Cough. Cough.
The Arbiter lost count of how many times Weisheng had coughed already. Seated one floor above Weisheng, he couldn't see him and hoped he would drink water to soothe his irritated throat. But his coughing continued.
The Arbiter stood from his chair and walked down the spiraling stairs to see Weisheng sitting on his desk with his head down.
"Big Brother?" He slowly walked closer to Weisheng, noticing a handkerchief in his hand with blood stains, "What is this?" He asked in a concerning voice.
Weisheng looked up at the Arbiter. He looked weary, but not necessarily sick, "What?" He asked in a raspy voice from coughing so much.
The Arbiter pulled a chair to sit before Weisheng, staring at him to analyze his condition. Weisheng sat in quietness, taking his handkerchief to vibe the leftover blood on his lips.
"I think you are sick," The Arbiter made his judgment.
Weisheng scoffed, "You think?"
