The Charismatic Charlie Wade

In this particular moment, Maria’s entire focus was captured by the seedling before her. She knelt on the ground, her unwavering gaze fixed on the delicate plant, her face animated with pure excitement.

Beside her, Charlie stood in silent awe, his eyes locked onto the emerald-green seedling. His mind felt like it had tripped over itself, struggling to make sense of what lay before him.

Charlie’s mental circuitry felt like it was in overdrive, struggling to compute the extraordinary scene playing out in front of him. He couldn’t fathom how, after such a torrential downpour, not a trace of rain remained.

The extensive years of formal education he had undergone boiled down to a mere three words in his mind, “This is unscientific.”

Or perhaps just four, “This is utterly unscientific.”

He surveyed his own body, his hands exploring from scalp to chest, chest to back, and back to ankles. Eventually, he even shed his shoes, delving deep within them for an extended period. But his fingertips only encountered dryness, no inkling of rain’s touch.

Maria’s thoughts mirrored his own.

Vivid in Charlie’s memory was the image of Maria’s hair damp and clinging to her cheeks in the deluge, an air of embarrassment about her. Even her trendy T-shirt had been soaked by the rain, revealing a subtle outline of her undergarments. Yet now, not even a crease remained on her oversized T-shirt, let alone a hint of dampness.

“This is incredibly bizarre,” Charlie mumbled to himself, with bewilderment lacing his words.

Moments later, he turned to Maria, questioning her once more. “Miss Clark, did it actually rain just now? Was it just my imagination?”

Maria nodded faintly, her voice gentle as she confirmed, “Young Master, there was indeed rain. A heavy rain. In all the years my family has lived here, I’ve never witnessed such a fierce downpour.”

“Yes,” Charlie concurred with a slight nod, then fixed his gaze on her intently. “But where did the rain go? How did it vanish?”

head in puzzlement. “I don’t have

on his hips, his confusion evident. “This defies all logic. People often say that rain leaves its mark.

an enigmatic woman who has lived nearly four

believe that cultivation can also find its place in science, but our current level of scientific understanding hasn’t grasped its principles yet. Reiki might be a higher form of energy, much like

right, Young Master. Reiki could very well be as you describe, a higher-level energy

on, his curiosity unyielding. “But should even Reiki adhere to the laws of energy conservation? Rain

flowing freely. “And what of my Thunderbolt technique, which expends the reiki within

“Young master’s reiki is here! Were it not for your Thunderbolt, how could the mother of Pu’er

the mother of Pu’er turn to charcoal over

tone solemn. “Indeed, that’s the historical record. She was witnessed being struck by lightning and

seedling. “How

mother of Pu’er is a tree, she’s survived countless tribulations. Her strength

she saved

her gaze holding his. “Have you heard of

head shook involuntarily. “No,

into the ancient tales of Tao cultivation. “The legends speak of those who overcome the tribulation attaining immortality, while those who fail are obliterated. Yet another possibility exists, when the tribulation’s defeated, the cultivator transforms into a loose immortal. They can rebuild their essence, their cultivation, but the chance

Either you soar as an immortal or fall as a loose being? Isn’t this like well-connected folks securing jobs in state enterprises? Pass the

it is, the legends stress that triumphing in the tribulation’s crucial moment is rare, perhaps one in a hundred. Those succeeding are but a

analogy. “If we liken the successful ones to top university entrants, those who become immortals are akin to entering Yale or Harvard. Those who don’t quite make the cut are sent into the world, unable to return to that prestigious circle. As for Sanshin, imagine those who miss top colleges by mere points. They become loose immortals, beginning anew. However, their journey starts from square

again in high school’s final year, repeating until they’re a century old, perpetually in the company of eighteen-year-olds. The rest either graduate or move on, leaving them stuck forever in their ageless classroom. It’s a sensation quite akin

surprise turned