My Xianxia Harem Life

Riley looked at them, silent.

For all his power, all his wisdom, he couldn't argue with the calm clarity in their voices.

"You've already given us everything," his father said. "You've made us proud. You've protected this city. You've honored our name. And now, it's your time to go even farther. To reach places we could never dream of. We'll always be here when you come back."

He tried once more to change their minds, not out of selfishness, but love.

The thought of losing them—of leaving them behind in a mortal world—gnawed at him.

But their decision was final.

They had made peace with staying.

In the end, Riley simply nodded and left the pills with them, wrapped in a silk cloth and tucked neatly into the box his mother kept near the teapot.

A simple thing that now held a key to five thousand years of life.

Later that night, Riley stood on the rooftop of the home where he was born.

The city below was quiet now, the celebrations finally done.

Lights twinkled in the distance. The wind was cool against his face.

He looked back once more, at the small home behind him.

Inside, his parents were already asleep. Peaceful. Content.

He smiled softly.

He would return. No matter how long it took.

And then, with a quiet hum of energy, Riley rose into the air and vanished into the night sky—leaving behind the city that raised him, and soaring toward a future no one else could follow.

Not yet.

But someday… perhaps.

***

Months passed like a fleeting dream, and before long, the one-year mark approached.

Only a month and a half remained until the long-awaited moment of ascension—an event that would shake the heavens themselves.

The countdown had begun, and the atmosphere in the Austere Clan grew increasingly tense with anticipation.

On this particular day, however, Riley received a visitor—one who came not to flatter or pay tribute, but to inquire about something far more personal.

His secret.

The visitor was an old Daoist cultivator—one who had lived for thousands of years and stood at the peak of the Void Tribulation realm.

Yet, despite his age and cultivation, he approached Riley with humility, almost reverence.

In the world of xianxia, age meant little; it was strength that dictated respect.

And Riley, at just over thirty years old, had already slain peak-level tribulation experts like they were mere insects.

To men like him, Riley was not a peer.

He was a force.

When the old Daoist stepped into the hall, he bowed deeply and spoke with genuine respect.

"Many thanks for agreeing to see me, Senior Riley. It is an honor beyond words to finally share space with your true self. It's been a while since we last met… and these days, your real body is harder to find than a dragon's scale."

Riley, dressed in flowing black robes embroidered with silver clouds, stood calmly in the center of the hall, sipping a cup of spirit tea. He set the cup down and gave a faint, polite smile.

"Well met, fellow Daoist Twelve Fists. I see your fists haven't dulled over the years," he said casually, gesturing for the old man to sit. "How have you been?"

The two sat across from one another, separated only by a low jade table.

Though Riley had little interest in long conversation, he had time—and more importantly, a measure of respect for this particular visitor.

Daoist Twelve Fists hailed from the same continent as Riley—the Nine Cauldrons Continent—and although their interactions were few, Riley never forgot his origins.

Unlike many who rose in power and severed their roots, Riley remembered everyone and everything from the world that birthed him.

"I've been well, Senior," Twelve Fists replied with a small laugh. "I've hidden in quiet places, cultivated slowly, and avoided trouble. As you know, men like me do not seek fame. We merely wish to reach the threshold of the heavens before we turn to dust."

The two made small talk before Riley finally asked the old man his purpose in asking to see him.

"So, what brings you here, fellow Daoist?" Riley asked calmly once the polite exchanges had ended.

Daoist Twelve Fists nodded, exhaling slowly as he set down his teacup.

He cleared his throat, clearly organizing his thoughts, but there was a trace of hesitation in his expression—a subtle unease that betrayed the weight of what he was about to say.

"Senior Riley… it's like this," he began, his voice low and measured. "I have heard... certain rumors."

Riley didn't flinch. He remained seated, his fingers lightly drumming the armrest of his chair.

"Rumors?" he repeated. "Please, do enlighten me, fellow Daoist."

Twelve Fists gave a respectful bow of the head.

"Word has spread—quietly, but persistently. From wandering cultivators, rogue elders, and even hidden sect informants. The news is that… you are preparing to ascend."

Riley's gaze remained steady. "Go on."

"And that," Twelve Fists continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "you intend to bring your wives with you. And not just them—but their entire families as well."

He paused there, carefully watching Riley for any shift in expression.

Yet what he saw was... nothing. Riley's face remained utterly calm, unreadable.

His eyes were distant, as though his thoughts had drifted somewhere far away.

But what Riley said next sent a chill through the old Daoist's heart.

"So, they've finally figured that much out," Riley said, his voice quiet, almost musing. "I was wondering how long it would take."

Twelve Fists blinked. "So… it's true?"

Riley didn't answer directly. He turned his gaze to the open garden window, where the wind stirred gently through the trees.

"It's true," Riley said calmly, his eyes sharpening just slightly.

"But there's no need to lie, fellow Daoist. You heard this from Daoist Third Eye, didn't you?"

Daoist Twelve Fists froze.

"That old man certainly is gifted in the art of divination," Riley continued, a faint smile curving his lips.

"He's been meddling around my fate for a while now. Perhaps I should pay him a visit one of these days."

The moment those words left Riley's mouth, a cold shiver ran down Twelve Fists' spine.

Every hair on his body stood up, and for a heartbeat, it felt like he was no longer sitting across from a cultivator, but a blood-soaked executioner dressed in silk robes.

"You don't have to do that, Senior Riley," Twelve Fists said quickly, masking his inner panic with forced calm.

"I hear Daoist Third Eye is currently in closed-door cultivation. He... won't be entertaining any visitors for some time."

"Hm. A pity then." Riley's smile widened just slightly, and with that, the killing aura faded like a passing breeze.

The old Daoist let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Of course Riley knew. He always knew. Not only was Daoist Third Eye peering into his fate, he had likely seen glimpses of what Riley was truly planning.

And yet, Riley had let him live. That alone spoke volumes about the confidence he held in his own path.

Riley turned to look at Twelve Fists again. This time, his gaze was different—curious, even amused.

"Tell me… do you also want to come?"

The old cultivator straightened immediately. His expression grew serious.

"If Senior Riley permits… I would be willing to offer all of my treasures in exchange for safe passage."

Riley raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" he asked. "You've cultivated for thousands of years. At your level, you could attempt ascension yourself. It's not impossible."

Twelve Fists let out a dry laugh, filled with quiet bitterness.

"That's easier said than done, Senior Riley. You and I both know the risks. The heavenly tribulation for cultivators like me is monstrous. I have a ninety percent chance of dying before I even cross the threshold. And even if I succeed… I'll arrive in the immortal realm as nothing but a nameless underdog. No backing, no foundation, no one to watch my back."

He looked at Riley with open desperation now. "But if I follow you… if I ascend by your side… then I may have a place in the world above. A chance to stand in the shadow of someone untouchable."

There was silence. Riley didn't speak. He simply studied the old man, as if weighing the sincerity of his words—and the weight of the request.

A full minute passed.

Then, finally, Riley spoke. "Fine. You can tag along."

Twelve Fists blinked. "Truly?!"

"But," Riley added coolly, "it won't be free."

Twelve Fists bowed so deeply his forehead almost touched the floor. His voice trembled, but it was firm.

"Whatever the cost, I will pay it. Treasures, life, oath—I will not back down."

Riley gave a faint nod.

"Very well. Prepare yourself. The path ahead is not something you can walk with hesitation in your heart. The moment the gates open, everything changes."

"Yes, Senior Riley," Twelve Fists said reverently. "I understand."

His entire body shook—not out of fear, but from overwhelming joy. To be accepted by Riley… meant a second chance at life.

A chance to follow a new emperor into the heavens.

And he would not waste it.