In the Lower District, few people could be seen on the dark, cramped streets. Flickering neon lights in the distance illuminated the clinic's battered sign—Specialty Supplies.
Behind sparse shelves that could not even be filled with shoddy goods, the old man used tongs to feed charcoal into the stove. Once the kettle on top began to boil, he filled a cup containing a few shriveled flower petals with water.
Then he returned to the room inside.
The shabby room contained only an examination bed and several common medicines on the shelves.
The man on the examination bed had his eyes closed, sleeping soundly.
The fluid in the bottle hanging from the IV stand beside him had already run dry.
The old man skillfully removed the needle from the indwelling catheter, then returned to his seat and slowly unfolded a newspaper to read the headlines.
Only after he finished the section on the horrific incident at the upper-level arena did he hear the breathing on the examination bed gradually change.
Huai Shi woke from his dream.
Opening his eyes, Huai Shi looked beside him. The water in the warm cup was at just the right temperature, with several pills resting on a piece of paper.
"So thoughtful. Thanks, Bishop."
Huai Shi smiled, picked up the cup, and swallowed the pills in one gulp. Unfortunately, he caught his breath wrong. After a fit of coughing, he nearly threw the medicine back up.
Blood seeped through the gaps between the fingers covering his mouth.
In a flurry, the old man handed him a towel. Only after wiping himself clean did Huai Shi finally lie back on the bed, gasping for breath.
Once the Bishop had folded up the newspaper, he removed his reading glasses and looked over.
"How has your sleep been lately?"