Everyone turned their eyes to Riley, waiting for his response. His reputation as a powerful yet lethargic cultivator preceded him, and no one dared to interrupt the tense silence.
"I don't take disciples," Riley said flatly, leaning back against the wooden pillar of his courtyard. His voice carried a casual indifference, as if the weight of the moment was beneath his notice.
"I'm too lazy for that. Please go back and never come here again."
Despite his words, Riley knew the futility of his refusal. The woman before him had already made up her mind long before she set foot in his courtyard.
Her persistence was carved into her determined gaze, one that would not waver even in the face of death.
Eve dropped to her knees, her voice unwavering.
"Please, Young Master Riley! If not your disciple, then let me be anything—your servant, your slave, or even your bedwarmer!" Her declaration rang out with fervor, startling even the other disciples nearby.
