My Xianxia Harem Life

Daoist Gentle Dream had faced death, slaughter, and heavenly tribulations without flinching.

She had been surrounded by the most handsome men, the most fearsome warriors, the most cunning emperors, and none had ever stirred even a fraction of desire in her heart.

Yet now—now she was trembling, her body betraying her, and Riley Mason wasn’t even touching her.

It wasn’t just his physical presence, nor his obscene size—it was the way he moved, the effortless dominance in his touch, the sheer control in his every motion.

His lovers melted under him, writhing and crying out in pleasure, lost in a bliss that seemed almost otherworldly.

Each sigh, each moan, each whispered plea for more sent another jolt of heat straight to her core.

She bit her lip, fighting the shudder that threatened to escape her body.

"This is ridiculous. I am Daoist Gentle Dream. I have ascended beyond mortal temptations. I should not—no, I cannot—be feeling this way."

But her body didn’t care for her logic.

It craved, it ached, it longed.

Her fingers twitched, a dangerous thought creeping into her mind. Would it really be so bad if…

She shut her eyes and inhaled sharply, forcing the thought away.

No, she couldn’t allow this weakness. This was not just attraction—this was something deeper, something unnatural.

"Riley Mason… just how strong are you?"

For the first time, Daoist Gentle Dream looked at him with something far beyond admiration. Respect. Fear. Longing.

And worst of all—an unbearable curiosity.

***

Three days later, Riley continued his healing as usual, showing no signs of fatigue despite the endless stream of patients seeking his aid.

The once-small hospital was now overflowing with people—sick and injured, rich and poor, commoners and cultivators alike—all waiting patiently for their turn to receive the young healer’s miraculous touch.

Daoist Gentle Dream remained by his side, watching intently as Riley worked.

She was no mere observer—she took meticulous notes, carefully memorizing every detail of his healing methods.

As someone who had lived for more than 2,500 years, she had encountered countless healers, doctors, and alchemists, but never had she seen anyone heal as Riley did.

His prescriptions were strange, unorthodox, and unlike anything recorded in the annals of cultivation history.

Yet, they worked.

She had already learned more in these three days than she had in centuries of study.

And she wasn’t the only one.

News of Riley’s methods spread like wildfire, drawing countless healers, herbalists, and even rival sects to the hospital.

Some came out of genuine curiosity, eager to understand his approach to medicine.

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Others, however, sought to plagiarize his techniques, hoping to claim his discoveries as their own.

This influx of spies and opportunists caused tension within the hospital.

Crowds gathered not only for healing but to steal knowledge.

Cultivators disguised as patients watched from the shadows, scribes frantically documented Riley’s every move, and ambitious alchemists whispered amongst themselves, scheming how best to replicate his miracle cures.

But Riley?

He didn’t care.

If people copied his methods, then so be it. That only meant more people would be healed, and more lives would be saved.

To him, that was the only thing that mattered.

Still, the growing crowds made one thing glaringly clear—the hospital was too small.

The tiny building, which had once been enough to treat a few dozen patients at a time, now struggled to hold even a fraction of the people who needed help.

Seeing this, the people of the city—merchants, laborers, cultivators, and nobles alike—came together, moved by Riley’s selflessness.

Out of gratitude, out of admiration, and perhaps even out of faith, they took it upon themselves to expand the hospital.

It was no longer just a simple clinic.

A massive project was underway.

A new hospital—ten times the size of the current one—was being built at an astonishing speed.

Skilled artisans and cultivators worked day and night, constructing a grand structure that would be able to accommodate thousands of patients at once.

The best materials were used, enchanted wood reinforced with spiritual energy, walls inscribed with ancient runes to maintain purity and healing energy.

And at the center of it all—

Was Riley.

Unbothered by fame. Unmoved by the schemes around him.

He simply continued healing.

One patient at a time.

***

A full week had passed since Riley’s healing began drawing crowds beyond imagination.

His methods—unorthodox yet undeniably effective—had turned his hospital into a place of legend.

Healers, scholars, cultivators, and sect leaders alike had come to witness his craft, each leaving in awe.

But on this day, the air shifted.

A new presence arrived, one that silenced even the rowdiest of onlookers.

"Make way!"

The crowd instinctively parted, as if guided by an unseen force.

"Look at their robes!" someone whispered in shock.

"The emblem on their backs… A sword hilt!"

A ripple of fear and reverence spread through the people.

There was no mistaking it—these were the elite disciples of Hidden Sword Valley, the second-ranked righteous sect in the region.

Their reputation was as sharp as their swords, and their presence alone demanded respect.

At the center of the group stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman, her long white robes flowing like cascading silk.

She moved with effortless grace, but despite her composure, something was off.

Her skin was too pale.

Her lips were drained of color.

Her steps, though light, lacked strength.

She was ill.

Yet, despite the dire state of their leader, the disciples of Hidden Sword Valley did not immediately approach Riley.

Instead, they turned their attention to another figure standing in the crowd.

Daoist Gentle Dream.

A woman who, despite her misleadingly serene name, had a reputation as one of the most cunning and unpredictable cultivators alive.

A voice, sharp and laced with disdain, rang out.

"So the rumors were true. The stench of an evil woman lingers in this city."

The one who spoke was Daoist White Snow, a woman as famous for her sword as she was for her unyielding sense of justice.

And the target of her hostility, Daoist Gentle Dream, merely smirked.

"Oh?" she mused, her tone dripping with amusement.

"And you’re still the same annoying bitch as always. Tell me, Daoist White Snow, do you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?"

Boom!

A wave of spiritual pressure erupted as the two powerhouses released their aura at the same time.

The ground cracked beneath them.

The air trembled from the sheer force of their power.

Weak cultivators staggered back, struggling to remain standing.

A battle between two peak experts was seconds away from exploding into chaos.

And then—

Thud.

In an instant, both Daoist Gentle Dream and Daoist White Snow collapsed to their knees.

Not because of each other.

But because of something far greater.

An unseen force pressed down upon them, so heavy and absolute that it left them completely immobilized.

A voice, calm yet filled with undeniable dominance, rang out through the silence.

"Do the two of you wish to be banned from here?"

It was Riley.

And with just his words, he had subjugated two of the strongest women in the region.

"What?!"

Both Daoist Gentle Dream and Daoist White Snow were in utter shock.

They had expected many things—but not this.

It wasn’t just that Riley had suppressed them. It was how effortlessly he had done it.

Their bodies refused to move, their qi refused to circulate, and their very minds felt as though they were trapped under an unbreakable force.

They struggled. They resisted. Nothing changed.

"Impossible…" Daoist White Snow’s breath came out in shallow gasps.

For Riley to overpower them so casually, he had to be at least in the Void Tribulation Realm, if not beyond.

Two Spirit Severing Realm cultivators had been rendered completely helpless in an instant.

The realization was terrifying.

And so, White Snow did the only thing she could do.

She lowered her head.

"Please forgive us, Young Master Riley." Her voice was humble, yet filled with restrained fury.

"This woman is from the Phantom Abyss Sect. She should have been eradicated long ago! Please, Young Master Riley, help me rid the world of this vile creature and do justice for all!"

The words were righteous. Convincing. A lesser man might have been swayed.

Riley merely glanced at her.

And shook his head.

"Are your hands clean, then?" His voice was calm, yet carried immeasurable weight.

Daoist White Snow flinched.

"Can you say, with full certainty, that you have never harmed an innocent on your path to power?" Riley’s golden eyes bore into her soul, reading through her past as if it were an open book.

Daoist White Snow’s lips parted—but no words came out.

Her mind raced, trying to form a rebuttal.

But she could not.

Because she knew the truth.

And now, so did Riley.

Riley commanded the two women to kneel in place, forcing them to remain there in silence and submission.

They stayed motionless, waiting as time stretched on, until it was finally Hidden Sword Valley’s turn for him to offer his healing.