The Amazing Son in Law The Charismatic Charlie Wade

Maria’s words ignited a spark within Rose as well!

He found himself captivated by the many coincidences unfolding before him.

How had this mysterious dark cloud suddenly descended, casting an eerie shroud over them all?

Why did the dark cloud reflect the unsettling image of quivering hexagrams?

Why did it lack the usual accompaniment of thunder and lightning?

And why had it chosen to manifest exactly where the Mother of Pu’er had faced her tragic failure?

Moreover, he had just harnessed the lightning-scarred wood born from the Mother’s failed tribulation, birthing an

entirely new thunderous power. A confluence of enigmatic elements left him grappling for answers, and only

Maria’s conjecture provided a solution that could reconcile all uncertainties.

With this realization unfurling within, Rose blurted out resolutely, “Then, I shall beckon forth a tempest for the

brooding skies!”

Maria’s enthusiastic nod was laden with anticipation as she proclaimed, “The Mother of Pu’er and the loyal servant

stand beside. A favorable chance beckons, and God watches over. Your efforts are abetted!”

Drawing forth the Thunderbolt, Rose held it in his palm, his gaze steadfast upon the deepening, thickening black

cloud overhead. With a breath that concealed the suppressed aura, he invoked the incantation in his heart.

And then, with unswerving determination, Rose cried out, “Let thunder strike forth!”

From his very being surged chi that coursed through the eight extraordinary meridians, torrentially surging into the

Thunderbolt clasped in his hand.

In the span of an eye’s blink, the ominous thunder sigil radiated an inner brilliance, its luster permeating outward.

Most of Rose’s internal aura was drawn into the thunder sigil’s embrace. Each heartbeat reverberated through

Rose’s grasp, the illumination growing more intense, accompanied by the crackling of contained electricity.

At that moment, the Thunderbolt seemed transmuted, not a mere artifact but a fabled sphere of lightning seen in

science fiction.

Maria had never witnessed such a spectacle. Instinctively, she apprehended the intensifying luminescence in Rose’s

grasp. Unless she intervened, a perilous prospect loomed, Rose might well be endangered by his own conjuration.

She cried out on impulse, “My Sonya, hurry! There is no time to delay!”

Rose shook his head, his retort unhesitating, “The timing is beyond my control!”

Ordinarily, when Rose invoked thunder, clouds would gather, and the sky would resound with its roars, with lightning

promptly descending. Yet, this instance proved unparalleled. Rose’s invocation resounded, yet the Thunderbolt

retained its lightning, amassing energy, as if arbitrating the spell’s own potency.

In essence, it seemed the sigil demanded more Reiki.

Overhead, the sky’s obscurity had swollen to a bottomless void—abyssal darkness.

Maria, her disquiet evident, questioned, “Is this Thunderbolt’s master no longer the Young Master?”

Summoning his strength, Rose raised his hand, where radiance still intensified, and strained to answer, “It appears

so. The Mother of Pu’er stirs. The Thunderbolt, a fragment of her essence, now answers her call. I’ve lost control.”

Just as the words parted from his lips, the Thunderbolt’s brilliance ebbed. In the next heartbeat, an imperceptibly

potent energy burst forth from it, hurtling toward the dark cloud.

An inexplicable hollowness seized Mandra, his Reiki dissipating in a crescendo. Simultaneously, the inky expanse

above churned with unprecedented velocity. Then, a cacophony unfurled—thunderclaps, a network of lightning

reminiscent of entwined roots, fracturing the cloud into myriad fragments.

Curiously, the deafening rumbles seemed to amplify, lightning flaring with augmented brilliance and density. As

though Rose’s lightning had ignited a performance, the celestial theater now escalated its thunderous spectacle.

Soon after, the cloud commenced its descent upon Heaven Lake, drawing ever nearer. Swiftly, Rose took Maria’s

hand, ushering her hundreds of meters backward.

As they halted, the storm’s heart positioned directly above the barren, rain-soaked terrain. A bolt, massive as a

bowl, descended from the cloud, impaling the earth.

In an instant, it was as if daylight materialized, thunder exploding like a barrage of detonated explosives.

Simultaneously, torrents poured from the sky, a deluge from the sky to earth.

Soaked to the bone, Rose and Maria hurriedly retreated. But Maria broke away, heedless of her drenched state,

sprinting toward the spot where the Mother of Pu’er had once faltered.

Alarmed, Rose cried out, “Wait! Stop!”

Yet, Maria was undeterred, her steps unwavering as she shouted over the storm, “I sense her!”

Rose hurried to hold her back, urgent to keep her safe, “Who? The Pu’er mother?”

“Yes!” Maria’s voice trembled, her affirmation resolute. “She is here! I think she is reborn!”

Perplexity gnawed at Bjorne.

How could a tea tree that had perished under tribulation centuries past be reborn?

Nonetheless, thunder and lightning had ceased, and the cloud receded, apparently, its mission was fulfilled.

Maria’s persistence prevailed, and Rose stopped trying to hold her back. Together, they arrived at the muddied

yellow land. The rain subsided, leaving the pair inexplicably dry, their clothes no longer drenched.

As they stood, eyes fixed upon the freshly cultivated earth, Rose queried, “Miss Clark, where is the Pu’er’s Mother?”

Maria’s gaze bore into the soil beneath them, her voice filled with excitement. “This very spot!”

Pointing, she directed Rose’s attention to a spot in the ground.

Maria exclaimed, “Look!”

Rose follow where her finger was pointing and caught sight of an unfathomable scene. Amid the drenched soil, a

tender sprout had emerged, resolutely defying the rain’s onslaught. But more astonishing was its growth, a time-

lapsed marvel unraveling before their eyes. A sprout emerged, stretching skyward at a pace akin to fast-motion

photography.

In moments, it burgeoned from minuscule to several inches, leaves unfolding in rapid succession.

New shoots joined a procession of fresh foliage burgeoning, each instant encapsulating days of growth.

Abruptly, the torrential rain ceased, the dark clouds vanishing. The moon and stars reclaimed the heavens, while

the earth, once awash, lay dry. Unfathomably, all the rain on both Rose and Maria suddenly vanished, their clothes

instantly dry with no trace of there ever being rain. Everything was as it was when they first arrived.

The only difference was that in the center of the land, a small seedling with a faint fragrance of tea grew.

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