It was nearly dawn when Loa brought Olivier back to New Wushan Town. The guest room behind the Blacksmith Shop was empty. Bob had made the bed before leaving, and the bedding had been aired in the sun and smelled of sunshine. Loa laid him on the bed and pulled the covers over him.
The pills Tulilei had given him took effect. When the three black pills were slipped into Olivier's mouth, his face had been as white as paper, his lips purple, and his breathing so shallow it was almost imperceptible.
Less than the time it took to drink a cup of tea after he swallowed the pills, his complexion began to improve-from white paper to rice paper, then from rice paper to old newspaper. He was still pale, but at least he looked a little more alive.
Loa sat beside the bed and checked his pulse. It was slow, but stronger than before.
Saint-level Battle-qi circulated through his body on its own, nourishing the meridians and flesh battered by the power of evil.
Going a month or two without food or water was nothing to a Saint. Tulilei's pills had brought considerable vitality, which wrapped around Olivier's dantian and meridians like a thin membrane, protecting his body from deteriorating while he lay unconscious.
Loa sat beside the bed for a while, then stood and walked to the door. Wangcai crouched on the threshold, ears drooping.
"Boss, is Olivier dead?"
Loa glared at Wangcai. "Can't you wish him something good for once?"
Still, Loa knew Wangcai was worried about Olivier. Back in the Magical Beast Mountain Range, Wangcai had often roughhoused with him.
Olivier had no idea how long he had been unconscious.
His consciousness drifted through darkness. There was no light, no sound, no sensation. Only darkness-endless,