The letter burned in his hands like a flame of celestial justice. Luke had read it so many times that he began to suspect it contained hidden spells to control his mind. (Or maybe he was just overexcited.) It was hard to tell— the emotions of a cultivator sometimes felt like inner tribulations.
He entered the living room as if returning from a ten‑thousand‑year campaign. His mother, Elizabeth, watched him from the sofa, a cup of tea in her hand and the look of someone who no longer knew whether her son needed therapy.
"Mum," said Luke in the solemn voice of someone about to unleash a forbidden technique, "I've been contacted… by the people from the sect."
"Again with your Chinese‑novel stuff, darling?" asked Elizabeth without even raising an eyebrow.
"It's not a novel! It's real! Hogwarts exists. It's a sect of wizards—ancient cultivators who use refined spiritual energy. And they've chosen me!"
Elizabeth sighed—a sigh that carried years of maternal patience, existential frustration, and a touch of resignation.
"Luke… honey… you know I love you, right? But we already agreed you'd stop giving strange names to your spam emails."
"It wasn't spam, Mother! It was an owl! A messenger beast! It flew right to our window! It nearly destroyed your ficus plant—and that, clearly, is a sign of great destiny."
"You mean… an owl delivered you a letter saying you're a… wizard?"
"Disciple! An external disciple of the Hogwarts sect! I knew it ever since that butcher's aura incident—when I sensed a strange energy at the butcher shop. I knew this realm was full of hidden mysteries. But now… I have proof."
"And what exactly does that letter say?" Elizabeth asked, lowering her teacup slowly.
Luke cleared his throat and recited like a scholar reading an inscription from the Celestial Lotus Palace:
"Dear Mr. Smith, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
"See?! Magic! Witchcraft! Clearly cultivators in disguise! This is irrefutable evidence of an arcane sect that's hidden its power for centuries."
"And what does that mean? Are you going?" asked Elizabeth.
"I'll do everything in my power not to leave this house without you. I won't join a sect unless I bring my protector. A sect without a mother is a death sentence! A life without spiritual roots is doomed to Dao's deviation."
(Here "Dao" means the Way—the universal principle in Taoist thought.)
Elizabeth frowned; her cup trembled.
"I'll challenge the Elders of the Sect if I must, but I'm not leaving you behind. Mum… I want you to come with me."
"Luke… are you all right?"
"Never better! I'm ready for anything. I've read the legends! Whenever the protagonist leaves home, he loses everything. I won't make that mistake. You are my spiritual root—without you, my Dao would stray."
"Honey, that's not a real word."
"Of course it is! The 'Dao' is the path, the meaning, the law of Heaven. How can I achieve Ascension (the cultivator's ultimate transcendence) if I abandon my mother?"
Elizabeth looked at him as if seeing him for the first time— not with mockery but with that blend of tenderness and mild despair only a mother knows.
"Luke, I… appreciate that you want to take me. But… this sounds extremely far‑fetched. Wizards? Hogwarts sect? Owl messengers?"
Luke pulled the letter out—still sealed with wax—and held it out like a sacred relic.
"Here it is. An owl—a messenger beast, if we're precise—brought it. They're summoning me! They sensed my spiritual talent without me doing anything! It's obvious they've marked me!"
"An owl?"
"Yes! It flew straight to the window! It nearly crushed your lavender plant too—which, by the way, clearly indicates the Lavender Tea Clan must ascend!"
(Elizabeth's houseplants have become unwitting omens.)
Elizabeth inhaled deeply, trying to steady her patience.
"Luke… that proves nothing. Besides, we're not a clan—and even if we were, please pick a different name."
"Then observe!"
He sprang up, shoved the table with an open palm, and declared:
"You leave me no choice but to use my hidden techniques."
Before his mother could protest about another broken lamp, Luke sat cross‑legged in the center of the room and began to levitate—just a few inches, but levitation all the same.
Elizabeth choked on her tea.
"LUKE!"
"This is only the beginning."
He extended a hand. A spoon trembled, floated, then shot straight at the family vase.
"MY VASE!"
"I still need to master directional control, but look at this!"
With a gesture, he turned on the TV.
"That has a remote," said Elizabeth, eyebrow raised.
"Yes, but I didn't use the remote. I did it with Qi (spiritual energy)!"
"Are you sure?"
"I swear by the Great Ancestor Hendrix—it was spiritual energy!"
Elizabeth sat. Then stood. Then paced. Then sat again.
"When did you learn to do that?"
"For years. It's just that you always said, 'Oh, this boy is in his own world,' so you never took my cultivation progress seriously."
Elizabeth looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.
"I thought you were… playing, or possessed."
"You were going to exorcise me? Well, I liked the priest—too bad he was called back to his sect. And I never saw the altar boy again; he must've been recognized too."
"Ah… yes…"
"And what about that time you talked to a rock for three days?"
"It was a wisdom stone! You can't hear its voice because your sea of consciousness is sealed!"
Elizabeth placed a hand on her chest as though insulted in ancient Chinese. She remembered this: after Luke ate some strange herb at a friend's house, she'd prayed it wouldn't actually open his "sea of consciousness," or the world would end.
After an hour of demonstrations (and two broken lamps), Elizabeth gave in.
"All right. If this is real… then I'll go with you. I'm not letting you off alone to a school full of… wizards… and children with prophetic scars. I'll learn magic too!"
"Yes. But if it's a sect, they'll have clans, powerful families, arrogant Young Masters with secret techniques and long names. If I don't prepare, I'll end up a nobody."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"So what will you do?"
"I will forge my identity as a Young Master!"
Luke strode to his room like one heading to battle. He opened his secret chest (a metal cookie tin) and retrieved his sacred items: an old robe, a rope belt, a feather he'd found in the park, and his hardcover notebook titled 'Cultivator's Survival Manual.'
"From this moment," he declared, "I shall be known as Luke TianLong Heaven‑Smith, Third Son of the Celestial Lavender Tea Clan. Cultivator of the Path of Logic."
"Do you really think no one will question that name?" she asked.
"With authority—and a touch of arrogance, Mother. No one dares question a Young Master," Luke replied, practicing a regal bow.
From the doorway, Elizabeth watched, fascinated and horrified at once.
That night, while Luke perfected his Young Master stance in front of the mirror, practicing lines like "This Young Master despises your words," or "Insolent one, dare you offend the Lavender Tea Clan?", Elizabeth sat in stunned silence—she couldn't believe how much her son enjoyed courting death.
Then the inevitable happened.
Days later, Luke decided to observe more closely the boy he highly suspected. He'd seen him once in the park: round glasses, a prophetic scar, an expression of repressed trauma. Clearly, the Main Character of this realm.
Luke climbed a tree near his house and used toy binoculars he'd imbued with "spiritual vision."
"That is… him. The MC. Harry Potter."
And to confirm his suspicion, the boy's house was surrounded by owls.
"I knew it! He's collecting techniques by correspondence! The messenger beasts recognize him as their lord! He must be the Chosen One!"
He wrote in his notebook:
"Day 4 of observation. Confirmed: constant owls. Protagonist aura. Dysfunctional family—no parents. Destiny level: 97/100. Conclusion: avoid contact until I have a solid foundation."
He ran home, did five "power push‑ups" to stabilize his Qi, and burned improvised incense (a sprig of rosemary).
"I must train more! To survive, I need an escape technique and at least one divine attack skill."
Elizabeth approached with a tray of cookies.
"Darling, put down that stick. I'll buy you a wooden one so you can play better."
"Mom! But I'm not playing!"
And then, Professor McGonagall appeared.
She didn't fly in or Apparate—she simply knocked on the door with her knuckles and introduced herself as a strict lady with a pointed hat and the air of a Scottish boarding‑school headmistress.
"Luke Smith?"
Luke eyed her suspiciously.
"Who's asking?"
"Professor McGonagall. I'm from Hogwarts School."
McGonagall, a serious woman of few words, decided to get straight to the point. She drew her wand and transformed the living‑room rug into a tortoise.
Elizabeth's eyes widened.
"So it's real."
"Yes, Mrs. Smith. Your son has exceptional magical aptitude."
Luke straightened elegantly and stepped forward.
"This Young Master respectfully welcomes the venerable elder."
McGonagall frowned.
"I am Professor McGonagall."
"Ah… of course. Titles vary by realm. Understandable."
"Pardon?"
"Do not be alarmed, Dao elder. That is how we speak in my clan."
"…Which clan?"
"The Lavender Tea Clan, of course."
McGonagall chose to ignore that and continued.
"I'm here to explain your letter."
"Oh! My acceptance letter to the Hogwarts sect."
Luke was thrilled and used his abilities to levitate nearby objects, leaving McGonagall astonished—only very young children who can't control their emotions or exceptionally skilled wizards can cast wand‑less spells. An eleven‑year‑old qualifies for neither.
"Luke, Hogwarts is a school for wizards— not a sect. But what you're doing… that's very unusual. How did you learn?"
"By spontaneous enlightenment," said Luke seriously. "And a lot of practice. I trained until I could levitate the spirit of my teapot."
"With no wand?"
"Wand? Well… yes."
Luke nodded—he hadn't realized that stick was a wand, but he had indeed managed it without any support.
McGonagall took a breath—this boy had overturned years of teaching theory through pure effort.
"That shouldn't be possible…"
"It is," replied Luke with a cultivated smile—he had no idea it was supposed to be impossible, but he had to affirm it.
"Your abilities… are exceptional. Only Dumbledore could have done this at your age. Maybe."
"Dumbledore?"
"He's the most powerful wizard alive."
"I see… So may I bring my mother?"
Although he hadn't revealed all his techniques, it's always wise to keep an ace up one's sleeve.
McGonagall softened.
"I'm afraid not. Only students may board here."
Luke closed his eyes.
"Then… may we speak a moment?"
And thus began the oddest verbal duel McGonagall had ever experienced. He knew that talent alone wasn't enough—he needed a breaking point to fish for information.
Luke crossed his arms, straightened his back, and fixed his gaze on the professor.
"So… there's a magic sect—what you call wizards—and no one knows."
McGonagall nodded curtly.
"That's right. The Statute of Secrecy protects us."
Luke leaned in.
"Why? If you can do magic, you could control anyone. Why hide?"
McGonagall inhaled, bracing for his next question.
"Centuries ago, during the Witch Hunts, many innocents died. People with magic were hunted and executed. To survive, we vanished from the Muggles' sight."
Luke narrowed his eyes, choosing words precisely.
"And why aren't they hunting you now? Tell me the Muggles suddenly became tolerant?"
McGonagall barely raised an eyebrow.
"No. They aren't hunting us because they don't know we exist."
Luke smiled, devoid of humor.
"Exactly. No hunt because no witches in sight. Hiding remains our protection."
He couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed—he'd expected Hogwarts to be an overwhelmingly powerful sect beyond the secular world, but they were so weak ordinary mortals held them at bay. He respected humans—he knew their weapons' power. They could annihilate life on Earth with a button push. Still, it wasn't what he expected.
Luke didn't remain glum for long.
Every world has a beginning, a peak, and a decline. The cultivators' weakness here meant they were either at the start—techniques newly discovered—or near the end, with spiritual energy dwindling.
Either way, it didn't change his goal.
He paused. His gaze became sharp, as if slicing the air with logic.
"I understand. Humans don't hunt you because they don't know you exist… But… has anything more recent happened?"
McGonagall pressed her lips. Having a serious chat with a child felt odd, but aside from his eccentricities, he was more mature than he appeared.
"There were… incidents. Not long ago. A very dangerous wizard arose who wanted to conquer everything."
Luke tilted his head like a cat.
"Almost. He didn't succeed—otherwise, you wouldn't be here in peace. So he was defeated."
McGonagall lowered her gaze briefly—her silence spoke volumes.
"If it were that simple, it'd be in human history class. Perhaps he was powerful, but his influence didn't spread far," she said thoughtfully, leaning on the doorframe. "He threatened you all—so what stopped him?"
Luke noted that she called non‑magic folk "Muggles," as if wizards were another species.
"First, we call non‑magic users Muggles."
"Oh… this Young Master understands."
McGonagall examined his crossed arms.
"The one who stopped him was a baby."
Luke raised an eyebrow, anticipating the answer.
"Harry Potter?"
McGonagall's eyes widened. In the magical world that was common knowledge—yet how did he know?
"How did you know?"
"This Young Master can sense his destiny."
McGonagall murmured, then let it go—perhaps he had a gift for divination.
"Indeed, it was him."
Luke reflected.
"A baby survived against a wizard so dangerous he nearly destroyed your existence."
He fixed his gaze on McGonagall.
"If a baby stopped him, there must have been something else—a spell, a sacrifice—something the wizard didn't expect."
McGonagall shut her eyes for a moment.
"You're perceptive. His mother died to save him—a sacrifice of love. Very ancient magic."
The boy nodded, his eyes piecing together the invisible puzzle.
"Hmp! This Young Master knows that nothing is free—everything has a price. That's a universal rule I won't challenge. Matter isn't created or destroyed, only transformed," he quoted Lavoisier.
Whether under a Young Master ruse or speaking truly, he respected the sages who founded today's understanding.
"So Harry became a symbol. Yet he lives with Muggles."
He said it as though it didn't fit.
"If he's so vital, why not protect him yourselves?"
McGonagall paused—her silence was revelatory.
"There's only one reason: the magical world isn't entirely safe for him."
Her tone softened, almost playful.
"Let me guess—he lives with Muggles because something in his blood—his mother's blood—protects him."
McGonagall blinked, conceding.
"And if he leaves… we lose him."
The boy tilted his head, listening to private music.
"So… if Harry still needs protection, that means that Dark Wizard isn't dead—only… in hiding."
"He will return," McGonagall whispered.
Luke dropped his voice too.
"And Harry is the only one who can face him again."
McGonagall looked at him as if in a mirror—there was pride, and an ancient weight in her voice:
"You're… incredibly insightful."
Luke offered a faint smile.
"It's just logic, Professor. We ask the right questions."
McGonagall fell silent for what felt like an eternity.
The conversation continued a little longer. She answered everything non‑sensitive—student numbers, magical creatures, some history—until both were satisfied. Then she stood.
"I'll report to the Headmaster," she said quietly but firmly. "This… this is more than I expected."
McGonagall didn't want it to escalate—but an incredibly talented, intelligent, perceptive boy leaves few choices.
Luke watched the door close. Elizabeth came from the kitchen, drying her hands.
"Did you impress her?"
"More like I unsettled her with logic."
"And was that good?"
Luke gave a triumphant thumbs‑up and a victorious smile.
"This Young Master never fails. Now I face the Sect Master. Actually, I thought that'd be the hardest part—but after talking with Sect Professor McGonagall, I have her on my side—so long as she's as she described and doesn't vaporize me."
Elizabeth smiled.
"We'll need more cookies for the journey, then?"
"Sugar‑free," Luke replied with a bow. "The Hogwarts sect will soon discover what the Lavender Tea Clan is capable of."
"Please pick another name."
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I was free today, so I wrote a lot, but the rest of the chapters will be short. Now give me power stones to cultivate and achieve the Dao of novels.