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Guo Changcheng was twenty-five and a half when his shoulder blades began to itch, and he knew his grandmother's implausible words were going to come true. She had mentioned some herbs that could soothe the itch at the early stage; he found that they helped him stop trying to scratch his shoulders against his chair at work.
At home was another matter. He couldn't hide his discomfort from Chu-ge, who initially asked, "What is that stupid fidgeting about, dumbass?" but quickly shifted to "How can I help, Changcheng?"
He mumbled that it was a genetic condition that ran in his family, and the herbal treatment would help. He didn't let Chu-ge spread the paste over his shoulder blades, afraid that he would be able to feel the buds beneath the surface, itching to come out. How would Chu-ge react to knowing that Changcheng was becoming a kind of chimera, with the body of one animal and the wings of another? He was a bizarre enough fusion of Haixingren heritage and Dixingren power already. Surely Chu-ge's acceptance could only stretch so far.
"Changcheng," Chu-ge murmured to him one night, gathering a sleepless Changcheng into his arms, "you know there's nothing you could tell me that would make me leave you."
If Chu-ge really meant it, then there was no reason for Changcheng to keep his secret any longer. And Chu-ge never spoke unless he really did mean what he said. A wave of relief washed over Guo Changcheng. "Were you reading my mind, Chu-ge?" he asked.
Chu Shuzhi shook his head, then nuzzled the side of Changcheng's neck. "I just know how you think," he said. "And I can tell something is troubling you."
Guo Changcheng told him the whole story. Chu-ge insisted on turning on the light to see the progress so far. For the first time, Changcheng felt the urge to move something that wasn't there, and realized after a moment that he was instinctively trying to hide his face behind one of his wings. As if … they really were a part of him. He sighed and let the last bit of tension dissipate.
Chu-ge stroked his shoulder blades, passing his fingertips tenderly over the tiny knots under the skin that were still invisible to the eye. The only question he asked was, "When do I get to see them?" And the only negative thing he said was, "What do you mean, your 26th birthday? I don't want to wait that long!"