From showing up uninvited for dinner to being quizzed by his teacher about exams—everything flowed together as smoothly as a well-practiced spell.
On the sofa in the living room, Professor Zhang had just finished giving Lynn a little "placement test."
"I'm really glad to see you still have the heart to study and push yourself forward," the professor said warmly.
He was clearly satisfied with Lynn's performance. "I've seen lots of talented students who got lazy because everything came too easily to them. They end up wasting a lot of time."
"Maybe it's because… they weren't really studying for themselves?"
Lynn wasn't surprised. In his previous life, he'd known classmates like that—plenty of real-world examples.
"I know exactly what that's like," Professor Zhang said. "Those kids are excellent—so excellent they've become the model everyone else's parents compare their own children to. I've heard them complain to me: 'I'm jealous of you. You get to choose your own path. You can do whatever you want because your parents don't control you. You're free. My whole life's already laid out in front of me—competitions, prizes, guaranteed admission, and living exactly the way everyone expects. There's no surprise in my life. No choice at all.'"
Qiu, listening from the side, suddenly looked conflicted. Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she wanted to argue but couldn't get the words out. They were stuck somewhere in her throat.
"You clever people are so unfair…" she sighed dramatically.
"You can actually leave out the word 'clever' there."
Lynn stuffed a custard tart into his mouth and washed it down with a cup of iced oolong tea—truly a heavenly combo.
"People who think that way are honestly just idiots."
"Huh?" Qiu blinked at him. "Really?"
"Of course. That's why I scolded them."
"What did you say?" she asked eagerly, rubbing Mo Dou's belly while staring at Lynn, waiting.
"I told them: people expect things from you only because your potential is something they can imagine. So try doing things they can't imagine at all. Do it a few times—break out of the ordinary way of thinking. Once they can't even understand what they're seeing, they'll learn to keep quiet and stop pointing fingers."
"Is… is that true, Dad?" Qiu looked toward her father.
Professor Zhang pressed his lips together, obviously avoiding the question. "Probably… maybe. I'm not entirely sure."
"You see, Qiu?" Lynn grinned. "Now the professor won't try to tell me what path I should take anymore. He'll just let me explore freely."
"You brat!" Professor Zhang finally lost his composure. He flicked Lynn on the forehead. "If you don't want to study magical runes, then don't! Stop talking nonsense."
Originally, the professor had hoped Lynn would study ancient magic and ancient runes with him.
"I just prefer working on things I find interesting," Lynn said. "I think you should always make sure you're happy with what you're doing."
"But professor, do you have any advice for me about that expanded rune-casting method I mentioned before?"
"Oh? The little prodigy can't think of a solution on his own?" Professor Zhang teased.
"If I'm like a warrior exploring the untouched wilderness," Lynn said with a grin, "then you're the lantern lighting up the darkness around me. Wandering around alone, you're bound to stumble a lot. But with a bit of light, you'll see more and fall less. And the more light you have, the further you can go."
Professor Zhang chuckled. "You really do love your metaphors. Well, I might have something that could help."
Lynn couldn't cast spells freely like other wizards, and the professor felt bad about that—he genuinely wanted to help.
"First of all," he said, "the biggest difference between runic magic and spell-based magic is that spell magic carries ongoing intent. That means the caster can continue to control it."
He demonstrated with a wave of his wand. A dish floated up from the table.
"When I cast the Levitation Charm, my magic continues flowing into the spell. There's a magical link between me and the charm, so I can keep controlling it. But runic magic doesn't work like that. When you write a rune, you inject your magic and intent, seal it, and after that, the connection is severed."
"So, using runes to create real-time controllable magic like spells? Almost impossible."
"Second," he continued, "you want to use Transfiguration to rapidly adjust your runes so they respond instantly. You might really manage to make Transfiguration faster than handwriting runes, but even basic Transfiguration leaves magical residue on the material."
"That leftover magic will interfere with whatever spell comes after it—even if the source power is the same."
"For this part, I can actually help." Professor Zhang flicked his wand, summoning a small red velvet box to the table. Inside were two tiny gems.
"Magical gemstones," he explained. "Rare minerals that can 'dye' magic. They form only in places extremely rich in magical energy. Their effects vary by region."
He held up a cracked, gray-blue gem.
"This particular one has a purifying property. Magic poured into it is cleansed—stripped of the caster's intent—and reverted back to unprocessed natural magic."
"That pure form won't interfere with your spells at all. It's like a gentle breeze—you know it's there, but you can't grab it."
"But if the breeze strengthens, it can still blow a roof clean off."
"It's also used in alchemy to break down failed creations and recover the materials."
"I think this one solves your little problem." He handed the gem to Lynn with a smile.
"After you transfigure a rune into its new shape, just use this gem to remove the leftover Transfiguration magic before activating it. That way your rune magic won't get messed up."
Lynn toyed with the gem, testing it with his magic. At first, nothing. But when he poured in more power, something brushed past him like a soft gust of wind.
"You won't smell anything," the professor said, noticing his confusion. "Purified magic is basically like air."
"But professor… I can feel it. You know how the air feels fresher after rain? Kind of like that."
"…Maybe your magic sensitivity is higher than most." The professor twitched slightly. "Anyway, the stone is yours."
"So… do I get a Christmas present too?" Lynn tucked the gem away without shame and grinned mischievously.
Professor Zhang coughed. "My family doesn't celebrate Western holidays. I'm only here for work, not settling down. No such tradition."
"Then how about a New Year's red envelope? I can bow right now if you want—just slip me the money?"
"It's nowhere near New Year's. No one gives out red envelopes early."
"Stingy."
"You brat! Give the stone back!"
"A true wizard stands tall between heaven and earth! A promise is like a nailed-down oath—you can't break it!"
Professor Zhang almost laughed from sheer exasperation.
"Oh, professor," Lynn suddenly said, "earlier you said the first thing was almost impossible. Does that mean making rune magic behave like spell magic isn't completely impossible?"
"Only theoretically," the professor said, shaking his head. "Ancient magic and ancient runes are extraordinarily special. Stronger, longer-lasting, more stable."
He spoke of ancient ruins thousands of years old that were still active—floating stones, mechanisms still running, untouched by time. True miracles.
And all without alchemical matrices.
"Ancient magic isn't spell magic," he said. "It's a kind of primordial, spoken magic—and also a runic magic, but one written in a personal, private language."
Every ancient-magic user had their own "dialect." No one could understand another's magic unless it had been voluntarily translated.
"If you can decipher the private language of an ancient magic user," he said, "the reward is beyond anything you can imagine."
"Do you gain their power?" Lynn asked eagerly.
"No," the professor answered. "You gain… enlightenment. Inspiration. Something indescribable. Only four people in recorded history have done it."
"And they all left incredible marks on the wizarding world. Even more impressive than those who could wield ancient magic themselves."
"Take Merlin, for example," he said. "Europe's poster-child for legendary wizards. He wasn't an ancient-magic user—but he was one of the four who cracked its mysteries."
Lynn couldn't help feeling tempted. Mysteries you could only understand through firsthand experience were far too alluring to resist.
"Professor, you said the key difference is the caster themselves. What exactly is the special trait?"
"It's innate talent," the professor answered with a smile. "Ancient-magic users imprint their will onto the world. Natural magic constantly sustains their spells as long as the 'mental core' remains."
"They're like the world's beloved children."
"The world hears them call out to magic. And magic answers."
"…Must be nice," Lynn muttered. If ancient-magic users were the world's pampered children, then he was probably the poor kid brought home by the stepmother—no matter how much he cried, no one listened, and if he cried too loudly, he'd probably get smacked across the head.