The terms were so generous, they were practically outrageous. Zhao Rui was almost tempted to accept.
Unfortunately, his ambitions lay elsewhere, and he didn't want to waste his energy teaching disciples.
So, naturally, he refused them all.
The next day, Zhao Rui was drinking tea with Qin Rui at the entrance of his rented Martial Arts Hall. Qin Rui had brought the tea from home. Supposedly—ahem—she had plucked each leaf from the tea tree with her mouth.
As she said this, she had also licked her lips, whether intentionally or not.
"Senior Sister, you don't have bad breath, do you?"
Zhao Rui's one sentence shattered her composure, and she never brought up the matter of a maiden plucking tea leaves again.
Just as the two were drinking tea and chatting idly, a middle-aged man approached. He was dressed in a dark purple Tang suit, his slightly long hair combed back, giving him a rather sharp appearance.
Following behind him were two young men in their twenties.
