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

often say that rain leaves its

smile graced her lips. “Young master, you’re walking the path of cultivation, guided by the presence of an enigmatic woman

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 atomic

Master. Reiki could very well be as you describe, a higher-level energy yet to be comprehended by most, its principles

adhere to the laws of energy conservation? Rain poured, then ceased, yet the water remains. That’s energy conservation.

flowing freely. “And what of my Thunderbolt technique, which expends the reiki within me? Where did that

pointed to the seedling before her, a smile tugging at her lips. “Young master’s reiki is here! Were it not

question voiced with uncertainty. “Didn’t the mother of Pu’er turn to

record. She was witnessed being struck by

sprouting seedling. “How do you account

was solemn. “Though the mother of Pu’er is a tree, she’s survived countless tribulations. Her strength must be unfathomable. Similarly, she might rank among the finest of trees worldwide,

surprise mounted. “You mean, she saved herself

“Have you heard of Sanshin, my

involuntarily. “No, I

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

an immortal or fall as a loose being? Isn’t this like well-connected folks securing jobs

rare, perhaps one in a hundred. Those succeeding are but a sliver compared to the multitudes crushed by celestial thunder. In

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 one, continuing until they’ve reached the equivalent of high school’s final year, after which they’re forever held in

substitute. Imagine someone who doesn’t make the university cut at eighteen. They begin 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

surprise turned