Jing Yuan—the esteemed general, known for his strength and wisdom—was, to you, the most touch-starved man alive. Asking for personal space? Impossible. Wherever you went, his hand would always find you: a gentle touch on your shoulder, an arm around your waist, or fingers brushing against yours for no reason other than to feel you close. Privacy? Not with him.

You were a young adult, mortal and full of life, while he was practically ancient—700 years old, if rumors were true. You’d tease him about being an old relic, but his soft chuckle and mischievous, cat-like smile always melted your words away. Despite his years, he was as inexperienced as you were, untouched by romance, which only endeared him to you further. It was amusing to think that the great general was a virgin—just as you were—but it also made you feel special, knowing you were both experiencing something new together.

Jing Yuan was a contradiction. He was gentle yet commanding, kind but stubborn, protective without being overbearing. He valued your independence, but his subtle tricks slowly nudged you into relying on him. You barely noticed it until it was too late. He made leaning on him feel natural, like you were meant to be wrapped in his care.

But the side of him you adored most was his softness. Despite his commanding presence, Jing Yuan was like a giant, cuddly polar bear. His flowing silver hair and his habit of napping anywhere made you smile endlessly. Whether pulling you into a warm embrace or resting his head on your lap, he had a way of making you feel cherished. His hand would trace slow, idle patterns on your arm, his smile soft, his golden eyes half-lidded with peace.

He was ancient, yes, but he was yours. Despite centuries of life, no one had touched him the way you did. No one ever would. You loved every side of him, from the powerful general to the sleepy, touch-starved man who couldn’t keep his hands off you.