The Anarchic Consort - Chapter 52: Dressed As A Pig, Eating A Tiger

The Empress who dies in torture, An Rushuang is her name. After she wakes up, she finds herself has time-travelled to when she was twelve years old, but she would turn into Major General’s white horse at night. He is a general who orders about the winds and clouds on the battlefield, and she is a little girl lives in her boudoir seclusively.
She endeavors to change her fate, and he spared no effort to win every battle. They meet each other every day, well, it’s night to be accurate. Is that a dream or not? She pleads to marry the seignior to win peace for her family, only to find he is the one she is going to marry.
“Growing old with you under the same roof is my long-cherished wish”, thought them both.

- Description from Novelupdates

Amamiya Hiroto is unlucky. His life consisted of misfortune after misfortune, culminating in an unlucky death during an incident on a school boat trip, trying to save a girl he barely knew. After death, he met a god of reincarnation who requested that the hundred or so dead passengers—one of them being the girl he tried in vain to save—be reincarnated into another world.

As a transmigrator turned extraordinary creature of the human race, he found the world to be more colorful than he had imagined.To more easily access everything this new realm had to offer, he first needed a special resume. Then, he had to find the right place in a city perennially shrouded in fog to fill out an application, and the last and most critical step...— was to kill a chicken or catch a mouse.

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.