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.

A woman tried to block his way, whispering, "Just one needle… I'll pay double…"

Mo Han didn't even look at her. He walked past as if she were air. His face betrayed nothing but fatigue, the lines of discipline holding him steady.

No matter how tempting, I am not here to indulge myself. I am a healer.

The Senior servant lady, Yan, hurried to step between Mo Han and the crowd before their desperation became unruly. Her presence carried authority; at once, the murmurs hushed. She raised her hand, blocking further advances, and turned to Mo Han with a small smile.

"You've done enough today. Rest."

Mo Han inclined his head politely, ready to walk away, when Yan suddenly placed a thick leather pouch into his hand.

He blinked, staring at the unexpected weight. "What is this?"

"The price of your hard work," she answered with a faint grin.

Mo Han frowned, loosening the tie and peeking inside. A glittering flood of spirit stones filled the pouch to the brim. "Didn't I come here freely? I said from the start—I came to learn by treating."

Yan gave a half-snort, half-laugh, folding her arms. "Stop joking, young master. Skills like yours aren't playthings. You didn't just learn—you displayed mastery rivaling even the great elders of the Healing Division. Do you know what you've done today? This pouch contains more than 1,300 spirit stones. That's equivalent to an elder's weekly earning. And you made it in one day."

The crowd gasped softly, hearing the number. Murmurs rippled like waves.

Mo Han's brows shot up. "Thirteen hundred…?" He chuckled dryly, the corners of his lips twitching. 'I risked my life at auction houses and fought off killers for fewer stones than this. And now… I earn it just by pressing a few pressure points and mixing herbs?' Mo Han thought.

Yan smirked knowingly. "That is the strength of true skill—and the hunger of this city. You don't even realize how much your 'touch' is worth here."

Mo Han let out a soft sigh and closed the pouch. For a moment, he considered keeping it. Spirit stones meant cultivation. Spirit stones meant power. But his conscience tugged.

He handed it back.

Yan blinked. "What are you doing?"

"Use this wealth to buy rare and useful herbs," Mo Han said firmly. "Today, too many patients told me the potions I prescribed were not available here. I will brew them myself tomorrow. If you want me to heal effectively, I need ingredients—not overflowing pouches of stones."

The Senior servant lady stared at him for a long moment, her lips parting as if to argue. But something in his gaze, a steady determination beyond greed, silenced her. Finally, she let out a long sigh and nodded. "Very well. I'll do as you ask."

Mo Han's eyes softened, but only slightly. He glanced back at the desperate women lingering in the corridor. Many still stared at him, their eyes shimmering with longing.

"And another thing," he said, raising his voice so all could hear. "From tomorrow, anyone with a real illness will be treated free of charge."

A hush fell over the corridor. Even the servants blinked in disbelief.

But Mo Han wasn't finished. His tone hardened. "Those who come without sickness—who simply seek my touch for pleasure—will pay one hundred spirit stones for each treatment. No more than the time of three incense sticks. If they crave, let them pay."

The crowd erupted.

"One hundred stones?! Outrageous!"

"He's mad!"

"But… I'll pay it," one bold young woman muttered under her breath, cheeks flushed.

Yan's eyes widened in surprise, but a slow smile crept across her lips. "You're clever, young master. Too many came today with shallow excuses, wasting your strength. By raising the price, you'll force them to think twice."

Mo Han's expression remained unreadable. If they truly crave, they will pay. And if they pay, their greed will fuel my path.

The women outside exchanged anxious whispers. But as the hours passed and gossip spread, something strange happened.

Instead of deterring them, Mo Han's declaration only inflamed their desire. By nightfall, rumors swept through Golden Silk City like wildfire:

"A new healer has risen in the Eternal Night Mansion!"

"They say he heals with divine pleasure!"

"They call him the Pleasure Master of the Healing Division!"

Even inns, merchant halls, and tea houses buzzed with tales.

One drunken merchant leaned over his table. "They say his touch makes women cry out like lovers!"

Another sneered. "Hah! Just rumors. A healer can't make women moan."

But a richly dressed lady nearby blushed and whispered to her maid, "It's true. I saw it with my own eyes today. His fingers… they hold heaven itself."

Back at the Healing Tower, Yan pressed her temples as she dismissed the crowd for the night.

"He doesn't even realize what storm he's creating," she murmured to herself.

Mo Han, walking under the lantern-lit sky, did realize. But he smiled faintly anyway.

Let them spread my name. Fame is a weapon too.

And so, by night's fall, his title was already sealed: Pleasure-Master of the Healing Division.