The rift shimmered—steady, quiet, alive.No armies crossed.No divine will pressed upon the earth.
Two worlds had clashed, and neither had fallen.
The heavens were quiet again.
Weeks passed.Governments across the world scrambled to redefine reality itself.What had begun as panic turned to policy; what was chaos became cautious cooperation.
For the first time in history, every news channel agreed on one thing—humanity was not alone.
The Su Clan's arrival and the subsequent peace treaty between realms spread like wildfire.People no longer spoke of aliens or invasion. They spoke of the Otherworld.
World leaders announced "Cultural Exchange Accords" and "Interdimensional Councils."Economists argued over new energy models, while philosophers questioned whether gods were merely cultivators with patience.
Markets trembled, then exploded.New religions sparked.Governments fought to claim discovery rights—only to find that power now obeyed different laws.
Those who had once feared the cultivators now sought them out—partnerships, technology exchanges, spiritual sciences.The very idea of power had shifted.
And William—well, William found his footing again.
He sat behind his desk in a high-rise office, sunlight spilling across contracts thicker than his courage.For the first time in weeks, his hands were steady as he poured a drink.
"Peers," he whispered to himself. "They're peers, not gods."
In the wake of the treaty, his company, Ascendia Group, had been granted exclusive rights to mediate resource trade between Earth and the cultivator factions stationed under Yuan's watch.He'd gone from political liability to global asset overnight.
Calls poured in—world leaders, corporations, investors—all begging for a slice of what he called The Age of Connection.
But William knew the truth.He hadn't earned this.He'd merely survived long enough to profit.
He raised the glass, amber light flickering across his reflection."To peace," he muttered. "May it last long enough for us to learn from it."
Far from the towers and treaties, deep beneath the mountains, Karma stood before a sleek obsidian capsule—his creation, finally complete.
The VeinLink Pod.
It pulsed faintly with silver veins, as if it breathed.It was his bridge between worlds—an advanced VR system capable of channeling mental projection into the Otherworld's training environments under Azure Edge Pavilion supervision.No mortal had ever been this close to cultivation before.
Karma's voice echoed through the global broadcast:
"For the first time, the world can glimpse what lies beyond its limits—not through war, but through understanding. The VeinLink isn't just technology. It's the first step toward balance between mind and power."
On his console, live counters soared—pre-orders exploding by the thousands.
Each pod cost one million dollars.And yet, the list kept climbing.
Corporations, royalty, influencers, even governments—all wanted access.The idea of touching the Dao had become the new luxury.
Within a single day, the world went mad.Corporations fought for contracts, elites reserved entire shipments, and even governments queued for access.Despite the cost, the servers crashed under the demand.
Celebrities called it the future of enlightenment.Scientists called it humanity's first step toward coexistence.Politicians called it leverage.
Karma called it… peace.
For the first time, people looked at the rift not with terror, but with wonder.
In a small café, his old friends crowded around a tablet showing the replay of the launch.
Sajid whistled low. "A million a pop, and people are lining up like it's a Black Friday sale. Unreal."
Kiki leaned forward, eyes bright. "He's trending worldwide."
Irena smiled softly. "No. He earned it."
They watched in silence—the boy they'd once known now standing beneath banners of two worlds, speaking to nations and gods alike.
When the clip ended, Sajid raised his cup. "To the madman who made peace with aliens."
Kiki smirked. "And charged a million for enlightenment."
Laughter filled the café, warm and disbelieving.For the first time, the world felt vast—but not terrifying.
That night, the skies above Kailas shimmered not with warships, but with rune constellations—patterns woven jointly by cultivators and Earth's scientists to steady the gateway.
Children in Delhi called them "wish-stars."Pilgrims called them "seals of peace."Physicists called them "impossible."
But they held.
The rift was no longer a scar—It was a bridge.