Research Group, Assemble!

"Oh, Siri! The idea of magical cards was pure genius."

"If we'd known about this project earlier, we definitely wouldn't have even gone home for Christmas."

Fred and George, who had returned to school early, had barely entered the castle before flanking Zhang San and hauling him away.

Zhang San shot a sideways look at the Weasley twins. "So, you two want to receive a Howler from your mother too?"

The brothers instantly drew their necks back and looked regretfully at Ron nearby.

"Mum said she really wanted to come to Hogwarts and give you a beating herself..." Fred said with a shrug.

George added, "...but Dad stopped her. He successfully delayed your death sentence. Good luck, little brother."

Ron looked miserable. "You can't just stand there and watch Mum beat me to death. I'm a major contributor to the Weasley Family. I've sweat blood for the family finances! I want to see Dad!"

"Dad said he couldn't stand up to Mum either... She was a Gryffindor too," George said regretfully.

"Save me, Silde, save me!" Ron turned pleading eyes toward the group's external brain. Maybe only Zhang San, with his endless clever schemes, could save him from this disaster.

Zhang San said, "Why not ask the amazing Harry Potter?"

Harry Potter blinked. "Huh? Me?"

"The next time you go home, bring Harry with you. Mrs. Weasley will spare your life for the sake of having a guest in the house. After Harry stays at your place for a couple of days, her anger will gradually fade," Zhang San suggested.

Ron's eyes lit up. "Harry, you absolutely have to come visit my house during the summer holidays."

Harry Potter rubbed his nose. "I'd be honored..."

Fred and George said impatiently, "Enough talking. Let's get researching already. Something this fun needs to hit the market as soon as possible. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes desperately needs a new product to make a name for itself!"

Ron said, "Siri came up with the magical card idea. He should get a larger share."

Zhang San smiled. "We can talk about profit shares after the research succeeds. Making the magical cards is what matters most right now."

Thus, the three Weasley brothers turned around and threw themselves into researching magical cards. Zhang San had always been the hands-off type. He only needed to provide ideas; the reliable Weasleys could handle the execution.

"You spent the past half year researching broomsticks like this?" Harry Potter asked as he watched Ron get carried away by his two brothers.

Zhang San nodded. "More or less. Hermione went home for the holidays, so Ron was the only one left holding up the magical research group."

"Can I join? I want to help research magic too," Harry Potter asked timidly.

Zhang San rested his chin on his hand and pondered for a while. "Can you actually read magical books? Those things are even harder to read than History of Magic. The language is awkward, and understanding them is half guesswork and half blind luck."

Harry Potter was the kind of person who lived for the thrill of battle. The wizard dueling platform and the Quidditch pitch were the stages best suited to him.

Head of the Auror Office was the position most suited to Harry Potter—a talent who could use Expelliarmus against Avada Kedavra.

Making Harry Potter conduct magical research was really asking too much of him. Still, Zhang San decided to give Harry Potter a chance. What if the Chosen One really did have talent for magical research?

As the saying went, after three days apart, one should look at someone with new eyes. Everyone's potential was multifaceted. Zhang San never judged anyone based on their fixed image from the movies.

For instance, Neville had shown astonishing talent in physical training. The boy had an exceptionally unyielding will and could endure any amount of hardship, making him highly suited to the body-tempering path.

Aside from being the little temple's gardener, he also worked part-time as security for the underground arcade. Although Neville was only a twelve-year-old first-year wizard, his fists and kicks were already quite formidable.

The martial art Zhang San taught Neville was the Iron Sand Palm. As long as Neville was willing to endure hardship, half a year would be enough for him to forge a pair of ruthless iron hands.

Neville Longbottom was a real man too. Every day, aside from attending class, he tended flowers at Zhang San's place and heated an iron wok to practice the Iron Sand Palm.

The moment Harry Potter opened the magical research materials, he immediately felt the pain of his brain being assaulted by knowledge. Why was it that he recognized every word in the books, yet couldn't understand them once they were put together?

Could words even be arranged like this? What on earth was this stuff saying?

"Siri, I don't think I'm cut out for magical research." Harry clutched his head in agony. His smooth cerebral cortex truly couldn't accommodate such bizarre language and writing.

Zhang San asked with a chuckle, "The language in magical books is like drunken sleep-talking. It's perfectly normal that you can't understand it."

"You don't understand it either?" Harry asked in confusion.

"I don't!" Zhang San answered righteously.

Harry felt a little numb.

He had thought that Zhang San, as the leader of the research group, the project's initiator, its material supplier, and its main investor, ought to understand magical technology.

"That doesn't make sense," Harry muttered.

"What's so unreasonable about that? Do you think a foreigner like me can understand English dream-talk? The older the magical book, the more ridiculous its wording gets. It's already not easy for me to speak English with you lot. Asking me to study Victorian-era grammar is truly making things hard for an honest man." Zhang San blinked as he answered.

Right! Siri was a foreigner!

Ever since his death, Zhang San had appeared in spirit form. His milky-white ghostly appearance obscured his distinctly Eastern features, so Harry had never really thought of him as a foreigner.

Usually, they called Zhang San by his nickname, "Siri." They rarely even called him "Silde," let alone Zhang San, his Chinese name.

Zhang San had a very clear understanding of his own strengths and weaknesses.

He could learn to use magic, but there was no need for him to study it in depth. In the end, Zhang San's future still lay in the realm of ghost cultivation—a broad road with limitless prospects.

As long as he wasn't completely blasted into oblivion, body and soul alike, by heavenly lightning, the patriarchs of Mount Longhu below could casually pull him up.

So even if he failed to pass the heavenly tribulation, his life would not truly be in danger. Besides, he had already died once, so he did not fear death all that much.

People feared death because they did not know what came after it. But a guy like Zhang San, who had already kicked the bucket, had nothing much left to fear. Death—die enough times, and you got used to it.

Harry Potter also gave up the idea of studying magic. He had neither the Weasley family's magical heritage nor Hermione Granger's boundless passion for learning. He preferred the novelty magic brought him, as well as the joy of experiencing it.

He was purely interest-driven—anything Harry was interested in, he could master. Perhaps that was the cheat the heavens had granted the Chosen One, allowing him to stand unrivaled in the fields he loved.

"Rather than forcing yourself into magical research, I'd suggest practicing wizard duels. You're a practical fighter, a natural Gryffindor warrior," Zhang San advised.

Harry Potter immediately perked up. "Really? You really think so?"

"Absolutely... It's not like I've got anything better to do. I can teach you a spell—once you learn it, you'll be insanely awesome." Zhang San thumped his chest in guarantee.

Harry Potter's eyes lit up. "I'm definitely learning this spell!"

Zhang San waved his wand and shouted, "Learn from me... Expelliarmus!"