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Rain Sleep Token

A Artista Marcial Transformada em Magnata do Cinema

[Indústria do Entretenimento + Protagonista Feminina Forte + História Refrescante + Identidade Oculta] O Jovem Mestre Secreto da Seita Tang, Tang Shu, que era habilidosa em Técnicas de Veneno e Armas Ocultas, transmigrou e se tornou uma novata de 18º nível, estreando como atriz coadjuvante. Após um programa de variedades ser transmitido: Haters: "Eu na verdade acho que a Tang Shu é meio fofa. Tem algo de errado comigo?" Quando o Instituto Nacional de Pesquisa de Engenharia Mecânica anunciou: A Srta. Tang é nossa consultora de pesquisa chave nomeada. Haters: "O quê????" Quando um especialista autoritário em medicina chinesa revelou durante uma entrevista: O desenvolvimento de um novo tipo de medicamento deve muito à Tang Shu. Haters: "Isso não é coincidência demais?" Quando o Departamento de Restauração de Porcelana declarou abertamente: Ninguém supera Tang Shu nos campos de restauração de porcelana e caligrafia e pintura. Haters: "Essa flor de lótus branca está ficando um pouco intoxicante demais?" Quando um grande V do Weibo com milhões de seguidores acidentalmente revelou seu rosto durante uma transmissão ao vivo... Os haters declararam que suas mentes explodiram! *** Jing Yu, o filho predileto do céu, sempre teve um controle firme e uma carreira bem-sucedida até - ele conheceu Tang Shu. Dentro do cinema, depois de assistir quatro ou cinco filmes seguidos, percebeu que a pessoa sentada ao lado dele não havia mudado, desfrutando da pipoca com grande prazer. A garganta de Jing Yu moveu-se levemente; essa mulher estava flertando com ele. Diante um do outro em uma cafeteria, ela casualmente puxou um canudo de dois lados e o colocou em seu copo. Os olhos de Jing Yu ficaram avermelhados; essa mulher definitivamente estava flertando com ele!
Rain Chen Zhenzhen · 34.3K Views

Echoes of Rain

The Echoes of Rain is a poignant tale that explores the depths of human connection and the power of healing in unexpected places. Amara, a woman haunted by the ghosts of her past, finds solace in the familiar rhythm of the city and the comforting patter of raindrops. For her, the rain is a melancholy companion, a reminder of loves lost and dreams that have withered away like flowers deprived of sunlight. On a dreary evening, as she navigates the bustling train station, her umbrella slips from her grasp, rolling down the aisle as if fate itself has intervened. It is then that she encounters Noah, a stranger whose warm presence and effortless charm immediately disarm her. With a gentle smirk and a twinkle in his deep brown eyes, he retrieves her fallen umbrella, extending it to her with a casual heroism that catches her off guard. Despite her initial hesitation, Amara finds herself drawn to Noah's quiet confidence and genuine interest in her life. As the train carries them through the city, their conversation flows like a gentle stream, touching on shared passions for literature, music, and the beauty found in life's unplanned moments. When Amara confesses her complicated relationship with the rain, Noah listens without judgment, offering a simple reassurance that perhaps the right kind of rain could change her perspective. Their paths separate as abruptly as they converged, but the encounter leaves an indelible mark on Amara's soul. As she walks home, the rain no longer feels like a burden but a cleansing force, washing away the layers of grief and regret that have weighed her down for far too long. Fate intervenes once more when Amara unexpectedly encounters Noah at a cozy coffee shop, his presence as warm and inviting as the aroma of freshly brewed beans. This time, she doesn't hesitate to accept his invitation to join him, and their connection deepens as they peel back the layers of their pasts. Noah reveals the pain of his father's abandonment and his mother's unwavering strength in the face of adversity. Amara, in turn, confides her own struggles, the rain serving as a poignant metaphor for the memories that have haunted her for years. In each other's company, they find a safe haven, a place where their burdens can be shared and their souls can breathe freely. As their friendship blossoms into something deeper, Amara begins to see the world through a new lens. The rain that once represented sorrow now symbolizes rebirth and renewal, each droplet a reminder of the resilience that has carried her through life's storms. And in Noah's embrace, she finds the courage to confront the demons of her past, finally allowing herself to let go of the pain that has held her captive for far too long. In a poetic twist of fate, the story culminates in a rainstorm that washes away the last remnants of Amara's grief, leaving her standing in the downpour, face upturned to the heavens, arms outstretched in a silent embrace of the very thing that once haunted her. It is in this moment that she realizes the true power of love and connection, and the transformative nature of healing that can occur when two souls find each other in the most unexpected of places. The Echoes of Rain is a breathtaking exploration of the human spirit, a testament to the resilience that lies within us all, and a reminder that even in our darkest moments, the possibility of hope and renewal exists, if only we have the courage to open our hearts and let the rain in.
Zephyr07 · 3.6K Views

Rain Reminds

Ethan Lee, the heratthroab of the class. Eyes followed wherever he went. He had everything, money, house, car and girls all wrapped around his finger. He was born with a golden spoon and never knew what absence was. In addition to all this, he was a particularly handsome man. But behind all that fame and popularity, he wore a mask to cover an ugly scar. Who would have guessed that someone as perfect as him was living in such a dreadful life. Among all the students who used him to their advantage, there was this one boy who never paid any heed to him. He was always there, in the last row of the class, listening to music and minding his own business. Verch took a special note of this guy, because no matter how hard he tried, he could never get his attention. As his attempts failed over and over again, his friends made fun of him and challenged him to make this guy fall for his charm. It was just another day when Verch didnt feel like going back to the hell he called home. Dark clouds filled the sky and it was quite late at night. He wanted to stay the night at school when some frightening thoughts came to him. The locker room was so empty that even the sound of rain could be clearly heard. Tears ran down his face as he remembered the terrible days he had been through and those that were about to come. He sobbed and wiped his face, It continued. Just then, he heard someone walking up to him. Terrified, he quickly looked up. He didnt want to lose the image of the perfect boy he build up with such hard work. Now someone seeing him crying would ruin everything. But surprising enough, It was no other than, Ethan. The guy he refused to stop bothering all throughout the day. As they both stared at each other, Verch was confused of what to do make this guy never speak of this incident. just then, he couldnt help himself and-
Renlight_ · 9.3K Views

To Sleep In The Sea Of Time

This is a story of a guy who loses everything, and then gets it back. Same old new world story, just a different kind of story teller. *** They took away our hunter tags. They had us grow our hair. They gave us a new brand, when we were over there. They staged us out of Dragur, East of the Olim Horn. I guess they call us Slaves, but no one calls us much anymore. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. Karn brought Sorrow. Pookie brought Fear. Milk brought the fly boys. They did work in Undia. I worked mostly clandestine. Some Legends I should not say. We played with better wands. I could use the extra pay. Did Mara give the order? Did venom pay the way? They said we were slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. This was before HALO, and Codex was king. Hej atop the rider, he never felt a thing. When our rider caught a spell, and both the mages killed. It pitched us over sideways on some cold Sylph hill. My back felt like it was broken, my legs I could not feel. I kept on slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I never did heal up right from injuries sustained Officially in Torin, unofficially we train. I remember all their faces. They dream about me still. I guess I'm slaying demons, but it's kind of hard to tell. There no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I speak the cold logistic, that old boys speak so well. Veni, Vedi, Vici. I'll see you in Hel. Maybe it's bravado, or an unspeakable guilt. That village, they were demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't wanna to do it anymore. I've done plenty. What is one more? -Corb Lund *** Come guess me this riddle. What beats shire leaves and fiddle? What is hotter than pleasures touch, and whiter than cream? What best wets his whistle? What is clearer than crystal? What is sweeter than honey and stronger than steam? What will make the lame walk? What will make the dumb talk? What is the elixir of life and philosopher's stone? And what helped Pookie-Baba dig up a tunnel, that runs from Shalamanda to West-Torin? When you are digging a crater, It is the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys. Sometimes I wonder, if lightning and thunder, is made out of the plunder, of the reddest hiski and oils. *** If you can keep your head when all about you, are losing theirs and blaming it on you. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise. If you can dream, and not make dreams your master. If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim. If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same. If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken, twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build them up with worn-out tools. If you can make one heap of all your winnings, and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss and lose, and start again at your beginnings, and never breathe a word about your loss. If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you; Except the Will which says to them ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, nor walk with Kings, nor lose the common touch. If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you. If all men count with you, but none too much. If you can fill the unforgiving minute, with sixty seconds worth of distance, run. Yours is the World and everything that’s in it, and which is more you’ll be a Man, my son. - Rudyard Kipling
man_of_culture3030 · 706.5K Views
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