At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Death is not peaceful.

For Lin Yuan, death was a piercing noise that could tear cloth apart, followed by an endless feeling of weightlessness that made it hard to breathe.

One second, his fingertips were still resting on the fragile paper fibers of the Northern Song Dynasty Diamond Sutra, and his nostrils were filled with the stale, musty smell and camphor odor unique to the Palace Museum collection.

But the next second, the whole world shattered and then pieced itself back together.

Once his senses returned, Lin Yuan—no, he should be called Lucian Ashford now—didn't feel pain first, but rather something indescribable emerged: the Vision of the Mind. He felt his senses had changed, and he could directly "see" the veins and framework of magic.

Fragments of memories then flooded in: Ash Manor, Obscurus, magic...

"I've been transported to the world of Harry Potter?"

Immediately afterwards, excruciating pain pulled consciousness back to the body.

This body was only eleven years old, thin and pale, like a porcelain doll drained of all its moisture. Within its chest cavity, an enormous, illogical, and extremely violent black energy was rampaging wildly. It was a beast trapped in a glass bottle, tearing everything apart in a frenzied attempt to break free.

In the magical world, this is usually referred to as the "Obscurial," or some kind of backlash from failed dark magic.

There's usually only one outcome: an explosion, and then death.

The boy lay on the dusty velvet bed and slowly opened his eyes. His once cloudy, dark gray pupils were now eerily clear.

It is not some indescribable, terrifying monster.

In his mental vision, this conscious surge of magic, powerful enough to kill an adult wizard, was dismantled into countless glowing, chaotic lines. Their erroneous connections and twisted circuits caused the overall collapse.

"...What poor craftsmanship."

This is a turbulent flow of energy, a short circuit in the magic loop.

But to a top-notch artifact restorer, it was nothing more than a broken object in need of repair.

"Calm down," he commanded himself in his mind.

Lucian didn't scream, nor did he tremble with fear like the original owner of the body. He struggled to raise his almost numb right hand, drawing lines in the air as he began to adjust and mend his collapsing body.

Investigate things to acquire knowledge.

He shielded himself from the intense physical pain and focused all his mental energy on those violent lines.

In his eyes, that black knot was not unsolvable.

"This wisp is fear, too much of it, cut it off."

"This wisp is the source of magic, which is blocked in the pericardium meridian. It needs to be cleared."

"This wisp... is this the Ashford family's bloodline curse? It turns out to be a piece of incorrect genetic transcription code. Let's seal it away for now."

If outsiders were present, they would witness a scene that is both chilling and sacred:

The boy, who should have died in agony, now lay quietly on the bed, his right hand moving in the air in an extremely slow, rhythmic motion. As his fingers moved, the black mist that had been swirling around the room, shattering vases and lamps, obediently stopped.

The raging magic was soothed, and the broken meridians were mended.

Just as he was repairing that scroll of scripture, he patiently smoothed out every crease and glued together every crack.

After an unknown amount of time, the last wisp of black energy burrowed back into his heart through his fingertips, and Lucien let out a satisfied sigh.

The room fell silent.

Outside the window, the cold rain that had been falling for weeks in the London suburbs finally reached my ears clearly.

Lucien took a deep breath, the pain of his expanding lungs confirming that he was still alive. He propped himself up to sit, his pajamas soaked with sweat, but his pale face held a sickly elegance.

"It's fixed," he whispered in broken English. "It still has some cracks, but it's usable."

Just then, the heavy oak door was suddenly kicked open.

A tall, thin man stood in the doorway, gripping a wand tightly in his hand, its tip gleaming green, ready to unleash a killing curse at any moment. That was the body's father, Cassius Ashford.

Cassius originally came to deal with the "corpse," or perhaps to execute his son who was about to turn into a monster.

The Ashford family could not tolerate a madman destroying the last manor.

However, the sight before him froze the arrogant pure-blood wizard in place.

The room, which should have been a ruin, had collapsed furniture, but there was no smell of blood.

The son, who was always timid and avoided eye contact, was now sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly watching him in the flashes of lightning outside the window.

There was no fear, no affection, and not even any emotion in those eyes.

Is there only one kind of condescending...insight?

Lucian looked at the terrified man at the door and gave him a standard but cold, polite smile.

Good evening, Father.

His voice was soft and husky, as if it came from a very far place.

"I made a little too much noise just now, and I'm trying to... gather my thoughts. I hope I didn't disturb your evening tea."

Cassius Ashford's wand trembled slightly. As a dark wizard, he had an instinctive sense of danger.

The boy before him, though wearing Lucian's appearance, exuded an ancient, profound, and tranquil aura from the depths of his soul, which instilled in him a primal tremor.

That's not the look an 11-year-old should have.

It was a ghost, just crawled out of its grave, and was observing the human world with great interest.

"Who...are you?" Cassius managed to squeeze out the question dryly.

Lucian lowered his head and glanced at his pale, well-defined palm. The intricate lines on his palm mirrored the fate of this magical world.

"I am Lucian." He raised his head.

The gears of fate seemed to stall for a moment, then began to turn again in a direction no one could predict.