My Xianxia Harem Life

”Did I hear that correctly?” an elder asked, his brows furrowed in disbelief.

”The patriarch intends to lower himself and form an alliance with that newcomer?”

Murmurs spread through the hall like ripples on a still pond.

The air was thick with unease, each elder exchanging glances but offering no firm opinion.

”It’s not entirely unexpected,” another elder finally said, stroking his long, silver beard.

”Daoist Riley has already proven himself to be a formidable powerhouse. His strength is no rumor.”

”Formidable is an understatement,” a third added with a grim chuckle.

”One palm, five kills. The witnesses weren’t exaggerating. That kind of power isn’t something you see every day. It’s not even far-fetched to call him invincible within his realm.”

”A man like that doesn’t just command fear—he demands respect,” someone muttered.

”Who would ever want to provoke someone like him?” another elder said, shaking his head. ”It would be suicide.”

The elders continued whispering among themselves, their voices a low hum of speculation and wariness.

Yet despite all the talk, not a single one stepped forward to directly address the patriarch’s decision.

They hesitated—not out of disobedience, but because they all understood the weight of what such an alliance would imply.

To submit, even partially, to an outsider… it would be a shift in power the clan hadn’t seen in generations.

And still, silence reigned.

”I’m waiting for recommendations, not senseless rabble,” the patriarch finally said, his voice like thunder echoing through the grand hall.

The low hum of murmuring voices died instantly.

A heavy silence fell over the chamber as the elders turned their attention toward the throne, each sensing the flicker of irritation behind the patriarch’s composed facade.

No one dared speak immediately. Then, slowly, voices began to rise once more—this time with purpose.

”Perhaps the Saint Child,” one elder offered cautiously.

”Her cultivation is already in the late Nascent Soul stage, and her reputation precedes her. She’s young, proud, and gifted. The clan has invested many resources in her.”

Another shook his head. ”No, the Saint Child is too headstrong. She’d sooner challenge Daoist Riley than extend a hand in peace or lay on his bed.”

”Then what of the Ice Fairy from the Azure Branch? Her beauty is legendary, and her demeanor more suited to diplomacy. Daoist Riley might be more receptive to someone like her.”

”There’s also Lady Feiyan from the Eastern Peaks,” someone else added. ”Her cultivation base may be slightly weaker, but she possesses a silver tongue and has mediated between sects before.”

As the names poured in, the hall once again swelled with debate.

Prodigies, goddesses, and heirs from various branches were brought up—each with their own strengths, weaknesses, and political entanglements.

The list grew longer with each suggestion, and so did the complexity of the decision.

Arguments broke out over bloodlines, allegiances, and merit.

Some pushed for those with close ties to the main bloodline, while others advocated for distant yet promising talents in hopes of strengthening weaker branches.

Every recommendation carried with it the weight of ambition and clan politics.

The patriarch remained still, listening without interruption, though his fingers tapped slowly against the armrest of his chair—an unspoken warning that his patience had limits.

Time passed. Incense burned low. Servants came and went in silence, refilling teacups that no one touched.

Eventually, after hours of deliberation, the chaotic storm of opinions began to settle. From the swirling maelstrom of names, one figure gradually emerged as the unanimous choice—a rare point of agreement among so many clashing voices.

This candidate was not the most powerful nor the most beautiful, but they possessed a balance of strength, intelligence, and temperament that made them uniquely suited for the task.

The patriarch opened his eyes, sharp and focused, as the final name was spoken aloud.

Silence returned.

And then he nodded.

Still, amid the rising tide of suggestions and rebuttals, one elder raised a hand and spoke with a calm voice that cut through the noise.

”There’s one matter we haven’t considered,” he said, glancing around the chamber.

”We’ve been discussing female candidates under the assumption that Daoist Riley would be more inclined toward them… but what if his tastes are broader?”

A few elders paused mid-discussion, turning to him with puzzled expressions.

The elder continued, his tone unbothered. ”What if Daoist Riley is equally fond of men? Or perhaps he favors men more than women? Shouldn’t we, at the very least, prepare a male candidate as a contingency?”

A silence fell over the room—not out of outrage, but out of genuine consideration.

Some looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

Others leaned back, stroking their beards, deep in thought.

”That’s… actually a fair point,” one of the younger elders said after a moment.

”We don’t know much about Daoist Riley’s personal life, only his martial prowess. If an emotional or personal bond is to be used as a bridge for this alliance, it’s foolish to make assumptions.”

”I agree,” another elder chimed in. ”We should be thorough. Overlook no possibility. This alliance could shape the clan’s future for centuries to come.”

”Then perhaps we should expand our list,” said a stern-faced elder from the southern branch.

”We have several outstanding young men within the clan who are strong, graceful, and highly regarded. They may not be goddesses, but they’re no less dazzling in their own right.”

A few of the more conservative elders shifted uncomfortably, but none dared oppose the logic. The stakes were too high for pride or prejudice to interfere.

”There’s the Jade Prince of the Misty Pavilion—his reputation for elegance and charm is unmatched,” one elder suggested. ”And he’s of direct descent from the patriarchal line.”

”Don’t forget that young Alaric from the Western Peaks,” another added. ”He may not come from the main bloodline, but his swordsmanship and wit have turned many heads. Daoist Riley might appreciate a spirited challenge more than a docile beauty.”

Murmurs rose again, but this time with a new energy.

The discussion, once limited to cultivation prodigies and fairies, had taken on a broader, more complex tone.

The list of candidates doubled, then tripled, as new names—both male and female—entered the fray.

Through it all, the patriarch remained silent, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed in thought. He was listening. Calculating.

There would be no mistakes.

In the end, just as the discussion was beginning to spiral again, a figure stepped forward from the side of the hall.

It was Elvis, the clan’s intelligence officer—discreet, efficient, and rarely seen unless his presence was absolutely necessary.

He approached the dais with a sealed scroll in hand and bowed respectfully.

”A report, Patriarch. Fresh from our informants stationed near Daoist Riley’s residence.”

The patriarch took the scroll without a word, broke the seal, and unfolded it.

His eyes scanned the parchment quickly, sharp gaze flicking from line to line.

After a few seconds, he let out a faint exhale, not quite a sigh, but something between relief and finality.

”This changes things,” he said, raising the report so all could see.

”According to our latest intelligence, Daoist Riley has only ever been seen associating closely with women. There are no recorded instances of him showing any interest in men, romantically or otherwise.”

A ripple of murmurs spread across the grand hall. Some elders nodded knowingly, while others exchanged silent glances. The uncertainty that had hovered like a mist finally began to dissipate.

”This makes our task clearer,” the patriarch continued, his voice echoing with renewed authority.

”We will eliminate the male candidates from consideration. From this point forward, our focus returns solely to the female prodigies.”

He paused, then narrowed his eyes slightly, his tone growing sharper.

”However, let us not forget—Daoist Riley is not easily impressed. According to what we’ve gathered, not a single woman who sought marriage or alliance with him has ever been accepted into his home. Not one.”

That statement cast a new layer of tension over the room. The elders fell quiet again, the weight of the challenge sinking in.

”We must be meticulous,” the patriarch said. ”Whoever we send must possess more than just beauty or cultivation talent. She must have the temperament, the wisdom, and perhaps even the charm to draw Daoist Riley’s attention. We are not merely sending a gift—we are forging the foundation of a future alliance.”

He leaned forward slightly on his throne.

”This cannot be another offering to be cast aside.”

At his command, the elders sprang back into motion.

Servants brought forth scrolls, crystal memory orbs, and painted portraits of the final female candidates.

Their accomplishments were reviewed: cultivation levels, spiritual affinities, sect training, temperaments, bloodlines, even their talents in music, tea ceremonies, and poetic composition.

Each candidate’s potential was weighed again—this time with more urgency, more scrutiny, and more pressure.

”The Saintess of the Crimson Lotus Temple has a flawless reputation and cultivates a dual-element technique,” one elder offered.

”Yes, but she’s too proud. Daoist Riley may not take kindly to arrogance,” another countered.

”What about Lady Yun’er from the Cloud Branch? Her demeanor is gentle, and she has a spiritual beast companion. That may amuse him.”

”Don’t forget the twin prodigies from the Eastern Pavilion,” a third said. ”Both are at the peak of Core Formation and have never lost a public duel.”

The debate grew fierce, but this time, it was focused and productive.

They started anew and this time more equally worthy women came into the picture.

And outside, the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the hall as the search for the perfect candidate continued deep into the night.