13 Dumbledore vs Zhuang

In the stillness of the Cambridge night, Lucas sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, a single bottle of blood resting before him. The crimson liquid within seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a clear indicator of the magical beast from which it had been harvested. With a deep breath, Lucas closed his eyes and delved into the depths of his vast mental sea, the tranquil waters lapping at the edges of his consciousness.

Petunia and Vernon's dreams are restless tonight, he mused, his mind's eye flickering to the distant shores where their sleeping thoughts resided. Media attention, the bane of their existence. And Dudley, blissfully unaware, his calm spell long since exhausted.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Lucas reached out with his magic, attempting to infuse the bottle of blood with the soothing energy of his calming spell. The liquid resisted, its surface rippling and churning as if repelled by his efforts. Frowning, Lucas pushed harder, his brow furrowed in concentration, but the blood remained stubbornly unchanged.

Why won't it accept my magic? he wondered, small ripples of frustration disturbing his calm sea. Is it because this blood is not my own? Or perhaps there's something fundamentally incompatible between the beast's essence and my spells...

As he pondered the implications, a realization dawned upon him. Blood magic, of course. It's not something I've seen used in this way in the books. There must be reasons for that.

His mind whirred with possibilities. The dark nature of the art, the potential consequences of overuse, the intimate knowledge required to infuse one's own blood with spells... and perhaps, the lack of a wanded spell specifically designed for such a purpose.

I may be treading new ground here, Lucas mused. A pioneer in the field of blood magic...

With a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that the beast's blood would not yield to his will, at least not tonight. Carefully, he levitated the bottle back to its hiding place beneath the floorboards, using a combination of levitation, sticking, and repair spells to ensure that no trace of his activities remained.

As he prepared for bed, a series of multicolored flashes caught his eye through the window. Curious, Lucas peered out into the darkness, but the night revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Fireworks, perhaps, he thought, shrugging off the odd occurrence.

Settling into his bed, Lucas' mind drifted to the other materials he had harvested from the beast. The hide, fur, scales, and organs, all waiting to be transformed into something useful. Leatherworking lessons, he considered, a plan forming in his mind. Magic-resistant equipment would be useful, even if I doubt the magic resistance would be as potent as when it was alive.

oo0ooOoo0oo

The bustling market of Yingzhou Village was a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and smells. Hawkers in traditional Chinese clothing called out to passersby, their voices mingling with the sizzle of cooking meat and the chatter of the crowd. Amidst the sea of blue and gray cotton tunics, a figure in a faded green robe stood out like a beacon of the past.

The old man, his face weathered by the passage of time, moved through the throng with a slow, deliberate gait. His keen eyes, partially obscured by wispy white eyebrows, took in the changes that had transformed the market since his last visit two decades ago. The once-familiar stalls had been replaced by newer, shinier structures, and the wares on display seemed to have multiplied tenfold.

As he passed a group of women in simple, yet elegant qipao dresses, their hushed conversation caught his attention. "I heard the Zhangs are struggling with their farm," one whispered, the soft tremor in her voice betraying concern. She glanced around, as if the words themselves might bring trouble. "The one-child policy is so strict these days. I worry for their future." The pause before "worry" and the slight shake of her head let the gravity of their situation hang in the air, unspoken yet palpable.

The old man's lips curled into a subtle sneer, his disdain for their petty concerns carefully concealed beneath a mask of indifference. They know nothing of true hardship, he sneered, his thoughts as bitter as the medicinal herbs he once prescribed.

Continuing his journey through the market, the old man found himself drawn to a stall overflowing with plump, juicy watermelons. The vendor, a young man with a friendly face, greeted him with a deep bow. "Venerable elder, welcome to my humble stall. Please, take your time and choose the finest melon."

The old man acknowledged the greeting with a slight nod, his attention already focused on the fruit before him. As he inspected the watermelons, his ears picked up a conversation between a young couple nearby.

"Cousin Jian just returned from the city," the man said, leaning forward as if his next words could barely contain themselves. "He told me about a miraculous child in England, only three years old, who was on the television."

His wife's eyes turned to him, her eyebrows arching inquisitively. "A three-year-old on television?" Her voice was tinged with curiosity, each word leaning forward with interest. "What's so special about that?"

"Apparently, this child can talk and act like an adult, and even solve math problems that people fifteen years older can't! Jian says he's probably the smartest toddler ever discovered."

An elderly woman, her face lined with wrinkles, overheard their conversation and scoffed. "Nonsense! This is nothing more than Western propaganda. Who would believe such a ridiculous story?"

As the couple and the elderly woman continued to debate the veracity of the tale, the old man's interest was piqued. A menacing smirk slowly spread across his face, his mind already churning with the possibilities. A child with such intelligence, at so young an age... their brain would make a fine ingredient for my pill.

He pictured himself hunched over a bubbling cauldron, the child's essence distilled into a pill that promised untold wisdom and mental prowess. With such power at my fingertips, I could finally complete my life's work...

Selecting a particularly ripe watermelon, the old man paid for his purchase and left the stall, his steps a little lighter than before. As he melted back into the crowd, his thoughts remained fixated on the miraculous child, a prize waiting to be claimed in a distant land.

Soon, he promised himself, soon I will have what I desire, and the world will tremble before my greatness.

oo0ooOoo0oo

In a flash of light, Zhuang appeared before the weathered wooden door of his secluded siheyuan, the watermelon cradled in his arms. The ancient courtyard house, nestled among the misty mountains, with its tiled roofs and whitewashed walls, stood as a tribute to the enduring traditions of his ancestors. With a wave of his hand, the door creaked open, revealing the tranquil inner courtyard.

As Zhuang stepped inside, a small, serpentine creature with iridescent scales and a flowing, whisker-like beard slithered out from beneath a gnarled plum tree. The Biànshé Lóng, a mythical snake said to bring good fortune, regarded him with curious eyes before disappearing into the shadows.

The old man made his way through the courtyard, past the stone-paved walkways and the central pond where lotus flowers bloomed in the summer months. He entered the main hall, where the air was heavy with the pungent scent of dried herbs and the faint whisper of ancient incantations.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of exotic ingredients and vials of shimmering potions. Cauldrons of various sizes sat atop intricately carved wooden tables, their surfaces stained with the remnants of countless brews. Scattered about were pills of every color imaginable, each imbued with potent alchemical properties.

Zhuang set the watermelon aside and reached into his sleeve, withdrawing a slender, intricately carved Biānzhī. The jade-tipped wand, passed down through generations of his family, thrummed with power as he waved it in a complex pattern. The watermelon rose from the table, floating gracefully through the air before settling inside an ancient ice box, its wooden frame adorned with faded talismans.

He then approached a row of containers, his Biānzhī dancing in the air as he muttered an incantation. One of the containers shrank to the size of a walnut, and Zhuang plucked it from the shelf, tucking it into a hidden pocket within his robes.

With purposeful strides, Zhuang entered a side room where a magnificent moon gate stood, its jade arch intricately carved with swirling dragons and phoenix. He retrieved a small, inscribed jade token from his robes and stepped through the gate, his voice echoing in the stillness.

"Yùnmèng."

In an instant, the world shifted, and Zhuang found himself standing in the heart of Yùnmèng, an ancient community hidden deep within the mountains. The streets were lined with traditional wooden buildings, their upturned eaves and colorful lanterns a vibrant contrast to the mist-shrouded peaks beyond.

Magi in flowing robes of silk and brocade bustled about, their conversations punctuated by the occasional flash of qi. A group of children, their hair adorned with enchanted flowers, chased a glowing, ethereal rabbit down a narrow alley, their laughter mingling with the tinkling of wind chimes.

As Zhuang made his way through the crowded streets, snippets of conversation reached his ears.

"Did you see the new talismans at Liu's Artifacts? I need to pick up a few for the household. They say this batch is especially potent for warding off mischievous spirits!"

"My grandson just started his apprenticeship with Master Li. The boy has a gift for concocting pills, I tell you."

Zhuang paid them no mind, his focus unwavering as he approached a small, unassuming shop nestled between a calligraphy studio and a tea house. The sign above the door read "Wànshìrú Transportations" in elegant, flowing script.

Inside, an elderly woman sat behind a counter, her silver hair pulled back into a tight bun. She looked up as Zhuang entered, her eyes widening in recognition.

"Master Zhuang, it has been many moons since your last visit. How may I assist you today?"

Zhuang placed a pouch of glittering coins on the counter. "I require a one-time transport stone to England."

The woman nodded, retrieving a smooth, polished stone from a locked cabinet. She tapped it with her Biānzhī, and the character for "England" etched itself onto the surface.

"Safe travels, Master Zhuang. May the winds be at your back."

With a curt nod, Zhuang took the stone and made his way to the designated departure point. He closed his eyes, focusing his qi, and activated the stone. In a swirl of light and color, he vanished, leaving only a faint trace of incense in his wake.

oo0ooOoo0oo

The Global Nexus Chamber materialized around Zhuang, surrounded by walls draped in subtly glowing enchanted fabrics and underfoot, stone that gleamed as if wet, yet was dry to the touch. The old man's eyes narrowed as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings, the air heavy with the hum of foreign qi. So, this is the heart of Magical Britain, he mused, his gaze sweeping over the intricate compass rose beneath his feet. Very different from the simplicity of Yùnmèng.

As he stepped off the circular platform, Zhuang felt the subtle shift in the chamber's energy, the qi adjusting to his presence. A young Ministry official approached, her robes a vibrant shade of blue that seemed to shimmer in the light.

"Good day, sir," she greeted, her voice carrying a melodic lilt that was at once strange and familiar. "Welcome to the Global Nexus Chamber. May I inquire about the purpose of your visit?"

Zhuang regarded the woman with a measured gaze, noting the way her words seemed to translate seamlessly in his mind. Clever, he thought, a translation spell woven into the very fabric of the chamber. A useful tool for navigating this foreign land.

"Tourism," he replied, his tone even. "I wish to explore the wonders of Magical Britain."

The official nodded, gesturing towards a nearby Auror. "Of course, sir. If you wouldn't mind, we just need to perform a quick scan for any dark artifacts. Standard procedure, you understand."

Zhuang acquiesced, standing still as the Auror waved his wand, a faint blue light washing over the old man's form. He could feel the qi probing, searching for any hint of malevolence, but he had no such artifacts on his person.

After a moment, the Auror nodded, satisfied with the results. "You're clear to go, sir. Enjoy your stay in Britain."

With a slight bow of his head, Zhuang made his way towards the exit

oo0ooOoo0oo

As Zhuang stepped into the bustling atrium of the Ministry of Magic, his wrinkled eyes widened at the sight of the grand fountain, its golden statues glinting beneath the enchanted ceiling. Witches and wizards hurried past, their robes a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns, their voices mingling in a cacophony of accents and languages.

These foreigners, utterly clueless, he thought, his lips curling into a subtle sneer. So noisy and disorderly.

Approaching a nearby information desk, Zhuang cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the young witch seated behind it. "You," he said, his broken English tinged with impatience, "where I find potion for speak language?"

The witch, her blonde hair pulled back into a neat bun, regarded him with a curious smile. "Of course, sir. You'll want to visit Babel's Brews, just down the hall to your left. They specialize in all sorts of language-related potions and charms."

With a nod of thanks, Zhuang made his way through the throng of people, his faded green robes a stark contrast to the vibrant hues surrounding him. As he entered Babel's Brews, the pungent aroma of simmering potions and exotic ingredients enveloped him, a familiar comfort in this foreign land.

The shopkeeper, a portly man with a well-groomed mustache, looked up from his ledger. "Welcome, good sir! How may I assist you today?"

"Need potion for speak English," Zhuang replied, his tone brusque as he approached the counter, eyeing the array of vials and bottles. "How long one bottle last?"

The shopkeeper's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, you must be referring to our Tongue-Twisting Tonic! A marvelous concoction, if I do say so myself. One sip, and you'll be conversing like a native in no time. A single bottle should last you a fortnight."

Zhuang nodded, placing a pouch of glittering coins on the counter. "Also need map of England."

The shopkeeper retrieved the requested items, and Zhuang paid for his purchases, tucking them securely into his robes. With a final nod to the shopkeeper, he exited the shop, his stride purposeful as he navigated the Ministry's winding corridors.

As he stepped into the phone booth that served as the Ministry's entrance, Zhuang uncorked the Tongue-Twisting Tonic, downing its contents in a single gulp. The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, a tingling sensation spreading through his mouth and tongue.

The phone booth ascended, depositing Zhuang onto a bustling London street. The old man blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the sea of unfamiliar faces and the cacophony of foreign sounds. People hurried past, their clothing strange and their mannerisms even more so.

Steeling himself, Zhuang approached a middle-aged woman, her arms laden with shopping bags. "Excuse me," he began, his words now flowing with ease, albeit still tinged with a Chinese accent, "I am looking for information about a child prodigy, one who can speak like an adult and possesses advanced knowledge. Have you heard of such a child?"

The woman's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, you must be talking about that little boy from Surrey! Harry, I think his name was. It was all over the news a while back. Apparently, he and his family moved to Cambridge not too long ago."

Zhuang's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Cambridge, is it? Most intriguing," he murmured, gratitude lacing his tone. He offered a small bow in appreciation before turning away.

Blending into the crowd, his faded green robes stood out against the modern backdrop, Zhuang moved with renewed purpose. The hunt was on, and he was determined not to rest until his prize was securely within his reach.

oo0ooOoo0oo

The night air was crisp and still, the silence broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Auror Ethan Blackwood stood disillusioned, his wand at the ready, as he kept a vigilant watch over the unassuming house in Cambridge. Beside him, his partner, Auror Liam Hawkins, shifted almost imperceptibly, his presence betrayed only by the faint shimmer of his disillusionment charm.

"Another quiet night," Liam murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think the boy knows we're here, watching over him?"

Ethan shook his head, forgetting for a moment that the gesture was invisible to his partner. "Doubtful. The Ministry's been careful to keep our presence hidden. Can't have the Muggles catching wind of—"

A sudden flash of light cut through the darkness, and Ethan's words died in his throat. A figure emerged from the shadows, clad in faded green robes that seemed to belong to another era. In his hand, he clutched a slender, jade-tipped wand—a Biānzhī, Ethan realized with a start.

The stranger's eyes, dark and inscrutable, locked onto the two disillusioned Aurors. A flick of his Biānzhī, and a shimmering barrier sprang into existence, encasing the three in a dome of pulsating energy.

"Protego Maxima!" Ethan shouted, his wand slashing through the air as he dropped his disillusionment. A shimmering shield blossomed before him, just in time to deflect a barrage of sizzling, crimson bolts that erupted from the stranger's Biānzhī.

Liam appeared at Ethan's side, his own shield charm joining his partner's. "Stupefy!" he cried, a jet of red light streaking towards their attacker.

The stranger sidestepped the stunner with preternatural grace, his Biānzhī weaving an intricate array of mystical symbols in the air. A swarm of glowing, jade-colored needles materialized, hurtling towards the Aurors with deadly precision.

Ethan and Liam dove apart, their shields shattering under the onslaught. Ethan rolled to his feet, his wand already in motion. "Incarcerous!"

Thick, serpentine ropes burst from the tip of his wand, coiling towards the stranger. With a disdainful swipe of his Biānzhī, the ropes disintegrated into ash, scattering on the wind.

Liam, his face contorted in concentration, unleashed a torrent of spells, each one a different hue. The stranger danced between them, his movements fluid and effortless, as if he were performing an ancient, deadly ballet.

A sickly green bolt caught Liam in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide and unseeing. Ethan's heart clenched, a cry of anguish tearing from his throat. "Liam!"

Fury and grief fueling his movements, Ethan charged forward, his wand a blur as he unleashed every spell in his arsenal. The stranger met him head-on, his Biānzhī a whirlwind of motion.

Ethan felt the Ministry wards around the house shudder and fall, the stranger's magic tearing through them like tissue paper. In a last, desperate gambit, Ethan lunged forward, his hand closing around the stranger's arm. With a sharp twist, he Apparated, dragging his attacker with him.

They reappeared in a clearing, the sudden displacement sending them stumbling apart. Four more Aurors, alerted by Liam's distress call, appeared with a series of sharp cracks, their wands trained on the stranger.

The man in green seemed more annoyed than threatened, his dark eyes narrowing as he surveyed the reinforcements. With a contemptuous sneer, he raised his Biānzhī, a sickly, pulsating light gathering at its tip.

Ethan, his heart hammering in his chest, watched in horror as tendrils of energy snaked out from the Biānzhī, latching onto three of the Aurors. Their screams rent the air as the life was drained from their bodies, their skin withering and crumbling to dust.

Just as the stranger turned his attention to Ethan, a sharp pop sounded, and a tall, thin figure appeared, his silver hair and beard gleaming in the moonlight. Albus Dumbledore, his eyes hard and his wand at the ready, took in the scene with a single, sweeping glance.

Ethan watched in awe as the clearing erupted into a maelstrom of magic, the likes of which he had never witnessed before. Dumbledore and the stranger, Zhuang, clashed in a display of power that defied comprehension, their spells casting a swath of destruction across the once-serene landscape.

The earth trembled beneath Ethan's feet as Dumbledore's transfigurations sprang to life, a menagerie of mythical beasts born from the very soil itself. A colossal dragon, its scales gleaming like polished jade, rose from the ground, towering over the battlefield at a staggering fifty feet. Its roar shook the very foundations of the earth as it lunged at Zhuang, its jaws snapping with the force of a thousand bear traps.

Sweet Merlin, I've never seen a transfiguration of that size before, Ethan gasped, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the titans clash.

Zhuang met the dragon's charge with a wave of his Biānzhī, and the air around him shimmered with the power of his magic. A torrent of crimson flames erupted from the tip of his wand, engulfing the dragon in a searing inferno. The beast let out a deafening shriek as its scales melted and its flesh charred, its massive form crumbling to ash in a matter of seconds.

Dumbledore Apparated behind Zhuang, the sharp pop of his arrival drowned out by the roar of the flames. His wand was already crafting the intricate designs of an Anti-Apparition Jinx, the air around him crackling with the power of his magic.

Zhuang sensed the trap and vanished in a flash of blinding light, reappearing on the far side of the clearing. He retaliated with a barrage of his own spells, the air humming with the raw power of his magic. A swarm of jade-colored needles, each one imbued with the essence of a thousand venomous serpents, hurtled towards Dumbledore, their tips glistening with deadly promise.

The headmaster's wand danced through the air, and a glittering wall of force sprang into existence, the needles shattering against its surface like fragile glass. Dumbledore countered with a flurry of spells, each one a different hue and intensity. A bolt of lightning, so bright that it seared Ethan's retinas, lanced towards Zhuang, only to be deflected by a shimmering, silver shield that sprang into existence at the last moment.

The ground beneath Zhuang's feet erupted into a mass of writhing, thorny vines, seeking to ensnare and crush the stranger. With a scornful twist of his Biānzhī, Zhuang incinerated the vines, reducing them to a fine ash that drifted on the wind.

This is insane, Ethan thought, his mind reeling as he watched the two masters of magic duel, their power beyond anything he had ever imagined. I need to get out of here before I'm caught in the crossfire.

He Apparated to the edge of the clearing, his wand at the ready as he searched for an opening to aid Dumbledore. But the battle was moving too fast, the spells flying with such speed and intensity that he could barely keep track of them.

A jet of purple flame, so hot that it scorched the very air, engulfed Zhuang, only to be extinguished by a torrent of icy water that surged from the tip of his Biānzhī. The stranger retaliated with a barrage of glowing, green orbs that pulsed with an eerie, sickly light. They homed in on Dumbledore like a swarm of angry hornets, only to be swatted aside by a glowing, golden shield that sprang into existence around the headmaster.

Dumbledore Apparated once more, appearing behind Zhuang in a loud pop. His wand was already in motion, tracing a sophisticated network of runes that lingered in the air, shimmering like radiant coals. The runes pulsed with power, and the ground beneath Zhuang's feet began to tremble and crack, as if the very earth itself was trying to swallow him whole.

Zhuang leapt into the air, his Biānzhī glowing with an eerie, green light. He hovered there for a moment, suspended by the power of his magic, before vanishing in another flash of blinding light. He materialized behind Dumbledore, his Biānzhī already tracing an intricate design unique to him.

A swirling vortex of darkness erupted from the tip of his Biānzhī, engulfing Dumbledore in a maelstrom of shadows. The headmaster's form seemed to flicker and waver, as if he were being torn apart by the very fabric of reality itself.

But Dumbledore was not so easily defeated. With a wave of his wand, he shattered the vortex, the shadows dissipating like smoke in the wind. He retaliated with a flurry of spells, each one more powerful than the last. A bolt of pure, white light lanced towards Zhuang, only to be met by a wall of potent jade energy that sprang into existence at the last moment.

The clearing was a hellscape of shattered earth and smoldering craters, the once-lush grass reduced to a blackened ruin. Trees, their trunks splintered and their branches ablaze, toppled to the ground with thunderous crashes, sending plumes of sparks and embers spiraling into the night sky.

Ethan Apparated once more, appearing behind a fallen tree trunk as he watched the battle unfold. This is what it means to be a true master of magic, he thought, adrenaline coursing through his veins. I've never seen anything like this before!

Dumbledore and Zhuang clashed again and again, their spells colliding in explosions of light and sound that shook the very foundations of the earth. The air crackled with the power of their magic, the very fabric of reality straining under the weight of their duel.

But even Zhuang, with all his power and skill, could not hope to match Dumbledore's mastery of magic. The headmaster's wand was a blur of motion, weaving spells of such complexity and power that Ethan could barely comprehend them. A shimmering, golden net sprang into existence around Zhuang, seeking to ensnare and bind him. The stranger's Biānzhī flashed, and the net shattered into a thousand glittering shards, only to be replaced by a swarm of fiery, winged serpents that hissed and snapped at his heels.

Zhuang disappeared once more in a flash of light, seeking to escape the onslaught. But Dumbledore was prepared, his wand swiftly sketching a intricate web of runes in the air, which hovered and glowed like fiery sparks. The runes pulsed with power, and a shimmering, silver cage sprang into existence around Zhuang, trapping him within its confines.

The stranger's Biānzhī flashed, and the cage shattered like glass. But Dumbledore was already moving, his wand weaving a final, devastating spell. A jet of blinding, white light erupted from the elder wand, engulfing Zhuang in its radiance. The stranger's form seemed to flicker and waver, as if he were being unmade by the very fabric of reality itself.

When the light faded, all that remained of Zhuang was a small, wriggling worm, encased in a sphere of unbreakable glass. Dumbledore stooped to retrieve the sphere, his face grave as he surveyed the carnage around him.

Ethan emerged from behind the fallen tree trunk, his wand still clutched tightly in his hand. He approached Dumbledore cautiously, his mind reeling from the sheer power and intensity of the battle he had just witnessed.

"Is it over?" he asked, his voice hoarse and shaky.

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes fixed on the wriggling worm within the sphere. "For now," he said, his voice heavy with weariness. "But I fear this is only the beginning. Come, we must return to the Ministry. There is much to discuss, and many questions that need answering."

Ethan fell into step beside the headmaster, his mind still struggling to process the events of the night. As they Apparated away, the clearing fell silent once more, the only witness to the epic battle that had taken place the shattered earth and smoldering ruins that scarred the landscape.