A Cultivator, but at Hogwarts

"Rumble... rumble..."

The old steam train raced along the tracks with a steady rhythm. Outside the window, the Scottish Highlands swept past, their rolling green hills blending into the gray-blue sky like a watercolor painting washed clean.

Lin Yuan leaned against the window, watching it all with a calm expression, though inside he was far from composed.

He, Lin Yuan, was a bona fide transmigrator from Earth—and a cultivator with a lineage to boot.

It was a little embarrassing to admit, but his inheritance sounded incredibly impressive. It was called Tai Shang Wang Qing Lu. Yet after more than a decade of diligent cultivation, all he had to show for it was a remarkably resilient soul that let him look inward and sense the tiniest movements around him. He still couldn't even rub a piece of paper into flame.

In his master's letter, he'd been told this was the Age of Declining Dharma. There was no spiritual energy between heaven and earth, and even the cleverest cook couldn't make a meal without ingredients.

Then he'd woken up as an eleven-year-old boy, lying in a bed at a London orphanage with a letter written in green ink clutched in his hand.

His new name was written on the envelope: Ryan Lin.

The address was bizarrely specific: "The room on the second floor by the stairs, Magnolia Crescent Orphanage, Little Whinging, County Surrey."

It was signed by Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It had taken Lin Yuan exactly two hours and sixty-one minutes to accept reality: he had transmigrated into the world of Harry Potter.

A world with genuine supernatural powers, but an energy level that was... well, hard to describe.

He'd tried circulating his cultivation technique, but just like on Earth, he hadn't managed to absorb a damn thing.

This world had no such thing as "spiritual energy between heaven and earth," either.

As expected, the road to immortality is long and arduous. Lin Yuan sighed inwardly.

Still, it wasn't as if he'd gained nothing.

His powerful soul seemed to have found a new way to "work" here.

On Earth, his soul had been like a top-of-the-line computer with no power or internet.

Here, the air was permeated with a strange energy he'd never encountered before, both inert and active.

He couldn't absorb this energy directly, but he could use his soul to "leverage" it.

For example, he was now extending a wisp of Soul Power and gently laying it over the pages of the book on the table, Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.

Turn.

He silently issued a one-syllable command. His Soul Power rippled faintly, trying to imitate the mental fluctuations wizards used when casting spells.

The page wobbled, then tremulously turned.

It worked.

But Lin Yuan frowned.

It was exhausting.

For such a simple action, it had consumed far more Soul Power than he'd expected.

It felt like using an enormous crowbar to move a tiny pebble: he was exerting ten parts strength for one part result.

The rules of this world are different, and the energy-use efficiency is worlds apart. Lin Yuan reached a conclusion. It's like a bug in a game. You can use it, but it comes at a high cost—and the "system" might patch it.

If he wanted immortality and freedom, these little tricks wouldn't be enough.

He had to decipher the underlying logic of this world and turn its "magic" into his own "divine powers."

Where could he study it?

The answer was obvious.

Hogwarts, an ancient school with a thousand years of history, was undoubtedly the place in this world where magical knowledge was most concentrated.

The train rattled along the tracks, "clackety-clack, clackety-clack," its steady rhythm like a lullaby that would never end.

Outside the window, the scenery had changed from the crowded, repetitive red-brick houses on the outskirts of London to rolling hills that looked like green waves. Little sheep like tufts of cotton candy dotted the vast fields in twos and threes, lazily chewing grass.

Every view looked like a carefully crafted landscape postcard.

Lin Yuan's compartment was so quiet that all he could hear was the train's steady rhythm and the faint rustle of his fingertips moving over a page.

It was a lovely atmosphere, one that could soothe even the soul.

"Rustle—"

The compartment door was yanked open with surprising force and a hint of panic.

Then, a head poked in cautiously.

It was hard to miss: a head crowned with vivid, flame-red hair. A few freckles dotted his face, just as you'd expect on a boy his age. His expression combined a dozen parts awkwardness, eight parts embarrassment, and a trace of despair that seemed to say, "If I don't find a seat soon, I'll end up standing all the way to Hogwarts."

"Um... er, sorry to bother you," the boy said nervously, his voice a little hoarse. He sounded like a little rabbit that had wandered into a tiger's territory, with hardly any confidence behind his words. "Is anyone sitting here? I... I've walked all the way from the front of the train to the back, and almost every compartment is full."

"No one," Lin Yuan said, closing the physics book in his hands and offering a polite smile tinged with curiosity.

Of course he knew who this was.

Ron Weasley.

Which meant the person behind him was...

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

Ron looked instantly relieved, his whole body relaxing.

He fumbled as he dragged in a battered trunk that looked older than he was, its corners worn down until splinters of wood showed through. He huffed and puffed as he squeezed inside.

Behind him, just as expected, came a black-haired boy wearing round glasses, looking just as awkward and uneasy.

Harry Potter.

"Um... are you sure we can sit here with you?" Harry asked quietly, seeking confirmation once more.

Lin Yuan smiled again, gave a small nod, and gestured for them to make themselves at home.

And so, the quiet space that had belonged to him alone was instantly taken over by two chatty "new arrivals."

Thus began the fall of a peaceful compartment.

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

Once his initial nerves had passed, his "social" DNA began to stir. After struggling to shove his trunk onto the luggage rack, he eagerly tried to break the somewhat awkward silence.

"My name's Ron, Ron Weasley," he said, introducing himself openly to Harry, who seemed easier to talk to.

"I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

"Wow! It really is you?!" Ron's eyes went round, and his mouth formed an O, as if he'd just heard the biggest piece of gossip of the year. "They... they all said you'd be coming... Do you really have... that...?" As he spoke, he couldn't help pointing at his own forehead.

Harry looked a little embarrassed, but instinctively brushed aside the unruly lock of black hair hanging over his forehead, revealing the world-famous lightning-shaped scar.