My Xianxia Harem Life

Riley remained within the Austere clan for now—and truth be told, he could afford to.

The wealth of resources he had obtained from the Black Gate Sect was not just impressive, it was enough to shake the foundations of any mid-tier power on the continent.

With such wealth, he could have easily established his own sect, gathered loyal followers, and carved out an independent force that would rise to prominence in no time.

Many had expected him to do just that. After all, wasn't that the path most ambitious cultivators took once they acquired sufficient power?

But Riley wasn't like most. He had no desire to be bound by the obligations and politics that came with power.

Building a sect, while seemingly glorious, would only serve to tether him—to create expectations, alliances, enemies, and responsibilities that would weigh him down.

And when the time came for him to ascend, those same things would act as shackles. He would be chained to this world, unable to rise freely.

Freedom was more precious to him than influence. And besides, he already had enough people to care for. His loved ones, his friends and family, and most importantly—Veronica and the rest of his harem.

That alone was more than enough to anchor him to this world. He didn't need a sect or an empire. He had a home, and for now, he was content.

At this moment, he was seated in a quiet courtyard, sharing a pot of fragrant tea with Veronica's father. The sun was beginning to dip below the distant mountains, casting golden light across the rooftops.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, adding a gentle whisper to the stillness.

Veronica's father, a man of few words but deep thoughts, studied the young man before him. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

"Riley, are you planning to ascend anytime soon?" he asked, his voice calm, but laced with a hint of concern.

Riley didn't answer immediately. He picked up his cup, took a slow sip, then gazed upward. The sky was vast—clear, endless, and unknowable.

"No," he said at last, his tone steady. "We both know what lies up there."

He lifted one finger and pointed toward the heavens, his eyes narrowing slightly.

A long silence followed. Veronica's father didn't press further. He simply nodded, as if understanding everything that had been left unsaid.

The topic of ascension had become a constant buzz throughout the continent for limitless years. Many cultivators, upon reaching the peak of the Void Tribulation Realm, had grown restless.

They saw ascension as the final step—the glorious culmination of a lifetime of cultivation. But reality had proven far harsher than fantasy.

A few who had managed to ascend had, against all odds, sent back messages. What they described was not a paradise of immortal enlightenment, but something far more sinister and unforgiving.

They spoke of realms where survival was more brutal than any known battlefield here, where cultivators were hunted like prey, where powerful beings crushed newcomers without mercy.

Many had vanished without a trace, their fates unknown.

The few who managed to send word were clear: if you were not absolutely prepared—if you were not beyond strong—then going up was little more than suicide.

And so, many of the continent's strongest—cultivators who stood at the very threshold of godhood—chose to stay. They waited. They honed their skills.

They delayed the inevitable, hoping that someday, the unknown above would become just a little more known.

Riley was no different. He had touched the edge of that realm and had seen glimpses of the truth.

There was also no rush going up there since he had lots of life still left spent here before he would ever take that step.

He poured another cup of tea for Veronica's father and said quietly, "One day, maybe. But not now. Not yet."

The older man gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment and accepted the cup.

Under the golden sky, with only the wind and the quiet clinking of porcelain between them, nothing more needed to be said.

***

By now, Riley's name had become a legend whispered on the wind across all corners of the xianxia world.

His deeds—shattering the Black Gate Sect's inner sanctum, slaying multiple ancient realm cultivators, and walking away untouched—had not only shaken the local regions but echoed throughout the vast continents.

He was no longer just a powerful figure. He had become a symbol. A storm in human form. A reminder that even the so-called untouchable powers were not beyond the reach of a single man.

From the northern frost-lands to the southern fire kingdoms, from the hidden sky temples to the great seas of the east, every major power had heard of Riley.

And they all responded the same way: with reverence, caution, and a deep undercurrent of fear.

Because they all knew that Riley was not simply strong—he was decisive.

He didn't play the long game of diplomacy and veiled threats like the ancient clans. He didn't leave enemies alive for them to seek revenge. He ended things.

So in the face of such power, there was only one thing left to do—submit. Or at least try to win his favor.

"Sigh… another flock of sycophants lining up to kiss Senior Riley's ass," muttered one of the outer guards of the Austere Clan.

He leaned lazily against the gatepost, eyeing the procession of gilded carriages, beast-drawn carts, and armored escorts approaching from beyond the misty hills and skies.

"What else can they do?" said another guard, adjusting his belt as he stepped forward to help direct traffic. "You either show respect or risk annihilation. At least offering gifts gives you a sliver of hope that he'll remember your name."

"Honestly," the first one snorted, "some of these sects used to sneer at us. Now look at them—groveling just to leave a box of treasures at the doorstep."

"Can't really blame them," the second guard shrugged. "If someone like Senior Riley decided to destroy their foundation, they'd be gone before nightfall."

A third guard joined in with a chuckle, "You think he even opens the gifts himself? I bet he's got entire storage realms filled with tributes by now. He could start his own empire with that wealth."

The others nodded. They weren't exaggerating.

Every day, messengers, elders, young masters, and even clan patriarchs from distant regions appeared at the gates of the Austere Clan, humbly offering their finest treasures—ancient spirit herbs thought extinct, weapons forged in heavenly fire, secret techniques passed down through bloodlines for millennia, and more.

Some even offered marriage alliances, bringing with them veiled daughters or sons in ornate clothing, hoping to tie their fate to Riley in any way possible.

And Riley, naturally, accepted them all.

He wasn't naïve. He knew these people weren't acting out of love or friendship—they were simply investing in survival. In him. And to Riley, that was fine.

Every treasure, every spirit stone, every cultivation manual handed over was another step forward. He didn't care about their motives. He cared about results.

Resources meant power. Power meant control. And control meant freedom.

From the inner sanctum of the clan, Riley sat in quiet contemplation beneath the shade of a spirit willow, its silver leaves gently rustling in the breeze.

A steaming cup of spiritual tea rested in his hand, the aroma calming yet potent. Around him, faint formations glowed beneath the earth, absorbing spiritual energy and enhancing the flow of qi throughout the garden.

He gazed beyond the stone walls to the distant gates where another convoy was arriving, banners flying and servants bowing as they dismounted with reverent precision.

"They just keep coming," he murmured, lips curving into a faint smile.

Veronica appeared beside him, her long hair cascading over her shoulders as she gracefully poured herself a cup of tea.

"It's only natural," she said softly. "When the sky shifts, all below adjust to its new shape. And right now, you are that sky."

He didn't reply immediately, but there was a quiet truth in her words. He hadn't sought worship, yet here it was. He hadn't sought to rule, yet the world seemed ready to kneel.

But deep down, Riley knew the nature of the cultivation world. Respect was temporary. Loyalty could shift. Today's offerings could become tomorrow's poison.

Power didn't just attract devotion—it attracted envy, schemes, and betrayal.

Still, he accepted it all. He wasn't the boy who once feared the path of ascension. He had grown, sharpened, and learned. Every sect that bowed today would hesitate to raise a blade tomorrow.

That was enough.

As more guests arrived with ornate boxes and guarded smiles, the guards resumed their routine, organizing and cataloging each gift before passing them into the vaults.

"Guess we'd better earn our keep," one of them muttered again.

And so the procession continued.

One by one, the powers of the world came to kneel—not before a throne, but before a man who had proven that power, unshackled and unapologetic, could shake the heavens themselves.