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My Xianxia Harem Life

Chapter 403 Calculus · Oct 28, 2026

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Chapter List (444)

Page number / 9

401 Chapter 401 Mineral 2026-10-28
402 Chapter 402 Formula 2026-10-28
403 Chapter 403 Calculus 2026-10-28
404 Chapter 404 Bumper 2026-10-28
405 Chapter 405 Signature 2026-10-28
406 Chapter 406 Variation 2026-10-28
407 Chapter 407 Controversy 2026-10-28
408 Chapter 408 Bound 2026-10-28
409 Chapter 409 Character 2026-10-28
410 Chapter 410 Tropical 2026-10-28
411 Chapter 411 Inheritance 2026-10-28
412 Chapter 412 Rampage 2026-10-28
413 Chapter 413 Jest 2026-10-28
414 Chapter 414 Brain 2026-10-28
415 Chapter 415 Prime 2026-10-28
416 Chapter 416 Intern 2026-10-28
417 Chapter 417 Books 2026-10-28
418 Chapter 418 Mountain 2026-10-28
419 Chapter 419 Culture 2026-10-28
420 Chapter 420 Carpet 2026-10-28
421 Chapter 421 Versatile 2026-10-28
422 Chapter 422 Tropical 2026-10-28
423 Chapter 423 Company 2026-10-28
424 Chapter 424 Bard 2026-10-28
425 Chapter 425 Sarcasm 2026-10-28
426 Chapter 426 Planner 2026-10-28
427 Chapter 427 Documentary 2026-10-28
428 Chapter 428 Judge 2026-10-28
429 Chapter 429 Margin 2026-10-28
430 Chapter 430 Wisdom 2026-10-28
431 Chapter 431 Cushion 2026-10-28
432 Chapter 432 Survey 2026-10-28
433 Chapter 433 Remote 2026-10-28
434 Chapter 434 Skeleton 2026-10-28
435 Chapter 435 Stream 2026-10-28
436 Chapter 436 Console 2026-10-28
437 Chapter 437 Theatre 2026-10-28
438 Chapter 438 Caption 2026-10-28
439 Chapter 439 Camper 2026-10-28
440 Chapter 440 Berserker 2026-10-28
441 Chapter 441 Handler 2026-10-28
442 Chapter 442 Wheel 2026-10-28
443 Chapter 443 Nation 2026-10-28
444 Chapter 444 Garden 2026-10-28

This new realm was so impoverished and fragile that its ruler had even resorted to gathering every last immortal treasure just to feed his endless war.

Mountains had been stripped bare, sacred springs drained, and ancient sects uprooted—all so the war machine could continue devouring everything in its path.

Because of that devastation, Riley had no choice but to begin from the very bottom—reborn as a helpless infant.

Still, he made preparations, weaving a small thread of fate to ensure someone would find him.

”Uwahhhhhhh!”

His newborn cry tore through the suffocating silence of the ruined house, echoing off charred beams and shattered clay walls.

Dust drifted from above with every wail, disturbed by the tiny life hidden beneath the floorboards.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, light spilled into the cramped darkness.

A pair of rough hands pushed aside the wooden cover of the hidden compartment.

The face that appeared above him belonged to a man—no, a simple old farmer—who had wandered into the abandoned village in search of salvageable grain or broken tools he could mend.

The man was painfully thin, his cheeks hollow, his ribs faintly visible beneath his patched tunic.

The hardships of life in this starving land had carved deep lines into his face.

His hair, once black, was now gray and ancient, and his hands were calloused from endless labor in barren soil that yielded almost nothing.

Yet the moment he saw the crying child, his weary expression faltered.

His eyes widened first with disbelief, then with a flicker of fear—this village had long been abandoned, its people either fled or killed.

But as Riley’s tiny hands reached up instinctively, something shifted within the man.

”Who… left you here?” he murmured, his voice rough from disuse.

He knelt, hesitating only a heartbeat before carefully lifting the infant into his arms.

Riley felt the warmth of his touch—weak, trembling, but gentle.

The man looked around the ruined home, noticing traces of blood, overturned furniture, and hurried footprints that told a story of parents who had hidden their baby before fleeing… or being found.

A long, heavy sigh escaped his lips.

”You poor thing… The heavens must have guided my steps today.”

He wrapped Riley in the tattered cloth he found nearby, cradling him against his chest with surprising tenderness for someone who had so little warmth left to give.

Outside, the wind howled through the empty village streets, carrying with it the scent of smoke and despair.

The man stood slowly, his joints creaking, and glanced at the distant horizon where his own village lay many hours of walking away.

”Come on, little one,” he whispered. ”Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

And with that, he started the long journey home, unaware that the child he now carried would one day shake the very foundations of the realm that had nearly crumbled to dust.

The man brought the infant back to his village and raised him with quiet determination.

But soon, whispers began to ripple through the dusty streets.

”Old Craig has taken in a child!”

”Where did he even find one?”

”Probably an orphan.”

”He can hardly feed himself… how will he feed a baby?”

The villagers gossiped as if their words carried no weight, but Craig never faltered.

He walked past them with the same calm stride, Riley wrapped securely in his arms.

He did not bother explaining himself. He simply cared for the boy.

Craig’s home stood on the edge of the village—a small, creaking hut with a patch of land behind it.

Calling it a farm was generous; it was barely larger than a garden.

Still, Craig coaxed life from the soil, growing vegetables that kept them alive.

Age had weakened his limbs, and he could no longer hunt as he once did.

But despite hardship, whenever he looked at Riley, warmth returned to his tired eyes.

The child was a new beginning. A quiet miracle dropped into his lonely life.

Craig found himself waking before dawn with unexpected eagerness, preparing porridge, checking the fields, humming old songs he had not sung in years.

And at night, when Riley slept beside him, he would smile faintly and whisper:

”You’ve given this old man a reason to hope again.”

***

Years passed in a blink, soft and steady like the turning of seasons.

Riley grew quickly—as though the world itself pushed him forward.

By the time he reached four years old, he was bright, agile, and surprisingly capable for a child so young.

One morning, as the sun climbed lazily over the hills, Riley came running toward Craig with muddy feet and a brilliant grin.

”Look, Father! I caught a fish!”

Craig glanced up from his wooden stool, a laugh already escaping him. ”Oh? Let’s see it then.”

Riley lifted his fishing rod proudly, revealing a large silver-scaled fish wriggling on the hook.

”Well, would you look at that,” Craig said, eyebrows raised. ”That’s a fine catch, Riley. You’re lucky today.”

He stood and walked over to help with the catch—but his amusement turned to stunned disbelief when he saw the rest of Riley’s basket.

Inside were more than a dozen big fish, all caught within the span of an hour.

Craig blinked. ”You… you did all this?”

Riley nodded excitedly. ”Uh-huh! The fish just kept coming! I didn’t even try hard!”

For a moment, Craig simply stared.

Then warmth spread across his face and he burst into laughter that echoed across the quiet riverbank.

”Hahaha! You really are my lucky star, Riley! Truly!”

He ruffled the boy’s hair and took the heavy basket. ”Come now, this is more than enough. These will feed us for days—maybe even weeks!”

They walked home together, the basket swinging between them, heavy with their unexpected bounty.

The villagers peeked from their doorways as the pair passed by—Riley beaming with pride, Craig with a rare, full smile lighting his wrinkled face.

”Old Craig has fish again?”

”That’s the fattest catch he’s ever carried…”

”…maybe the child really is a blessing.”

Craig heard the murmurs but paid them no mind.

For once, the whispers were kind, and for once, he didn’t feel alone in the world.

That evening, as the fire crackled gently and the smell of grilled fish filled their tiny home,

Craig glanced at Riley sitting cross-legged on the floor, eagerly waving his chopsticks.

He grows well, Craig thought, heart swelling. Stronger than any child his age… clever too. The heavens must truly favor him.

Outside, night settled over the village—but inside that humble hut, warmth, laughter, and the soft glow of family lifted the darkness.

And though Craig couldn’t know it, these peaceful days were only the beginning of Riley’s destiny.

***

The years slipped by like water through fingers, each season shaping Riley into someone stronger, steadier, and far more capable than any youth in the village.

Ever since that day at the river, he made sure starvation never again entered their home.

His body grew tall and lean, muscles hardened by constant work.

By twelve he could pull a bow with ease; by fifteen he could track a deer across rugged hills without leaving a broken twig behind.

By eighteen, he had become one of the best hunters the village had ever seen.

Deer, wild boars, ducks—whatever the forest offered, Riley could capture.

Some days he returned with only enough for their household; other days he brought so much game that villagers gathered around to trade vegetables, cloth, or small tools in exchange.

Their once quiet home slowly transformed into a lively little haven.

Three young women, orphans just like Riley once was, had become part of their family.

The girls helped in every way they could.

They kept the house warm, swept the floors, cooked meals, and tended to Craig when his strength began to fail.

Laughter, chatter, and the soft rhythm of daily life filled the once-lonely hut, turning it into something almost miraculous for a man who had lived decades in silence.

And Old Craig… he aged gracefully.

Now almost eighty, his hair white and thin, his back a little stooped, he often sat outside beneath the shade of an old tree, watching Riley return from the forest with a proud, gentle smile.

He had lived through war, famine, and the death of loved ones, yet the last eighteen years had been his most peaceful.

His happiest. His heart was full.

But time, relentless as ever, continued its march.

Craig’s breaths grew slower. His legs weakened. There were days he could barely rise from his bed.

The entire household could see it—the inevitable end approaching with each sunset.

Sometimes, in the stillness of night, Riley would rise from his mat and check on Craig, watching the old man sleep just to make sure he still breathed.

Then, one quiet evening, the air unusually calm, Craig’s voice drifted softly through the doorway of his room.

”Riley… come here, child.”

Riley was at his side instantly, sensing something heavy, something final in that frail whisper.

The candles flickered around the room, their dim light revealing the deep lines on Craig’s face and the faint tremble in his fingers.

Riley knelt beside the bed, taking Craig’s thin hand gently.

”I’m here, Father,” he said quietly.

A faint smile touched Craig’s lips.

His breathing was shallow, but his eyes—still kind, still warm—looked at Riley with the affection of a lifetime.

He gathered what little strength he had left.

”I have something… I need to tell you.”

The room fell utterly still, the air thick with the weight of impending farewell.

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