My Wife Is A Sword Immortal

Red candles, an incense burner, half-drawn bead curtains.

Wedding bed, festooned windows, a beauty adorned in wedding red.

Zhao Rong rubbed his bleary eyes once more.

Am I dreaming?

But could a dream be this vivid?

What came into view was an ancient-style room filled with classic items he had never seen before.

The room was elaborately decorated and under the candlelight, it was bright and grand, but it all centered around one jarring theme color—red!

Underfoot the carpet was red, stepping on it felt like sinking into a clump of sunset clouds.

The small round table not far ahead was covered with a red cloth, its fiery red tassels hanging low to the ground.

On the four walls, wooden windows, furniture, were red paper-cuttings of the character for double happiness.

Finally, at the innermost part of the room was a deep red... wedding bed?

The bed curtains were rolled up on both sides, revealing yet another festive red interior, not to mention the red-clothed woman sitting by the bed whom he dared not look at for too long.

Zhao Rong suddenly looked down at his own attire in amazement.

Well, no running away.

Although he was terminally single, he hadn't eaten pork or even seen a pig run? He had seen ancient weddings in movies and TV shows.

So, it seems I might be a groom. Does this mean I'm now in the bridal chamber?

And the miss under the red bridal veil sitting on the bed, is she my bride?

Zhao Rong staggered to his feet and stretched out his hand to rub his face.

When he had just awakened and sat by the door on the ground, he hadn't felt much, but now that he stood up, he felt dizzy and headachy, with a dry mouth and parched tongue.

Zhao Rong looked down and sure enough, there was a wine jug overturned on the ground, some clear liquid remained inside, reflecting the bright moon outside, with patches of moisture all around on the ground.

No wonder he reeked of alcohol.

A hangover?

He shook his head, turned, and walked to the door where two red lanterns hung in the corridor outside. It seemed to be a courtyard, the evening breeze was cool, the distant night was as dark as ink, occasionally broken by the chirps of insects.

Zhao Rong looked up to see the high moon and could not make out any difference from the moon in his world. So, he closed the door and returned to the room.

Better figure out the situation with this body first.

Zhao Rong glanced around and saw an exquisite dressing table near the bed. The bronze mirror reflected the light of the candle right into his eyes, slightly dazzling him.

He couldn't help but steal another glance at the bridal woman sitting on the bed.

All the commotion he made earlier seemed to provoke no reaction from her, not a single movement.

The woman's wedding attire was intricate, but still couldn't hide her slender and tall figure. The only part of her body exposed were those crossed hands on her lap—delicate as snow, with fingertips painted red, small and exquisite, which somehow reminded him of a kind of ice cream he loved eating when he was younger.

Zhao Rong shook his head to dispel these strange thoughts and walked towards the bronze mirror.

Wasn't I just up late writing my graduation thesis before I went to sleep? How did I wake up in this place?

Is it lucid dreaming or a film set prank? Could it be time-travel? This is too absurd!

He had only seen such things in web novels or dramas; who would believe them in real life?

Moreover, as someone studying humanities, with a fondness for web novels and a penchant for fantasy, he was still a staunch materialist. Encountering such an event truly shook his worldview to its core.

By the time his thoughts reached this point, Zhao Rong had already arrived at the bronze mirror.

He took a deep breath and turned to look into the mirror.

In the reflection was a familiar yet unfamiliar tender face.

A groom's hat reminiscent of a ducal cap sat on his head, black hair, brown eyes, well-defined features, a thin face, fair skin.

This... isn't this how I looked in high school? I've become younger?

Zhao Rong opened his mouth slightly in surprise, and saw the young man in the mirror mimicking him, finally daring to affirm that this was indeed himself now.

It seemed as though looking at this face awakened something, and gradually, a sense of detachment enveloped him—an overwhelming dizziness and headache assailed his mind wave after wave, like tidal waters on a full moon night.

Zhao Rong held his head in agony.

"Ding!"

A light sound, unclear from where it came, sounded, and he felt as though a bunch of memory fragments, not his own, emerged from nowhere in his mind.

The original owner of this body was also named Zhao Rong, styled Ziyu, seventeen years old, from Qianjing of the Great Chu Dynasty, living since childhood with his mother in the southern part of Duke Mansion in Qianjing, and now a scholar of the Imperial College...

This world's thoughts and culture vaguely resembled that of the Spring and Autumn Warring States Period, active and thriving, where the Hundred Schools of Thought debated and contested, an unprecedented grand occurrence, and he was a Confucian student...

"Heh, it somewhat matches my major," Zhao Rong thought with self-derision.

In his previous life, after getting into university, he chose to study Ancient Chinese Literature contrary to his parents' wishes. As he neared graduation, only then did he realize how difficult it was to find employment with that major, but he had no regrets.

Eh, this world actually contains supernatural forces, and his mother was a cultivator! She was a Tribute of the fourth household of the southern part of Duke Mansion, but she had passed away three years ago...

He mourned for his mother while he diligently studied. Now that the mourning period had ended, he was to follow his mother's arrangement and marry into the southern part of Duke Mansion.

Indeed, it was "marrying into" ...

He was to marry into the family of the second daughter of the Duke of Jingnan—Zhao Lingfei.

In his memory, Zhao Lingfei was the only child of the fourth son of the old Duke of Jingnan, and similar to him, had also grown up without the presence of her father, with her mother passing away when she was young.

His own mother was extremely close to Zhao Lingfei's mother, and after the latter's departure, she became a surrogate mother to Zhao Lingfei, taking care of her as she grew up ...

"Childhood sweethearts, two innocent friends?" Zhao Rong couldn't help thinking after "reading" this segment of memory.

But why did a surge of complex, negative emotions flood his mind at the mention of her name?

Loathing, hatred, resentment, shame, humiliation.

"Damn it, why does he hate her so much?"

Cough cough, could it be that he opposed the feudal practice of arranged marriages by the parents, and longed for love born out of freedom?

That's not it! He was a Confucian student in this world, adhered to the propriety, valued filial piety, and even obeyed his mother's command to marry into her family ... wait a second, marrying into a family!

A multitude of sealed memories surged in Zhao Rong's mind.

From a young age, he showed little interest in cultivation, but was obsessed with Confucian learning, aspiring to become a famous scholar, to apply his intelligence, assist the king, and bring peace to the nation.

Yet at the age of twelve, his mother arranged forcefully for him to marry into the Zhao family. Although the other party was a childhood friend and their relationship was close, he, deeply influenced by Confucian thought, could not accept the fact that he was to become a humble son-in-law.

In this world, the status of a son-in-law was equivalent to that of a servant, very lowly.

Even if he became the son-in-law of the Duke Mansion of the Great Chu dynasty, wasn't he still looked down upon, laughed at by his peers, his prospects for officialdom cut off, with his ambitions and achievements reduced to nothing!

He could not understand why his mother, who always loved him dearly, insisted on having him marry into the Zhao family. But he found it difficult to defy his mother's order and could only vent his outrage and grievances upon Zhao Lingfei.

All because of you, you've been competing with me for mother's attention since we were young. I could tolerate it because, after all, I am the elder brother and should let you have your way. But now you even want me to be your son-in-law? How utterly humiliating!

As a result, their relationship gradually deteriorated after their engagement at the age of twelve.

Three years ago, his mother passed away, Zhao Rong entered the Imperial College, honoring her memory through his studies; Zhao Lingfei, in a plain dress, went to a place called Purple Energy Pavilion for cultivation and was vaguely heard to have gone elsewhere later on.

Now, three years had passed, and Zhao Lingfei had returned, and as planned, they got married.

As to why he was waking up lying on the ground beside the door ... ah, his head hurt, how much had he drunk?

...

Zhao Rong rubbed his temples, gradually digesting these memories.

He stared blankly at the young face in the copper mirror. These memories felt as though he had lived through them himself.

A dream within a dream, just waking from a grand illusion? Was it Zhuang Zhou dreaming of a butterfly, or the butterfly dreaming of Zhuang Zhou?

Zhao Rong took a deep breath, then exhaled forcefully, turned around, and walked towards the woman in bridal clothing on the wedding bed.

Upon reaching the bed, he noticed the woman's Jade Hand clenched tightly around something, with several colored ribbons peeking out from between her fingers.

Zhao Rong slightly lifted his gaze, staring at the red bridal veil that separated the two of them for a while.

Just as he was about to lift his hand, he suddenly paused, looked from side to side, and sure enough, on a small table next to the bed, there lay a Jade Ruyi tied with a red ribbon.

He picked up the Jade Ruyi and gently lifted the red bridal veil.

In that instant.

He held his breath.

He saw a woman adorned with a phoenix crown and cloud-shaped hair ornaments, her hair in the style of hanging tassels.

Her eyebrows were like distant mountains containing gray, her eyes like deep autumn waters, her temples like drifting clouds, and her skin as tender as a smiling peach blossom.

Graceful and delicate as light clouds veiling the moon, wafting elegantly like the soft return of falling snow.

With beautiful brows and refined eyes, ice-smooth skin and bone structure, she was like the concentrated essence of artistic beauty, making one forget the mundane world!

Zhao Rong had seen many retouched photos of celebrities and internet beauties online, the so-called "once-in-four-thousand-year beauties," the "classical beauties," and thought he had seen it all. Yet, to his surprise, upon rebirth, the first person he saw turned out to be such a peerless beauty!

What most stirred Zhao Rong's heart was the light brown teardrop-shaped mole under her left eye, which not only failed to mar her delicate features but instead added a touch of pitiable charm, offsetting her otherwise cool demeanor.

Such a beauty, my heart aches for her.

Suddenly, he felt a growing heat within his body ...

"Qing Jun."

Zhao Rong murmured almost involuntarily.

Under the red candlelight, Zhao Lingfei trembled slightly.

Her Jade Hands gripped even tighter.

She continued to lower her eyelids, refusing to look at him, but her delicate ears and slender neck turned crimson as if brushed with rouge, deep red as blood.

It was unclear whether it was because of the chamber name she hadn't heard in a long time or because of the blatant stare from the person in front of her.

There was another spell of silence; the atmosphere began to grow somewhat amorous.

Eventually, the woman in the bridal attire could no longer bear the silence and broke it first; her Jade lips parted lightly, her voice ethereal and cold, as if it came from aeons of frost and snow, yet it also carried a trace of trembling.

"The jade ... where is the jade?"

" ... "