.

Frankly, we were ruled by lust. We did not love each other.

My dear, I kill for fun and for nothing at all, I cannot love. You are loved, but cannot love either, because there are too many people trying to stab you in the back. Admittedly, occasionally I entertained myself by being one of them.

You knew better than to trust me.

Sure, we shared hot kisses and twisted sheets by moonlight, and in your eye you saw no other woman and in my eye, I saw no other man. It was a wonderful combination. You tamed me and gave me direction, a goal to channel my blizzard winter self and I gave you excitement and accompaniment when there could be no other. I could not love you, and yet in so many ways, I did love you.

And yes, I did want to marry you.

Yes, I would allow myself to be tamed, to fulfill the stuffy role of an Empress and manage a stuffy palace with stuffy traditions. I would have been loyal to you. I would have been faithful and I would not wander. I would not have backstabbed you (as I usually would have) and my entire dry winter blizzard self would have been solely dedicated to you.

Loyalty.

In Jin, especially from me, do you know how hard it is to win that?

But the tides change my dear. Darling, I may be mistress of my household but there are lords over my head, and one of them happens to be an utterly loyal little Dog. My sweet, pompous, proud nephew with his back so straight and hair so sleek. Zhuge Dan. I wish when he had been a little boy that I had staked him.

Let's not talk about him.

A rebellion's a rebellion and naturally you and the rest of Jin put it down, and naturally Zhuge Dan and the rest of the Zhuge were ordered to be put down. Including me, unfortunately. And to answer your question, yes, I did know he was going to eventually betray you. No, I did not help him and no, of course I didn't stop him. He is my sweet little cousin! And anyway I did feel you needed a rebellion on your hands. Exercise, my dear. It is necessary to keep you on your toes.

Summer. Sweltering. I had entwined white orchids in my hair and blue silk around my body. It was summer and it was hot and I was here, in a ridiculous banquet with the windows closed when I saw a lovely woman with a head of red, rippling hair march towards, iron in her jaw and the way she clenched them. A dog beaten into loyalty, I could recognise Huang Yueying from anywhere.

Still, as a test, I flowed over to you, caramel hair in an elegant bun, and a blizzard in every inch of my face, sharp, smiling like the mischievous lord of winter, come to play a game of your life. You turned and met me, a swirling storm on the precipice of violence. You did not smile, but a hand extended and I took it, naturally. I whispered into your ear, eyes flickering towards an indignant autumn-haired woman, her green eyes shiny, but you and I sense something, that tiny, deep flicker.

Fear.

And then the Lady Wang Yuanji looked across the large banquet hall, two pools of pale brown framed in a cloak of gold and silver, and what I saw in those pools drowned me in my own fear, anxiety.

Pity.

It seems, even your dear wife, I had realized then, would not be exempt from the blame you placed on her sweet cousin. You cannot find words to describe the nausea within me, the rage that licked my core and suffocated me, brought fingers of steel around my throat and threatened to crush me.

I wanted to kill you. How could you?

But still, love, as you read this, know that I already forgive you. The winter comes and murders all that spring bears, puts death-frost into every tree and every animal. It cannot help it, it is ingrained- carved like a brand into its nature. Just like you, and very just like me.

I do love you, and as you have already guessed, the orchids I drown this letter in each are soaked in a multitude of heady poisons. We part here, because no matter what sorcery we can throw at nature, you are a storm and I am a blizzard.

We will destroy each other.