"Old He, although I have this ancient recipe, I still lack some ingredients, so for now, I can't concoct it,"
Mo Han nodded lightly and continued, "But rest assured, as soon as I have the materials ready, I will concoct it straight away. By then, Miss Zhao will surely recover to her former self. After her recovery, you can then take a stroll around Jincheng Train Station..."
Jincheng Train Station?
The others listened, baffled.
Only He Chen and Zhao Yumo's faces turned crimson; they had spoken in such hushed tones, yet Mister Mo had heard everything—his hearing was even sharper than a rabbit's.
"Mister Mo! I, He Chen, don't have much to say, so I'll just say this—my life, from now on, belongs to you, Mister Mo!"
"Just say the word, and even if it means climbing a mountain of swords or descending into a sea of flames, I will not frown!"
"If I, He Chen, ever dare to go against my word and betray you, may I meet a terrible end!"
