Inside Mo Han's Stone House…

Jia Kai sat cross-legged across from Mo Han, her gaze fixed on him as he calmly polished the set of silver needles he had purchased the previous night. The glow of the luminous flame lamp painted his face half in shadow, half in gold.

"Mo Han," she finally broke the silence, her voice quiet but sharp with concern, "do you understand what you're doing?"

He didn't lift his head, only continued to run the cloth over the needles. "What am I doing?"

"Becoming the talk of the entire Golden Silk City in a single day," Jia Kai said bluntly. "Everyone is whispering about you. A man who heals with pleasure, a man whose touch makes even elders' servants moan. You think this popularity is only good? No—it's a double-edged sword. If some big fellow feels threatened, or worse, mocked, they won't tolerate you. They'll play games with you, and even your skill won't stop them if they decide to strike from the shadows."

Mo Han finally lifted his eyes, meeting hers. His calm expression carried no trace of the weight she warned of. "I've shouldered more pressure than this, Jia Kai. I've carried names heavier than 'Pleasure Healer.' I've stood where crowds mocked me, cursed me, wished my death—and still I walked out alive. This is nothing."

Her brows knit. "You sound overconfident."

"No." His voice turned firm, a steel hidden under silk. "I'm simply telling you that when the time comes, I know how to pull the thread and unravel the whole cloth. Don't waste your worry on me. Use that fire inside you to sharpen your sword, stabilize your cultivation. That's where your worth lies."

She was silent for a long moment, her lips parting as if to argue, but then closing again. There was a depth in his eyes that made her hesitate.

Mo Han leaned forward slightly. "In less than three months, the Elder Rank Tournament will arrive. You must participate."

"What?" Jia Kai blinked in shock. "Me? That tournament is for cultivators who've trained fo years. I've only just—"

"You underestimate yourself." His tone brooked no argument. "You have talent. You have the bloodline of the Pink Blossom Tree. And you have me. Don't forget that. When the tournament comes, you'll stand on that stage. Even if you lose, the fire you'll gain will carve away your hesitation."

Jia Kai stared at him, searching for the flaw in his confidence. She found none. He looked so certain, so unshakable, that her heart skipped once. Finally, she lowered her eyes and whispered, "Very well… I'll trust you."

Mo Han allowed a faint smile and leaned back. "Good. Then don't think of shadows. Think only of your cultivation."

– - -

The next morning…

By the time Mo Han arrived at the Healing Tower, the sight before him made even his steady steps pause.

A line. Not of a few desperate souls, not even a few dozen—but a queue that stretched from the Tower's arched gate, wound through the courtyard, and spilled into the streets outside. Men, women, elders, children, even richly dressed merchants and veiled daughters of noble families—every kind of face stood in the line, their eyes burning with expectation.

Whispers floated like sparks:

"That's him, the new healer…"

"The Pleasure Master…"

"They say one touch and your pain vanishes…"

"No, they say he makes you moan like a lover in bed…"

Mo Han exhaled slowly. So this is the weight of popularity.

Before he could even step closer, the Senior Servant Lady hurried down the stone steps of the Healing Tower herself. Unlike yesterday, when she kept a cautious distance, today her demeanor was completely changed. A bright smile plastered her lips, her silk robes freshly pressed, her hair neatly arranged with golden pins.

"Young Master Mo Han!" she called, her voice sweet like honey. "This way, please, this way!"

The line of people turned their heads, murmurs rippling through them as they watched the tall young man in simple robes stride calmly past. Mo Han's expression didn't shift, though he felt the eyes drilling into his back like arrows.

The Senior Servant Lady guided him through the Tower's corridor and opened a side door with both hands. "I prepared a new room for you. Please see if it suits your liking."

Mo Han stepped in.

The difference was stark. Yesterday's chamber had been a bare stone room with a single bed. Today, the place resembled the chamber of a sect elder. Fine rugs spread across the floor, incense burners glowed in every corner, and a wide polished wooden table stood ready with neatly arranged silver trays, herbal jars, and fresh needles. Even the bed was replaced with a cushioned stone platform lined with clean silks.

Mo Han raised an eyebrow. "Quite the change overnight."

The lady laughed nervously. "Your… talents are too extraordinary to be placed in a common room. We can't have the name of the Eternal Night Mansion lowered, can we? This is more fitting."

Mo Han set his small bundle of tools on the table and began arranging them calmly, ignoring her flattery.

"Senior Servant Lady," he said quietly, "listen carefully. As we discussed yesterday—I will not charge the truly ill. If they suffer real pain, they will come to me free of cost."

She shifted uncomfortably, but nodded. "Of course…"

"But if they come with silly complaints—headaches, stomach pains, or imagined illnesses—charge them heavily. A hundred stones, or more if they're rich." His eyes met hers, hard as steel. "Don't forget there are other healers in this Tower. They can waste their money on them. My time will not be wasted."

Her throat bobbed, but she bowed. "As you say."

Mo Han sat, pulling his sleeves up, the silver needles gleaming in his hand. "Good. Then let them in."

Outside the room, the murmurs grew louder as the Senior Servant Lady opened the door.

"The Pleasure Master is here!" she announced, her voice carrying through the Tower. "Step forward, one by one!"

The crowd surged like a wave, pressing closer, hungry eyes fixed on the room where Mo Han now sat like a calm mountain, needles ready.

The disciples of the Healing Division, watching from the upper balcony, exchanged uneasy glances. Yesterday they had laughed, certain Elder Park's impossible task would bury him. But today, the queue outside stretched longer than the queue for any of their elders.

"This is… dangerous," one muttered. "If he continues like this, his name will outshine even Elder Park."

"Shh!" another hissed. "Don't speak such things. Elder Park will cut your tongue."

Below, the first patient was ushered in.

Mo Han's expression remained cold, unreadable, as he gestured for her to lie on the cushioned platform. His mind was already clear. Today was not just about healing. Today, he would sharpen his art, deepen his mastery, and prove that his hands—whether on a sword or a needle—were unmatched.

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