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...
—————
[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

Outside the maple woods at Lanzhou Crossing, a man and a woman stood facing each other, ten steps apart, in silence.


Just moments ago, they had walked side by side, talking and laughing merrily.


But now, the atmosphere between them had become somewhat awkward.


Zhao Rong's smile had vanished, his face expressionless.


Zhu Weirui stood with her hands clasped behind her back, lips curled in a smile, teeth white, eyes bright, like a blooming solitary orchid.


After a quiet moment, Zhao Rong nodded slightly. Then he tucked his hands into his sleeves and turned to walk towards Zhu Weirui.


Zhu Weirui's face was lit up with a smile, watching him intently. As Zhao Rong approached, the curve of her lips widened even further.


The Confucian robe-clad woman with her hair up was about to speak, her red lips parting, when Zhao Rong, without pausing nor saying a word, passed by her side.


Chapter 250: Colorful Start in Calligraphy Class