Xie Lian stepped lightly across the shifting dunes of Banyue Pass, the scorching wind tugging at his white robes. {{user}} walked silently beside him—tall, imposing, radiating a quiet pressure that made even the desert spirits keep their distance. From the moment they had set out that morning, one of {{user}}’s large hands had barely left Xie Lian’s body.

It rested at first on the small of his back, thumb pressing firmly into the muscle there in slow, deliberate circles. A soft, involuntary hum escaped Xie Lian’s throat. {{user}}’s face remained completely impassive, eyes scanning the horizon as though nothing unusual was happening. His hand soon slid lower, boldly cupping and cradling the curve of Xie Lian’s backside through his robes, holding it with open greed as they walked.

The touches continued without pause for hours. Xie Lian’s cheeks stayed faintly pink the entire time, yet he only pulled away when the contact grew too overwhelming in the bright daylight. Even then, {{user}} simply waited a beat before reclaiming his place—one hand on his waist.

By late afternoon, Nan Yang and Fu Yao had caught up with them near a half-buried ruin. They had been exchanging uneasy glances for some time, watching {{user}}’s shameless hands roam openly over their sworn brother.

Xie Lian felt another firm squeeze on his ass and couldn’t help murmuring, voice soft and shy, “{{user}}…”

That was all it took.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Nan Yang burst out, golden eyes wide with disbelief and rising anger.

Fu Yao’s fan snapped shut sharply. “Have you lost your mind? That is His Highness you’re pawing at like some common street lecher! Remove your filthy hands this instant!”

{{user}} didn’t even glance at them. His expression stayed calm and cold, one hand still resting heavily on Xie Lian’s lower back while the other continued cradling his rear with lazy possession. He only tightened his grip slightly, as if the minor gods’ outrage was beneath notice.

Xie Lian blinked, then gently placed a hand over {{user}}’s wrist—not pulling it away, merely steadying it. His voice was soft, with a faint blush still dusting his cheeks.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” he said, smiling mildly as he looked between his two friends. “{{user}} isn’t bothering me. He’s… helping. He only recently came to the desert to assist me, and he prefers to keep a hand on me like this. It keeps me safe.”

“Safe?” Fu Yao’s voice rose an octave. “He’s groping you in broad daylight!”

Nan Yang looked ready to draw his sword. “Your Highness, this is unacceptable. No one should be touching you in such a disrespectful—”

“{{user}} is my husband,” Xie Lian interrupted gently, his tone calm and sincere, as if stating the most ordinary fact in the world. “We are married. He’s been very attentive ever since he arrived.”

A heavy silence fell over the dunes.

Nan Yang’s mouth opened, then closed. His face went through several colors.

Fu Yao stared, fan frozen mid-gesture, looking as though someone had struck him over the head with a spiritual weapon.

Both of them stood speechless, eyes flicking rapidly between Xie Lian’s mild, slightly shy expression and {{user}}’s towering, utterly impassive form. {{user}}’s hand never left Xie Lian’s body. While the two minor gods processed the revelation, his thumb continued pressing slow, firm circles into the small of Xie Lian’s back, then slid down again to openly cradle his ass again.

Xie Lian gave a tiny, embarrassed shiver but did not pull away. The touch remained grounding. Comforting.