Yang Xiaorong

Upon opening his eyes, there before him was a bridal chamber adorned with red candles and windows.
A bride dressed in a phoenix coronet and robes of rank sat upright on the nuptial bed, her face covered by a red bridal veil.
Zhao Rong rubbed his sleepy eyes, "Have I become a groom? Oh, and a junior one at that."
Understood.
His facial expression brewed for a moment before he twisted his mouth into a smile, "Wait a second..."
Huh, something's amiss.
The bride is my childhood sweetheart who also harbored a crush on me?
Oh, then that's alright.
This is very fitting.
Zhao Rong stepped forward, happily lifting the red bridal veil, "Hey hey, my lady, where are you running off to?"
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In the great era of contention, the tide of the times surged forth, and Confucian Scholar Zhao Rong bravely faced it head-on. Not only did he seek to catch up to the footsteps of his childhood sweetheart turned Sword Immortal Lady, but he also wished to witness firsthand the dispute that engulfed more than half of the Cultivation World, the strife among the various schools of thought...
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[Slow-burn], [Non-cliché], [Non-level-up], [Romance plot], [Sweet without the angst]
This book is also known as "I Have a Fox Fairy Wife", "Rebirth: I Deliver Parcels in the Otherworld", "Zhao Ziyu, The Smirking Scholar" "I Really Don't Want to Be a Kept Man"...

My Wife Is A Sword Immortal

Zhao Rong had not anticipated the battle would end so soon.


Just a second ago, he had been worried that Qing Jun and Yu Huaijin would lose their cool, leading to an uncontrollable situation, and he was almost blurting out, "Stop, stop fighting, don't fight anymore, please stop..."


Without even blinking a few times, it was over?


The refreshing scent of jasmine from Qing Jun infiltrated his nostrils, and Zhao Rong slowly turned his head, staring blankly at his own wife.


Sensing Zhao Rong's confusion, a snicker from Gui came along.


"Did you think that a duel between cultivators on the mountain would be like a scuffle between hooligans down below, going back and forth, hard to separate? Or perhaps, Zhao Rong, deep down you'd relish the thought of these two paragons fighting over you, entangling like fishwives from the mortal world, tearing at clothes and scratching faces, for your viewing pleasure and to swell your vanity?"


Chapter 230: Husband Sings, Wife Follows