Han Mochen was "on a call," although he himself was not passionate about medicine.
But innate talent didn't necessarily relate to personal preferences, much like him.
He was most passionate about killing, yet he was a world-class master of psychology, as well as the finest surgeon.
"Mr. Huo, when a master like me makes a house call, the charges are by the minute."
Han Mochen said in a teasing tone, casually picking up the clock on the table and fiddling with it in his hand.
He looked at Huo Siyu in front of him; six months had passed, with almost no changes.
Dark eyes, a silent expression, indifferent and serious.
No sadness, no vicissitudes of life, and even less repentance.
If there was any difference, it was that he had become even more reticent.
When sitting quietly there, he resembled a statue, his breath barely perceptible.
"Nobody asked you to come," Huo Siyu said calmly.
"And nobody is going to pay you."
