Good, Professor

If the previous lessons had filled the Gryffindor fledglings with wonder and excitement about the magical world, making them feel as if their futures were bright,

then the first class on Wednesday morning was like a basin of ice water hauled up from the cellar for three days and three nights, poured mercilessly over their heads and giving them an early taste of the brutal reality of magical society.

Potions Class.

Just hearing where it was held came with a built-in aura of the underworld—an underground classroom.

The path to the underground classroom was dark and long. They spiraled downward along the stone steps, feeling as if they were heading off to explore some ancient tomb.

The walls on either side of the corridor were cold and damp. The air was thick with the pungent smell of mold, dust, and formalin, making their sanity drop by the second.

When they finally found the classroom and pushed open the heavy wooden door, an even fiercer chill rushed over them. Everyone shuddered, feeling as if a "Weakness" debuff had been hung over them.

This place was less a classroom than a specimen storage room belonging to some deranged mad scientist.

The room was large, but its lighting was absolutely atrocious.

A few green-glowing candles floated in midair, stretching everyone's shadows until they looked like ghosts.

Along the walls stood rows of huge glass jars, each filled with bizarre objects soaking in various colors of viscous liquid.

Floating giant-eyed octopuses, furry spiders curled into balls, and hideous monsters with wings and claws whose names Harry couldn't even guess.

The whole room's atmosphere could be summed up in three words: oppressive, eerie, and ominous.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin students sat down on opposite sides, their division unmistakable.

Malfoy and his lot wore smug, mocking smiles that seemed to say, "This is our turf."

The Gryffindor students, meanwhile, were like little lambs that had wandered into a wolf's den. They fidgeted uneasily, not even daring to breathe too loudly.

Written in flamboyant strokes across the blackboard were the contents of today's lesson—"Scab Treatment Potion."

"Where's the professor?" Harry asked Ron in a tense, hushed voice.

"Shh—" Ron raised a finger to his lips, his face paler than the walls.

Just then, a figure appeared without warning in the dense shadows at the very back of the classroom.

He hadn't walked out. It was more as if he had condensed into existence from the darkness itself.

He wore a completely black robe. As he walked, its hem glided soundlessly across the floor, making him look exactly like a gigantic bat hunting on the ground.

Greasy shoulder-length black hair hung on either side of his wax-yellow cheeks. Combined with his iconic hooked nose, it gave his entire person a sharp, forbidding air that seemed to say, "Don't mess with me."

What made everyone's skin crawl the most, however, were his eyes.

They were pitch-black eyes devoid of warmth. When he looked at you, you couldn't sense any emotion at all—only a cold emptiness that seemed capable of seeing straight through your thoughts.

He was Hogwarts' Potions professor, the head of Slytherin House, Severus Snape.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving here, nor silly incantations."

His voice wasn't loud, yet it was like a cold snake, sliding precisely into everyone's ears. It was a deliberately lowered whisper with a hissing quality that made their skin erupt in gooseflesh.

"Therefore, I do not expect you to understand this subtle and rigorous science and art of brewing potions and concocting gases."

His gaze moved slowly around the classroom, and every first-year student it passed instinctively hunched their neck.

"Here, you will learn how to control your mind and soothe your emotions. You will learn how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even... stop death."

He paused, allowing those seductive words to echo through the air.

Lin Yuan's ears twitched slightly.

Bottling fame, brewing glory... he didn't care about those.

But the words "stop death" struck him precisely in his G-spot.

Immortality was the only goal he had pursued since crossing into this world.

In this world, where spiritual energy was scarce and the Great Dao was inaccessible, any knowledge related to "life" and "death" was a subject he had to conquer.

This professor, who looked like the ultimate villain, seemed to possess... the key technology.

Just as Lin Yuan silently raised Snape's threat level, Snape's gaze finally landed on Harry Potter's face.

"Potter," he said suddenly, his voice filled with undisguised hostility. "Our new... celebrity."

Harry's heart sank, and he sensed trouble.

"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered Asphodel Root to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry's brain instantly crashed.

Asphodel Root? Wormwood? What the heck were those? He looked to Ron for help, but Ron was just as dumbfounded.

However, Hermione beside him shot her hand up, as if she had pressed an eject button. Her entire body trembled slightly in her chair with excitement.

Snape ignored her completely. His black eyes remained fixed on Harry's face.

"Don't know? Very well, let's try again." He continued questioning in a drawn-out, mocking tone. "Then, Potter, if I asked you to find me a Bezoar, where would you look?"

Hermione raised her hand even higher, so desperate that she nearly stood up from her chair.

Snape still didn't spare her a glance, as if she were invisible.

"I... I don't know, sir." Harry's voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz.

"Fame evidently isn't everything." Snape spoke softly, the disdain in his tone almost spilling over.

"One last question, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

This time, Hermione had stood up completely, waving her hand frantically in the air while making urgent, breathy noises. "I know! I know!"

"I... I don't know, sir." Harry lowered his head, so embarrassed that he wished he could drop dead on the spot.

"Pity. Such a pity." Snape slowly shook his head. "Clearly, before coming to Hogwarts, you hadn't even opened a basic Potions textbook. Is that right, Potter?"

Just as Harry thought this public execution was finally about to end, Snape's gaze suddenly shifted away.

Those abyss-like eyes passed over Ron, passed over Hermione, and finally landed on the oriental boy who had sat quietly there from beginning to end, his face utterly expressionless, as if the farce before him had nothing to do with him.

Lin Yuan.

The "perfect controller" in Flitwick's words, the "rule-breaker" in McGonagall's.

The cold smile at the corners of Snape's mouth deepened.

He had naturally heard of this new student's "illustrious exploits."

In his view, this was nothing more than another attention-seeking brat.

Having a little cleverness with those childish charms and Transfiguration spells didn't mean anything.

Potions Mastery was a truly rigorous and profound science.

It was time to let this newly acclaimed "genius" have a taste of reality's bitterness.

"Mr. Lin." Snape's voice rang out again, this time carrying even more malice than when he had targeted Harry.

"Since your fellow housemate knows nothing, why don't you give us all a display of your 'genius'?"

He deliberately emphasized the word "genius," maximizing the sarcasm in his tone.

Oh, great. The big boss had redirected his aggro onto me.

Lin Yuan's heart remained utterly unruffled. He even felt a little like laughing.

Faced with Snape's aggressive gaze and the complicated stares of the entire class, Lin Yuan's reaction left everyone utterly dumbfounded.

He didn't tense up or panic. He didn't even move an eyebrow.

He merely raised his eyes slowly, calmly meeting Snape's gaze, and then gave a polite, slight nod.

"Good, Professor."