The "Golden Age" of Thousand Waves City didn't fade; it ended with a collective, agonizing scream.
It began in the private silence of meditation chambers and the dust of training grounds. Cultivators who had spent the last week binging on the Peng Clan's cut-rate pills suddenly found their Qi turning into liquid lead. The "minor tremors" had metastasized into a systemic catastrophe. Meridians, once supple and clear, were now coated in a viscous, grey sludge that made every breath a battle and every circulation a jagged spark of agony.
By midday, the "Grey-Eye Plague" had reached the markets.
"My Dantian... it's freezing!" a mercenary shrieked in the central square. He collapsed, black veins spider-webbing across his throat like a parasitic vine. "The Peng pills! The bastards poisoned us!"
