Mr. Lin, I Need An Explanation

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long swathes of light across the floor. Dust motes danced in the beams, visible as countless silent witnesses.

Professor McGonagall didn't speak immediately.

She walked with a precision akin to a metronome to Lin Yuan's desk.

Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, fixed intently on the perfect silver needle lying on the tabletop.

The needle lay there quietly, as if silently mocking all the knowledge and theories about Transfiguration she had built over decades.

She reached out and carefully picked up the needle between two fingers.

"Mr. Lin," she finally spoke, her voice carrying the pressure of an authoritative scholar, "I require an explanation."

Lin Yuan looked up, his dark eyes calmly meeting Professor McGonagall's probing and scrutinizing gaze.

A perfectly fitting hint of confusion, as if he truly didn't know what he had done wrong, lingered on his face.

"An explanation? Professor, are you referring to... this needle?"

"Don't play dumb with me, young man." Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed even tighter. "You know exactly what I'm asking about. No spell, no wand, and in an instant, a perfect material inter-category conversion from wood to silver. And..."

Her gaze fell upon the exquisite rose carving around the needle's tip, almost indistinguishable to the naked eye. Her voice carried a tremor she herself hadn't noticed.

"...and you conjured these complex, additional forms that simply didn't exist out of thin air. Tell me, how did you do it?"

This was the core of the issue!

Changing from A to B was Transfiguration.

But what Lin Yuan had done was change from A to a perfect C, complete with extra accessories.

This had touched the edge of the most forbidden and profound laws in the field of Transfiguration.

Faced with this question, Lin Yuan's reaction remained infuriatingly calm.

He thought seriously for a moment.

Then, in the same straightforward tone he used in Charms class, he slowly said:

"Professor, I just... thought of it as it should be when I looked at it."

"..."

Professor McGonagall felt her temples throb.

What kind of ridiculous explanation was this?!

"Thought?" she emphasized, her voice now laced with suppressed anger. "Thousands of students at Hogwarts think! If thinking alone could achieve perfect transformation, would they need to study here diligently for seven years?!"

"I think, perhaps, our 'thinking' is different," Lin Yuan continued, neither humble nor arrogant. "In my understanding, there is no difference in the fundamental existence of this matchstick and this needle."

"No difference?" Professor McGonagall felt she was about to be amused to death by this student's twisted logic.

"Yes, no difference," Lin Yuan's eyes were clear and resolute, as if stating the simplest truth. "Whether it's wood or metal, tracing back to the most fundamental level, they are merely different forms composed of basic energy, arranged through different rules."

"Therefore, what I did was not a change. I merely dismantled its original order as wood and then bestowed upon it a new order belonging to a silver needle."

He paused, looked up at Professor McGonagall, who was completely stunned by his earth-shattering statement, and then, with an almost innocent tone, added the fatal blow that would make any Transfiguration master spit blood on the spot.

"As for the carving, Professor, I just felt that a bare needle looked a bit plain. So, I added a little decoration on the side."

"..."

"On... the side?"

"Added... a... little... decoration?"

Professor McGonagall's mind went blank, buzzing.

Her proud mind, filled with logic and rules, was completely fried by Lin Yuan's understated yet utterly subversive statement.

Dismantling order?

Constructing order?

Adding a decoration on the side?!

This... this wasn't even about discussing magic anymore.

She stared blankly at the calm eleven-year-old boy before her, an unprecedented sense of powerlessness washing over her.

She realized she couldn't refute him at all.

Because, on a philosophical level, what he said seemed to be entirely correct!

But!

This theory couldn't be learned, couldn't be replicated, couldn't be written into textbooks!

It was like asking a natural-born musical prodigy how they composed a timeless masterpiece, and they replied, "I just wrote down the music I heard in my head."

What could you do?

You could do nothing.

This "interrogation" was doomed from the start to be a complete misunderstanding.

Professor McGonagall fell silent.

She remained silent for a very, very long time, so long that the position of the sun shifted noticeably.

Finally, she slowly let out a long breath.

That breath carried a weariness and sense of defeat that she herself couldn't articulate.

She conceded.

"Alright, Mr. Lin," she spoke again, the oppressive feeling gone from her voice, replaced by a tone of helplessness, "I understand."

No, she didn't understand.

She didn't understand at all.

But she knew that asking further would yield no results.

She could only find a logical explanation for everything that had happened with the boy before her, one that she could grudgingly accept.

"This... is perhaps, the legendary, one-in-a-million... intuitive spellcasting talent," she murmured to herself, as if convincing herself, "A talent that can resonate with the very source of magic, an unexplainable... gift."

She placed the perfect, artistic silver needle back in front of Lin Yuan.

This action itself symbolized an acknowledgment and a compromise.

"This needle belongs to you," she looked at Lin Yuan with a complex gaze, and finally couldn't help but adopt her signature cautionary tone, "Mr. Lin, your talent is unlike anything I've ever seen. However, I must remind you, an overly powerful talent, without a humble and reverent heart to guide it, can sometimes become a curse. I hope you understand what I mean."

"I understand, Professor," Lin Yuan politely put away the needle, nodding slightly, "Thank you for your teachings."

His obedient demeanor made Professor McGonagall swallow back the lengthy lecture she had prepared about "keeping a low profile" and "hiding one's talent."

"Alright, you may go now," she waved her hand, her face etched with fatigue.

Lin Yuan stood up, bowed to her again, and then turned to quietly leave the classroom that had made him famous overnight.

As the classroom door closed behind him, Professor McGonagall stood alone in the center of the empty room, gazing at the bare desk for a long time without moving.

Her mind still echoed with those casually spoken words.

"I just added a little decoration, that's all."

Finally, she shook her head with a bitter smile, a rare, helpless smile appearing on her usually stern face.