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.
