Chapter 657

In one of the rooms of the New York Sanctum, Clea lay flat on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

She felt miserable.

Not because of the injuries she’d suffered earlier. Those were completely healed. And it wasn’t because the healing had drained her so badly that she’d fallen into some weakened state.

No.

The problem was the two thick quilts piled over her.

The room’s cooling spell had been shut off. The windows were sealed tight. And, as if that weren’t enough, someone had lit a wood-burning stove.

Clea was roasting.

Her face was bright red, sweat covered her skin, and she panted desperately, hoping to lower her body temperature by even a degree.

She wanted to kick the blankets off and crawl straight into a refrigerator.

Unfortunately, her adoptive father, Olivander, was sitting in the corner of the room.

He was reading three books at once, supposedly researching ways to help a woman recover her health, while keeping a hawk-like eye on her.

It was an impressive display of multitasking.

Clea had begun to suspect that her father had somehow reached the legendary "Split Consciousness" stage from cultivation stories.

Trying to kick off the blankets was out of the question.

Hell, if she so much as created a tiny gap between herself and the quilts, the old mage would intercept it at once and tuck her back in before she could blink.

A table nearby was buried beneath food.

Hard-boiled eggs. Powdered milk. Brown sugar. All manner of supposedly nourishing things.

Olivander had gathered the lot specifically for her.

Clea’s near-death experience had scared the old mage half to death himself. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter that Evenson had somehow saved her with an unknown form of dark magic. Anyone who had suffered injuries that severe had to have been left seriously weakened.

She needed rest.

Lots of rest.

Of course, nobody else knew the details. As far as everyone was concerned, Evenson was the one who had brought Clea back from the brink.

"Da... Dad, I’m really fine now." Clea turned her head toward him, her voice bordering on a whine. "Please, just let me out of here."

She was starting to think she’d ascend to the afterlife before he did.

"Nonsense! How could you possibly be fine?"

Olivander snapped his book shut and slapped it onto the table. His eyebrows shot upward.

"You have absolutely no idea how to take care of yourself! The Zealots launched a surprise attack on the library, and you decided to handle the whole thing yourself! Why didn’t you run away first, call for reinforcements, and then come back with enough people to beat them senseless? If that wasn’t an option, you could have contacted the Sorcerer Supreme!"

He jabbed a finger toward her.

"But no. You had to charge in yourself! If you died, that would’ve been bad enough, but you nearly scared me into the grave with you!"

Having finally gotten all that pent-up anger out of his system, Olivander looked considerably more relaxed.

He sat back down and picked up his book again.

"You were lucky enough to get your life back. So now you’re going to do absolutely nothing. Don’t think about anything. Don’t go anywhere. Just lie there and recover your strength."

"Dad, I know I made a mistake!" Clea looked genuinely close to tears now. "I’m begging you. You can keep everything else, but at least take away one of these blankets."

"Stay put."

Olivander raised his book.

"This book says a woman who has suffered severe depletion of her vital energy needs to stay in bed for at least a month. No drafts. No cold air. No getting chilled."

"A month?!"

Clea imagined spending the next thirty days trapped in this furnace and finally lost the battle with her tears.

"Dad, I’m really thirsty. Can I at least have an ice-cold Coke?"

She hesitated.

"Fine. Lukewarm water. I’ll settle for that."

"I already told you. You’re too weak to have anything cold."

Olivander slowly rose and walked over to the stove. He lifted a clay pot that had been simmering there.

"Here. I made this with a ten-year-old hen and some old mountain ginseng I just got from Changbai Mountain. It’s been kept warm this whole time. Drink it while it’s hot."

Clea accepted the bowl.

She looked at the broth.

Then at Olivander.

Then back at the broth.

She started crying even harder.

That was when the door opened.

The Ancient One stepped into the room.

Clea immediately looked as though salvation itself had arrived.

She set the bowl aside and stretched one hand toward the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Master! Please save me!"

"Good heavens, why is it so hot in here?"

Even the Ancient One looked uncomfortable after stepping inside.

She glanced at Clea, who was staring at her with the desperate expression of someone begging for rescue from execution.

Poor girl.

The heat must have finally driven her delirious.

"What are you two doing?"

"This is a little excessive."

Evenson stepped out from behind the Ancient One.

Originally, he’d intended to part ways with her after they’d finished their conversation in the Mirror Dimension. At the last moment, however, he’d changed his mind and followed her back.

"Master, I understand that Clea’s reckless behavior made you furious. Punishing her is one thing, but this seems a little extreme."

"What punishment? Who said anything about punishment?"

Olivander bristled.

Fortunately, his attitude toward Evenson had changed dramatically after believing that the young man had saved his daughter’s life. Otherwise, those words would probably have started another argument.

"My daughter suffered a severe depletion of vital energy. I’m helping her recover."

Evenson sighed.

Her injuries had been healed ages ago.

Still, he reconsidered.

The power of the Void was extraordinarily dangerous, and Clea had only just begun learning how to use it. There was a good chance that channeling it had placed considerable strain on her body.

Some recovery time probably wasn’t unreasonable.

"Fair enough," Evenson admitted. "But your method of treatment..."

He still couldn’t help feeling that something about it was strange.

For one thing, why was Clea wearing a red headscarf?

Before he could say anything, Olivander thrust a finger toward him.

"Young man, this is what comes from a lack of experience. I specifically searched ancient texts for this treatment method."

He handed Evenson one of the books in his hands.

Then he grabbed the other two from the table and shoved those into Evenson’s arms as well.

Evenson looked down.

The first book was a dictionary.

The second was apparently a guide to using the dictionary.

He nearly laughed.

Then he opened the third book.

Now this one really was ancient.

The text was written in traditional clerical script, using dense classical Chinese that was difficult even for someone familiar with modern Chinese.

Curious, Evenson glanced at the cover.

The Yongle Encyclopedia.

A reproduction, technically, but still an extraordinary historical treasure.

He skimmed through the pages Olivander had been studying.

Then his expression changed.

He closed the book and dropped it straight back into Olivander’s arms.

"Could you actually read the whole thing before using it?"

Olivander blinked.

"The method in there really is meant to restore a woman’s vitality. But it’s for postpartum recovery!"

"Hm?"

Olivander looked down at the book.

He read the relevant passage again.

His expression slowly became confused.

"What does ’postpartum recovery’ mean?"

Evenson froze.

Clea had also perked up, clearly listening.

He really didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d endured all this for absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately, Olivander kept looking at him expectantly.

Fortunately, the Ancient One understood social situations considerably better than either of them.

She leaned toward Olivander and quietly explained,

"It means recovery after childbirth."

Olivander’s eyes went wide.

His entire face turned crimson.

For several seconds, he looked like he desperately wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

If word of this got out, he would never hear the end of it.

"Right. Well..."

He lowered his head.

"You two clearly have something to discuss with Clea. I’ll just... leave."

He hurried out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Once he was gone, the Ancient One turned toward Clea.

"Clea, there are some things I need to tell you."

"Ancient One."

Evenson interrupted her.

"Before that, I’d like to speak with Clea alone."

The Ancient One looked between the two of them.

After a moment, she nodded.

"Very well."

She stepped outside and closed the door.

The instant they were alone, Clea sprang into action.

"Evenson! Darling!"

Her voice was urgent.

"Get these blankets off me! Put out the stove! Open the windows! And bring me an ice-cold Coke! I’m so hot I can barely move!"

"Hm."

Evenson nodded.

He walked silently over to the bed.

Clea’s expression brightened.

Then she saw what he was doing.

"Wait. What are you..."

Hammering sounds rang through the room.

Bang.

Bang-bang.

Bang.

Evenson had taken the blanket covering her and nailed all four corners directly to the bed.

"Hey!"

Clea’s eyes widened in horror.

"You... You’re going to regret this!"

Evenson calmly continued.

"You really don’t know how to take care of yourself. When the Zealots attacked the library..."

"Shut up!"

Clea was already on the verge of overheating, and now the blanket was literally nailed down.

She couldn’t even move.

Then Evenson started lecturing her.

Again.

"I’ve heard this already! You don’t need to keep going! Are you my father too?!"

"You’ve heard it, so you’re going to hear it again."

Evenson pulled another blanket from the wardrobe.

Clea’s face went white.

"No. No, no, no!"

He draped it over her.

She immediately began screaming in protest.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was when I heard something had happened to you? I nearly passed out!"

Normally, those words would have made Clea’s heart flutter.

Right now, she could only grunt.

"Hmph."

She turned her head away.

Unfortunately, Evenson’s lecture didn’t end there.

Half an hour later, he was still going.

Clea was beginning to wonder if this was some new form of torture.

"Are you done yet?"

Evenson continued talking.

"Seriously, aren’t you hot sitting next to that stove yourself?!"

"Heh."

Evenson smiled calmly.

"Have you ever heard of a fire-resistant Warlock?"

Clea stared at him.

She hated him.

Probably.

Maybe.

She was too hot to decide.

Then Evenson’s expression suddenly became serious.

"Jokes aside, that’s enough. What I’m about to say is important, so listen carefully."

His voice carried a weight Clea rarely heard from him.

"The powers you’ve gained recently are extremely dangerous."

His gaze hardened.

"And they worry me deeply."