Mercury Snow is my best writing and one of my more favoured ones. Plot-wise, it is very simple. It’s all about a duel, between two person, set in an alternate world that is like that of ancient chinese martial arts. I was worried about it not resembling it enough, because some things just can’t be translated easily. But I really like the way it came out in the end. It’s my most beautiful piece of writing, perhaps even prettier than the art stuff I do.

Synopsis: A battle between two people on a snowy fields. Is it for revenge… or something else?

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White. Pure unblemished white. There was no specks of other colors, as far as one could see. Everything was covered by the cold white paint. Except the lone figure standing in the middle of the open field, unmoving and unperturbed by the heavy snow falling around him. But even then, the figure blended in with the scene like a snow fox in its natural environment.

The figure was pale, though the light beige of his complexion was enough to differentiate him from the endless white. His long robes were white, though it was a shade nearer to that of milk than the snow. Intricate silver patterns were woven on the edges that could only be seen on closer inspection. The sash at his waist that tied his robes comfortably tight against his lean body was silver, the same as the design on his clothes.

But on the first sight, what contrasted more distinctly against the white, however, was his hair. His waist-length straight hair, that was pulled into a high ponytail by a simple white ribbon, was like strands of polished silver. Not white, not gray. It was silver, like the gleaming metallic accessories that the ladies used to decorate their slender necks, dainty hands, and elaborately made hair.

A sudden breeze whipped the hair in the direction of his face, sweeping past pale cheeks and covering cat-like eyes with irises the same color as the flowing threads, and briefly tracing the contours of a face that could only be described as ethereally beautiful without being overly feminine. A slender hand with graceful long fingers came up to gently return the strayed hair back to where it belonged, before the man turned, to face the newcomer to the snowy scene.

“So you came.”

“Yes.” One word. One soft word hiding hard determination was the reply.

The man who uttered it was a total opposite of the silver-haired man. In fact, his presence there was like a red apple among a basket of green ones, like a single coal in a pile of ashes. One could say he was completely out of place. And he was. For black, was sufficient to describe his appearance.

His hair, only slightly shorter than the white-clad man’s and left cascading over his broad shoulders, was the same color as the darkest night sky. The difference between the raven mane and the man’s clothes was almost non-existent, as his cloak, and the unrestrictive robes similar to that of the other man but only reaching the knee instead of the toes, were so black they seem to absorb light instead of reflecting it. Boots, wet from the snow melted by his heat, was of the same ebony that he was clothed in.

Onyx eyes were intense and sharp like that of an eagle out on a hunt, and were set on a face of chiseled hard features and a tight thin-lipped mouth. The only other color that could be found on his person, would be the healthy bronze hue of his skin that indicated long hours under the harsh care of the brilliant sun. And it was not hard to tell what most of that time was spent on, for his body had the build of one trained rigorously everyday, so much so that there was no hint of unnecessary fat to be seen.

For a long time, the two of them just stood there with their eyes on each other. The atmosphere between them was calm yet pressurized, like an eye of a large typhoon. Even the snow was affected, and none of the clusters of frozen water particles made their way near either of the two man even as the snowfall got even heavier, forming a most unnatural piece of art. Two figures, black and white, standing motionlessly under the snow and yet, untouched by the cold white bits.

“Let us begin then.”

“Yes.”

The dark-haired man moved, just as the sound of his word was about to fade away. He ripped his cloak off in one clean move and carelessly tossed it some distance away, and with his other hand, reached for the hilt of a large saber that was hidden under the now discarded piece of black cloth.

“Nice sword you’ve acquired.” The pale man said conversationally, as his metallic-colored eyes lingered on the blade with something akin to recognition. It was a very unique sword, for the wide curve blade itself was the color of charcoal, yet it gleamed like it was flawless glass. “Anyenst, isn’t it?”

“The only weapon that could match with yours, Yuen Master Shui Yin. As you told me yourself.”

A hint of a smile touched Shui Yin’s pale lips. “You are serious then, Yan Zheng.”

“Isn’t this what you want?” Yan Zheng’s eyes hardened, like black diamonds with a cold shine.

“Yes. It is.” Long silver eyelashes lowered to bestow a serenity upon his face, and Shui Yin resembled a deity more than a human. Especially when a faint glow began emitting from both of his hands.

Before one could even blink, his long fingers were clasped around two sword handles that had not existed a moment ago. The long silvery extensions from them were straight and graceful, while the left was shorter than its twin. Both blades had the shine of a weapon well-groomed, and the edges were flawless, as far as one could tell.

“Yuan Yang. You do intend to kill me.” Yan Zheng’s mouth moved into a glacial-like smile, as his whole demeanor gave off the aura of icy hatred.

Shui Yin matched the smile with a soft one of his own. “I will let you join your family in peace.”

“Enough talk.” The raven-haired man narrowed his eyes sharply and raised his sword.

His muscles was tensed when he slowly shifted his right foot forward. Then suddenly, his figure seemed to vanish and wavered into form inches behind Shui Yin with his sword sweeping towards the pale man’s unguarded side.

With a speed that matched Yan Zheng’s movement, Shui Yin took a step forward and turned fluidly to deflect Anyenst’s path with Yuan, the longer one of his swords. At the same time, Yang made its way towards Yan Zheng’s solar plexus, the velocity causing the blade to utter a sharp whistle against the wind.

Yan Zheng shifted back and pulled Anyenst before him to block the swift blow with the flat of the blade, and side-stepped away just in time for Yuan’s edge to slice a little of his clothing but none of his skin. The hawk-eyed man quickly change his saber’s angle, and launched a powerful swipe towards Shui Yin’s leg, forcing the latter to leap back to avoid being damaged.

“You have improved.” Shui Yin smiled as his feet touched the ground some distance away, his silvery eyes seem to glow with anticipation as he brushed strands of his hair out of his face. “I am glad.”

Yan Zheng’s reply was bitter. “You forced me to.”

“Of course.” Shui Yin changed his hold on Yang into a backhand one while he shifted his right leg in front of his left. His right arm was lifted up to waist level and Yuan was held parallel to the ground. And his smile deepened.

Yan Zheng’s expression was grim as he took in Shui Yin’s stance. He knew enough about it to know he had to do something to counter what was coming up. And so he did.

He raised Anyenst before him and stared at the hilt, which was soon enveloped in a dark aura similar but apparently different from the glow that was the prelude of Yuan Yang’s appearance. The weapon then underwent a change, as it suddenly grew longer and the blade’s shape changed to become a true long-hilt saber.

If he had any reactions to the change, Shui Yin did not show it. Even his metallic-colored eyes remained serene and unperturbed. He merely stood there and allowed the wind to caress his long silver strands of silk and ruffle the soft material of his sash, as if he was not in a duel and much like the way he stood solitary in the snow before the other man arrived in his company.

Shui Yin struck.

And before Yan Zheng knew it, Yuan sang its lethal tune dangerously near the side of his neck and Yang was cutting a speedy path towards his right arm. Yan Zheng took a wide stride back and a little to his right, moving him neatly out of Yuan’s range even as he moved to counter Yang mid-path. The clash of the weapons made was clear but interrupted as Yuan came bearing down on Anyenst as Yang slipped low and made for Yan Zheng’s abdomen. With a roar, the darker man twirled his weapon forcefully and deflected the twin blades briefly before the sabre was thrust out at the pale figure wielding the double swords.

Shui Yin calmly removed himself out of the striking range of the dark weapon with an effortless leap into the air for several feet, and he even managed to step on Anyenst to gain the extra force for him to somersault behind Yan Zheng. As soon as he landed, he resumed his deadly sword dance around Yan Zheng, swirling in and out of positions deftly. It almost seem as though he was really dancing, if not for sharp sound brought forth by a sharp edge slicing air and the loud encounters of the hostile weapons.

Yan Zheng was faring well against Shui Yin’s assaults, coming out with only a couple of slash wounds in non-vital areas and several more scratches. He would know that he was doing better than most of Shui Yin’s opponents. He himself had witnessed and marveled about the silver-haired man’s swordsmanship, and there was not once when he was not entranced by the beauty of the man’s skills. He had once likened it to the waltzing of snow and white cherry blossoms. It had seem so natural and clean, so pure and innocent and so incredibly beautiful even when it was as lethal.

But that was all in the past. All of the purity had been awash in red, crimson red that had hurt his heart so bad he could not breathe. He had dreamt of the red often, and it was always overlaid with orange flames and his anguished cries and howls of despair. Yan Zheng knew that from then on, his view of the once taintless dance had been permanently changed.

Yan Zheng shook himself out of his momentous reverie that could well have cost him his life but fortunately had not, and berated himself quickly. He should know better than to reminisce about the past in the middle of this particular fight. Shui Yin had not been called a genius and a Yuen Master for nothing, and he knew, perhaps better than anybody else in the world, exactly how brilliant the other was. Was that not the reason why he had trained so inhumanely hard to improve himself for the past two months? He would not let his effort go to waste because of a moment’s carelessness.

After a successful evasion, Yan Zheng instinctively delivered a series of quick stabs towards a particular area of Shui Yin’s body without thinking and to his surprise, he caught sight of the pale man’s eyes widening even as Shui Yin retreated out of the way with yet another of his quick side-steps and unpredictable turns that was distinct in his sword style. Yuan Yang came closer than he was comfortable with and left him no time to think about Shui Yin’s peculiar behavior as he was forced to react to the strikes.

The fight went on for a long time, even as the snowstorm rumbled and grew, and finally slowed gradually into a leisure pace where snow crystals and flakes floated almost lazily from the sky. The land was pregnant with a blanket of frosty white cotton but it did nothing to disturb or hinder the ongoing engagement of the two men. If anything, the fight grew more furious as each men ascended into higher levels of their abilities. Soon the white that laid on their battlefield was spotted with scarlet dots. But neither of the men cared, so engrossed in their frolicking with fatal death.

Yan Zheng was moving faster than he knew he could and even then he pushed himself on, increasing the power in his blows even as he spinned away from another close call and delivered a quick upper slash upon his opponent, before he jumped back as a pair of swords nearly stabbed into his ribs from an almost impossibly low angle. He knew that the adrenaline in his blood would keep him going, though for how much longer, he could not guessed. But what was more important was the present, was the exhilaration singing in his veins and the powerful need to cut down his opponent and prove his worth.

Shui Yin was in no better state, and he was almost delirious with an excitement that he had never felt before. Even as he strove to regain his calm, his strokes were increasingly frenzied and his steps so quick he had nearly tripped over himself. Never had he been allowed to unleashed his prowess without restraints and Shui Yin was enjoying it more than he had imagined. Each parry was a note of challenge and each slash sang with the strong urge to become better. He was so caught up in the euphoria that he was beginning to have regrets of his initial plan. He did not want this to end.

But end it must, for all things have to come to an end eventually.

Shui Yin quickly recovered from a thrust that had narrowly missed his throat and with his fastest side-step ever, he moved to Yan Zheng’s right as he persuaded Yuan on its way towards Yan Zheng’s head and Yang poised to snap out at the darker man’s arm while he ducked and turned himself for half a circle to avoid the incoming uppercut with enough power to lop his head off before he even knew it. Being in extreme close range with Yan Zheng provided him with an excellent opportunity. Which he took and sliced neatly into the other man’s thigh with his shorter sword, cutting a dangerously deep wound.

The black-haired man stumbled and howled as the excruciating pain became acknowledged by his brain and things he had forgotten while he was submerged in his fight instincts rushed out in a furious torrent to his consciousness. With eyes blazing in anger, he took up Anyenst and brought it down on the strangely prone form of Shui Yin with all he was worth.

Reflexes commanded for Shui Yin to move, even when his mind was stuck in a recurring sequence of scenes and thoughts, and he responded by bringing his weapons together to block what could possibly Yan Zheng’s most powerful assault in the whole battle. As he faced the dark-haired man, and saw the towering rage in the ebony eyes clearly, Shui Yin did the one thing he knew he had to do.

He dropped Yuan and Yang.

The large black blade tore into his shoulder and plunged diagonally down to his right waist before exiting, drawing a very clean but hideous red line across the immaculate white on Shui Yin’s body. Though Yan Zheng had not sliced Shui Yin into half, he came close to doing that. And the result, was a very mortal wound.

Yan Zheng stood watching as Shui Yin fell to the ground with a smile on his pale face, and the darker man could not even move. The shock of what exactly he had done flooded in and overwhelmed him, and his hold on Anyenst loosened and the long-hilt sabre dropped to the ground onto the forgotten Yuan and Yang with a resounding clang which brought him back to his senses.

Yan Zheng mechanically took the few steps required to Shui Yin’s side, and collapsed to his knees beside the dying man. Tears, was making their way down his face as he scream hoarsely at his fallen foe.

“Wh… why did you do that?! Why did you drop your weapon?! Answer me, Shui Yin! Why didn’t you block?! What do you think you are doing?! Why are you smiling, you idiot?!”

Pale lips slide open feebly in response, but instead of an answer, came a gurgle and a bloody stream that flowed out to finally leave its ruby hue in the snow by Shui Yin’s head. The same red substance had began making its way from Shui Yin’s fatal injury down and around the motionless body, contaminating the white as it slowly spread.

“Y… Yan… Zheng…” Shui Yin coughed weakly and struggled to push the barely audible words out of his trembling lips. His dulled silver eyes wandered aimlessly in search for the man he wished to see, but all that reached those dimmed orbs was plain darkness. When the realization hit him, Shui Yin closed his eyes and heaved a shuddering breath with much difficulty. His body had started to fail him, but he still had one last thing to do. “Yan… Zheng… my friend…”

The dark-haired man brushed away his tears brusquely and quickly grasped Shui Yin’s blindly groping right hand. “I… I’m here, Shui Yin.”

The paler man managed a smile and began to laboriously guide Yan Zheng’s hand to the bloodstained sash around his own waist, until he finally faltered and could move no further. But he need not move anymore, for Yan Zheng had found the object he had wanted to give the other man.

“Shui Yin? Isn’t this…?”

Shui Yin did not reply, for he had neither the strength nor the will to do so. A sigh escaped his slightly curved lips, heavily tinted with satisfaction. His eyelashes, like wispy pale willows, fluttered one last time, before all motion ceased to exist on his face, leaving a mask of serenity.

Shui Yin died.