1.
Zhao Yunlan hands his first rogue Dixingren back to the Black-Robed Envoy at the end of his third month heading the SID.
The black energy portal swirls into existence on the other end of the room, and Zhao Yunlan feels it in his shoulders. They itch, then burn, as the Envoy steps out of the stable manifestation of his power. Zhao Yunlan grits his teeth in a smile against the pain. The Black-Robed Envoy glances at him. Pauses. His mouth moves, as if he’s about to say something.
Zhao Yunlan gets there first: “Honored Envoy”—it comes out dripping sarcasm—”please take this guy away before he wakes up and causes more trouble.”
The Black-Robed Envoy’s perfect lips twist tight. Without a word, he grabs the unconscious Dixingren and lifts him easily off the ground. Zhao Yunlan doesn’t want to be impressed by his strength; he is anyway. Without a single word, he turns and disappears back into the portal.
It disappears.
The ache in Zhao Yunlan’s shoulders does not.
Zhao Yunlan projects a careless smile towards his team. “Great! Now for the Haixing paperwork!” He claps his hands in dismissal and retreats back to his own office without bothering to see where Lin Jing and Da Qing go.
He shuts the door behind him, closes the blinds, and scrabbles to drag his jacket and shirt off. Zhao Yunlan makes it, barely, before the pressure that’s been building beneath his skin explodes outwards. It hurts—the relief of a good stretch—as Zhao Yunlan’s wings expand in a rush, filling his office with wind and feathers.
Zhao Yunlan groans. His wings spasm, and he hears a stack of paper fall to the floor. He’ll need to clean that up later, when he’s not curled up on the ground with his wings shaking from the electricity of the Black-Robed Envoy’s power.
It’s been a long time since he lost control of his body like this.
He’s going to need to get used to the Black-Robed Envoy’s presence, so this won’t happen every single time.
2.
Zhao Yunlan’s wings are, according to him, an utter nuisance. He doesn’t know why they manifested around puberty. His father sure doesn’t have wings. Neither, as best he can recall, did his mother. And yet, here they are, clinging to his back like a shroud.
At first, they’re small enough that Zhao Yunlan can hide them beneath baggy sweaters and a slouch. He tries not to think about if they’re a nightmare manifest in reality—his father’s general opinion—or a sign that he’s meant to become a fairytale hero. Zhao Yunlan thinks his mother might have encouraged the second belief, but, well—
He’ll never know.
But, one night, his father comes to talk to him about his wings. “They weren’t always visible,” Zhao Xinci says, and there’s no hint of a curse in his words for once. The bedside lamp makes his eyes glint gold as he smiles. “I’m sure there’s a way for you to control whether or not they show. Let me give you some suggestions about what to try.”
His suggestions work. Even as an adult, Zhao Yunlan doesn’t know what to think of that.
It allows him to pretend that he’s a normal Haixingren, though, while he learns more and more about Dixingren and Yashou in a desperate attempt to figure out what else he might be.
(Crow Yashou, he thinks, though he never says it aloud. He doesn’t know how he feels about it. It’s not like he can do anything about it, anyway. What’s he supposed to do, walk into a random forest and wave at every crow he sees while going, “Hey, I think you might be my cousin somehow?”
Even Zhao Yunlan has his limits.)
So mostly he ignores it.
Then he takes over the SID and he can’t ignore it anymore.
3.
“Why hide your identity?” Zhao Yunlan asks, lollipop in his mouth. They’re in Shen Wei’s apartment, finally talking about his double life that Zhao Yunlan hadn’t put together nearly quickly enough. He sucks on the candy, thinking about how the buzz on his skin around Shen Wei isn’t just black energy prying at Zhao Yunlan’s own disguise: it’s desire too.
Shen Wei raises his eyebrows. It’s unfair, really, how pretty he is and how easily Zhao Yunlan reacts to him. “I think you understand something of hiding,” Shen Wei says. Zhao Yunlan’s shoulders twitch; he slouches back into Shen Wei’s surprisingly comfortable couch to hide the reaction. “There are parts of your being which you do not wish others to see.”
Zhao Yunlan pulls the lollipop out of his mouth with a loud pop, just to see Shen Wei’s eyes fix on his lips and Shen Wei’s hand clench tight. It’s a nice distraction. Zhao Yunlan grins, unable to resist saying, “Is this a ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ kind of situation, then?”
The flush that spreads down Shen Wei’s neck is beautiful. “I think I’ve already shown you mine,” Shen Wei says, low and intent; Zhao Yunlan can’t quite tell if he intends it to be so flirtatious. He hopes so. “I would appreciate reciprocation.” And then he just sits there and smiles, because of course Shen Wei can look absolutely at ease and unflustered despite the blush covering his whole face.
Zhao Yunlan licks his lips. “I guessed.”
Shen Wei nods a little in acknowledgement. “Very well.” He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. “Zhao Yunlan,” he says, “would you please show me your wings?”
“Yeah,” Zhao Yunlan says, an exhale he can’t help. He sticks the lollipop back in his mouth and mirrors Shen Wei’s posture. They’re close enough that Zhao Yunlan can almost feel Shen Wei’s breath on his face. “Since you asked so nicely.”
There’s a trick to letting his wings come out without ripping his clothes. Zhao Yunlan can’t explain it, but he thinks that Shen Wei’s taking it all in, and maybe he could pull apart the twist of Zhao Yunlan’s attention and the relaxation of a muscle-that-isn’t-a-muscle and come out with a coherent explanation of the way Zhao Yunlan’s body manipulates black energy—becomes black energy—as his wings emerge.
It’s easier when he’s doing it intentionally. Zhao Yunlan’s wings unfurl, and he lets his eyes drift half-closed as he makes sure his feathers aren’t going to knock into anything too important. He’s pretty sure Shen Wei could protect everything from damage with his own powers if he needed to, but Zhao Yunlan doesn’t want to force him to do that.
Shen Wei looks at him with awe. His lips part, just a little, and his weight shifts like he wants to reach out and touch. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.
Zhan Yunlan lets himself preen under Shen Wei’s attention. He thinks about trailing his wings across Shen Wei’s shoulders, or reaching to touch Shen Wei’s lips, but Zhao Yunlan restrains himself. He has pushed enough for today, and there’s another matter he wishes to pursue.
Instead he grins and says, “Now that we know each other’s secrets, there’s nothing stopping you from joining the SID,” and the moment is gone.
4.
It takes Zhao Yunlan time to orient himself to the past. To Shen Wei’s young face and the recognition that Shen Wei has always known, to the incomprehensible truth of how old Da Qing actually is, to the alliance between Haixingren and Yashou he’s been required to join.
“Kunlun is a great general,” Fu You says solemnly, once Zhao Yunlan has garbed himself in the provided old-timey clothes. Her eyes flicker towards Ma Gui. “I had thought he was human, though.”
Zhao Yunlan spreads his wings ruefully. “That matches my own youthful assumptions.” It’s suspicious that Kunlun’s face can be so easily matched to his, but Zhao Yunlan got sucked through a wormhole created by the Hallows. Considering all the other coincidences Zhao Yunlan has seen this afternoon, finding that the past has a spot just for him isn’t too much of a stretch.
Then, because there’s an expectant pause, Zhao Yunlan adds, “My best guess is that my mother was a crow Yashou who hid her nature from my human father.” Besides, he might only have known these two for the last hour, but Zhao Yunlan knows longing looks when he sees them; Ma Gui and Fu You are full of them.
Both leaders look at him with shock. Ma Gui recovers slightly faster, and clasps Zhao Yunlan’s shoulder. “You’re a living symbol of the future we wish to create,” he says solemnly, bright hope shining in his eyes. “Thank you for this gift.”
Zhao Yunlan laughs, scratching at the long-haired wig they’ve dressed him in. “Thank me by helping me find a way back to my own time.”
They share a look. It lasts longer than Zhao Yunlan expects, and he can see the communication passing between them. He really wishes they could admit their feelings to each other; they seem more than close enough. But maybe there’s some politics going on that he doesn’t know about, and Zhao Yunlan—as much as he enjoys meddling—doesn’t want to investigate that when there are more pressing questions on his mind. Like Shen Wei. And Da Qing. And going home.
At last, Fu You says, “I think we’ll need to get the Hallows back.”
“Great!” Zhao Yunlan claps his hands together briskly. “Tell me how I can help.”
5.
In the month after Ye Zun’s invasion is repelled and the Hallows return light to Dixing, everyone—Haixingren, Dixingren, and Yashou—works together to repair the damage. It’s a long, slow process of recovery and adjustment.
Zhao Yunlan spends the first week recovering from the fight and grumbling about his wings. Since returning from Dixing, he hasn’t been able to hide them away. His heritage is on full display, human and Yashou mingling. Shen Wei has told him it’s what allowed him to survive. Zhao Yunlan mostly just finds it obnoxious that people stare at him now.
Once Shen Wei deems him in acceptably good health—rich, coming from a man who almost got himself killed too, but Shen Wei has some superhuman healing abilities—Zhao Yunlan joins the SID in the repair efforts. They’re working alongside the Yashou tribes, and it takes two weeks for Zhao Yunlan to stop watching Ya Qing for signs that she regrets their new alliance and will betray it.
During the third week, Zhao Yunlan relaxes enough to stop worrying. Which, of course, is why that’s when Ya Qing finds him one day when Zhao Yunlan’s hiding on the SID rooftop.
Ya Qing swoops out of the sky and changes from crow-shape to human-shape in the blink of an eye. Zhao Yunlan tries not to startle; he doesn’t think he quite succeeds, from the amused cant of Ya Qing’s lips.
“Good afternoon,” Zhao Yunlan says warily. Most people wouldn’t be able to find him here, which is why Zhao Yunlan likes escaping to the rooftop when he needs a rare break from endless commotion. “What brings you here?”
Ya Qing looks him straight in the eyes and says, very abruptly, “I knew your mother.”
Zhao Yunlan gives her a bland smile that only mostly covers the surprise and panic welling in his chest. “How kind of you to tell me this now.” His wings flutter against his back in agitation; he can’t hold back that response. Someday, Zhao Yunlan hopes, they’ll feel like just another part of his body, with all the control that entails.
Ya Qing folds her arms with a snort. “Shen Xi and I disagreed about how our people should interact with humans. I suppose that working alongside you means that she’s watching from the afterlife and mouthing I told you so in my direction.”
Despite himself, Zhao Yunlan laughs. “What was she like?” he asks, turning back to the city. It spreads below them, the scars of battle still obvious but the worst rubble already cleared. Work crews, bolstered by Yashou and Dixingren powers, are beginning the long work of reconstructing the city. “My father doesn’t like to talk about her, and I don’t think he ever knew she was Yashou.”
There’s a moment of silence. The wind whistles across the rooftops, sending forgotten scraps of trash and paper flying. Zhao Yunlan shoves his hands in his pockets and contemplates how that tickles now as air brushes past his feathers. He’s gotten used to it, mostly, to the point where he sort of forgets the wings are there if he isn’t thinking about them and nobody’s commenting on them.
Eventually, Ya Qing says, “You have her idealism.”
Quietly, Zhao Yunlan listens as Ya Qing begins to tell him about the side of his mother he never knew.
+1.
Zhao Yunlan stretches, a long slow arch of his back, then his shoulders, and—as his arms rise above his head—his wings. Hot water splatters across his feathers and no longer reaches his back, which is terrible after an overly long day at work. Zhao Yunlan groans and leans against the shower wall, letting his wings drop down to his sides until the tips of his feathers trail against the floor, and calls out, “O my husband!”
Then, with water blissfully running across his shoulders and down his spine, Zhao Yunlan waits. If he were alone, he would cleanse himself. But he’s not alone, he’s tired, and staying upright beneath the spray seems like more than enough effort right now.
It doesn’t take long for Shen Wei to arrive. Zhao Yunlan contemplates him through the steam-hazy glass: the crisp blue and white he likes to wear, the pale expanse of his skin as he strips, the way he smiles as he says, “Ah, Yunlan. Perhaps you should rest more.”
“There’s always so much to do,” Zhao Yunlan says. It’s true, mostly, but they both know that Zhao Yunlan has to steal every minute of fieldwork he gets these days.
“And there are more people who can do it.” Shen Wei opens the shower door briefly, and Zhao Yunlan shivers with the pulse of cooler air. The addition of Shen Wei’s presence more than makes up for the momentary chill, however, especially after all the effort they put into choosing a home which could hold a luxuriously large shower. It had been necessary for Zhao Yunlan’s wings; them being able to fit inside comfortably together was a bonus.
“I had to fly to catch the suspect today,” Zhao Yunlan says as Shen Wei’s hands settle in his scalp. “And then fill out paperwork after.”
“A very difficult day,” Shen Wei says gravely. The light scent of the shampoo Shen Wei prefers—and which, therefore, Zhao Yunlan uses as well—fills the air around them. “I merely had to sit through six separate meetings about the placement, use, and management of Haixing-Dixing portals.”
Whatever role Shen Wei had played in Dixing’s government before everything with Ye Zun went down, he’s now their favorite diplomat for international relations. Zhao Yunlan doesn’t envy him; even if the SID’s role has expanded, at least Zhao Yunlan only needs to manage his own people. He sighs and murmurs, “I hope they listened to you.”
“They did,” Shen Wei says. Then he tugs lightly on Zhao Yunlan’s hair and adds, “Just as much as you do.”
Zhao Yunlan laughs. “Then I’m sure you’re doing well.”
“Tell me about the case which sent you flying across town,” Shen Wei says as the shampoo works into a lather and he massages Zhao Yunlan’s scalp.
Zhao Yunlan relaxes into the touch, and starts rambling to Shen Wei about his day. It’s easy to do; Shen Wei is always interested, and he’s always listening, and he always knows when to respond with a pertinent question instead of an amused hum. It’s satisfying, especially when Shen Wei turns Zhao Yunlan around in the shower so that Zhao Yunlan can drape himself over Shen Wei while the last bubbles of soap run down his skin.
Zhao Yunlan’s words trail off after that, because Shen Wei’s attention turns to his wings. Strong fingers dig into the thick feathers shrouding his shoulders to press into tired muscles. Zhao Yunlan groans at the sensation; he thinks he might fall over if his arms weren’t already looped around Shen Wei’s shoulders.
“This isn’t the best angle,” Shen Wei points out, as he always does.
“Don’t care.” Zhao Yunlan nuzzles into Shen Wei’s neck. “I’ve got you this way. It feels good.”
Shen Wei kisses his freshly-cleaned scalp with a huff of amusement. “Let me know when you’re too tired to stand, Yunlan.”
“Sure, sure.” Zhao Yunlan means it, he really does, but he’s also great at staying upright even when he’s dozing. He’s aware, fuzzily, of when Shen Wei turns the water off and wraps strong arms around him to carry him from the shower. He’s awake, mostly, for Shen Wei gently drying him off with a warm towel. He definitely pays attention when Shen Wei lays him down on their bed and starts oiling his wings to replace what the shower stripped from the quills.
It’s intensely hedonistic to lie in bed, completely nude, and have his husband stroke each individual feather of his wings. Shen Wei’s fingers are delicate as they align the barbs and trail along the vanes, but strong as they massage into the smaller feathers along the muscles of his wings. Zhao Yunlan is reasonably sure Shen Wei isn’t even using any black energy to help; this is all simply the work of his hands.
Zhao Yunlan loves him for many reasons, and this is one of them. He makes no effort to hide the pleasure washing across him as Shen Wei takes care of him in this simple, repetitive, wholly physical way. Zhao Yunlan melts into the mattress with a sigh, and moans as Shen Wei’s hands hit a particularly tight knot and smooth it out, and lifts his wings to help Shen Wei reach every inch of their surface.
On top of him, Shen Wei is also naked, perched on Zhao Yunlan’s hips. The warm pressure of his body is nice, as is the smoothness of his skin. Zhao Yunlan hums contentedly as Shen Wei smooths his hands along not just Zhao Yunlan’s wings but his back as well. Then, as Shen Wei’s fingers trail down his spine, Zhao Yunlan wiggles a little to encourage Shen Wei’s explorations.
The exhaustion which had weighed on Zhao Yunlan has lifted, replaced by luxurious laziness. If the oil in Zhao Yunlan’s feathers spreads elsewhere, and if they need to take another shower later—
Well, Zhao Yunlan certainly isn’t going to complain.