Wu Liangchen keenly sensed it—a peculiar yet incredibly gentle and warm power was slowly flowing from the ascetic monk's palm into the patient's body. This power wasn't overbearing, nor did it possess any potent healing properties. It was more like... a form of solace and comfort.
A few minutes later, the ascetic monk withdrew his hand.
The patient's complexion was still ashen and his breathing hadn't improved, but his tightly furrowed brow relaxed. The tormented expression on his face eased considerably, and his breathing grew a little steadier. Soon, as if a great weight had been lifted from him, he drifted into a deep sleep.
"Master..."
When the couple saw the patient asleep, a trace of gratitude appeared on their faces, but it was immediately replaced by a deeper anxiety.
