My Xianxia Harem Life

After the discussion with Riley concluded and the terms of their agreement were settled, Daoist Twelve Fists left with a spring in his step—a rare sight for someone who had lived for over two millennia.

His heart, once heavy with uncertainty, now burned with purpose.

The weight of countless years, of regrets and missed chances, suddenly felt lighter.

For the first time in centuries, he could see a true future ahead of him.

A path beyond stagnation, beyond death.

He wasted no time in spreading the word.

Within hours, he had gathered the other high-ranking cultivators from the Nine Cauldrons Continent—the old wise fogeys who had remained in the Austere Clan for safety and cultivation, unwilling to risk the endless dangers of wandering the wider world.

These were not reckless men and women. They were survivors.

Veterans of countless battles and near-death encounters.

Every one of them had the strength to challenge sect leaders and the wisdom to avoid unnecessary conflict.

Now, they gathered in a secluded courtyard deep within the Austere Clan's inner compound.

Protected by ancient formations and veiled from spiritual senses, it was a sacred space where only the most senior of cultivators dared meet.

When Daoist Twelve Fists delivered the news, the effect was electric.

"Are you serious?! Senior Riley agreed to this?" someone gasped.

"He'll take you with him… to the Immortal Realm?" another asked, eyes wide.

"Not just me," Twelve Fists said calmly, but the excitement in his voice was unmistakable.

"Anyone who presents a worthy offering will be considered. A treasure, a technique, a contribution. It doesn't have to be a mountain of gold—just something of value. And yes… he said there's no limit to how many we can bring."

The courtyard erupted.

"By the heavens! This is once-in-a-lifetime!"

"A treasure in exchange for safe passage?! To skip tribulation? To avoid the heavenly judgment?!"

"Unheard of!"

"I could bring my entire sect… my disciples… my family…"

But not everyone was swept away by enthusiasm. One particularly sharp-eyed elder narrowed his gaze.

"It sounds too perfect," he said slowly. "Deals like this? They don't end well. Even in ancient times, cultivators who tried to bypass the heavenly rules often triggered disasters. If we're not careful, we might be walking into a scheme."

The courtyard fell silent at his words.

And then, without needing to be asked, every head turned toward the most revered man among them.

Daoist Third Eye.

He had not spoken a word the entire time.

He sat beneath an ancient spirit pine, eyes closed in meditation, his third eye faintly glowing with divine light.

For generations, his prophecies had shaped the direction of their continent.

And now, his silence was more unnerving than anything else.

After a long pause, he finally opened his eyes.

"There is no trap," he said quietly.

A collective breath was held.

"I have seen the threads of fate. I have watched the ripples in the river of destiny. Senior Riley walks a path no one else dares tread, but he walks it with confidence—and power. Those who align themselves with him… will not suffer. In fact, they will flourish."

His voice grew firmer. "And so I will go too. I have lived long enough to know when fortune is knocking."

That single declaration shattered the last of the doubt in the courtyard.

Daoist Third Eye was not a man given to reckless choices.

If he was willing to stake his future on Riley, then this truly was no ordinary opportunity.

Excitement returned, fiercer than before.

"I must inform my sect at once!"

"I'll begin preparing my treasures for offering!"

"If numbers don't matter… then why not bring all of my descendants? My sons, daughters, grandchildren—let them all ascend together!"

But amid the flurry of hope and ambition, one elder muttered under his breath, "This will shake the balance of the heavens…"

The event was set to unfold in a little over a month.

Though the time seemed short, the magnitude of what was to come made every day feel like a turning point.

There was a quiet urgency in the air, a sense that the world was holding its breath as an era reached its crescendo.

Of course, the ones who stood to gain the most were those who had long aligned themselves with Riley—his closest followers, the cultivators who had journeyed with him since his earliest conquests, the ones who called the Austere Clan their temporary home.

These were his "neighbors"—in loyalty, if not geography—and they now found themselves blessed by proximity to the most powerful man in the lower realm.

They prepared fervently. Disciples were chosen. Treasures gathered.

Entire lineages began uprooting themselves, ready to ascend alongside the man who promised to carry them beyond the limits of mortality.

But far beyond the walls of the Austere Clan, chaos and envy brewed.

The rest of the cultivation world had been left in the dark.

Great sects, hidden dynasties, wandering demonic cultivators, and ancient reclusive clans—all heard fragments of the rumors, like scattered sparks falling from a raging inferno.

And what they heard stirred fear, jealousy, and madness.

They knew something was coming. But they did not know what. Or when. Or how.

So they turned to the only method available to them: divination.

Across the vast lands of the Golden Dragon Continent, the skies above countless sacred sites turned pale as high priests and cultivators activated long-sealed formations.

Ancient astrological arrays lit up, karmic mirrors shimmered, and ancestral spirits were summoned to peer into the void and find the threads of fate.

Yet no matter how many eyes tried to look…

All they saw was mist.

The divinations failed. One after another.

Some exploded violently, backfiring on the seers who dared to peer too far.

Others returned visions so distorted and incomprehensible that entire temples were driven mad.

A few oracles whispered cryptic riddles before biting off their own tongues in terror.

Nothing could pierce the veil around Riley Mason.

Some clever cultivators tried a different angle.

They focused on his wives—believing that through them, they might glimpse the truth.

But that too, proved futile.

Riley had long anticipated such tricks.

Each of his loved ones—his wives, companions, family, and closest allies—were enveloped in layers of protection crafted not just from arrays, but from pure divine will.

They were guarded by seals that mirrored the laws of the Heavenly Realm itself.

Their karmic ties had been cut and re-forged through Riley's cultivation.

Their fates, their very souls, had been wrapped in his spiritual essence.

It was not just surveillance-proof. It was untouchable.

And why wouldn't it be?

Riley's divine sense had evolved far beyond comprehension.

It was said that with a single breath, he could cover the entire Golden Dragon Continent.

No matter the distance, no matter the disguise, he saw all.

He could monitor every flicker of spiritual energy, every whisper in the wind, every cultivation surge within his domain.

He allowed what he wished and erased what displeased him.

He wasn't just watching.

He was judging.

He was deciding who would rise… and who would be left behind.

In the face of this overwhelming pressure, some sects began to fracture.

Patriarchs argued. Successors turned on one another.

Some scrambled to prepare offerings—desperately trying to find a way to gain audience with Riley before the ascension took place.

Others attempted to send envoys to the Austere Clan, only to find themselves barred by layers of heavenly formations that refused even a mosquito entry without permission.

And through all of this…

Riley remained silent.

He didn't issue decrees. He didn't broadcast his plans. He didn't justify his actions to the world.

Because he didn't have to.

He had already transcended the realm of mortals—not in body, but in influence, in power, in the unshakable truth that he alone stood at the summit.

And the world?

The world could only watch from the shadows… wondering when the storm would truly begin.

When the long-awaited day of ascension finally arrived, the entire cultivation world was shaken by the sheer magnitude of what unfolded in the lands of the Austere Clan.

From every direction, a tide of people surged forward—sect elders, disciples, clan leaders, rogue cultivators, and wandering immortals.

The mountains surrounding the Austere Clan were blanketed with bodies.

Valleys overflowed. Rivers ran alongside endless caravans of spiritual beasts and artifact-laden floats.

It was as if the entire Golden Dragon Continent had gathered in one place.

"What in the heavens… What a crowd!" someone exclaimed in stunned awe.

The voice was nearly drowned out by the sheer volume of murmurs, gasps, and spiritual energies pulsing through the air.

No matter where one stood—north, south, east, or west—the view was the same: an ocean of cultivators stretching for miles upon miles, farther than the eye could see.

Even those with divine sight couldn't find the end of it.

It was no longer just a gathering.

It was a pilgrimage.

And at the heart of it all, standing calmly atop the central platform of the Austere Clan's sacred mountain, was Riley Mason—the man at the center of the storm, the one who would soon defy the heavens.