Work Text:
This is stupid, this is so stupid.
Was all Yanqing could think as he wrapped fresh bandages around his upper arm. The wounds had healed weeks ago; he wasn’t sure why he still wrapped his arm in bandages. It’s not like they comforted him… that would be stupid, and Yanqing was not pathetic. He was the Lieutenant of The Cloud Knight’s General. He was not weak.
Yanqing wasn’t ashamed of scars. The General—Jing Yuan—had them, as did every Cloud Knight he knew. Scars were a warrior’s reality. What Yanqing was ashamed of, however, was the cause of those wounds.
He looked up from where he was sitting on his bed, watching the Luofu’s sunrise in the sky, its warmth casting light into his cluttered room. Bathing it in a warm glow.
The bandages around his upper-right arm, shoulder, and left leg were soft, providing comfortable pressure. But they felt shameful.
He had let Jing Yuan down. He’d gone and picked a fight he shouldn’t have, and now he was acting like a weakling. This was so pathetic, Yanqing thought as he rolled the sleeves of his inner robes down and pulled his outermost robes on.
As he watched himself in the mirror in the corner of his room, he was vividly reminded of the combat that had put him in this state.
He felt himself bracing for the onslaught of Imbibitor Lunae’s–Master Dan Heng’s–Azure Dragon, the impact had knocked the wind out of his lungs, leaving him reeling. Its horrible teeth sank into his upper arm and threw him to the ground, blood soaking his arm and sparking sharp agony. He had gotten up, he’d promised the General he’d take care of this, so he would. He wasn’t giving up. He’d stumbled to his feet and readied his flying swords again, refusing to back down.
He remembered the prickling sting of the Stellaron Hunter–Blade’s–sword as it cut into his flesh. The madman’s eyes, blazing with Mara, had a hungry intensity that made Yanqing’s blood run cold. He barely managed to parry the man’s strikes. But of course, with one of his arms already battered and the fact that he was already covered in bruises, there was no way he could’ve won that fight. Blade had sliced down his leg, nearly to the bone. And Yanqing, no longer able to stand, collapsed to his knees, unable to rise to his feet again.
He shuddered, his leg throbbed just as vividly as the memory of their cause. On instinct, Yanqing rubbed at his arm, trying to lessen the faint sting. Of course, he did not blame them and was willing to have The General cut his salary for the next hundred years for how horribly he’d messed it up. But, Jing Yuan had paid him no mind and immediately had Bailu tend to his wound. The moment the General had been free, he’d rushed to Yanqing’s side in the Alchemy Commission and carried him home.
Though he appreciated the General’s rare tenderness, it only deepened the sting of humiliation. Not to mention the fact that he’d only had those wounds because of his own arrogance and pride. He’d failed the man, yet there he was, tucking him into bed and changing his bandages for him until Yanqing could do it himself.
And the worst of it? Yanqing could barely do that! His right arm–his dominant arm–had been the one the Azure Dragon had wounded and it was… Aeons, he was so clumsy with that arm now. The wounds to his hands were minimal but the blemishes on his arms were hypertrophic scars, raised and ugly and prominent. The marks still burned under his skin, why couldn’t they heal faster? He hated this. They were elevated against his skin until he hid them beneath bandages and clothes.
Each tug of the scars reminded him of the battle he couldn’t win. It made every movement feel awkward and unnatural. The last time he had tried to draw his sword, his movements had been stilted and the scars had tugged on his skin so much, that he’d flinched horribly and nearly dropped the sword.
His leg wasn’t much better off either. Blade’s sword had cut deep and he’d needed a crutch for weeks, how annoying that was. Yanqing had blocked the whole ordeal from his mind. The wounds had cut deep and the ugly scars that now marred the skin of his left leg had been bothering him, but Yanqing would never admit that.
He could walk just fine. Well, maybe there was a slight limp, but it wasn’t worth mentioning—at least not out loud. It didn’t bother him, he could walk and run and fight just fine. Sure, he hadn’t tested how well he could run or fight yet, but he was sure he’d be fine. He had to be fine. And if he wasn’t, he’d make it so. He’d adjust how he fought, he’d adjust something. He wouldn’t let himself be anything less than what the General–his father–expected of him.
He felt the grains of the wood beneath his feet, and he wanted to run through the doors of this house. He needed to get energy out, he wanted to fight something.
Yanqing refused to be seen as fragile. He could be relied on.
Who was he kidding? He could barely pull a sword from its sheath, he didn’t even know if he could even run! Yanqing was meant to be The Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights. What kind of Lieutenant became injured like this so young? He was useless now, he’d already proven he couldn’t live up to the General’s expectations.
Yanqing shrank back against the pillows on his bed and hugged his knees to his chest–careful to keep his hands off his bandaged left leg. The blankets on his bed shifted under him and he clutched onto them, the softness of the fabric momentarily distracting him. He picked a wall and stared at it unceasingly, lost in his thoughts as the radiant colors of the sun shifted and changed to the pretty pinks and magentas of sunset as quiet footsteps rang out from the other side of Yanqing’s door. He hadn’t noticed, entranced by the light that slipped across his features.
Neither did he notice, when Jing Yuan slipped into his room, the door he had just closed clicking behind him. The General’s broad frame was usually hard to miss, but Yanqing was lost in his thoughts. A war could be waging around him and he wouldn’t spare it a passing thought.
Only when he felt a dip in the bed beside him did he realize there was another in the room with him, sitting near him on the bed, Jing Yuan. Yanqing didn’t want to admit it, but his father’s warmth had always been something steady for Yanqing to hold onto.
As if sensing his tension and hesitation, Jing Yuan placed a warm hand on his shoulder and spoke in the warm voice he’d used to calm Yanqing since he was young.
“Yanqing, érzi, talk to me. Have you eaten today? When did you last sleep?”
As always, the man’s warm tone and velvety voice had the desired effect. Yanqing stiffened slightly but, despite himself, felt his body begin to ease into the General’s warmth. His bàba’s concern was something that had never failed to warm his heart, but it was unnecessary. Yanqing could go a day without food, he’d be alright.
“You’ve done so well, Yanqing. Everyone needs to rest, you’re no different.”
Yanqing knew he was right, his bàba usually was. His bàba’s voice was grounding and pulled Yanqing back down to earth, gently helping him back to reality.
His wretched body betrayed him and his stomach growled loudly. Jing Yuan chuckled and moved his hand from Yanqing’s shoulder to around them, firmly holding his far shoulder. His father’s hand was rough and calloused but it wasn’t unkind. Yanqing couldn’t help but notice all the scars, both large and mangled as well as small and insignificant that marred his father’s arms.
“I’ll take that as a no. Would you like me to make scallion pancakes?”
Yanqing, still embarrassed by how he’d been found out, found himself unable to call on his voice. He only nodded, before letting his bàba steer him out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. Jing Yuan did not comment on Yanqing’s slight limp, he never had.
As the smell of food being made and the sound of sizzling filled the room, Yanqing found himself happily indulging in the comfort of his bàba’s embrace as they cooked together. His father’s presence melted his doubts–even if just for today.