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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