My Xianxia Harem Life

"Are we going to die, Mom?" the child asked softly, his tiny fingers clutching the hem of her robe.

His wide, innocent eyes trembled with fear, searching her face for a truth she couldn't bring herself to speak.

The woman looked down, her heart aching. All around them, the sounds of laughter and music echoed from the inner courtyards, where a grand celebration was underway.

Colorful lanterns floated in the air, casting a deceptive warmth over the night sky.

But the joy belonged only to a privileged few—those close to the new ruler. For the rest of the clan, especially the families of the Austere Clan, there was no celebration. Only silence. Only fear.

"No," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it. "We're going to survive." She bent down and brushed a hand through the boy's hair, then forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was a smile every parent wore that night.

The child nodded slowly, but his small hand wouldn't let go of her sleeve.

Across the clan grounds, similar scenes unfolded. Families huddled in their homes, curtains drawn.

Whispers passed between elders and parents, their voices barely audible, as though the walls themselves might betray them.

There was no curfew, no order to stay hidden—yet no one dared step out.

The atmosphere was suffocating. Heavy. As if the heavens themselves were watching.

"We only know him as Riley," someone murmured near the hearth. "No surname. No origin. Nothing."

A group of men sat in a tight circle, their voices low, their expressions grim. Warriors, once proud protectors of the Austere Clan, now reduced to speculation and dread.

"But one thing's clear," another added, his hand shaking as he poured a cup of tea. "He's at the peak of the Void Tribulation Realm. And not just anyone at that stage—he might be unmatched. He killed our five ancestral guardians in a single move. Five! And not one of them even managed to strike back…"

A silence followed, broken only by the crackling fire.

"Should we escape?" one of the younger men finally asked. "Some of the elders have already slipped away. They said the clan is finished."

A heavy pause.

"Maybe," the oldest among them replied, his brows furrowed with deep lines. "But don't you think it strange? That this Senior Riley hasn't lifted a finger to stop them? He could've killed them easily, and yet he let them go."

"What does it mean?" the younger man asked.

The elder stared into the fire for a long moment before answering. "It means he's not interested in chasing cowards. Or maybe... maybe he's waiting for something. Watching. Deciding."

In another part of the compound, a teenage girl clutched her younger sister to her chest, tears streaking silently down her cheeks.

Their parents had been taken to the central hall earlier that evening and hadn't returned.

Throughout the night, the same uncertainty spread like a plague. No orders. No threats. No demands.

Just silence, and the looming presence of a man none of them truly understood.

Riley.

A name that had become a curse and a mystery all at once.

And in the shadows, the Austere Clan waited—paralyzed by fear, yet clinging to hope. Not knowing whether dawn would bring peace… or the end.

***

Amidst the vibrant celebration of drinking, music, and dancing, an unusual calm hung in the air—controlled, intentional.

Despite the banners of victory fluttering from the walls and the sounds of cheerful instruments echoing through the night, there was no chaos, no violence.

The streets remained clean, the people unmolested, and the houses untouched. It was a scene that defied the usual aftermath of a clan's fall.

Initially, the soldiers who had marched in alongside Veronica's father were brimming with anticipation.

They had expected the spoils of war: the plundering of homes, the pillaging of treasures, and, grimly, the unspoken license for cruelty that often followed a bloody conquest. But nothing of that sort happened.

Instead, an unspoken law blanketed the victorious forces like an invisible seal: No looting. No harm. No violations.

Riley's decree had been swift and absolute. Any man caught breaking his command would be executed on the spot, no exceptions.

And they believed him—because they had seen what he could do.

He had ended the Austere Clan's resistance in a single, terrifying move, slaying five Void Tribulation realm ancestors as though they were nothing but paper.

Not one soldier under his banner dared to test his will after that.

The first act Riley carried out upon entering the clan's ancestral grounds was to confiscate their treasury.

A simple wave of his hand summoned a brilliant flash of light, and with practiced ease, he absorbed everything of value into his storage ring.

Gold, spiritual herbs, cultivation manuals, artifacts—it was all swept away into the depths of his personal domain, disappearing as quickly as the resistance had fallen.

And then… a feast was declared.

Tables were set across the grand hall—once the seat of the Austere Clan's power—now repurposed as a symbol of their defeat.

The once-proud emblems of the fallen clan were stripped from the walls, replaced with the phoenix crest of Riley's banner.

Lanterns were lit, music resumed, and wine flowed like rivers.

Riley sat at the head of the main table, dressed in dark robes embroidered with subtle golden threads. He exuded quiet power—calm, composed, as if today's triumph meant little to him.

Around him sat his wives, each with their own beauty, their own grace. But Veronica was closest, her hand resting near his, her posture relaxed for the first time in weeks.

He turned to her with a slight smile, lifting his goblet. "Are you happy?"

Veronica looked at him for a moment, the question echoing in her heart. Her expression softened as she returned his gaze, and her lips curved into a wistful smile.

"Not so much happy," she admitted quietly, "as I am relieved."

Her voice carried a faint tremble—not of fear, but of something deeper. Release.

"This clan," she continued, eyes scanning the once-familiar halls, "was the reason I ran away."

She turned her full attention to Riley then, and her hand slid into his.

"But now… I feel free." Veronica was really happy and she thanked the gods that she met Riley in this life.

Her eyes shimmered with quiet emotion, not just gratitude, but deep pride.

She didn't fully understand the extent of Riley's strength—few did—but she knew in her soul that he was a force the heavens themselves would hesitate to oppose.

More than that, he was hers.

And he was theirs—not just hers alone, but shared among her sister-wives.

That didn't make her feel less. It made her feel safe. Because Riley wasn't just powerful—he was just, protective, and loyal in a way that felt almost mythical.

He didn't hoard his affection. He gave it fully and fearlessly to those he cared for.

"A good man," she whispered to herself, more to reaffirm what she already believed. "A strong man who knows how to take care of his own."

The celebration around them continued, but Veronica found herself lost in the moment—grateful, grounded, and finally unafraid.

For the first time in years, the future didn't look like a trap.

It looked like hope.

The night passed quietly, the echoes of celebration fading into stillness. As dawn broke, casting a pale golden hue over the clan grounds, Riley convened a meeting—one not of festivity, but of strategy.

He sat at the head of a long table within the newly claimed council hall, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

At his side was his father-in-law, a seasoned general whose silent presence spoke volumes.

Arrayed before them were the remaining elders of the Austere Clan—those who had chosen to stay rather than flee.

Though many had escaped under the cover of night, a significant number remained, and among them were formidable cultivators, most of them at the Void Tribulation Realm.

Their faces were marked with caution, curiosity, and veiled resentment.

But none dared challenge the man who had slain five of their ancestors in a single breath.

Riley didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"I've gathered you here for one reason," he said, his voice calm but absolute. "Today, I want the Black Gate Sect destroyed."

A hush fell over the room.

Some of the elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while others exchanged wary glances.

The Black Gate Sect was no minor faction—it was one of the rising powers in the region, notorious for its ambition and cruelty.

Riley's eyes swept over them, steady and sharp. "I'm not asking. I'm informing you. Those loyal to me will march. Those who hesitate can step aside."

His words weren't a threat—they were a promise.

And every man in that room knew that to defy him meant more than dishonor. It meant death.

Every person in the room leaned forward, ears sharp and breaths held, as if the very air had stilled in anticipation of Riley's next words.