A Blade and an Arrow

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Feng Xin gently places a panting Mu Qing down on the makeshift bed, careful not to accidentally put any pressure on his burned legs or any major wounds as he gives less care to his bow when he drops it on the ground. He sighs, putting his hands on his hips as he looks around the tent.

He goes to grab a spare cloth he sees laying on the small, wooden table. It wasn't sturdy, he noticed, probably rushed work by the middle officials. He didn't pay it any mind, taking the bucket already filled with water just beside it and kneels beside the other god.

"Go away."

Feng Xin ignores it. Hesitating to peel away the remains of the fabrics that stuck to his leg, to reveal nasty reddish skin underneath. Burned from the scorching heat of the lava that he resolutely tries to forget.

He tries to forget everything that had happened, honestly.

Frightening, all of it. Everything from his son being a fetus spirit played around by Jun Wu that turned to be Bai Wuxiang, to watching Mu Qing almost fall into the pit of lava and being a suddenly suicidal maniac, to watching Crimson Rain disperse into nothing but silver butterflies, and seeing the completely lost look of Dianxia with his arms stuck open as if Hua Cheng was still there.

He focuses on the present instead.

"Feng Xin, go away. I don't need your help." Mu Qing says, intending to have a bite on his tone, only turning weak instead as he tries to sit up. "Leave me alone."

"Can't you just shut the fuck up and accept that you do need help for once?" Feng Xin snaps, gently pushing the latter back down, earning an annoyed hiss, pain evident in it. "If I leave you alone you'll probably fucking die."

"What do you take me for? I'm not weak." Mu Qing rolls his eyes, managing to glare in spite of his vulnerable state, and Feng Xin sighs helplessly, choosing to rather not respond.

He wets the cloth, making sure it wasn't dripping wet before he presses it on the latter's leg, the white cloth quickly turning pink. No longer salvageable for further use. He forces his movements to be even more gentle, hearing the quiet hisses and visible winces from the southwestern god. He wipes the blood, the reddened skin, and ignores the profanities directed to him.

He wasn't one for patience. It wasn't his greatest virtue. "Shut up? Can you do that? Just shut the fuck up?"

"Maybe if you leave right now then I'll probably do-" Mu Qing's words were cut off with another hiss once Feng Xin purposely pressed harder on a more open wound. "What the fuck?!"

"I'll heal you, so just... just be quiet, alright?" The archer throws the completely red cloth away, uncaring where it landed. He earns another glare, and another curse to hell. He's used to it now. All the stupid glares, the words meant to cover the truth, the defensive side of this man. Basically everything. "Why can't you shut up?"

"Why can't you leave me alone? I am fully capable of healing myself, idiot! I'm not weak!"

"Nobody said you are!"

"Then fuck off!"

"I...-" Feng Xin clenched his jaw, averting his gaze. Relocating it toward the burnt marks on the pale skin, and he purses his lips, hovering his hand over it before he suffuses the leg with his spiritual energy. "I know you aren't weak. You once threw my own palace at me because I said something I could no longer remember, right?" He asks, a gasp could be heard that wasn't his own. He surges more of his qi to help heal the wounds quickly.

Because atleast in this way, he could atleast get rid of the physical pain.

Mu Qing scoffs. "You said my palace officials were nothing but floor-sweeping servants."