My Xianxia Harem Life

Riley informed his parents and clan of his decision, and to his relief, they all understood. No one tried to hold him back. A small pond could never contain a dragon, and they knew he was destined for greater things. Without hesitation, he and his women packed their belongings, moving swiftly. Their journey lay ahead, and they had no time to waste. But just as they were about to depart, an eerie shift rippled through the air. The sky darkened. The wind stilled. The usual sounds of the bustling city—merchants shouting, children laughing, blacksmiths hammering—suddenly faded into silence. A strange, heavy pressure weighed upon the people, as if the heavens themselves were pressing down. Then, a cry shattered the stillness. "Look! Something's coming from the sky!" Heads snapped upward, and what they saw made their blood run cold. A colossal flying boat descended from the clouds, its sheer size eclipsing the sun, casting a vast shadow over the entire city. The vessel was like nothing the common folk had ever seen before—adorned with sinister carvings, its hull layered with dark, metallic plating that gave it an almost spectral glow. But what truly sent shivers down their spines was the massive flag billowing in the wind—a black pentagram emblazoned on blood-red fabric. "It's the Phantom Abyss Sect!" Panic erupted like wildfire. The name alone was enough to send people into a frenzy. The Phantom Abyss Sect—an infamous, mysterious order feared throughout the land—was not known for mercy. Whenever they appeared, death and destruction followed. Entire cities had been wiped from existence in their wake, their people reduced to nothing more than whispers in history. "Run! Get out of the city!" someone screamed. Men grabbed their children, mothers shielded their young, merchants abandoned their stalls, and warriors who once stood proudly at the gates now hesitated, their hands trembling on the hilts of their weapons. The streets turned into chaos as countless people fled, stampeding toward the city gates, desperate to escape whatever calamity was about to unfold. Yet, amidst the panic, an eerie contradiction emerged. The sect did not attack. No flames, no slaughter, no soul-devouring rituals. The city remained untouched. Instead, a group of figures descended from the flying ship, their movements slow and deliberate. Six towering men, clad in dark robes embroidered with ancient symbols, floated down in perfect unison. Each one exuded an oppressive aura, their very presence suffocating to those who dared meet their gaze. But it was what they carried that sent a new wave of terror rippling through the crowd. A coffin. Suspended between them, bound in chains etched with arcane runes, was a single, ominous coffin. The streets fell into hushed silence. The coffin, carried by the six robed men, moved steadily through the city, its presence an ominous spectacle. The entire city watched in silence, tension thick in the air. Then, whispers erupted among the crowd. "They're heading toward the Mason Clan!" "They've come for Young Master Riley!" "This doesn't bode well… I hope no battle breaks out." The fear in their voices was evident. Everyone knew that when powerful cultivators clashed, ordinary people suffered the most. A single battle between experts could turn the city into a wasteland. No one wanted to witness such devastation firsthand. Yet, despite their concerns, the coffin-bearers showed no signs of aggression. They moved with solemn precision, their expressions unreadable beneath their dark hoods. It was as if they carried not just a coffin but an immense burden, something that transcended the mortal realm itself. When they reached the Mason Clan's estate, they finally stopped. Riley, who had been watching silently, met their gazes. There was no mistaking it—they knew exactly who he was. Then, from within the coffin, a voice echoed. It was deep, aged, and laced with a frail yet unyielding determination. "Greetings, fellow Daoist." The crowd tensed. "I have heard of your abilities, that you are a miracle doctor capable of curing any illness in this world. I come before you today, not as a proud cultivator, but as a dying man seeking salvation. If you can save me, I will owe you a great favor—one that even the heavens themselves may recognize." A hushed silence fell over the city. The weight of the words sank in. The Phantom Abyss Sect was infamous for its ruthlessness, its secrecy, its fearsome warriors. And yet, one of their own, a being of immeasurable power, had humbled himself before Riley, pleading for his life. All eyes turned to Riley, waiting, wondering. Would he accept this challenge? Would he dare risk healing someone afflicted with a poison so lethal that even a Void Tribulation powerhouse—a cultivator capable of moving mountains and parting seas—stood no chance against it? Riley took a slow step forward, his sharp gaze peering into the coffin using his divine sense. What he saw made even him pause. Inside lay an old man, his body frail beyond recognition, his face sunken, his breath ragged. His once-magnificent aura had withered to nothing more than flickering embers. His veins pulsed with an eerie black glow, the unmistakable sign of an ancient poison that gnawed away at his life force. Riley narrowed his eyes. Void-Eroding Venom. A poison so terrifying that even immortals feared it. A poison that devoured not just the body but the very soul itself. He had read about it before. Legends spoke of how it had wiped out entire bloodlines, how even the most talented alchemists, pill masters, and healers had been powerless against its curse. Victims of this venom were doomed to an agonizing death, their cultivation crumbling, their very essence dissolving into oblivion. And yet, here was this man, clinging to life. Riley activated his ability, delving into the old man's memories. In mere moments, he absorbed everything—the past, the choices, the events that had led this once-mighty cultivator to his current, pitiful state. As the flood of knowledge settled in his mind, Riley's expression darkened. His jaw tightened, and a cold fury flickered in his eyes. Then, he stepped back. "Leave." His voice was sharp, unwavering. The coffin-bearers stiffened. Even the dying man inside seemed taken aback. Riley's gaze burned with disdain as he continued, "I do not heal those who have stained their hands with the blood of the innocent." A heavy silence fell upon the scene. The weight of his words hung in the air, final and absolute.