My Xianxia Harem Life

And then—Riley entered her.

A gasp escaped Diana's lips, her arms tightening around his shoulders.

Riley groaned softly into her neck as he began to move, slow and deep, savoring every second.

Each thrust was deliberate, a mix of hunger and worship, of reunion and release.

The world faded away.

There were no cultivation realms, no ancient clans, no masks or secrets—just the heat of skin against skin, the tangled rhythm of bodies moving as one beneath the silver glow of the moon.

Moans and gasps filled the quiet night, rising and falling like waves.

The forest around them seemed to bend with the energy they unleashed.

The spiritual aura between them surged and pulsed, mixing together like their souls were dancing—reconnecting in a way words never could.

Minutes passed—maybe more. Time lost all meaning.

When their climax came, it struck like lightning—sharp, overwhelming, euphoric.

Diana arched beneath him, crying out his name.

Riley buried his face in her shoulder, holding her tightly as he released inside her, claiming her, marking her as his.

Their bodies trembled, breath ragged, hearts pounding in sync.

And as the night fell silent once more, Riley remained above her, looking into her eyes—no longer hiding, no longer pretending.

She cupped his cheek gently, her thumb brushing the sweat and tears away, and smiled.

"I love you," she said simply.

Riley leaned down, kissed her softly, and whispered, "And I'll never let anything take you from me."

***

One month later, Riley and Diana were married.

The announcement sent waves across the cultivation world.

Their union was not just a wedding—it was a seismic event.

Both stood at the peak of the Void Tribulation Realm, unmatched in power, beauty, and influence.

Even the most arrogant sect masters bowed their heads before them, and emperors sent envoys bearing lavish gifts.

None dared show disrespect, for doing so would be tantamount to courting death.

The celebration was held in the heart of the Austere Clan, Riley's ancestral grounds, which had been transformed almost beyond recognition.

Once cold and imposing, the ancient halls now pulsed with warmth and joy.

Red banners fluttered from every rooftop, spiritual lanterns floated in the air like stars, and celestial beasts roamed the skies, displaying their brilliance in honor of the bride and groom.

For three days and nights, the clan grounds echoed with music, laughter, and merriment.

Dancers from the Southern Isles performed in the courtyards.

Cultivators offered duels of honor as gifts. Heavenly chefs prepared food infused with spiritual energy.

The wine flowed like rivers.

In a rare decree, Riley ordered the gates to remain open to all—noble or commoner, rich or poor.

No invitation was needed. Anyone who wished to witness the wedding could enter freely.

This was one of Riley's unspoken rules: no one would be excluded.

His will was law, and no one dared challenge it.

But amidst the grandeur and celebration, fate had its own plans.

Outside the clan's gate, where the crowds were thickest and street vendors shouted joyfully about their wares, chaos struck.

"Make way! Move aside!" a panicked voice screamed.

A carriage, pulled by four spirit horses and moving at reckless speed, tore through the road, its wheels grinding the stone beneath it.

The driver's eyes were wild, either drunk or crazed, and he showed no signs of slowing.

People scattered, diving for safety.

But not everyone was fast enough.

A sharp cry rang out.

"Nooooo!"

A small boy, no older than seven, was struck by the hooves.

His tiny body bounced against the stone, a sickening crack following the impact.

Blood pooled beneath him as the horses galloped on, the driver oblivious or uncaring.

"Brother!" a little girl screamed.

She rushed to his side, no older than ten herself, her ragged dress fluttering in the breeze.

Her face was streaked with grime, her bare feet cut and bruised from walking the roads.

Clearly a beggar, she knelt beside the boy and cradled his limp body, her tears falling onto his dust-covered cheeks.

"Please… please don't die," she sobbed. "Help! Someone, please help!"

"What's going on here?" shouted one of the Austere Clan guards as he pushed through the crowd with several others at his back.

Clad in silver-blue armor engraved with the clan's crest, the guards exuded an imposing aura that immediately silenced the surrounding murmurs.

They quickly took in the scene: a young boy lying on the ground, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth, his face pale and contorted in pain.

A large black carriage stood nearby, its ornately carved wheels soaked in dust. The driver sat stiffly atop it, silent and unreadable.

Without hesitation, one of the guards knelt beside the boy and took out a shimmering green pill from a small jade bottle.

"A Bone and Muscle Rejuvenation Pill," someone in the crowd murmured in awe. "Those are rare even in mid-tier sects."

The guard gently pried open the boy's mouth and slipped the pill inside.

Within seconds, the boy's breathing calmed.

His broken limbs twitched slightly, the healing power of the pill already at work.

"H-He's waking up!" a woman nearby cried, probably the boy's mother.

She rushed forward, sobbing as she knelt and clutched the child in her arms.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

The onlookers were stunned. Whispers filled the air.

"I didn't expect the Austere Clan to act so swiftly. They used to ignore small matters like this."

"Right? In the past, they wouldn't even glance at someone this low-born."

"It must be because of Senior Riley," another said.

"Ever since he came, everything's changed. Even the guards are acting differently."

While the people gossiped, the lead guard—a tall man with a scar down one cheek and a cultivation base radiating strength—stepped forward and faced the carriage.

"Who injured this child?" he barked. His voice echoed across the street like thunder.

The crowd fell silent again.

The carriage driver looked hesitant, but after a moment, he raised his hand.

"It was me," he admitted.

"The boy ran into the road. My master was in a hurry. I couldn't stop in time."

He tried to steer the carriage forward, but the crowd had already surrounded the area.

There was no space to flee.

"No excuse," the guard replied sharply. "Whether by intent or negligence, harm was done under your watch. As a representative of the Austere Clan, I declare that you are to pay a fine of 100,000 gold coins and issue a formal, public apology."

A moment of tense silence followed. Then a smooth, arrogant voice came from inside the carriage.

"We are of the Warner Clan," the man said slowly, his tone filled with veiled condescension.

"There's no need to make such a fuss over a street brat. Here—take this as a gift. Consider the matter settled."

A silk pouch flew from the carriage window, landing softly at the guard's feet. It emitted a faint metallic clink—clearly filled with value more than gold.

At the same time, an oppressive aura leaked from the carriage, subtle yet undeniable.

It rolled out like a tide, pressing down on the surrounding crowd.

Gasps erupted.

"That pressure…!"

"He's in the Spirit Severing Realm!"

"A powerhouse!"

A few people instinctively backed away.

Even the boy's mother trembled, afraid this display of strength would make the guards back down.

But to everyone's surprise, the lead guard didn't flinch.

He didn't even glance at the pouch. Instead, he slowly raised his head and narrowed his eyes.

"You dare try to bribe the righteous enforcers of the Austere Clan?" His voice was low now, dangerous.

The guards behind him stepped forward as one, weapons partially drawn, eyes burning with unwavering loyalty.

"This isn't the past," the lead guard continued coldly. "You think status and power give you the right to harm the innocent and walk away with a sack of bribe? You're mistaken."

He raised his voice, addressing the entire crowd.

"Under the new laws enacted by master Riley, every life under the protection of our clan matters. Whether commoner or cultivator, no one is above justice."

The crowd erupted into cheers. Even those who had feared the Warner Clan now found courage in the guards' stance.

Inside the carriage, the air turned still.

"You've got ten seconds," the lead guard said sharply.

"Come out willingly and face judgment. Or we drag you out and give you a personal tour of our dungeon."

Less than ten seconds passed before the carriage door creaked open.

A man descended, his face twisted with fury. His robes bore the sigil of the Warner Clan, and his aura pulsed with the oppressive power of a Spirit Severing cultivator.

Clearly, he was not used to being questioned—let alone ordered around.

"Who gave you the courage to disrespect me?" he snarled, his voice sharp like a blade.

"You ants dare humiliate me? I want you all to die!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he released the full might of his cultivation base.

The ground trembled faintly, the air thickened, and the weaker cultivators in the crowd staggered back, choking on the pressure.

But just as quickly as his power surged—

"Poof!"