Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

"My name is Mo Ling," the black-haired little girl answered softly, her voice clear and crisp.

"Mo Ling... that’s a pretty name. I’m Bobby," Bobby repeated, then couldn’t help but ask the question that had been circling in her mind. She pointed at the electric lights outside the window. "Mo Ling, you seem to know a lot about those lights. What you said just now was even more... more amazing than what the old man said."

Mo Ling glanced at the steadily glowing streetlights outside, then looked down at the book on her lap. After a moment of thought, she said, "Mm, that’s because my father taught me a few things. What do you want to know?"

"Are they... are they really lit by people? It’s not light given directly by a God?" Bobby asked cautiously, stealing a glance toward the male believer in the back row.

"Of course it’s people." Mo Ling nodded affirmatively and opened the book on her lap. Inside were not just words, but also many meticulously drawn lines and diagrams made with a ruler, which Bobby couldn’t understand at all. "Look, to make a lamp light up, you first need electricity. Where does electricity come from? The most common way is thermal power generation."

She used a slender finger to point at a simple diagram of a huge boiler and complex pipes. "This is part of a ’power plant.’ Workers feed coal into a furnace to burn it, creating high-temperature steam. The steam pushes this big wheel called a ’steam turbine’ to spin at high speed. The wheel is connected to a ’generator,’ which cuts through magnetic lines of force to continuously produce an electric current."

Bobby only half-understood, but she found it all fascinating. "Magnetic lines of force? What are those?"

"It’s a type of invisible Force Field," Mo Ling explained patiently. "It’s like how a magnet can attract iron. A generator uses this principle to ’create’ an electric current. Then, the current has to pass through very thick ’conductors.’ Um, you can think of them as thick ropes made of metal that are especially good at ’conducting electricity,’ and they carry it to every corner of the city. To reduce losses along the way, you also need ’transformers’ to adjust the voltage..."

As she spoke, she turned to another page, pointing at a more complex circuit diagram.

"Wait, voltage? Losses?" Bobby’s head was spinning. Beside her, Claude and Juno had also pricked up their ears, but their heads were spinning just as much.

Mo Ling thought for a moment and switched to a simpler analogy. "Um... it’s like water flowing down from a high mountain. It has a lot of force, but if the pipe is too thin or it’s leaking, less water will reach the bottom of the mountain, and it won’t have much power. Electricity is the same. It needs ’wires’ of the right thickness and ’substations’ along the way to make sure it has the strength to reach every home and every lamp. Finally, when the current passes through the ’filament’ inside the lamp—a very, very thin metal wire with high resistance—it heats up because of the ’obstruction.’ When it gets hot enough to be incandescent, it gives off the light we see."

"So, from the workers who dig the coal, to the engineers who design the boilers and generators, to the workers who lay the wires, to the technicians who maintain the lines, and the artisans who make the light bulbs... there are thousands upon thousands of steps in between, the hard work of countless people. If a single link is missing, the lamps won’t light up."

Bobby was completely captivated. Although she couldn’t fully understand all the technical terms, she exclaimed with heartfelt admiration, "You... you’re so amazing, knowing so much!"

Mo Ling smiled, a little embarrassed, and subconsciously glanced at her father, Murphy, beside her.

Murphy had his eyes closed in rest, as if everything around him was of no concern. Aurora, however, was gently stroking her daughter’s hair, her blue eyes filled with a tender smile.

"My father and mother taught me," Mo Ling said quietly. "They say that understanding how things work is the foundation for understanding the world.

Before they knew it, the horse-drawn carriage slowly decelerated and came to a smooth stop at the side of the road.

The brass bell above the door gave a clear jingle, and the driver’s voice came from the front seat. "We’re at Barclay Avenue. Passengers for this stop."

Mo Ling glanced at the familiar street scene outside and gave Bobby a friendly smile. "This is our stop. Goodbye, Bobby."

"Ah... so soon." A clear look of reluctance appeared on Bobby’s face, but she still managed a small wave. "Goodbye, Mo Ling! I hope... I hope I can see you again!"

"We’ll have the chance," Mo Ling nodded.

Aurora rose gracefully, and Murphy opened his eyes as well, his deep black eyes calm and unrippled.

He took Mo Ling’s hand and gave a slight nod to Claude and Juno as a farewell.

Claude hurriedly nodded in return, while Juno offered a warm smile.

Murphy’s family of three disembarked. Bobby immediately rushed to the window, pressing her nose against the glass again, and waved vigorously at the three receding figures. "Mo Ling! You promised! See you next time!"

Having walked a few steps away, Mo Ling turned back. The halo of the streetlights in the night air edged her small figure in a soft glow.

She replied clearly, "It’s a promise."

Just then, Murphy, who had stopped walking, said, "Are you ready, Mo Ling?"

"I’m ready, Father," Mo Ling replied.

Aurora walked on Murphy’s other side and naturally took his arm.

The family of three set off once more.

Bobby stayed pressed against the window of the moving carriage until the three figures completely disappeared around the street corner, only then sitting back down with a touch of melancholy.

...

After turning the corner and walking for about ten minutes along the brightly lit Barclay Avenue, an elegantly decorated and brilliantly illuminated restaurant came into view.

Intricate grapevine patterns were carved into the bronze door handles. Exquisite porcelain and silver candelabras were displayed in the shop window, and through the spotlessly clean glass, one could see the warm light and well-dressed patrons inside.

The doorman in a crisp uniform clearly recognized the arrivals. He immediately and respectfully pulled open the heavy, solid wood door and bowed deeply. "Good evening, Sir, Madam, Miss. Your private room has been prepared. Please, follow me."

Led by the waiter, they passed through the main hall, which was carpeted with a thick rug and echoed with the faint sound of a piano. They proceeded down a relatively quiet corridor and arrived before a carved mahogany door.

The waiter pushed the door open and stepped aside.

The private room was spacious, its decor both luxurious and cozy.

The walls were covered in subtly patterned wallpaper and hung with several landscape oil paintings that evoked a sense of profound tranquility.

A long dining table covered with a snow-white linen tablecloth occupied the center of the room. Silverware and crystal glasses gleamed under the soft light of the chandelier.

A fire crackled softly in the corner fireplace, burning away the slight chill of the early spring night.

The waiter pulled out a chair for Aurora. After she was seated gracefully, he just as attentively adjusted the chair for Mo Ling.

Murphy sat down at the head of the table, his movements casual yet possessing a steady, composed air.

Aurora exchanged a few quiet words with the waiter, and soon, a series of exquisite dishes were brought out silently.

Cream of mushroom soup was served in pre-warmed porcelain bowls, its aroma rich and mellow.

Pan-seared deep-sea fish fillets, cooked just right, were served with lemon and herbs.

A salad of tender green seasonal vegetables was garnished with toasted pine nuts.

There was also a small portion of lamb chops, roasted until crisp on the outside and tender on the inside.

There was little conversation at the table. Occasionally, Aurora would quietly ask Mo Ling if she liked a certain dish, or she would place a portion of something she thought her daughter would enjoy onto Mo Ling’s plate.

Murphy ate at an unhurried pace, his gaze occasionally sweeping over the night scenery outside the window or resting on the leaping flames in the fireplace, as if lost in thought.

Mo Ling, for her part, was very well-behaved, her dining etiquette impeccable. But her dark eyes would drift to her father from time to time, a faint glimmer of anticipation sparkling within them.

When the final dessert course was finished, the tableware was silently cleared away.

Just then, a soft knock came at the door of the private room, which was then pushed open.

A restaurant manager, dressed in a black tuxedo and bow tie, personally wheeled in a silver serving cart draped with a white linen cloth.

On the top tier of the cart sat a stunning, exquisitely decorated two-layer cake.

The base of the cake was a rich chocolate color, covered with a fine, snow-white buttercream frosting.

Atop the cake stood an ingeniously crafted, small silver sword made of delicate, translucent pulled sugar. Its tip pointed toward the ceiling, refracting the light into tiny, glittering shards.

The restaurant manager parked the cart steadily beside the table, gave a deep bow to Murphy’s family, and then withdrew silently, thoughtfully closing the door behind him.

The only sound left in the room was the faint crackling of the logs in the fireplace.

Encouraged by Aurora, Mo Ling stood up from her seat.

She walked around the table to Murphy’s side and tilted up her small face, which bore a slight resemblance to her father’s but was more delicate and soft.

The light danced in her dark eyes, reflecting a clear and warm glow.

She gazed at her father’s calm face and, her voice clear and earnest, said word by word:

"Father."

"Happy seventy-third birthday."