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My Wife Is A Sword Immortal

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?" ------------- 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"...

Yang Xiaorong · Ost
Zu wenig Bewertungen
191 Chs

Chapter 49 Farewell Gift

The room was pitch black except for the moonlight streaming through the window.

The person returning at night pushed open the door and walked toward the desk in the dark room.

A candle suddenly lit up, its bright yellow flame carving out a world of its own.

Beneath the lamp, the night returnee didn't pause to think but started writing immediately, the words flowing in one go.

The brush stopped, the verse completed, the lamp extinguished.

The room filled with the breeze.

————

At dawn, the sun rose.

Zhao Rong got up early, finished his morning exercise and lessons, and after eating the breakfast served by the servants, he packed up his things, slung his bookcase on his back, secured his scholar sword at his waist, and strode out the door.

Just as he stepped over the threshold, he halted, glanced at the desk inside the room, then turned his head and left.