My Xianxia Harem Life

Everyone held their breath. Even the wind refused to blow.

Riley stood tall, his gaze sweeping over the countless cultivators before him.

Expecting panic. Hesitation. Even a few cowards turning away.

But no one moved.

Not a single soul.

From the bold patriarchs to the trembling young disciples, from elders with withered bones to children hiding behind their mothers' robes—all remained kneeling. No one left.

Riley's lips curled into a slight smile.

"As expected."

There was no arrogance in his tone—only certainty.

He had offered a path, and they had chosen to follow. Now the heavens would bear witness.

"So be it," he said at last, raising his hand.

The sky responded instantly.

With a single, effortless wave, golden light erupted across the heavens.

Runes and celestial formations burst into existence, spinning in intricate patterns above his head.

Space trembled. Time slowed. The very laws of the mortal realm bent beneath Riley's will.

A vortex of light opened above the sacred mountain, vast and radiant, like a sun tearing through the sky.

From its center, a golden staircase descended—each step pulsing with divine power, each one a gate to eternity.

Then, without fanfare, without a single chant or incantation, Riley made his move.

With a single motion of his fingers—millions of cultivators vanished from the mortal realm.

In an instant, the kneeling masses were gone, transported through the void under Riley's divine will.

No pain. No delay. No resistance.

Just silence... and the lingering echo of a godlike presence.

This was of course just an act and Riley just transferred them all out to his void sanctuary.

Still, a fancy way of taking them would add to his mystique and it would give him more advantages later on.

Only Riley, his wives, and a few trusted companions remained on the mountain.

With a smile, they too disappeared from around him.

The mortal realm was quiet once more.

When the blinding light finally faded and the ringing in their ears quieted, the sea of cultivators slowly opened their eyes—only to be met with a sight none of them could have imagined, even in their wildest dreams.

"Where… are we?" someone whispered, as if afraid to disturb the sanctity of what they were seeing.

"What just happened?"

"This place… the aura is so dense… so pure… it's like I'm standing inside a divine spring!"

Before them stretched an unfathomably vast city—silent, ancient, and incomprehensibly grand.

Towering jade pagodas pierced the clouds. Floating platforms hovered in the sky like celestial islands.

Waterfalls of spiritual energy cascaded from hovering peaks, and rivers of liquid starlight flowed through the veins of the city.

The spiritual qi here was not just rich—it was alive, surging through the air like a pulse.

The entire city was carved from materials none of them recognized—star metal, soul jade, skyfire stone—and the architecture bore the marks of civilizations far beyond anything the mortal world had ever known.

It was clear: this was not just a city.

This was a realm unto itself.

"It's… beautiful," someone murmured, their voice thick with emotion.

"I feel like just breathing here might extend my life by a hundred years…"

"Where are we? This city… it's not on any map."

"This is no ordinary place," said an elderly cultivator, his voice trembling.

"This is a divine construct… a sacred space. It must be—"

"Look!" someone shouted, cutting him off. "In the sky—look!"

All heads turned upward and saw a vision in the heavens.

Far above, beyond the divine spires and floating structures, Riley stood atop a lone mountain peak that jutted into the void like a sword pointing toward the heavens.

The skies above him were no longer calm.

Storm clouds had gathered in full force—an apocalyptic formation of heavenly might.

Lightning danced between black clouds. Winds howled like ancient beasts.

Celestial fire burned in arcs through the firmament.

He stood alone at the edge of the world.

"Senior Riley… he's about to ascend!"

"He's going to break through the void!"

"He's taking us with him… to the Immortal Realm!"

"But how? Are we inside a pocket dimension?"

"Or… could this be a secret realm he prepared ahead of time?"

Speculation erupted among the cultivators, especially those in the upper echelons—old monsters and sect masters, many of whom had cultivated for over a thousand years.

But none of them could hide their awe.

"Impossible… no Void Tribulation expert could create a space like this," one of them muttered.

"Not even an entire sect pooling its resources could maintain a realm this vast…"

"He didn't just open a pocket dimension. This is… a constructed world."

"A true personal domain… something that should only be possible for immortals."

"A domain of law…"

It was a terrifying concept, but also undeniable.

The realm pulsed with Riley's aura.

Every stone, every breeze, every shimmering glyph in the air seemed to respond to his will.

This wasn't a place borrowed from heaven or earth—it was his.

Those who could comprehend such things felt cold sweat dripping down their backs.

Just what kind of existence had Riley become?

Above, Riley stood still as a statue. The storm around him roared, yet it never touched him.

Divine tribulation was descending. Thunderclouds spun faster.

A gate of golden light had begun to manifest, slowly pulling apart the fabric of the world.

Space twisted like silk, and time itself trembled at the edges.

It was no longer just an ascension.

It was a confrontation between man and heaven.

And the heavens… were not smiling.

Far above, thunder cracked—louder than anything heard before. It wasn't just noise.

It was a voice. A warning. A judgment.

And still, Riley remained unmoved.

He closed his eyes briefly.

A moment of silence.

Then—his voice, calm yet unshakable, echoed across the realm:

"I, Riley Mason, have walked the path of cultivation with open eyes and iron will. I'm ready." The sky rumbled again—but no lightning fell.

"Do your worst."

At those words, the heavenly tribulation faltered.

The skies roared, torn between fury and awe.

And the people—those thousands, those desperate, trembling souls who had followed him into the unknown—watched in silence, their hearts pounding.

This was more than a journey.

This was history in the making.

This was a man declaring war on fate itself—and daring to win.

A single breath passed.

Then it came.

As if the heavens themselves had acknowledged his defiance, a deafening crack split the skies.

BOOM!

The heavens roared, and reality trembled.

The sky tore open like a veil, revealing a vortex of divine fury.

A piercing electric shriek echoed across the land, followed by the deep, rolling growl of thunder that shook mountains to their roots.

And then—

CRASH!

The first bolt of lightning descended from the clouds—a blinding spear of violet-gold, thick as a mountain trunk, aimed directly at Riley.

He didn't dodge.

He didn't flinch.

With a single palm raised, he caught the lightning strike—and crushed it.

The violent energy dissipated like smoke in his hand.

Another breath passed, and this time two bolts fell, faster and fiercer than the first.

CRACK! CRACK!

Riley met them with the flat of his hand, his expression calm.

The arcs of destruction slammed into him, but again, they vanished—scattered into harmless sparks.

Then came three strikes.

Then five.

Then ten.

The pace quickened, the fury multiplied. Lightning poured from the sky in sheets, tearing at the heavens themselves.

Twenty… thirty… forty…

Each strike stronger than the last.

Fifty.

By this point, the sky was a churning ocean of divine wrath.

Bolts of every color—golden, azure, black, crimson—rained down with such intensity that space itself screamed beneath them.

Still, Riley stood tall.

He did not retreat.

He did not resist.

He accepted.

His golden robes, once shining with divine embroidery, had long since been reduced to ash.

His bare body, bloodied and torn, stood against the storm like a pillar of heaven.

His skin was scorched, his bones cracked, but his gaze… his gaze burned brighter than any lightning bolt.

Seventy. Eighty. Ninety.

With each strike, the world trembled.

With each strike, mortals in the distant lands knelt in terror, their eyes turned toward the blinding tempest in the sky.

And still, Riley endured.

At the ninety-ninth bolt, he threw his arms wide open—his chest exposed, his body broken—and raised his head to the skies.

"Come," he whispered.

"I am here."

And then…

BOOOOOOM!

The final bolt descended—not a single strike, but a celestial storm.

A hundred thunderbolts fused into one, thick as a mountain range, brilliant as the sun.

It tore through the clouds like the wrath of a furious god and struck Riley with a brilliance that swallowed the world.

Everything turned white.

The skies disappeared.

The city vanished.

The kneeling cultivators below saw nothing—heard nothing—but the roar of divine judgment ringing in their ears.

And then…

Silence.

Not a single sound.

Not even the wind dared stir.

The entire realm held its breath.

What would remain?

Would Senior Riley rise from the storm?

Or would he be no more than ashes upon the wind?