Evans and Black

The children's cries startled the guests in the main hall.

The first to notice the problem was Yulian's mother, Mrs. Clara Black herself.

Clara's maiden name was Evans. She came from County Surrey in the United Kingdom, near London, where many of the Evans family lived at the time.

Clara currently worked as a wine-making consultant. Back when she was still in university, she took a trip to France and met Yulian's father at a wine tasting in Bordeaux. They quickly fell in love and married in a whirlwind romance.

Not long after, their child, Shiloh Yulian Black, was born.

Tonight, she was in charge of arranging the wine tasting and helping her husband entertain the guests. But part of her attention remained on the children in the backyard.

How to put it—her son Yulian had been clever and sensible since he was little, almost too sensible, leaving Clara with no chance to flex her motherly instincts.

But these past two days, he'd been acting strange. Listless, spending all his time either drawing or lost in thought.

Was he sick?

When Clara suddenly heard the scream from the backyard, her heart clenched and she rushed toward her son.

By then, Leah's parents and the other guests had also hurried over.

But by the time the adults arrived, everything had returned to normal. No one had seen anything—except the winery owner.

"Yulian? What's wrong?" Clara crouched down and wrapped her arms around his still-trembling shoulders.

The little boy's face was pale, as if exhausted and drained of strength, but his eyes were unusually clear.

"It's nothing, Mom... I just... felt something strange. Oh no, I mean... emotional... a little worked up."

Leah's parents were also asking their daughter what happened. Leah said timidly, "I just told Yulian I wanted to break up, and he..."

"Oh dear! Heartbreak really hits hard," a noblewoman said sympathetically. "Poor little gentleman."

"Indeed, tasting the bitter wine of love at such a young age," her friend beside her added with a teasing tone.

"Give him some hot chocolate," Grandma Elodie said as she walked over, bending down to gently stroke her grandson's head. Smiling, she added, "It's okay, it's okay, Yulian. Love comes fast and goes fast, but the grapes bear fruit every year."

Everyone looked at little Yulian and Leah with either sympathy or amusement.

Because they all realized nothing serious had happened—just the hazy feelings and playfulness of children.

Only one person stood frozen at the back of the crowd.

Alphard Black.

He had seen it—the floating stone, the water flowing backward.

He had heard it—his grandson's words: "Felt something strange... a little worked up."

He had sensed it—the surge of magic inside Yulian, rising and falling like the tide.

His heart nearly stopped.

Decades had passed.

Ever since he was burned off the family tree back then, he had wandered to France and married a Muggle wife.

Since then, his life had been wonderful. He got along well with his in-laws, loved his wife deeply, and left behind all the scheming and infighting of his old family.

At the same time, he used his magic to improve the quality of his wife's family's wine business, achieving great success. After his in-laws passed away, he became the owner of the winery.

His only regret was that when his son was later born, the boy showed no magical talent. He had assumed the Black bloodline in his branch had ended for good.

But today, his grandson—a ten-year-old child—had suffered a magical outburst in plain sight.

Alphard didn't step forward immediately. He quickly scanned his surroundings—no one pulled out a wand, no one chanted a spell. All Muggles.

That meant everything was completely under control.

He took a deep breath, held back the tears threatening to spill, and walked over slowly. "Excuse me," he said in a steady voice. "Let me see my little heir."

He crouched down to meet Yulian's eyes. A storm of emotion raged within him, but he asked in the calmest tone possible: "Tell me, child. What just happened?"

Yulian looked into his grandfather's eyes. There was no fear there—only... anticipation.

"The stone flew up," he whispered, so softly only his grandfather could hear. "The water flowed backward... and I think this is magic, right?"

Alphard's body trembled slightly. Suppressing the turmoil inside, he stood up and smiled at the crowd. "Apologies, everyone. The child got a little overstimulated, and with all the excitement today, he's having hallucinations. Elodie, you handle the guests. I'll take him to the lounge to lie down for a bit."

Then he leaned down and murmured a spell only Yulian could hear: "Finite Incantatem."

He led Yulian to the deepest part of the winery—a private study. The air there was a complex blend of old books, cedarwood, and faint traces of aged wine stains—the unique perfume of time itself.

The study wasn't large, but it had high ceilings. The walls were bare limestone, their rough texture softened by floor-to-ceiling dark walnut bookshelves.

The shelves weren't uniform. One recess held geological samples; another protruding section displayed an open hand-drawn map of the vineyard.

Most of the books were leather-bound, their gold lettering faded, covering topics like soil science, wine-making history, and local poetry.

In the center of the room, two faded burgundy velvet sofas faced each other.

On the oak coffee table between them, a crystal decanter and several ISO standard tasting glasses sat casually, the dregs of last night's tasting still lingering in the bottoms.

The rug was Eastern-style, deep red brocade with an inconspicuous dark stain—the eternal signature of a 1982 Margaux from some wild night.

At the far end of the room, an oak wine cabinet was built into the wall.

Alphard turned the label of the third bottle on the seventh row, a 1953 vintage, and the wall slid silently open, revealing a stone staircase leading downward.

"Follow me, Shilam." This time he did not use the name Yulian, as he usually did.

Yulian followed him into the Chamber of Secrets. The room was small, with a walnut table at its center. The walls were carved with star charts, serpentine runes, and the Black Family Crest.

On the table lay a yew wand, its tip faintly glowing.

"This is a wand I once used," Alphard said, his voice choked with emotion. "I thought... I wouldn't need it anymore."

He pulled Yulian in front of him, cupped his face in both hands, and tears streamed down his aged cheeks. "What you experienced was a magical outburst—something that can happen to gifted children before they turn eleven. It means the purest Black blood flows through your veins... even stronger than Sirius's."

"Sirius? The brightest star in Canis Major?" Yulian blurted out.

Alphard paused. "Ah, that's the name of one of your uncles. As you know, the children in our Black family are all named after constellations. Your name is the same."

"Mm." Could it really be what I'm thinking? Yulian thought to himself.

"Child, what I'm about to tell you—don't be surprised, and don't be afraid."

Yulian didn't answer, just nodded firmly, excitement in his eyes.

"You need to know... this is a world of magic."