Flying Bookworm

And in the Slytherin dungeon, the scene was quite different.

"Just a coward." Malfoy, in his signature drawling tone filled with aristocratic disdain, shared his profound opinion with his two loyal followers, Crabbe and Goyle. "He's just scared! He knows that if he dared to show up, our Slytherin players would smash him and his pathetic broom to pieces! So, he made up some lame excuse about 'reading' and hid in that moldy turtle shell of a library!"

Crabbe and Goyle, like two nodding machines, desperately echoed, "Yeah, Draco's right! He's just a coward!"

However, in another, more niche circle at Hogwarts, one filled with intellectual curiosity and academic fervor, Lin Yuan had been given a brand new nickname, one filled with respect and even a hint of sacred aura.

"Saint of the Library."

Or, in more common terms, "Flying Bookworm."

This title was especially prevalent among the more "technical" and "academic" students of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

"You don't understand," a Ravenclaw upperclassman with thick glasses explained to her disdainful classmates at the lunch table. "It's not ordinary flying. A friend of mine is Wood's roommate, and he personally heard Wood describe the situation in a lost and bewildered tone. It's absolute control over the broom! This Lin Yuan, he's not rejecting Quidditch because he's scared, or because he's weird. It's because, in his eyes, Quidditch is probably like we see kindergarteners playing in the mud, just too... low-level."

This interpretation was undoubtedly the closest to the truth.

But unfortunately, only a minority could understand it to that extent.

As for all of this, the outside world's disturbances, the rampant discussions and gossip, Lin Yuan, as the person at the center of the storm, showed complete indifference.

He really did, as he himself had said, dive headfirst into Hogwarts' vast, immeasurable library, a veritable palace of magical knowledge.

And he enjoyed it immensely.

For someone who had spent ten years in the sect's Scripture Pavilion, studying those tedious, obscure, and often millions-of-words-long cultivation classics and ancient array diagrams, these "children's books" in the Hogwarts library, filled with strange anecdotes and interesting magic, were simply paradise!

This was, for him at this stage, the most perfect playground to pass the time.

Thus, a fixed "routine" quietly formed at Hogwarts.

Every day, except for the necessary class and meal times, you could almost always find that seemingly non-existent figure in the deepest, quietest corner by the window in the library.

Sunlight, through the tall stained-glass windows filled with classical patterns, shone on him, dyeing his jet-black hair with a faint golden halo.

The air was filled with that unique, comforting scent that could only be found in libraries, a mixture of ancient parchment, dry ink, and a hint of magical dust.

In front of him, there was always a small stack of books, but not many, about three or four.

And the speed at which he read was astonishing.

He wasn't like Hermione, carefully studying each word, wishing she could engrave every punctuation mark into her brain.

He simply flipped through the pages quickly, in a seemingly casual, browsing manner, reading ten lines at a glance.

His jet-black eyes, like two high-precision scanners, quickly captured all the information on the pages—words, pictures, and even the faint magical fluctuations hidden between the lines—and then, in his brain (or rather, his Spiritual Sense), which was comparable to a supercomputer, he would summarize, organize, analyze, and model it.

Then, a thick book that others might need a week to read, would be finished in less than half an hour.

He would close the book, close his eyes, lean back in his chair, and quietly digest it for a few minutes.

As if running a huge data processing program.

Then, he would open his eyes, gently put the book aside, and pick up the next one.

The whole process was smooth and flowing, filled with a strange, aesthetic sense of efficiency.

This almost "ascetic" reading mode quickly attracted the attention of the highest authority in the library—Madam Irma Pince, the librarian known for her grumpy temper, love of books, and eyes as sharp as a bat's.

At first, she thought this was another bad student who liked to use books as a disguise to secretly sleep or engage in petty tricks in the library.

Like a Ghost, she patrolled silently to Lin Yuan's seat, staring at him with a scrutinizing gaze that was enough to make ordinary students' hearts stop.

However, she was disappointed.

This boy was not sleeping, not eating, not whispering, and even the sound of him turning pages was as light as a feather falling.

He treated every book with care, as if it were a priceless treasure.

What she found most incredible was that she wanted to open her mouth several times, to remind him in her signature hoarse voice--"Don't just flip through, read!", but she held back.

Because, she felt from this boy a kind of aura that she had never felt in any student.

It was a pure, heartfelt... respect and desire for "knowledge" itself.

Finally, one time, when Lin Yuan put a copy of Medieval Magical Annals back on the shelf after finishing it, and was preparing to find a new "toy", Madam Pince, the "library she-devil" who made all the students fear her, actually spoke up.

"Child," her voice was still hoarse, but it lacked the usual sharpness and impatience, "I've noticed that you're very interested in the history of magic."

Lin Yuan looked at her in surprise, and then nodded politely: "Yes, Madam. I want to understand the past of this world."

"If you really want to understand the 'past'," Madam Pince's face, like old parchment, showed a very rare expression similar to "appreciation", "then you should go and see the Ancient Runes section."

She pointed with a thin finger to the deeper part of the library.

A bookshelf area that was almost deserted, covered in cobwebs, and filled with a stale atmosphere.

"History is written by the victors. And the 'truth' is often hidden in those ancient, forgotten texts."