Phoenix Wings

     A wound to the wings felt different than any other part of one’s body.

     The wings themselves experienced sensation in a different way than any other limb. Each feather was connected to its intricate structure by a point that touched the skin, and each one of them was sensitive to movement in a different way. Tao Yinuo had learned that they required a different set of care and maintenance that he had not been taught as a child, learning the autonomy of his body. They were the sign of godhood, after all, and he had not always been that way.

     Recalling what it was like when he didn’t have wings was a difficult task for Tao Yinuo, but the ashes of his humanity were enough to give him a clue: when mortal, his body had been stiffer than his godly form. There was always a weight pulling him firmly into the ground, to the point that, if he were to have wings at that time, they wouldn’t have been able to take him and lift him into the skies– The responsibility of one’s duties were heavy on the shoulders of a mortal. And though he did not see it as literal then, Tao Yinuo had been aware of it since the beginning. Being human had not been kind to him.

     By ascending, Tao Yinuo had sprouted wings, the purest form of a godly blessing. They were black, like a raven’s, framing his figure as a symbol of status. The feathers were soft to the touch and just slightly iridescent under the Heavenly Capital’s light: the true mark of an ashen-born Phoenix. His body, free from that weight of a mortal soul, allowed him to sore through the air at a moment's notice. The rest of the heavenly officials, minor gods, and immortal warriors, all saw them as a blessing.

     For Tao Yinuo, they were proof that even as a god, the weight of his responsibilities had not gone away.

     Because they were as much of a blessing as they had ever been a curse: sensitive to the point that pain coursed through them like a fire burning him from the inside out– In the simplest of terms, they were nerves covered up in feathers, a raw sort of muscle under naked skin. Beautiful, intricate, and in battle incredibly convenient, but so fragile that he had to tread carefully when coursing through a battlefield. In the end, he may not have been mortal anymore, but he was a warrior. People looked up to him to do great things with the powers he was expected to have. His wings were that constant reminder that though he had gained something beautiful, every treasure came with a price.

     When they were hurt, he kept it quiet, ashamed to the point of self-isolation. As a god, he had attendants, loyal to a fault in the search for his godly guidance– but he would not ask for their help in a time like this. They would help, he knew they would do anything for him, but he had convinced himself that this was his own problem to deal with. His wings, the way they hurt in battle, were his own weight to bear.

     That night, his enemy had been particularly rough to beat: the phantom’s sorcery leached from the storm above them to feed its power, and its malice had manifested in attacks like thunder and lightning. When Tao Yinuo had been hit, adrenaline had shielded the pain. By the time the fight was over, and the feeling had started to creep back into his system, he had excused himself into his room and out of sight.

     “My god,” one of his retainers had been quick to reach him in the transitional space that came after a battle. A minor god, younger in his immortality to the point that he was blind to Tao Yinuo’s current circumstance. Good, Tao Yao thought, I shall deal with this on my own.

     “Please, be my voice in the strategy meeting, and let the rest of the generals know I shall not be joining them until tomorrow.”

     “Shall.. shall I tell them you are undisposed, my god?”

     Tao Yinuo nodded, “But please, do not alarm them,” it was almost a miracle in itself how he kept his voice level as he lied, “I am merely a bit sore. I will review the battle tomorrow morning.”

     “... do you need any further assistance, my lord?” the retained asked, and the concern in his gaze only added salt to Tao Yinuo’s wound.

     “Just a bit sore,” he said again.

     And just like that, he retreated to his room.

     Patching up his wounds was something he had learned to do as a mortal, knowledge that had followed him so close to the point that he could do it without batting an eye. His mother had taught him the best way to cleanse a wound, his father the best way to patch it, and before long, Tao Yinuo had gotten all the minor this or that’s taken care of.

     But as much as he had honed the craft to patch up a mortal body, and as much as his wings were a solitary, personal affair: they were a two-man job. His frustration kept growing the more he tried, with little to no success, to clean the sore spots between his shoulder blades. So he stopped, laying on the bed with his stomach on the mattress, and trying to rationalize his options:

      It was already late, deep enough into the night that taking back his request for aid was out of the question. That tactics meeting should have been wrapping up by then, and with the other generals heading out to their respective duties, all medical staff would have followed. He wasn’t the only one hurt in a battle, but it seemed like he would be the only one left to deal with the consequences on his own.

     Sleeping it off, as unproductive as it sounded in practice, would theoretically give him some comfort through the night. So, Tao Yinuo closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him.

     He was awoken by a knock on the door.

     “What is it?” Tao Yinuo groaned through pure instinct, still too busy pulling himself out of his slumber to wonder who it was.

     “Ah, so you are awake.”

     Slumber be dammed, Tao Yinuo sat up in bed so fast that it almost gave him whiplash. His eyes were wide as plates, instantly recognizing the voice behind the door: General Nan Yang. And if he was there, that meant–

     “May we come in?” Asked a second voice. Mu Qin.

     Of course, these two were together, but what they were doing around his quarters at this hour of the night? Had the meeting not ended hours ago? Weren’t they supposed to be in bed by then, or away with some duties of their own? What were they doing knocking on Tao Yinuo’s door, of all things?

     Too lost in thought was Tao Yinuo to reply to the question, but the Generals seemed to take the silence as an answer anyways. The door swung open without further comment, and Tao Yinuo scrambled to cover his naked chest with the nearest blanket.

     “So… you were not awake,” Feng Xin said, eyebrows furrowed.

     Mu Qing cleared his throat, averting his eyes. He pulled on Feng Xin’s side and demanded he do the same. “Apologies,” the man said, “ We heard you were undisposed. We just wanted to make sure you were–”

     “No, no. Generals, I apologize,” Tao Yinuo croaked out, eyes glued to the presence of his visitors. Meanwhile, his arm felt blindly around the covers, trying to locate a shirt. “I was taking a nap is all. There is no need for concern. Please, let me just find–!”

     All it took was one particularly fast movement of his wrist, for his elbow to try and compensate, and in the process, raise his shoulder. The pain was immediate and quite extensive, clawing at his back just where his wings sprawled out. His guard was already down, disarmed by embarrassment and confusion, so he wasn’t quick enough to muffle the pained yelp that escaped his lips.

     The pair was quick to break the distance, concern reading all over their expressions. There hadn’t been much light in the room until then, being that Tao Yinuo had been trying to sleep moments prior. But as the gods hurried in, the door was pushed wide open, and Tao Yinuo was left in full display of the hallway’s light.

     Feng Xin’s first instinct, as of a proper martial god, was to check around the room for any danger. Assassins, spells, stray arrows, or poisonous ventures. He drew his weapon, ready to defend at the feet of Tao Yinuo’s bed.

     Mu Qing, on the other hand, focused on Tao Yinuo himself, and whatever had gotten such a response from him. He was the first to notice the open wounds on his wing and the beads of crimson pooling at his feathers.

     “You’re hurt,” Mu Qing murmured.

     At that, Feng Xin finally put his weapon away and joined the heavenly official at Tao Yinuo’s side.

     “Is that a battle wound?” He asked.

     “Do you have any bandages at hand?” Mu Quing mumbled.

     Feng Xin shook his head, “I will call a retainer, they can–”

     “Enough,” Tao Yinuo barked out, louder than he had ever meant to, powered by his anxiety. He quickly regretted it, taking a deep breath and focusing hard to keep A-Tao in check. This was overwhelming, but freaking out and shutting down would do more harm than explaining himself. So, he did, “General Nan Yang, General Xuan Zhen, I implore you to keep this matter inside this room. Do not bring my retainers into it at this hour of the night.”

     As upset as Mu Quing looked, he clicked his tongue and gritted his teeth.

     “There is no need to be stubborn, Tao Yinuo,” he hissed, more well-versed with anger than concern, “We can call someone to help you, they will not mind.”

     “Did you get injured in the battle earlier?” Feng Xin asked, his voice level, almost cold, in an effort to remain methodical. “There is a procedure for one’s wounds, you know this.”

     “Listen, both of you,” Tao Yinuo left out one shaky breath, “I decided not to speak out about this wound because this is a very personal affair. W-With all due respect, you had no right to barge into my business like this.”

     “Are you mad?” Mu Quing barked, “We apologize for ‘barging in like this’, but we cannot leave you with untreated wounds! Reaching that spot in your back seems almost impossible on your own!”

     Tao Yinuo tensed his shoulders at the reminder, thinking about how pathetic he had felt earlier that night.

     “These battle wounds are in my body,” Tao Yinuo said, and the words wobbled at the edges. “My retainers are not responsible for them. That is that.”

     “You are correct,” Feng Xin concluded, “We had no right to enter your room without permission, and we should leave.”
     
     Mu Quing looked at his partner, both surprised and borderline offended at the prospect of leaving Tao Yinuo alone in such a state.

     “However,” he added quickly, “We will atone for this mistake by aiding you in curing your wounds. Privately, of course, no need to call a retainer. Allow us to apologize that way.”

     Tao Yinuo stuttered, fumbling with all the possible responses forming in his head and trying to pick a single, cohesive one.

     “I will be back with some ointments and oils,” Mu Qing declared, turning around to face the door.

     “I will grab supplies, bandages, and something to clean the wound,” Feng Xin agreed, joining his partner.

     And just as fast as they had entered, they were gone.

     Tao Yinuo sighed, melting back onto his bed and trying to cope with whatever fever dream of a situation he had gotten himself into. Two high-ranking generals demanding they help take care of him. The help was needed, of course, and Tao Yinuo felt relieved that he did not have to ask anyone for it, but this had been a bit too abrupt for his liking.

     He sat there and awaited their return.

      “Is the smell not too strong?” Mu Qing questioned.

     “It’s not,” Tao Yinuo mumbled, face resting on his pillow.

     It was strong, but that didn’t mean the scent wasn’t pleasant: the room now smelled of a fragrant mix of jasmine and honeysuckle, courtesy of Mu Qing’s personal stache of oils. It was quite a relaxing experience, and though he could not feel the effect of it through every individual feather, the

     “Let me know if I’m pressing too much,” Feng Xin asked.

     “You’re not,” Tao Yinuo muttered once again, voice still just as muffled.

     He was pressing a lot, but Tao Yinuo didn’t mind it at all. The pressure felt nice in between skin and tissue, fingers rubbing the medicinal substance both through the god’s wings and shoulders. Earlier, he had been cleansed of any blood, wiped clean by the softest of cloths. Now, he was being treated for his injuries– and though that job resided on the shoulders of a man known for war, Feng Xin’s hands were surprisingly gentle.

     They both were. As mythical of a presence that the pair of generals had built for themselves, there was an air of gentleness in the way that they worked to treat Tao Yinuo’s body. With Mu Quing combing some small, rogue debris out of his wings, and Feng Xin’s thumbs pressing at the start of his spine, Tao Yinuo found himself speaking in quiet purrs and sighs.

     “Are you okay?” both Mu Qing and Feng Xin would ask at every noise, in tandem, as if their concern molded them together.

     Tao Yinuo wasn’t just okay. He felt more relaxed than he had in a very, very long time because as much as Mu Qing and Feng Xin were treating his wounds and taking care of his well-being, they did not seem like they had been tasked with unwanted responsibility. On the contrary– they, of course, were not pleased by the fact that Tao Yinuo was hurt– but they seemed to be enjoying the indulgence of their affections, almost to a playful, competitive degree.

     Because when Mu Qing reached out to give the younger god a sip of water, Feng Xin would mumble something about him being in the way of clearing his bandages. And when Feng Xin would try and pin Tao Yinuo’s hair out of the way, Mu Qing would groan something about being careful with getting oil on Tao Yinuo’s head. Two sides of the same coin, both working for the same purpose, both competing to make sure that Tao Yinuo was getting the best care.

     And Ta Yinuo was. It was like that heavy weight of responsibility weighing his shoulders, shared among two other souls, had become a little bit lighter.

     But there was still something bothering him, something that Tao Yinuo hoped was being reflected in his face. They were helping him, and the how was clear (if not a tad messy), but the why was still a question unanswered. And like if put amid some powerful magic, he worried that inquiring about it would break the spell. He forced himself to stay quiet, and in turn, the generals worked quietly, as well. But not for long. They were never quiet for very long.

     “Why didn’t you tell anyone about your wings?”

     Mu Qing dared to break that spell, and Tao Yinuo realized that for him to get an answer, he had to treat them to a similar fate. He let out a long sigh,

     “I was not hurt badly,” Tao Yinuo murmured.

     “... It is still a bothersome wound,” Feng Xin said with a sigh. His fingers were still working on properly bandaging the wound, gently separating the feathers that had been broken or burnt from the lighting attacks. “Were you not in any pain?”

     “It was something I could handle,” Tao Yinuo argued, knowing that they wouldn’t believe a single word of it.

     The war god let go of his wings, and Tao Yinuo mourned the loss of contact.

     “That does not matter,” he said, voice stern. “We may be gods, but we are not invincible or all-powerful.”

     “We were worried about you,” Mu Qing admitted, in a voice so quiet that Tao Yinuo had to strain a little bit to hear. “When you did not attend, and by the look on your retainer’s face when we heard the news, we knew something wasn’t right. We were not expecting something as serious as this, you know? If we had waited longer…” his voice trailed off.

     “I am glad we stayed,” Feng Xin agreed. “I am glad we can help. We could never allow ourselves to lose you.”

     Tao Yinuo’s mouth ran dry, their sudden confessions more sobering than anything he’d felt the entire day. He had assumed their attention was one of camaraderie, the couple is known for each other’s devotion. And yet, they tend to him as they would tend to each other, and that realization was as complex in Tao Yinuo’s mind as the way he felt towards them. The way that, even though they had found the young god in such a vulnerable state, he felt… safe. He felt safe with them. And he didn’t know why.

     “Why do you care so much?” Tao Yinuo finally asked, knowing that their answer would change everything, dreading it would be for the worse.

     They both leaned closer so that their eyes had a clear view of Tao Yinuo’s gaze. Gold and silver, the duality of their personalities both tangled up for the exact same sentiment. And their answer was simple:

     “You are important to us,” Mu Qing said, with care so earnest, it was tender.

     “Very, very important,” Feng Xin said, softer than Tao Yinuo had ever heard him speak.

     “Thank you”, was Tao Yinuo’s only response, but it was an honest one.