My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 383 Alchemy

Riley gathered the loot from the dead, of course, didn’t forget to visit the Starry Sky Pavilion to claim it as his own.

The once-proud sect was now in shock, its elders slain, its disciples trembling before the man who had single-handedly crushed their leadership.

He stood at the highest point of the main hall, looking down on the survivors who knelt before him.

"I now claim ownership of this sect," he declared, his tone calm but filled with unshakable authority.

"Those who wish to leave may do so freely. Those who wish to stay, stay—but know that I will not treat you unfairly. You have three hours to decide."

His words were simple, yet they carried the weight of final judgment.

The disciples looked at one another, their faces pale. Some quickly gathered their belongings and fled without looking back, terrified of what the Ash Maker might do next.

Others stayed, driven by fear, ambition, or a strange admiration for the man who had overturned their world in a single day.

Riley didn’t bother to stop them or persuade anyone. To him, loyalty forced through fear was useless.

Those who stayed would stay because they saw value in him—or because they understood that following him meant survival.

He gave his orders, reorganized the remaining disciples, and in a matter of days, the Starry Sky Pavilion was reborn under his rule.

A month passed. Whispers of his deeds spread across the entire region like wildfire.

The destruction of the Starry Sky Pavilion was just the beginning—several smaller sects that tried to provoke him were reduced to ashes, their leaders never seen again.

Soon, everyone knew the name Ash Maker. To some, it was a name spoken with reverence.

To others, it was a curse.

"The Ash Maker is a heinous villain!"

"Why haven’t the righteous sects united to destroy this scourge?"

"You must be dreaming. Who would risk their life to challenge him?"

"The Ash Maker isn’t someone simple..."

Taverns, markets, and cultivation gatherings were filled with talk of him.

But while the world gossiped and trembled, Riley neither cared for the praise nor the condemnation.

To him, power was the only truth and to think otherwise was folly.

***

Another year slipped by like a fleeting dream, and the names Riley Rice and the Ash Maker echoed across the immortal realms louder than ever.

In taverns, sect gatherings, and royal banquets alike, cultivators whispered those names with awe and fear.

Some called him a genius who rose from nothing, others a demon who painted his path in blood—but all agreed on one thing: no one with sense would ever dare to offend the Rice Clan.

To provoke the clan was to invite death itself, for the Ash Maker’s vengeance was said to be absolute.

Entire sects that once mocked him had vanished overnight, their mountain gates reduced to blackened ruins.

Even the most arrogant young masters now lowered their heads when a member of the Rice Clan passed by.

Riley, however, didn’t live his days in constant battle. He had already done enough killing for one lifetime.

For now, he sought to enjoy the life he had earned.

Lavish feasts filled his halls nightly—tables overflowing with spiritual wines, roasted beast meat, and heavenly fruits that radiated soft light.

Music and laughter drifted through the pavilion, and guests from every corner of the realm came to pay their respects.

But Riley’s pleasure was never without purpose.

Behind every smile and cup of wine, there was calculation.

He understood the truth of power: that strength alone wasn’t enough to stand at the top.

Influence, reputation, and relationships were weapons just as sharp as any blade.

So he entertained guests without bias—elders from righteous sects, emissaries from demonic clans, wandering cultivators with mysterious backgrounds.

Each one came with their own agenda, yet Riley handled them all with effortless grace.

To some, he offered friendship; to others, veiled threats hidden behind polite words.

By the end of the year, countless powerful figures owed him favors or feared his wrath.

Of course, not everyone came in peace.

A handful of guests arrived with darker intentions—spies hoping to infiltrate his home, assassins masked as envoys, and schemers who believed they could deceive the Ash Maker.

But Riley had long learned to trust no one blindly.

Every shadow in his mansion was watched, every whisper heard.

When their plots were uncovered, he made examples of them.

Their bodies were hung outside his gates, bound in chains forged from spiritual steel, their corpses reduced to charcoal by his flames.

The message was clear to all who approached: betrayal is paid in ashes.

Along the way, Riley forged many new friendships—connections that were not merely built upon power or benefit, but genuine respect.

His name alone carried enough weight to attract countless cultivators, nobles, and sect leaders to his halls, yet only a few truly earned a place beside him.

Among all the faces that passed through his home, there was one that stood apart—one that shone brighter than the rest.

She wasn’t a stranger.

"Bang!"

A thunderous crash shattered the calm of the mountain valley as a streak of light descended from the heavens.

The ground quaked from the impact, sending a wave of dust and shattered stone in all directions.

The watching disciples could only shield their eyes as the dust storm swirled, their faces pale in awe.

When the smoke finally cleared, the scene that emerged left everyone speechless.

A woman stood at the center of a massive crater, her long silver hair flowing wildly in the wind.

Her robes were torn and scorched in places, yet her posture was unbroken—her presence proud and unyielding.

Her skin gleamed faintly under the sunlight, and her eyes, fierce and focused, locked onto the figure hovering in the air above her.

It was Riley.

"I’m not done yet," Iris declared, brushing dust from her shoulder. Her lips curved into a defiant smile. "Again."

Riley’s amused grin was visible even from above. "You never learn to rest, do you?"

Without another word, he descended, and the battle resumed.

The sky erupted into chaos once more.

Waves of spiritual energy rippled through the air as the two exchanged blow after blow, their figures blurring faster than the eye could follow.

Each strike shook the heavens; each clash scattered thunder across the horizon.

Disciples from both sides gathered at a distance, watching in awe as their sect master traded attacks with the legendary beauty who could match him in strength.

Neither of them held back much—though it was clear that both were enjoying themselves.

Their duels had long since become a tradition, an unspoken way to test their growth and rekindle the bond forged through battle.

An hour later, the dust settled once more.

The two hovered side by side above the valley, their spiritual energy slowly fading into the quiet of dusk.

Riley let out a hearty laugh. "You’re getting better and better, Iris. Keep this up, and I’ll be the one eating dirt next time."

Iris smirked, wiping a trickle of blood from her lip. "You say that every time, but somehow I’m still the one hitting the ground."

"That’s because you rush in too much."

"That’s because you hold back too much." Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she added, "One day, I’ll force you to fight me seriously, Riley Rice."

He chuckled, meeting her gaze. "Then I’ll look forward to that day."

As the last light of the setting sun bathed them in gold, silence fell over the mountain.

The disciples dispersed, whispering about the display they had just witnessed, while the two cultivators landed softly on the cliffside overlooking the valley.

For a long while, they simply stood there—Riley with his calm, knowing smile, and Iris with her confident yet gentle expression.

The air between them carried both tension and warmth, the kind born only between warriors who had seen each other’s true strength.

In that fleeting moment, it was as if the world itself had gone still. The wars, the rival sects, the whispers of the Ash Maker—all faded into the background.

What remained was something simpler. Two souls, bound by fire and fate, standing shoulder to shoulder beneath a burning sky.

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood: in this endless world of power and ambition, such companionship was rarer than immortality itself.

At first, Iris had only wanted to test the truth behind the rumors.

The tales of the Ash Maker—the man who single-handedly destroyed the Starry Sky Pavilion—had spread across the immortal realms like wildfire.

Some claimed he had ascended to a realm beyond comprehension, while others dismissed the stories as exaggerations.

Iris, who had seen Riley before and even investigated his roots and origin, refused to believe them without proof.

So she sought him out.

When she met Riley again after his conquest of the Pavilion, she hadn’t come as an elder of the sacred heart sword sect, but as a challenger.

She wanted to see with her own eyes whether the man she once knew had truly become so strong—or if the world was merely drunk on his legend.

The result left her speechless.

He was in the same cultivation realm as her, yet his strength felt immeasurable.

Every move he made carried a weight, a calm assurance that no ordinary cultivator could possess.

When she asked how he had achieved such a terrifying leap in power, his answer had been simple—almost absurd.

"You know about my immortal treasure," he had said, his tone casual. "This treasure... gave me more than I ever expected."

That was all. No grand speech, no attempt to boast.

Just a simple truth spoken by a man who seemed to have transcended pride itself.

They had fought that day, and Iris had been utterly overwhelmed.

Not by brute strength alone, but by the fluid precision of his techniques—every strike perfectly measured, every defense effortless.

Her pride as a cultivator had taken a heavy blow.

But she was not someone who gave up easily.

Again and again, she returned to face him.

Each time she trained harder, refined her techniques, and swore that this would be the time she would finally defeat him.

Yet, no matter how much she improved, the outcome never changed. Riley always stood victorious.

Her ego screamed at every defeat, her pride scorched by the flame of his superiority—but deep down, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him for it.

Instead, she found herself growing more intrigued, more drawn to the man who stood at the summit so effortlessly.

After another exhausting battle, Iris landed on the ground, chest heaving.

She looked up at Riley, who hovered above her with that familiar calm expression—the faint smile that seemed both kind and untouchable.

Taking a deep breath, she studied his face closely.

His sharp features, the quiet confidence in his eyes, the way his presence seemed to command the world around him—it all made her heart tighten for reasons she refused to admit.

Just what kind of man have you become, Riley Rice...? she wondered silently, her gaze lingering on him far longer than it should have.