I accidentally joined a group of charlatans, so I immediately called the police and handed it over t

The air in the venue seemed to have been sucked out instantly, leaving only a suffocating silence.

The silence was not due to calm, but to extreme terror, as if some enormous, indescribable horror had suddenly descended and gripped everyone by the throat.

On stage, Raymond Lam still had his back to the camera, his silhouette like a towering mountain, completely blocking out the lingering glow of the old era.

"How... is this possible..."

Professor Hans, sitting in the front row, slumped in his chair, his eyes staring blankly at the two large, seemingly burning characters—[Kunlun].

His lips were trembling violently, and the arrogance and reserve he usually possessed as a Nobel laureate were now shattered like glass by a hammer blow, scattered all over the ground.

"This isn't real...this defies physics..." he muttered to himself, like a drowning man trying to grasp at a last straw.

"A scam...it must be a scam..."

But his trembling fingers didn't even have the strength to pull out a nitroglycerin pill from his pocket.

The deathly silence lasted for less than ten seconds.

Across the ocean.

Wall Street, New York Stock Exchange.

The opening bell had just rung, and its originally stirring and clear sound now sounded like a death knell from hell.

"It's crashed! A complete market crash!"

A piercing scream shattered the noise of the trading hall.

On the huge electronic display screen, the red lines representing Western technological hegemony (red for a fall and green for a rise in US stocks; here, it is described as a crash according to domestic custom, but in reality, US stocks are red for a fall and green for a rise, or vice versa, described as a crash according to conventional standards) all turned downwards in unison.

It's not a slow decline.

It's diving.

It's a collapse.

It is free fall.

Apple fell 15%.

Nvidia shares fell 20%.

ASML fell 25%.

Those once-promising K-line charts have now turned into sharp sickles, viciously slashing at the carotid arteries of all investors.

"No! My money! My pension!"

A gray-haired fund manager clutched his head, knelt in front of the screen, and let out a desperate scream.

He stared intently at the constantly fluctuating numbers; each fluctuation meant that hundreds of millions of dollars in market value were evaporating in an instant.

"Throw! Throw now! Throw regardless of cost!"

"Where are the buy orders? Why are there no buy orders?! Even just one share would be great!"

The entire Wall Street was thrown into a frenzy.

The phone rang incessantly, like a death knell.

The traders screamed, roared, and shoved each other, trying to grab the last life jacket before the Titanic sank.

However, there were no life jackets.

"Circuit breaker".

When those two words appeared on the central screen of the trading hall, everyone froze.

Fifteen minutes after the market opened.

The S&P 500 plunged 7%, triggering a Level 1 circuit breaker.

Trading will be suspended for 15 minutes.

Those mere fifteen minutes felt like an eternity to the elites of Wall Street.

They were panting heavily, their shirts soaked with cold sweat, their eyes filled with fear and confusion.

"What exactly happened?" someone asked, their voice trembling.

"Has World War III broken out?"

"It's worse than that." The person next to him pointed to the live stream on his phone screen, his face ashen.

"That Eastern country...they created a god."

Trading resumed fifteen minutes later.

This time, they didn't even have a chance to struggle.

The stock index, like a kite with a broken string, crashed through the floor.

Triggered a level 2 circuit breaker.

Then comes the third-level circuit breaker.

Market closed.

The whole process took less than an hour.

Trillions of dollars in wealth vanished on this sunny morning.

This is not a simple stock market crash.

This is a "tech stock doomsday" even more terrifying than the Great Depression of 1929.

ASML headquarters in the Netherlands.

CEO Peter was holding a cup of hot coffee, watching the press conference that came from the East.

When he saw the "Tian Shu" chip freeze in the water, when he saw the perfect process bypass solution.

"Smack."

The coffee cup slipped from his hand, and the scalding brown liquid splashed all over the expensive handmade carpet.

Peter clutched his chest, his face instantly turning purplish-red.

He opened his mouth wide, trying to breathe, but found that the air seemed to be filled with a poisonous gas called "despair".

"It's over..."

He only managed to utter those two words before he fell straight backward.

The sirens of ambulances blared mournfully through the park, piercing the gloomy European sky.

Meanwhile, at the National Convention Center.

The deathly silence was finally broken.

"Long live!!!"

A roar, choked with sobs, erupted from the back row.

He was a journalist from an African country. He usually suffered from the contempt and discrimination of Western media, but at this moment he was like a child, wildly waving his fists and tears streaming down his face.

"Long live China! Long live the Southern Heavenly Gate!"

That roar was like lighting a powder keg.

Journalists from all non-Western countries—from the Middle East, Latin America, and Southeast Asia—rushed toward the booth like a tidal wave, not even bothering to pack up their equipment.

They wanted to see it for themselves.

Take a look at that magical artifact that broke the shackles.

Behold the miracle that brought the lofty Western gods down to earth.

"When will your country open up exports? Our country is willing to exchange oil for it!"

"We have mines! Any kind of mine, as long as it can be exchanged for this system, we'll give it all to you!"

"Take us with you! Please, please take us with you!"

It was a kind of fanaticism akin to a pilgrimage.

Amidst this sea of ​​jubilation, the Western journalists, who had originally occupied the central position, now appeared utterly isolated and helpless.

The New York Times' chief reporter slumped in his chair, his notebook slipping from his hands and falling to the floor.

He looked at the frenzied cheering crowd around him, then at the cold, impersonal word "Kunlun" on the stage.

An unprecedented sense of powerlessness pierced his very bones.

he knows.

That era in which they defined the rules, monopolized technology, and reaped the world's rewards.

At this moment.

It's completely over.

The crown of technology, symbolizing the highest level of human wisdom, slipped from their heads and shattered in full view of everyone.

This is an oriental crown that they cannot understand or fathom, yet it is full of mystery and majesty.

Professor Hans managed to stand up with the help of his assistant.

He turned around and took one last deep look at Lin Feng, who was standing amidst the interplay of light and shadow.

"This is a new era." Professor Hans' voice was hoarse, as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

This day is referred to by later historians as "the beginning of the new Enlightenment".

It was also the longest and coldest twilight of the old hegemony.