Summary: "All these years, I've tried to be a good wife. I've supported him the best I can, but he has never once acknowledged what I've done for him. In his eyes I am, and always will be, a foolish woman." Zhang Chunhua mulls upon her years with her husband, and the sons she has given him.
Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing.
Queen's Quornor: Koei had BETTER bring DW8 over here to the States! With all these new characters, I'm dying to see what they add to the stories! The one I'm most intrigued by is Zhang Chunhua, the wife of Sima Yi and mother of his sons. Considering that her husband really doesn't seem to care about anything beyond his rise to power and his rivalry with Zhuge Liang, I am curious as to how she would figure into his story. Besides, with all the research I've been doing on her, she seems to be a very interesting character. Somehow, though, I don't see her as being a ruthless woman. I see her as more of a less sexi-fied Zhenji, someone who got stuck with a man who grew tired of her and found somebody better, and really didn't care when her life was in jeopardy, but to whom she remains loyal all the same. The only difference is, in Zhenji's case I'm pretty sure there was at least some love involved, in various quantities throughout the marriage. From what I've read about Zhang Chunhua and Sima Yi, I think the only ones who loved her in that family were her four children.
Sima Yi and Zhang Chunhua
The bowl stands before me, steam curling softly from the snowy granules within. A pair of chopsticks lay beside it, inviting me to break my fast and nourish my body. Across the table, my two eldest sons sit watching me, silently pleading with me to pick up the sticks and eat.
I drop my gaze, examining my folded hands. They understand why I refuse to touch the rice. Yet they continue to watch me, their dark eyes desperate. They do not want to lose their mother to their father's cruel words. My fingers curl tighter, and I raise my head to meet their faces.
Shi appears as composed as ever, patiently waiting for me to end my long protest, trusting that I will eventually bow before reason. He sits in silence, his features schooled to stillness. I see in him an echo of his father, but he lacks the cruel arrogance my husband carries like an accessory. I know my eldest son is capable of such casual spite, but he does not display it at all times. In this moment, he merely a beloved son trying to save his mother's life.
Zhao, on the other hand, appears more restless. He does not fidget, but I can see that he is struggling to remain silent. His fingers lightly press and release atop his thighs, and his eyes keep shifting from me to the rice, and occasionally towards his brother. He tried appealing to my love for him and his siblings where Shi tried to make me see reason. Neither were sufficient to make me pick up the sticks and bowl.
It is not that I wish to starve myself to death. I would never desire to leave my beloved sons and daughter behind. But I have spent too many years in devotion to my husband to be treated so poorly, given too much of myself for him to so insult me for trying to ascertain the state of his health. So I refuse to eat, hoping that my actions will stir my sons to action against their father. I do not wish his death, merely his apology. I may only be a woman, but I do not deserve to be so casually ignored or thrown aside. Not when I am the reason he has his precious sons.
This is merely the latest in a long line of disputes both small and great. So often I accept my lord's abuse; as his wife I must do as he demands, even if it means allowing him to insult me or sit quietly while he amuses himself with his concubines. I bit my tongue when he secretly wed Lady Bai, the woman who receives his true affections. However, I have my limits. He is usually careful not to push me too far, but on this occasion he managed to do so. His actions have divided our family, as our children bridge the gap between us and try to make him apologize while begging me to nourish myself. My children have always supported me in silence, never commenting on their father's callous treatment of their mother. But I do not hold this against them. I adore them too much to wish them grief, especially if such evil thoughts were prompted by their refusing to stand between their beloved parents.
It is my husband, the great strategist Sima Yi, upon whom I wish ill fortune.
My heart is rarely in my spite. No matter how his words and actions cut across my soul, I continue to support him, for the sake of our family. I have done everything I can to protect him where I am able, such as slaying that maid for threatening to reveal my husband's good health to Cao Cao's men. Yet for such devotion, he has turned from me.
True, it is not the sole reason. What he dislikes is my intelligence, my wisdom and wit. My lord enjoys displaying his intellectual superiority, showing the common soldier and minister how their minds are less capable than his. But in this area, I match him. My mind is keen, my memory vast and deep. On occasions when he has pushed me too far, I remind him of my ability with cutting words and sharp observations. My lord likes to think that our sons received their brilliant minds from him alone, but in truth they were borne of my intellect as much as his. His brain, combined with my wisdom. He has realized it, I am certain, yet he refuses to acknowledge me as his equal because I am a woman.
Long has he referred to me as "that foolish woman." Regardless of my words and actions, I will always be a brainless dolt in comparison to him, as far as he is concerned. It matters not that I am possessed of a mind to equal his own, or that I have given birth to his legacy. The fact that I have remained in his shadow, all these years, is worth scant attention. No matter what I accomplish in life or in memory, I remain a foolish, idiotic female. I believe it gives him satisfaction to hold himself so much higher in comparison, and for the sake of the family I allow him to keep that superior perch.
I could so easily knock him back to the earth if I so chose.
My sons continue to watch me as my gaze slides from my fingers to the window behind them. The sun is setting, bathing the hills in crimson fire. It is a surreal vision, one which so often echoes the state of my heart. My love flows for my children, painting them with all my adoration whenever they cross my mind or sight. But where the red palette symbolizes maternal love for them, it indicates anger and, at times, rage towards my husband. I loved him as well, once. In years past, I was honored to have been chosen as the wife of such a brilliant man. I was not foolish enough to believe that he would ever love me as a woman, but I hoped that eventually he would regard me with fondness, even affection. I believed that he did not have the capacity to truly love someone, considering the distance he kept between himself and nearly every person he knew. This extended to his own family, and not once did I think I would become the exception.
But when he met Lady Bai, suspicion flickered in my mind. He was warmer towards her than any other person, including his own children. I was shocked that he felt emotion for her, but at the same time I was not as surprised as another woman might have been. I am aware that many men of his station are wed by arrangement, and then choose lesser females to become concubines. It is not uncommon for one of these concubines to receive the love the true wife is denied. Yet something about this arrangement bothered me incessantly, and I found myself watching their interactions closely.
My daughter was the only one to see my fury when the news of his secret elopement with Lady Bai trickled into my ear. I try to keep my temper concealed from my children, but that was one of the few times when it slipped its leash. My precious daughter could only cower as I stormed through my chambers, destroying all that my hands touched. One of the few images I retain from that night is the memory of her eyes, so huge and dark, as she clutches the door with bloodless fingers and shrinks from my sight.
Even my sons, so strong and smart, hide when I lose my temper. My husband would never admit to fearing me in those moments, but he finds ways to remove himself from my vicinity when I lose control.
My lord had quit my bed long before his marriage to the concubine. Learning that I was now his wife in name only did not shatter some girlish dream of love; it cut my soul because I feared that he would arrange for my death or seclusion, and I would be separated from my children. But as cruel as my lord can be, he has not stooped to that level. He knows that my wrath would be terrible indeed; he is too smart to allow me such an opening for vengeance.
So we remain in this farce, married but separate. No starry emotions bind us, only cool tolerance and the occasional heated slur. He has his unlawful wife, and I remain the mother of his children. But there lives still a tiny flicker of concern for his well-being within me. Why else would I ever deign to visit him?
I knew that he had taken ill, and because I knew his sickness would cause our children to worry I decided to inquire as to his health, and offer my sympathy and prayers for his fast recovery. But he behaved so childishly when told I had come to see him! I never would have thought the great Wei strategist would throw such a tantrum over a simple courtesy. I already knew that I meant nothing to him, but it was beyond forgiveable for him to have screamed it so the entire household could hear. It exceeded my patience for him, and so I retaliated in the only manner available to me: I have refused all meals until such time as he apologizes.
It is possible that he will hold close his pride and never retract his words, but I think he will surrender this time. After all, if I die, my children will never forgive him. Shi, Zhao, Gan, and their sister all care for their father, but if he causes me to perish in starvation, their hearts will be forever closed to him. Without me, his precious legacy is lost. They will disown him.
A cruel little smile crooks my lips just as the door slides open across the room. I knew he would come.
My sons immediately look his way, but I take my time in viewing him. The great Sima Yi is quite obviously here under duress. His face is red with surpressed anger, and he grips the wooden frame of the door with such force that I fancy I can hear it cracking beneath his fingertips. His chest rises and falls beneath his robes, a clear indication of the fury he holds only just in check.
For a long while, nothing is said. I gaze coolly upon him, and his dark eyes regard me with no kindness. Our sons remain still, but their eyes flick rapidly between us, measuring the tension thick in the air. At last, my husband takes a deep breath.
"I apologize," he grits out.
I tilt my head in acknowledgement, He steps back and slams the door shut. Just as Shi and Zhao relax, his voice rings through the air again. "I did not do this for you, you useless old crone! I did it so my sons may concern themselves with more important matters than your health!"
I hear the sharp, dual intakes of breath from across the table. Both Shi and Zhao are shocked beyond words, their eyes wide in their sockets as they stare first at the door, and then at me. They fear my response.
My lord's departure is announced with the heavy tread of furious feet, rapidly receding down the corridor. He is too angry, too humiliated at having to apologize to a mere woman, to concern himself with my reaction.
As for me, I remain silent. I draw it out, stretch my sons' nerves thinner than a strand of silk. Zhao has begun to fidget, and even Shi has become restless by the time I move.
They both sigh in relief, for my hands reach out and grasp the bowl and its accompanying chopsticks.
Sima Yi is one of the great strategists, I cannot deny. But for all his ability on the battlefield, he has yet to learn that the home is another plain, and the battles are mine to win or concede. He may have loosed an arrow straight at my ego, but he has not won. That final, spiteful attack was simply not worth any effort on my part.
I have his apology, insincere though it was. My sons have a reminder of their mother's capabilities.
I call this a resounding victory.
