My Xianxia Harem Life

"Wow… who is that woman?"

"She's probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen!"

"What's even more amazing is that she might be a peak Void Tribulation powerhouse too…"

Excited whispers rippled through the crowd like wind over grass as all eyes turned to the crimson-robed woman descending from the sky.

She moved with graceful confidence, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the sect courtyard.

Her robes shimmered like liquid flame, hugging her curves in all the right places and leaving little to the imagination.

Every step she took seemed calculated to entice, yet her power was undeniable—an aura of immense cultivation pressure lingered faintly in the air, enough to silence weaker disciples and make even seasoned elders tense.

She approached Riley with a sultry smile tugging at her lips, eyes gleaming with interest. Her gaze swept over him—not in hostility, but in curiosity, almost amusement.

"It's good to finally meet you, Fellow Daoist Riley," she said, her voice as smooth as honeyed wine. "To what do we owe the honor of your visit to our Black Gate Sect?"

Riley didn't bother to return the flirtation. His stance remained firm, his expression cold and unyielding.

"One of your elders—Daoist Ghosty Zealot—intruded into my domain with clear intent to harm my wife, Veronica," he stated bluntly. "I've come to demand compensation."

The woman's expression didn't change immediately, though a subtle glint passed through her eyes. Folding her arms beneath her ample chest, she tilted her head slightly.

"You killed one of my sect's elders, Daoist Riley. Is that not already a sufficient price paid?" she asked, her tone still polite but edged with steel. "Surely you understand that in the heat of battle, the sword does not have eyes."

"The sword may not," Riley replied evenly, "but the hand that guides it certainly does. Intent matters. And his intent was malicious."

He stepped forward, the atmosphere thickening under the weight of his killing intent. Several disciples in the distance gasped and staggered back, unable to withstand the pressure emanating from him.

"Too little," he said. "I must have justice. Either you give it to me willingly, or I will take it by force."

The seductive smirk faded from the woman's lips. For a moment, silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring, taut and dangerous.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the woman sighed, the tension easing slightly.

"…Very well," she said quietly. "Tell me your demands."

She raised her hand and with a flick of her wrist, dismissed the onlookers. "This matter concerns our sect's dignity. Let us speak plainly, without the noise of spectators."

"Fine," Riley said, his voice steady and void of emotion.

Before anyone could react, both he and the crimson-robed woman vanished into thin air—no flash of light, no swirling wind, not even a ripple in the air. It was as if they had never been there at all.

The scene was silent. The crowd that had gathered earlier remained rooted in place, unsure of what had just happened.

Only the subtle trembling of some weaker disciples hinted at the pressure that had been released just moments before.

Time ticked by.

After five long minutes, the two figures returned, materializing as effortlessly as they had disappeared. The woman looked composed but subdued, her flirtatious charm replaced with solemnity.

Riley, on the other hand, appeared exactly as he had before—calm, unreadable, detached.

"Let's go," he said casually, as if no significant discussion had taken place.

Without another word, he turned and stepped onto his flying boat. The vessel pulsed with spiritual light as it floated upward.

Behind it, dozens of other boats—large and small, sleek and warlike—rose in unison like a fleet of silent predators. Within moments, the entire armada turned, then vanished into the skies, disappearing into the horizon as swiftly as they had come.

The members of the Black Gate Sect watched from behind their gates in stunned silence. No one spoke. No one dared to.

A moment later, the silence was broken by the soft sound of footsteps. A young female cultivator—no older than twenty—approached the sect mistress, her jade eyes burning with disbelief.

"Master," she said, her tone tinged with indignation, "why did our sect bow its head to a man no one's ever heard of? You—you—personally received him. He demanded compensation, threatened us, and left unscathed. Why?"

The beautiful woman didn't turn. Her gaze remained locked on the sky where Riley had disappeared. For a long time, she said nothing.

Then, at last, she spoke. Her voice was soft but laced with something far heavier than regret—fear.

"Our diviners read the stars this morning," she said slowly. "And what they saw… was the destruction of the Black Gate Sect. Fire. Blood. Collapse. Not in a distant future. Not in years or months. Today."

The young woman stiffened, her anger faltering.

"The man they saw—the one who would bring that destruction—was him. Riley. He is no ordinary rogue cultivator. He is an omen. A calamity given form."

The disciple swallowed hard. "But… who is he? Where is he from? What kind of backing does he have?"

The sect mistress finally turned her head, her crimson robes fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was firm.

"We don't know. Our diviners tried to trace his origin, but their scrying pools turned black. Every inquiry, every probe, failed. It's as if the heavens themselves protect him."

She paused, then added in a low, solemn tone:

"We were given only one word in return. One name. Riley."

The disciple looked confused. "Just Riley?"

The sect mistress nodded. "Riley Mason. That is all we know."

A deep silence followed, filled only by the distant hum of spiritual energy in the air.

"Then… what happens now?" the disciple asked hesitantly.

The woman looked toward the horizon once more, her expression grave.

"Now? Now we prepare. The world will not remain the same after this day. Whether he walks the path of justice or vengeance, peace or war, he will shake the continent to its core."

***

As for Riley and his group, they returned triumphantly to the Austere Clan. The sun was setting as they descended from the skies, painting the horizon in shades of crimson and gold.

Word of their return had already spread, and by the time they arrived at the clan's main compound, a celebration was in full swing.

Another feast had been prepared—larger and livelier than the last. Rows of banquet tables lined the grand courtyard, covered with delicacies and spiritual wines that shimmered with qi.

Bonfires crackled at each corner, casting a warm glow on the gathered crowd. Cultivators of all ranks, from the youngest disciples to the newly appointed elders, raised their cups in unison to honor the man who had brought them victory—and perhaps, a new future.

The atmosphere was electric, yet underneath it all ran a quiet current of tension.

The truth was known to all: with the top old fogeys—the most powerful but rigid elders of the Austere Clan—now dead at Riley's hand, the clan had entered a new, uncertain era.

For generations, those elders had been both the shield and the chain of the clan. With them gone, the sect was exposed.

Old enemies—rivals, banished traitors, opportunistic sects—would see the clan as ripe for the picking.

Riley understood that clearly.

He chose to stay—not because he had anything to gain, but because he didn't want innocents to pay the price for his actions. The Austere Clan had offered him sanctuary when others had cast him out.

And though their leaders had been corrupted and cruel, the common members, the families, the younger disciples—they didn't deserve to become collateral damage in some vengeful sect war.

Besides, Riley knew power never moved in a vacuum.

With the elders gone, someone would need to protect the clan while it rebuilt its internal structure and defenses. For now, that responsibility had silently fallen on his shoulders.

Yet in the midst of that quiet burden, there was joy.

The courtyard echoed with music and laughter. Dancers in flowing robes spun through the firelight like drifting petals.

Young warriors challenged each other to friendly duels with wooden swords, and elders toasted until their faces turned red with wine.

Riley sat at the head table, flanked by his wives, watching the scene unfold with a rare, soft expression.

And of all the people beside him, it was Veronica who never left his side.

Even amid celebration, her gaze lingered on him more than usual.

He could feel the gratitude in her touch, the way her fingers lingered on his arm, the way she leaned slightly closer when he laughed.

She remembered everything.

The exile. The suffering. The lonely years spent apart from her family. And now… it was over. She was back to her home.

Riley had made good on his promise.

Veronica could now walk freely across the Golden Dragon Continent, unshackled and proud.

More importantly, she could now see her family again—without fear, without shame. And for Veronica, that meant more than words could express.

That night, as the stars blanketed the skies and the final embers of the bonfires dimmed, Riley and Veronica slipped away from the noise and laughter.

They returned to a private courtyard that had been prepared in advance, surrounded by spirit-gathering formations and blooming nightlotus flowers that glowed gently in the dark.

There, under the light of twin moons, Veronica turned to him with a gaze full of quiet emotion.

"You've given me everything, Riley," she said softly, her voice almost trembling. "You didn't just fight for me. You gave me back my family… my home… and a future I thought I'd never see again."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head gently, stepping closer.

"Tonight," she whispered, "let me give you something in return. Something only I can give."

She reached for his hand and guided him inside, her movements slow, reverent—full of love, not obligation.

And in that peace, they found something deeper than victory.

They found love in each other's arms again.