CHAPTER 117: TOUCH OF PLEASURE!

The senior servant lady, Yan, closed the door behind her with deliberate calm. The crowded hallway outside hummed with anticipation, disciples whispering, patients murmuring, waiting for the verdict of what had just happened with the poor woman before her. Yan’s face betrayed nothing as she faced Mo Han inside the room.

"My turn," she said flatly.

Mo Han looked up from arranging his needles, his brows raised slightly. "You wish to be treated?"

"I suffer from headaches," she admitted, though her tone carried no weakness. "They come and go, but in the middle of duties, they strike so hard I nearly fall. I want you to treat me."

Mo Han’s lips curved faintly. "Not with needles this time. Sit."

She sat stiffly on the stone bed, folding her arms, her aura pressing like iron to test him. He did not flinch. Instead of reaching for her head immediately, he caught her right hand and turned it palm up, studying the fine lines of her fingertips.

Her brows furrowed. "What are you doing? My pain is in the head, not the hands."

Mo Han’s voice was calm, measured, almost teacher-like. "Most roots of illness are hidden in small places. The pressure points of the hands are threads tied to the brain, the ears, the eyes. A healer who only touches the head sees only one surface. But if I see your hands, I see the map of the body."

Yan scoffed softly. "You sound like an old book. Do you expect me to believe—"

Mo Han pressed lightly against the center of her palm, channeling a thread of his qi. Her body jolted ever so slightly.

Her lips parted. "...That’s...?"

Mo Han did not answer. He gently rotated her wrist, pinching the edges of her fingertips. Then he leaned closer, tilting her face upward under the lamplight. His eyes swept her ears, the faint redness of the edges, the small tremble when he brushed a strand of hair aside. He examined her throat, the slight strain in her voice when she breathed deeply, and finally her neck, where tension coiled like rope.

Yan shifted uncomfortably under his closeness. She was no stranger to being examined—healers had looked at her before—but this man’s gaze was cutting, precise, leaving her restless.

Mo Han finally leaned back. "If my guess is right... your headaches don’t appear when you rest. They appear during your duties, when the hall is loud, when dozens of voices call at once."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Yes. That’s correct."

Mo Han nodded. "Your ears are overly sensitive. Noise agitates your qi channels, and the pressure manifests in your head. That is why you collapse under strain."

Yan blinked rapidly. Her heartbeat quickened. Few in the sect knew the truth of her condition. She clenched her jaw, masking her surprise. "...Go on."

"You can lessen it temporarily with tea brewed from citrus leaves aged seven years. It will ease the tension." His tone grew heavier. "But there is no permanent cure. Your body constitution was born like this. I would wager you are of a magician’s family, one with strong qi-senses. Their descendants often suffer such sensitivities."

Yan’s eyes shot to him, shock breaking through her mask. He guessed it? He saw it just from my ears and voice?

She quickly looked away, unwilling to reveal more.

Mo Han simply rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms, his movements unhurried. "For now, I’ll help you release the pressure. Lie back."

Her pride warred with her body’s longing for relief. With a faint sigh, she leaned back, resting against the cool slab of the bed. Mo Han approached, his fingers already glowing faintly as he infused them with his unique pleasure aura.

He closed his eyes, centered himself, then gently pressed his fingertips against her forehead.

Instantly, she gasped.

It was as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her spine, taut for years, loosened. A soft moan escaped her throat, unbidden. "Mmmhh—ahhh~!"

Outside the door, jaws dropped.

"That was...!"

"Wasn’t that the senior servant lady?!"

"She... she made the same sound as the peasant woman earlier!"

Whispers escalated to shocked cries.

"Dark magic!" a disciple hissed.

"He’s corrupting them with... with—gods know what!" another muttered.

One hot-headed disciple tried to shove the door open. "I’ll see with my own eyes!" But the wooden door held firm, locked tight by Mo Han’s qi.

Inside, Yan trembled as his fingers traced slow circles over her temples, channeling the aura deeper into her meridians.

"Ahh~! A-Ah! Gods..." Her voice cracked as relief burst through her skull, waves of pleasure replacing the years of agony. She tried to cover her mouth, tried to stop the shameful sounds spilling out, but the release was uncontrollable.

Her legs shook violently, her toes curling in her boots. Her chest lifted, breath ragged as the suffocating knot in her head unraveled. For the first time in decades, she felt light, free.

How many years has it been since I felt... this? she thought, tears pricking her eyes. I almost forgot what it was like to breathe without pain...

Mo Han’s expression never wavered, his fingers moving in steady rhythm. To him, this was no act of seduction—it was healing, pure and precise.

After a few minutes, he withdrew his hands. The glow faded from his fingertips. Yan lay there panting, her face flushed crimson, her eyes moist but clear. Slowly, she sat up, placing a trembling hand on her temple.

The headache was gone. Completely.

She stared at Mo Han, disbelief warring with gratitude.

Mo Han only said, "The relief won’t last forever. But now you know the cause. Drink the tea I prescribed. You’ll live without fear of sudden collapse."

Her lips parted, but no words came. Forcing herself steady, she stood, straightened her robes, and walked to the door.

When she opened it, dozens of eyes fell on her—disciples, patients, curious onlookers. All waited, breathless.

Yan raised her voice, clear and commanding. "This man is not a fraud. He is a legitimate healer. His methods are... unorthodox, but effective. He can treat your illness. Trust him."

Gasps rippled through the hall.

"What?! The senior servant lady said that?!"

"Impossible... then... he really is a healer?"

"And he cured her headaches?!"

But the disciples of Elder Park turned pale, their faces twisted in disbelief. They had come to mock Mo Han, but now they stood frozen as their superior openly vouched for him.

Yan swept her eyes over them, her tone sharp as steel. "If I hear another word of baseless gossip, I’ll personally drag you out of the Healing Tower. Do you understand?"

The disciples flinched and bowed their heads. "Y-yes, Lady Yan."

Yan turned once more, meeting Mo Han’s calm gaze for the briefest moment. Her lips pressed together, as if she wanted to say something else, but she only gave a curt nod and left.