Power Up, Artist Yang!

She swore that she could hardly breathe as she went with Yunhe. They ran down the villa corridors, her mind blank as her feet pushed against the ground.

They arrived at her master's courtyard. Slowing down just a bit, Yujia went inside.

There were servants gathered around, nervous eyes darting back and forth. The group did not help to ease her worries the slightest. Nevertheless, the servants parted in way, letting her walk through the crowd, making her way to the door.

Her hands were trembling uncontrollably as she pushed the door to his room. As her eyes darted around, she saw how her master wasn't sitting in a chair, frustratingly debating a painting on the table. Nor was he slouched by the side, drinking a jar of wine. 

The first person she saw was a physician. 

He was a familiar face, one that she had seen a few times around the villa. With his white hair and wrinkled hands, Yujia thought he looked around the same age as her master, almost. Perhaps he was the default physician that helped her master out, but she didn't have enough effort to think about his identity at this moment.

Her eyes went from the physician to the bed at the back of the room.

There, she saw her master.

He was lying there, tucked within the sheets, eyes closed.

Yujia could not care about anyone else in the room. The first thing she did was to rush to the side of her master's bed, dropping to her knees.

He was breathing, she noticed, by the slight rise and fall of his c.h.e.s.t. Thank the skies. Her worst nightmare, the worst idea resting in her mind, had not come true. But the way he breathed was shallow, a slight rattle of breath. His skin was pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. 

She thought he looked skinny before. But now, looking at him, on the bed, she comprehended how truly thin he was. What she thought was the years wearing away at his flesh, leaving skin on bones, was not just the work of time. It couldn't be. 

He looked unbelievably frail.

Trembling, she tore her gaze away from her master.

"What happened to him?" she managed to ask.

Yunhe, who had also made his way over, replied with an equally shaking voice, "I was with Master… we were just talking… and he… he coughed up blood. A lot of it." 

Yujia finally noticed stains of blood by the side of her master's lips that had not been wiped up yet.

"Then?" she continued to question.

"I called for help. I called for the physician," Yunhe told her, "I helped Master to his bed, and he passed out almost immediately. And then I went to go find you."

Now, Yujia turned her face to look at the physician. "His diagnosis," she whispered. "What is it?"

The old man, clutching a medicine box, looked down. His words were croaked, saying, "He requested me not to tell you all before."

Her master requested this physician not to tell her and Yunhe. But it had gotten to the point where he was coughing up blood. It had gotten to the point where he was fainting. And still, this physician refused to tell her? He was still keeping this promise?

Yujia found her breathing growing heavier, her voice coming out as a sharp seethe. "What is it?" she repeated.

The physician's hands wrung together. There was silence, extended silence, before he finally spat out the words.

"Fei Lao. Tuberculosis."

Tuberculosis. Yujia knew it existed. She wasn't familiar with the exact symptoms and treatments though.

"What's the prognosis?" she dared to ask.

She hoped that the physician would assure it would be alright. That it was a good prognosis, a healthy outcome. That her Master had a minor lapse, nothing more. That with a little bit of treatment, it would all be fine. 

Yet seeing the physician, how he looked down again, wearing a despondent expression that carried not an ounce of hope, Yujia's heart plummeted.

So that was how it was.

The silence that he gave her was nothing but a death sentence.

She closed her eyes. Her sight felt dizzy. It all felt unreal. As if this wasn't reality. As if this was a nightmare. As if…

It was ridiculous that she hadn't seen this coming. Her master was so old, far older than anyone else at Lingxin. Yue Ze never lived the healthiest life either, drinking wine from dawn till dusk, eating whatever and whenever he d.e.s.i.r.ed, not caring about his physical health all too much. It was a miracle he even lived this long, with those habits.

Yet still.

Still.

This was a truth she never wanted to face. A truth, amongst many others, that she had been running away from.

Standing up, she faced the physician. She could help but snap, crying, "What about medicine? You've known this for a while now. How could you not have written him a good prescription? What kind of physician are you? How could you— why couldn't you—" 

Her words were becoming choked up, her eyes blurring as she spoke. She hated how she couldn't hold back her tears. She hated the way it all felt.

In her entire life, she had only dealt with the act of losing someone once. Her baby brother. But that was a sudden moment, a fracture in time where it all went wrong, an immediate mistake that she could not control.

Now, though, she could only look at her master. She could only see him, as day after day passed by, losing more and more of his health. She could only watch as life drained out of him. 

And she could do nothing about it.

She knew this feeling. She had felt the same way before, with the kind of terror and guilt that towered over her heart in a tremendous wave, pulling her into darkness, sinking her under.

She could hardly breathe.

Yujia wanted to keep shouting, but she knew the physician was not at fault. He must've done all that he could, treated her master to the best of his ability. She knew she was just trying to find someone to blame. Someone. Something. Anything.

Tears continued spilling out of her eyes, pouring out uncontrollably. Her c.h.e.s.t heaved as she sank to the floor. Crying made her feel like a child. And perhaps she really was acting like a child, one that had never grown up, one that never learnt to accept the concept of death.

As she sat there, heaving, she suddenly felt something warm brush over her hand. Flinching, she looked over.

Her master was awake. His arm hung over the corner of his bed, hand brushing over hers. He hadn't sat up, but he laid there, eyes cast in her direction.

"Child," he said, his voice quiet, "don't cry. It's all going to be fine."

Fine?

Yujia's tears welled up again. How could it be fine? How could it?