A Cultivator, But Hogwarts

"Rumble... rumble..."

The old steam train chugged rhythmically along the tracks. The Scottish Highlands outside the window blurred past, rolling green hills merging with the gray-blue sky like a washed-out oil painting.

Lin Yuan leaned by the window, his gaze calmly taking in the scene, but his inner state was far from tranquil.

He, Lin Yuan, a legitimate transmigrator from Earth, and also a cultivator with a legacy.

It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but his legacy sounded incredibly impressive, called the "Supreme Record of Detachment." Yet, after over a decade of arduous cultivation, aside from tempering his Divine Soul into unparalleled resilience, allowing him to see internally and perceive the slightest movements around him, he couldn't even light a piece of paper on fire.

His master's letter stated that this was the Age of Dharma's End, devoid of Spiritual Energy in the world, and even the most skilled couldn't make bricks without straw.

Then, he woke up to find himself shrunken to the age of eleven, lying in a bed in a London orphanage, clutching a letter written in green ink.

The envelope bore his new name: Ryan Lin.

The address was written cryptically: "The room by the staircase on the second floor, Magnolia Road Orphanage, Little Whinging, Surrey."

The signatory was: Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It took Lin Yuan a full two hours and sixty-one minutes to accept this reality—he had transmigrated to the world of Harry Potter.

A world with real, tangible supernatural power, but with an energy level... well, it was hard to describe.

He attempted to circulate his cultivation technique, but it was the same as on Earth; he couldn't draw in a single breath of energy.

This world also lacked the so-called "Spiritual Energy."

"As expected, the path of cultivation is fraught with peril," Lin Yuan sighed inwardly.

However, it wasn't entirely without gains.

His powerful Divine Soul here seemed to have found a new "way to be activated."

On Earth, his Divine Soul was like a top-spec computer without internet or electricity.

Here, the air was filled with a peculiar, inert yet active energy he had never encountered before.

He couldn't directly absorb this energy, but he could use his Divine Soul to "pry" at it.

For instance, he now extended a wisp of Soul Power, gently attaching it to the page of the Standard Book of Spells, Elementary on the table.

"Turn."

He silently chanted a single-syllable command, his Soul Power vibrating slightly, attempting to mimic the mental fluctuations of the Wizards casting spells in this world.

The page quivered, then shakily turned.

It worked.

But Lin Yuan frowned.

It was too strenuous.

For such a simple action, the Soul Power consumed was far greater than he had imagined.

It felt like using a massive crowbar to pry a small pebble, expending ten units of effort for only one unit of effect.

"The world's rules are different, and the efficiency of energy utilization is worlds apart," Lin Yuan concluded. "It's like a bug in a game; you can use it, but the cost is high, and it's easily patched by the 'system'."

If he wanted longevity and freedom, these little tricks wouldn't suffice.

He had to decipher the underlying logic of this world and transform its "magic" into his own "supernatural abilities."

Where should he go to decipher it?

The answer was obvious.

Hogwarts, this thousand-year-old school, was undoubtedly the place where the world's magical knowledge was most concentrated.

The train continued its rhythmic "clack-clack-clack" on the tracks, like an unending lullaby.

The scenery outside the window had gradually shifted from the crowded, repetitive red-brick houses of London's suburbs to rolling hills like green waves. Small sheep, resembling cotton candy, were scattered in twos and threes across the vast plains, leisurely grazing.

Every frame was like a meticulously crafted scenic postcard.

In Lin Yuan's compartment, the silence was broken only by the train's regular rhythm and the faint "rustle" of his fingertips gliding across the pages of his book.

It was a wonderful atmosphere that could calm the soul.

"Rustle--"

The compartment door was opened very roughly, with a hint of panic.

Immediately after, a head cautiously poked in.

It was a very conspicuous head, topped with fiery red hair, a face dotted with freckles typical of a boy his age, and an expression that was a mixture of extreme awkwardness, considerable embarrassment, and a sliver of "if I don't find a seat soon, I'll have to stand all the way to Hogwarts" despair.

"Um... uh, I'm very sorry to bother you," the boy's voice sounded nervous, slightly hoarse, like a little rabbit that had accidentally stumbled into a tiger's den, lacking confidence even in its speech. "Excuse me... is anyone sitting here? I... I walked from the front of the train to the back, and it's... it's almost full outside."

"No one," Lin Yuan closed his textbook, a polite smile of curiosity on his face.

He knew who this was, of course.

Ron Weasley.

So, the one behind him must be...

"Oh! Oh, really?! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Ron felt instantly absolved, his whole body relaxing.

He fumbled with a worn-out suitcase, looking older than he was and with its corners rubbed down to expose the wood, huffing and puffing as he squeezed it in.

Behind him, as expected, followed a black-haired boy wearing round glasses, looking equally reserved and uneasy.

Harry Potter.

"Um... are we really allowed to sit here together?" Harry quietly confirmed again.

Lin Yuan smiled again, nodding slightly, and gestured for them to make themselves at home.

And so, the quiet space that had belonged only to him was instantly occupied by two chattering "new members."

The history of a quiet compartment's fall began here.

Ron was clearly a natural, a chatterbox who couldn't sit still.

Once the initial nervousness passed, the "social" DNA within him began to stir. After struggling to shove the suitcase into the luggage rack, he couldn't wait to break the somewhat awkward silence.

"My name is Ron, Ron Weasley," he first introduced himself generously to Harry, who seemed more approachable.

"My name is Harry, Harry Potter."

"Wow! It's really you?!" Ron's eyes widened, his mouth forming an "O" shape, as if he'd heard the most explosive gossip of the year. "They... they all said you were coming... do you really have... that..." As he spoke, he unconsciously pointed a finger at his forehead.

Harry looked a little embarrassed, but still subconsciously pushed aside the unruly lock of black hair on his forehead, revealing that world-famous, lightning-bolt-shaped scar.