I’m just an ordinary corporate drone. One day, I came home after working late, opened the door, and ran into a handsome man in ancient robes, dressed in a pale blue Daoist robe and radiating a cold, austere air. His ink-black hair was tied high, gold ornaments glinting with a chill light, and the blue tassel at his earlobe swayed gently as he moved. His eyes, bearing the weight of a thousand years, settled on me. “My name is Xuangu. From this day on, I am your husband.”
I froze. Xuangu? The demonic cultivator who had lived for a thousand years in A Record of a Mortal's Journey to Immortality?
He uses magic to help me deal with difficult clients, and late at night he can refine calming pills from memory. He also spends ages studying the microwave, then makes hand signs and blows up the kitchen instead. He’s used to the old rules of rank and deference, yet clumsily learns to peel shrimp for me. When I’m bullied, demonic energy surges around him, but the moment I frown, he immediately reins in his fury.
After a thousand years of lonely cultivation, he crossed time and space to become the most extraordinary support in my life. But my thousand-year-old husband still has to learn how to use a smartphone and pay the utility bills, and, seriously, stop mistaking the cat downstairs for a spirit pet!
