My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 216 Bag

"Hak!"

"Hak!"

"Hak!"

The coughing was violent, guttural—wet with blood, pain, and injury.

"What... what was that?!" a man screamed, collapsing to his knees on the cracked, smoldering ground, 20,000 miles away from the point of impact.

He vomited a thick stream of blood, splattering the earth beneath him in crimson streaks. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, eyes wide with disbelief and fear.

Moments later, space twisted beside him. Two more figures emerged, teleporting in with flickers of unstable qi. They looked worse than he did—barely standing, drenched in blood and dust.

One of them was missing an arm, torn off at the shoulder. The other’s robe was half-burned, exposing skin marred with deep lacerations and internal injuries.

Every breath they took seemed to cost them something. Blood continued to drop from where they stood.

They were supposed to be untouchable. Revered across continents. Peak cultivators, feared by emperors and worshiped by sects. And yet here they were—battered, broken, humbled.

The one-armed man dropped to the ground, clutching his stump. His face was pale, sweat pouring down his temples.

His breath was unsteady.

"I... I didn’t even see it coming," he whispered, still in shock. "One moment we were talking, and the next—he waved his hand and everything just... collapsed."

The third man, the oldest among them, leaned against a scorched boulder, coughing up blood of his own. "That wasn’t just a technique," he said hoarsely. "That was a goddamn statement."

Silence fell over them for a moment. None of them dared to speak too quickly, not until their shaking bodies calmed and their fractured minds processed what had just happened.

"We almost got killed," one of them finally said, voice hollow.

"No," the older man corrected grimly. "We should be dead. If Daoist Riley had been even slightly serious, we wouldn’t be here talking right now."

The one-armed man gave a bitter laugh that ended in another cough. "And he didn’t even look angry. Not even annoyed. He just looked... disappointed."

"That’s what terrifies me the most," the third muttered. "He didn’t even need to use his full strength. That wasn’t his strongest move. That was a warning. A casual slap to remind us of our place."

All three shivered.

They had gone to confront Riley Mason together, three peak cultivators who—individually—were each strong enough to level mountains and demand respect wherever they walked.

Arrogance had brought them to that meeting. Confidence that their combined power would be enough to pressure Riley into compliance.

They had expected resistance. Maybe even a short fight.

But they hadn’t expected this.

"Riley Mason..." one of them muttered under his breath, as if the name itself had gained weight. "He’s not just strong. He’s beyond anything we’ve seen."

"He’s in a different realm," another added. "A different existence. It’s no wonder why he could kill peak cultivators in this world with ease. He certainly has that power and more."

For a while, they sat there in the silence of their ruin, too humbled to speak. The landscape around them was still trembling from the distant aftershock—birds fleeing from trees, clouds parting in the sky, the earth humming with residual energy.

It was a reminder that true power didn’t need to shout. It simply was.

Eventually, they stood, slowly and with effort. The missing arm began to regenerate, sinew and bone crawling out from the shoulder like vines twisting toward sunlight.

One of them wiped the blood from his lips and said, "We’re not doing that again."

"No," the others agreed, nearly in unison. Their bodies trembled as they thought of that giant palm that almost reaped their lives.

Without another word, they activated their movement techniques and vanished into the air, each flying toward their respective continents—deep in thought, nursing wounds that went far beyond the physical.

They had sought to intimidate Riley Mason.

Instead, they had glimpsed a truth that few in the world ever saw:

There are monsters in this world that wear the face of men.

And Riley Mason was one of them.

***

Riley, unlike the three powerhouses still trembling on distant continents, had already forgotten about them.

A few days has already passed and he hadn’t spared them a second thought since their meeting.

Their shock, their injuries, their realization of how wide the gap was between them—it was all meaningless to him. They had come to pressure him.

They had left broken. And that was that.

He neither held grudges nor bothered with the pride of lesser beings.

What occupied his thoughts instead was far more pleasant.

Thea.

He reclined on a jade chaise, a book resting loosely in one hand, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes weren’t truly focused on the page.

They drifted occasionally to the window, to the blooming pear blossoms in the courtyard, and then back to the words that, while simplistic, held a strange comfort.

He wondered when Thea would come.

The wind stirred softly through the open window, bringing with it the scent of tea and warm earth. The small pond outside rippled gently, disturbed by nothing but the lazy drift of koi.

This was the kind of peace Riley cherished.

But peace, it seemed, was not something the world intended for him to keep.

A light knock echoed from the door.

"Young Master Riley, you have guests outside," came the clear, measured voice of Ruby.

He did not move immediately. He lingered in silence, absorbing the last line of the Chapter. Then, lazily, he turned the page.

Ruby remained at the threshold, still and patient as always.

She had served him well indeed. Perhaps he should visit the upper realms in his free time also. But that would come later. Now he got another business to handle.

"Who are they?" Riley asked finally, his voice soft but resonant.

"People from the Golden Dragon Clan," Ruby said. Her face was a porcelain mask—immaculate and serene. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her features.

That alone told him it was serious.

He sighed quietly and closed the book, though he didn’t mark the page. He wouldn’t need to. The story was one he could recite from memory anyway. A lone hero fighting against overwhelming odds.

Slaying demon after demon. Surviving through will and strength and just enough luck. It was laughable compared to real life—but charming nonetheless.

Using only a sliver of his divine sense, Riley reached out beyond the walls of his estate. In an instant, he brushed over the minds of the guests waiting at his guest halls.

Arrogant thoughts. Shallow schemes. That ever-persistent delusion that status and legacy meant something to him.

The Golden Dragon Clan still clung to old glory and victory, still believed themselves the apex of the mortal world.

Riley withdrew his sense with a slight frown of boredom.

"They’re not worth my time," he said flatly. "Tell them I’m busy."

"As you wish, Young Master," Ruby said with a graceful nod.

She turned and walked away, her steps soundless against the polished jade floor. Her crimson robes flowed around her with every movement, clinging to her tall, graceful frame.

Even in the simplest of tasks, she carried herself with elegance that no courtesan could replicate, no empress could fake. She was a living monument to control, discipline, and silent strength.

And she, more than anyone, understood her master.

Riley leaned back again and reopened the book, smiling faintly. Peace, however brief, was something to be savored.

Today, he had tea. A book. A quiet afternoon.

And the promise of Thea’s return.

But not everyone was pleased with how the day had turned out.

Far from it.

A group stood in the guest halls, their expressions twisted in outrage and humiliation. The atmosphere was tense, simmering with restrained fury.

"What is the meaning of this?! Does Daoist Riley intend to slap the face of the very clan that rules these lands?" an old man roared, his voice echoing through the mountain valley.

He was clearly the leader—his golden robes adorned with intricate dragon embroidery fluttering in the breeze. The emblem of the Golden Dragon Clan was impossible to miss: regal, ancient, and proud.

Dozens stood behind him, all dressed in similar garb, their faces dark with indignation.

They had come in strength and in status, expecting respect... or at the very least, acknowledgment. But instead, they were denied even an audience.

Ruby stood alone before them, calm and unshaken. The delicate wind played with the hem of her crimson robe, but she herself was still as a statue, her face unreadable.

"I apologize," she said softly. "But I do not have an answer for you. I am merely a maid in service of Young Master Riley. I would not presume to guess at his thoughts or intentions."

Her tone was polite, even deferential. Yet somehow, her words only made the insult sting more.

The old man’s eyes narrowed. His lips trembled slightly, but not from fear—only fury. And yet, he did not act. As much as he wanted to, he knew better.

To lash out here, in Riley’s domain, was suicide.

He clenched his fists behind his back and growled, "So be it. You may think yourselves above us now. But this insult will not be forgotten."

He turned sharply, his long sleeves trailing behind him like a banner of defiance.

"All of you will regret this day. I swear it," he spat, his voice low but venomous. "Let’s go."

With a final glare at the unmoving Ruby, the delegation from the Golden Dragon Clan departed, their golden robes vanishing into the distance like a fading storm.

Ruby watched them go without a word, her crimson eyes reflecting nothing but the sky.

Then she turned silently and walked back into the estate.

Another ripple had passed.

But the waters, for now, remained calm.

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