A month later, the long-awaited wedding of Riley and Ruby unfolded in the magnificent Heaven’s Gate City.
The occasion was nothing short of legendary. The city, renowned as the jewel of the continent, was adorned in shimring banners and ethereal lights that bathed every street in a golden glow.
Towering pagodas were wrapped in flowing silks, and fragrant petals drifted through the air like blessings from the heavens themselves.
The celebration was vast and unmatched in grandeur.
Nobles, sect leaders, rchants, and even wandering cultivators gathered to witness the union, their voices rising in waves of cheer as the couple exchanged vows under a sky lit with thousands of floating lanterns.
Heavenly lodies played by spiritual instrunts filled the air, resonating in harmony with the sacred aura of the city.
For an entire month, feasts stretched endlessly.
Tables groaned under the weight of delicacies, wine flowed like rivers, and laughter rang through every courtyard as performances of music, dance, and martial displays entertained guests day and night.
Riley stood at the center of it all, clad in ceremonial robes of white and gold, his hand firmly entwined with Ruby’s delicate fingers.
Her beauty was radiant that day—more dazzling than the silken sky lanterns above.
But what made his heart swell even more was the gentle smile she wore, soft yet filled with strength, the kind of smile that promised both love and unwavering loyalty.
When the last lantern faded from the night sky and the celebrations finally drew to a close, Riley found himself stepping into a life he had once only dread of.
Peace settled over him like a warm embrace. He was no longer the wandering man who faced endless storms—he was ho, surrounded by his wives who adored him completely.
To his quiet relief, none of them had yet asked for children.
It wasn’t that Riley feared fatherhood, but the timing... the timing wasn’t right.
For now, he wanted nothing more than to cherish these monts—to shower them with love, to learn every nuance of their smiles, and to indulge in the tender nights they shared.
And indulge he did. Each day began with laughter and ended in passion.
His world was filled with gentle whispers, lingering kisses, and the warmth of bodies intertwined beneath the moonlight.
Nights blurred into mornings as Riley embraced the won who had chosen him, their love deepening with every passing day.
Yet, behind this veil of happiness, a spark of ambition flickered in Riley’s mind.
A small, secret project—one he guarded carefully even from his closest companions.
It was sothing that required patience and precision, sothing that could alter the course of his future.
For now, he played the role of the devoted husband flawlessly, savoring his newfound paradise.
But deep within, Riley knew the calm before the storm never lasted forever.
Riley still had ti—ti to nurture another life that had begun in an entirely different realm.
This wasn’t the lavish world where he was celebrated, nor a palace of cultivation wonders.
Here, he was soone else, soone ordinary—or at least, that was the mask he wore.
In this realm, Riley had grown up as the heir to the Rice Clan—a humble yet resilient people of farrs and warriors.
Their clan lands stretched across fertile plains, where golden stalks of rice swayed gently in the wind, and rugged hills where n honed their skill with spear and blade.
With over fifty thousand mbers, the Rice Clan was a mortal clan by every asure—strong in its own way, yet insignificant in the grand tapestry of the heavens.
And that insignificance was precisely what Riley desired.
He had chosen this clan deliberately, carefully, calculating every factor.
In this world, where ancient powers reigned and countless eyes sought weakness and advantage, standing out was dangerous.
He could not afford attention—not from rivals, and certainly not from the owner of this realm.
Here, his rise would be slow, thodical, invisible to all who mattered until it was far too late.
I will build my legend from the soil upward, Riley thought as he gazed across the endless rice fields shimring under the sun.
No scrutiny will pierce my disguise. No suspicion will follow my steps. By the ti they realize who I am, it will already be too late.
One crimson evening, when the horizon burned with molten hues and the wind carried the scent of harvest, Riley’s father summoned him to the clan’s main hall.
The great wooden beams lood overhead, and the flicker of oil lamps cast wavering shadows across the room.
His father stood there—a towering man, his hands hardened by years of labor and battle, his presence commanding yet comforting.
"Riley," the man began, his voice carrying the weight of a lifeti spent guarding the clan, "you’ve reached an age where a boy must beco a man. This world..." His gaze darkened, sharp as tempered steel. "...is cruel. It takes from the weak without rcy. If you wish to protect our bloodline, our lands, and our people, then strength must be your sword and shield."
The words sank deep, but Riley did not waver. He stepped forward and bowed low, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. "I understand, Father. I will train. I will grow strong. I won’t let you down."
He was only ten years old in this life—his body frail, his limbs small—but within him burned a will fiercer than fire.
From that day on, Riley devoted himself entirely to the path of strength.
Dawn after dawn, he woke before the sun to draw a bowstring until his arms trembled and bled.
He swung wooden swords until his muscles scread, his sweat soaking the earth beneath him.
He learned to ride horses, galloping through fields until his legs ached and his lungs burned with every breath.
Day after day, month after month, he pushed past every limit, crushing his body only to rebuild it stronger.
The other boys of the clan trained too—but Riley was different.
They trained because they had to. He trained because he wanted to. Because deep inside, he knew a truth no one else did:
This is not just survival. This is preparation.
The world outside their fertile plains was far bigger—and far crueler—than any of them imagined.
And one day, the storm would co for the Rice Clan.
When that day arrived, Riley would not be the helpless heir everyone thought him to be.
And so, under the blood-red skies and amidst the whispering fields of rice, a boy with the soul of another world began shaping his destiny, one grueling step at a ti.
***
One year later, a truth had beco impossible to ignore—a truth that struck awe into allies and fear into those who once plotted against him.
The training grounds buzzed with anticipation that day.
Dust swirled under the blazing sun as a group of n, warriors in their pri, encircled a boy barely eleven years old.
They carried real steel swords, their eyes gleaming with determination.
He held only a wooden blade. Yet, not a flicker of fear crossed Riley’s face.
"Ready?" one of the n sneered, his lips curling into a mocking grin.
He had once whispered that Riley was soft, unfit to lead the Rice Clan.
Now, he tightened his grip on his sword, eager to crush the boy’s growing reputation.
Riley didn’t answer.
He simply shifted his stance, lowering the wooden sword in his hand, his calm gaze sweeping over his opponents.
His posture was effortless, almost lazy—yet every line of his body radiated quiet confidence.
The whistle of wind was the only warning before the first man lunged.
Steel flashed as the others followed, their blades cutting arcs ant to overwhelm.
Too slow, Riley thought, his eyes narrowing slightly.
He moved like flowing water.
The wooden sword flickered in his grasp, parrying with precision that bordered on divine.
One strike sent a sword spinning from its owner’s hands.
A pivot, a twist—and two n were down, groaning in the dirt.
Gasps erupted from the onlookers.
"What... what a monster!" one man whispered in shock as Riley casually sidestepped another blow and countered with a strike so clean it was almost elegant.
Another voice broke through the din, strained and incredulous.
"I know, right?! It’s like young master Riley has a third eye at the back of his head!"
Their words weren’t entirely wrong.
Every movent Riley made seed preordained, as if he saw the fight unfold seconds before it happened.
Blades slashed, fists swung, but nothing touched him.
His wooden sword danced in the sun, striking with surgical accuracy—never fatal, never brutal, but enough to drop warriors twice his size to the ground.
Minutes later, the dust settled.
Twelve grown n lay scattered across the field, groaning in defeat.
Riley stood alone in the center, wooden sword resting lightly on his shoulder, his breath steady as if he had rely gone for a stroll.
The crowd stared in stunned silence. They had expected a display of talent.
What they witnessed bordered on the miraculous.
Of course, Riley had planned this.
Every strike, every dodge had been deliberate, calculated to appear extraordinary yet believable.
A genius heir—rare, but not impossible. He wanted the clan to admire him, to trust in his strength, but not to fear him.
The last thing he needed was scrutiny.
I could end these battles in an instant, Riley mused as he gazed at his fallen opponents, a faint smile curling at his lips.
But power without restraint draws eyes. Eyes I can’t afford—not yet.
For within him lay knowledge and strength beyond this world, secrets so profound they could topple kingdoms.
He had walked the endless paths of Dao, mastered laws that shaped reality itself.
To him, swordsmanship was child’s play—a forgotten lody he could hum without thought.
And yet, here he was, holding back every breath, every movent, weaving the perfect illusion: a boy born with rare talent, honed by relentless effort.
As the murmurs of admiration rippled through the crowd, Riley lowered his sword and turned, his face calm, his voice steady.
"Thank you for sparring," he said lightly, as though he hadn’t just dismantled a dozen warriors with a stick.
The n who had once mocked him lowered their heads, their pride crushed beneath the weight of undeniable strength.
Among the crowd, eyes that once glead with contempt now flickered with respect—and sothing else.
Fear.
Riley felt it. He welcod it—but only in asured doses. This was just the appetizer.
One year down, he thought as he walked away, the wooden sword dangling loosely at his side.
The foundation is set. The next step begins soon.
And in the depths of his mind, a whisper lingered—a reminder of the storm he would one day unleash upon this realm.
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