After six days, Chen Dengming could perceive a stark change in the atmosphere of the gathering place when he stepped outside.
The streets, previously teeming with life, were now utterly deserted and cold.
Approaching high noon, frost started to form all around.
The few people he saw were all ordinary folks that, with their ghastly faces and ragged clothes, seemed to be out to scavenge for firewood or food.
All the cultivators appeared to have disappeared; he only saw a handful of them, traveling warily and in a rush.
When he passed by Zanhua Building, he spared it a glance.
The business was open, but customer turnout was dismal.
There were none of the refined guests usually seen, only some muffled, feeble music playing inside.
His heart sunk.
It seemed that the state of the gathering place had indeed deteriorated. Even Zanhua Building business was waning, much like the grass and trees by the road.
"What happened recently?"
He posed the question to Wu Chen.
