Mo Han didn't take any rest. The long line didn't stop as more women flocked and they even paid to ditch the line.
By evening, the Healing Tower had grown quieter, though the hum of anticipation outside had not dimmed in the slightest.
Mo Han finally stepped out of his private chamber, his shoulders visibly heavy from the weight of an entire day's treatments. His eyes bore the calmness of discipline, but beneath them lingered a weariness he couldn't hide.
Yet the long corridor outside erupted at once.
"Please, healer, just one glance at me!"
"My chest aches—I only need a touch!"
"Treat me, I beg you, I've waited all day!"
Dozens of young women surged forward, their jeweled hands stretching, their voices desperate, faces painted with expectation and longing. Some even clasped their wrists together in pleading bows.
Mo Han's gaze swept across them like cold steel. He did not say a word. His feet carried him forward with deliberate calm, ignoring their cries and clutching hands.
