My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 371 Logo

There was an awkward silence for a time before someone finally broke it.

"Where are they? Where is Elder Harren and his people?" Elder Iris asked, though deep down, she already suspected the answer.

Her voice trembled despite her attempt to sound calm.

She had sensed it the moment she arrived—the air was heavy, thick with spiritual residue and the scent of burnt qi.

It wasn’t the death of an elder that unsettled her, nor the annihilation of a million cultivators under his command.

No, what truly shook her was the manner in which they perished.

There were no broken weapons, no splattered blood, no corpses scattered across the field.

Only the faint echo of despair lingering in the space that they once stood.

"Gone with the wind," Riley replied softly.

As if to echo his words, a fierce gust swept through the barren plains.

The wind howled, picking up what looked like a sea of dust that swirled and shimmered under the pale sunlight.

For a moment, everyone thought it was just dirt kicked up by the storm—until someone looked closer.

Those were not specks of dust. They were ashes.

The ashes of the fallen.

A murmur spread through the ranks. Someone gasped; another dropped to their knees.

One young disciple clutched his stomach and vomited on the ground, unable to comprehend the scale of the slaughter.

Over a million cultivators, erased from existence so thoroughly that not even their bones remained.

The sight was surreal—terrifying even to seasoned warriors who had seen countless battles.

"How did you do it?" Elder Iris asked again, her composure slipping. "What kind of formation could cause such destruction?"

Riley’s gaze met hers, calm and steady. "Not a formation," he said slowly. "A treasure."

The words fell like thunder in the still air.

A treasure that could obliterate an entire army!

Silence followed once more. The wind had quieted, as if the world itself was mourning.

Even the disciples who saw the whole thing happened dared not speak; their eyes followed Riley with a mix of awe and fear.

Finally, Riley exhaled softly and turned to his people. "If that’s all, then until next time, Elder Iris. Thank you for your help a few days ago. My people and I still have much traveling to do."

He nodded politely, then raised his hand in command.

His clan began to move in disciplined silence, tightening the straps on their packs, checking their weapons, and preparing their many carriages for departure.

Elder Iris stood motionless, watching them. The image of the swirling ashes burned in her mind.

She wanted to ask more—to demand to see this so-called treasure—but she could tell by Riley’s expression that it was useless.

As Riley and his people departed, the ashes continued to drift through the air like silent snowflakes.

The battlefield that had once echoed with battle cries now lay deathly still, a graveyard of dust and wind.

Elder Iris finally whispered under her breath, "Gone with the wind... indeed."

***

Riley and his clan continued their journey through the wilderness.

Their pace was slow, deliberate—unhurried, as though time itself no longer had any hold over them.

The road was long and diverse, stretching endlessly beneath the crimson hue of dusk, yet none among them complained.

After all, they had survived what no one else could.

Behind them, the world whispered.

Rumors spread like wildfire, carried by wandering cultivators and frightened merchants.

Some spoke in awe, calling Riley the "Ash Maker."

Others whispered in fear, claiming he had harnessed a forbidden power that devoured the souls of men.

Yet none dared to test the truth of it.

Not a single sect or clan attempted to pursue them.

Even the boldest of cultivators avoided crossing paths with the Rice Clan, for everyone had seen what became of those who stood against them.

Surprisingly, the Sacred Heart Sword Sect made no open move against Riley.

There were no accusations, no proclamations, no calls for justice. Their silence was deafening.

Officially, they released only a single stance on this whole incident.

"An elder of our sect acted on personal motives and met his end. The sect shall not intervene in private grievances."

That was the position they took—a neat, clean explanation that buried the blood-soaked truth beneath layers of formality.

But among the higher ranks, few were fooled.

Not everyone could sit still and accept that answer.

Elder Iris, for one, could not.

In her private study, she paced before an array of glowing jade slips, each recording a piece of information about Riley and his clan.

The flickering lights reflected off her sharp eyes, which were filled not with hatred, but with something far more dangerous—curiosity mixed with doubt.

"Just one year of cultivation..." she murmured. "And already capable of killing a cultivator at the Primordial Dao Fragment Realm. Using a treasure, or so he claims."

Her voice was laced with scorn, but also unease.

Riley Rice.

The name itself was strange to her ears.

It carried no lineage of prestige, no ancient history, no backing from any of the great sects.

He was a man from the mortal realms—a plane so lowly that most cultivators barely regarded it as worthy of mention.

How could someone from there rise to such heights in so short a time?

It was impossible.

No mortal ascends the heavens without help.

Elder Iris’s expression hardened as she recalled the scene of devastation he had left behind—the ashes drifting like snow, the air saturated with the residue of a power that did not belong to this era.

She had sensed something then, a faint pulse that didn’t feel like spiritual energy but something older, something... forbidden.

"Gone with the wind," Riley had said. But what kind of wind could erase a million souls so effortlessly?

Her hands tightened behind her back as she stood before a window, staring out at the fading sunset.

The last light of day painted her silver robes in shades of gold and red, like the aftermath of a battlefield.

She turned sharply. "Summon my followers," she ordered.

Moments later, several of her trusted followers knelt before her.

They were all elites of the sect—loyal, capable, and utterly silent as they awaited her words.

"I want an investigation," she said.

"Find out everything there is to know about the Rice Clan in the mortal realms. Their history, their ancestors, their secrets. I want records, relics, anything that tells me what lies beneath that name. I want this done discreetly. These are the ash maker’s people."

"Yes, master," they answered, bowing low before vanishing in streaks of light.

Elder Iris sat down slowly, resting her hands on the armrests of her chair. Her thoughts were a storm.

***

As for Riley and his clan, they traveled for seven long days across the wild lands of the immortal realm.

Their journey took them through endless plains veiled in silver mist, over sharp ridges where the wind howled like lost spirits, and past ancient forests whose trees were said to be older than mortal civilization itself.

They met no beasts, no wandering cultivators, and no bandits along the way. The silence of their path was almost unnatural.

Every one of them knew why.

It was him.

Riley Rice.

Their leader.

Their miracle.

He walked at the front of their procession, his black robe fluttering lightly with each breeze.

His expression was calm, unshaken, and his eyes glowed faintly with an inner brilliance—something deep, immeasurable, and serene.

When he finally stopped, it was before a wide expanse of water so clear it mirrored the heavens above.

A great river stretched from one horizon to the other, its current slow yet powerful, cutting through the valley like a divine mark left by the gods themselves.

For a moment, everyone stood still. The sound of the flowing water was the only thing that filled the air.

It carried with it a soothing rhythm, ancient and timeless.

Riley’s lips curved into a faint smile.

"This," he said quietly, "will be our new home in this immortal realm."

The words carried through the wind, echoing softly like a vow.

For a heartbeat, silence lingered. Then, joy burst forth among the crowd.

Cheers erupted from the clan members—relieved, grateful, and unrestrained.

Warriors who had faced death only days ago now laughed openly.

Children clung to their mothers, their small faces bright for the first time since leaving their homeland.

After so much wandering, hardship, and fear, they had finally found a place to settle.

A home.

The river’s presence felt sacred, almost protective.

Its aura was dense with spiritual energy, the kind that nourished both body and soul.

Even the air seemed fresher here, lighter.

Some of the clan’s people knelt, whispering prayers to thank the heavens.

Others bowed deeply toward Riley, whose back was turned to them as he stared into the vast flowing current.

Though he said nothing, they knew.

It was his strength that had brought them here.

On their journey, not a single beast had dared approach them.

The very world seemed to avoid their path, bending around them as though unwilling to provoke their leader’s wrath.

In truth, none of them knew what means Riley had used to ensure their safety. They could only guess.

All they needed to know was that under Riley’s guidance, they were safe.

Their eyes followed him with absolute trust and devotion.

In their hearts, Riley was not just a leader—he was a symbol.

The mortal who ascended, the man who defied fate itself.

"Set up camp," Riley commanded softly, his tone steady yet final.

"From this day forward, this shall be the foundation of our clan."

"Yes, Patriarch!" his people answered in unison.

Activity broke out almost immediately.

Men began marking the land and clearing spaces for cultivation.

The younger cultivators used their spiritual energy to shape stone and wood into walls and simple homes.

Women drew fresh water from the river and prepared food. Children laughed as they ran barefoot across the soft grass.

Soon, the once-silent riverside came alive with sound—hammer strikes, crackling fires, and the faint hum of spiritual energy as cultivators worked together.

Night slowly descended.

Under the starlit sky, lanterns flickered to life one by one, casting warm glows across the riverbank.

The gentle light reflected on the water’s surface, making it look as though the stars themselves had descended to join them.

Riley stood a short distance away, watching his people.

The sight warmed something deep within him.

For the first time since stepping into this realm, he allowed himself to breathe freely.

Behind him, the clan continued their work, laughter echoing faintly across the valley.

The sound was peaceful—almost fragile, as if the world itself dared not disturb it.

The immortal realm was vast, and peace here was never permanent.

But for tonight, the Rice Clan slept soundly by the river, their hearts full of hope and their minds at peace.