Chasing after her husband? Is it even possible to win him back?

When Ning Qiu Ning saw the so-called peerless genius who appeared only once every thousand years in the cultivation world again at the Ascension Ceremony, she realized...
It was him? How could it be him? It was actually him?
He was surrounded by beautiful women, and the smiles that once belonged only to him were now being shown to other women.
The more resolute she was back then, the more pain she is now.
The dress the dragon girl was wearing must have been made by him. She had once had one, but she had never worn a dress sewn by him.
The White Emperor Sword Immortal, whom he once admired, always blushed slightly and avoided his gaze when she stood beside him; it was a tenderness he had never shown before.
A woman whose beauty rivaled his own linked arms with his, calling out sweetly, "Junior brother, it's your turn to go on stage!" It was an intimacy she had never shown before.
"Senior Sister~ It's your turn to take the stage now."
The sarcastic shouts contrasted sharply with the scene of the man being cheered on by his fellow disciples as he entered the arena.
She then realized that everything Chu Xunfeng had taught her was correct, without a single mistake.
She didn't listen to a word.
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since [-] and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from [-]-[-]. In [-]–[-] she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.
Stepping onto the ring, the two exchanged a glance.
"You, how have you been all these years..." the woman said hesitantly.
"Can we begin?" the young man asked with an awkward but polite smile.
It turns out that I was the one who made the mistake.
What I can't let go of is myself.
Ning Qiuning lowered her sword helplessly.
The ruthless sword she forcibly forged could not sever the thread of affection in her heart.