Terminal Illness

As the sun set, a man in his twenties sat on a rocking chair. The empty bowl beside him had been stained with a light brown due to the medicine he had been putting in it for years.

The entire room was filled with the fragrance of herbs. He closed his eyes slightly.

He had a beautiful and gaunt face, and he had been very intelligent since he was young. Perhaps the heavens had given him too many things, so they were unwilling to give him a healthy body.

The door was pushed open with a squeak, and a kind-looking middle-aged man walked in.

"Uncle Yang, do you have a guest?" he asked.

"Old Master Lin is here," the middle-aged man replied.

"Why is Grandpa Lin here? Didn't I tell him not to waste his energy to come and see me because he's not feeling well?" The young man slowly stood up with the help of his walking stick and looked at the door.