The golden rays of the afternoon sun fell upon the Alchemy Forging Grounds, where rows of ancient cauldrons stood like silent sentinels, each scarred by years of fire and creation. A faint haze of spiritual mist hung in the air, carrying the fragrance of rare herbs, crushed roots, and simmering elixirs.
Mo Han stepped onto the polished stone platform, his steps steady, his eyes sharp as blades. The disciples already present stopped their chatter for a moment and glanced at him. Some whispered, their tones filled with disdain.
"That's the one who stirred the Healing Tower…"
"Pleasure healer, they called him. Hah, what use will that be here?"
"Let's see how he embarrasses himself in front of Elder Bogi today."
Mo Han ignored them all, his aura calm, unshaken, like still water hiding an unfathomable depth.
