The Pipeline

Thanks to reader "Tearful Cat Head☆" for the grand certification!!! Ten bonus chapters! (2/10)

Saturday, eight in the morning.

Only two people.

No students needing physical isolation. No manor owner needing social pleasantries.

Standing before the fireplace, Zhang Wen suddenly felt that missions had never been this easy.

Artoria stood beside him. Today, she wore a dark gray turtleneck under a black robe. Her hair was tied into a low ponytail—convenient for moving through a cramped basement. As usual, the invisible Excalibur hung at her waist.

"Ready?" Zhang Wen asked.

"Anytime."

The two of them jumped into the fireplace one after the other.

Malfoy Manor.

Lucius Malfoy received them in the sitting room. His attitude was more relaxed than last week—probably because he no longer had to deal with Harry Potter and his own pride at the same time.

"Professor Zhang, Miss Pendragon." He gave a slight nod. "Everything in the basement has been left exactly as you requested. Nothing has been moved."

"Has the humming changed?" Zhang Wen asked.

"The frequency has risen slightly. I recorded it every day, as you instructed." Lucius handed him a log sheet.

Zhang Wen glanced over it.

The hum had risen from thirty-two times per second on Monday to thirty-five times per second yesterday. The cracks had continued expanding at a stable rate of two to three centimeters per day.

Within expected limits. No emergency measures were needed yet.

"We'll go down directly," Zhang Wen said. "Today's inspection may take several hours. You don't need to accompany us—we know the way."

Lucius hesitated for a second. Letting two outsiders move freely through his basement was probably more unpleasant to him than swallowing a live slug.

But he nodded.

"Ask if you need anything. I'll be in the study."

He turned and left. The sound of his cane tapping against the floor gradually faded away.

Zhang Wen glanced at Artoria.

"He agreed to let us go down alone. He's being more cooperative than I expected."

"He's more afraid of that cabinet exploding," Artoria said. "Fear is the best catalyst."

The basement.

Three layers of locking charms. Zhang Wen used the temporary access Lucius had given him beforehand to unlock the door.

Cold, damp air rushed over them again. Green wall lamps along the stairs cast dim light on both sides.

They descended the stairs. Artoria walked in front—she insisted on taking point in unfamiliar terrain. Zhang Wen followed behind, holding a magical detector Filius Flitwick had helped modify.

The detector was a palm-sized bronze disc with three needles. The red needle indicated the concentration of Dark Magic residue, the blue needle indicated the direction of active magical flow, and the green needle indicated the integrity of the seal.

When they reached the bottom of the basement, the red needle abruptly jumped to the nine o'clock position.

The concentration of Dark Magic was higher than last week.

The humming was more obvious too. In the silent basement, that continuous low-frequency vibration sounded like a restless heart.

Zhang Wen walked up to the cabinet. It looked no different from last week—black metal surface, three layers of faintly visible runes. But the cracks in the wall had indeed spread—from a two-meter area last week to roughly two point four meters.

"Let's begin the inspection." Zhang Wen opened the checklist Artoria had made.

"First item—the floor."

The two of them lay flat on the basement's stone floor, using Lumos to illuminate every crack.

Zhang Wen found the first clue.

The slab directly beneath the cabinet differed from the surrounding slabs. It was made of the same material, but cut differently—the surrounding stones had been roughly cut by hand, while the one beneath the cabinet had been precision-cut by machine. Its edges were almost perfectly smooth.

"This slab was replaced later," Zhang Wen said, running his fingers over its edge. "And not that long ago—the cutting precision indicates relatively modern tools."

"Can it be opened?"

Zhang Wen tried several unlocking charms with his wand. None had any effect.

"Physical means." Artoria drew something from her waist—not Excalibur, but an ordinary small knife. A utility knife she carried with her.

She inserted the tip into the seam between the slabs and gently pried.

The slab loosened.

Together, they lifted it over.

Beneath it was a recess, roughly thirty centimeters deep and almost the same area as the cabinet's base.

There was something inside the recess.

A pipe.

A black metal pipe, roughly two centimeters in diameter, extended downward from the bottom of the recess and disappeared into the deeper foundation. Dense runes were carved into its surface—the same system as the runic inscriptions on the cabinet's outer layer.

At the top of the pipe was a connector precisely aligned with a small hole in the cabinet's bottom.

"Found it." Zhang Wen scanned the pipe with the magical detector. "This is the physical carrier of that one-way channel. External magic is sent through this pipe into the cabinet."

The blue needle shifted faintly above the pipe—pointing downward.

"Magic is flowing upward from below?" Artoria asked.

"Yes. The pipe draws magic from somewhere beneath us, then transports it upward to the cabinet. But now—" Zhang Wen examined the pipe's inner wall carefully. "There's almost no active magical flow left inside. Only an extremely faint residue."

"So the supply end really did malfunction."

"Where does the pipe lead?" Zhang Wen lay at the edge of the recess and peered down. The pipe extended into darkness—below the basement's foundation.

"We need to trace where it goes."

"How? It's underground."

Zhang Wen thought for a moment.

"Magical Echo Detection." He raised his wand, aimed it at the pipe's opening, and sent out a tiny magical pulse—like blowing a breath into a tube.

The pulse traveled down the pipe.

Two seconds later, an incredibly faint echo returned.

Zhang Wen closed his eyes and analyzed the echo's characteristics—travel time, attenuation rate, reflection patterns.

"The pipe's total length is approximately fifteen meters. It slopes downward to the east. The far end connects to a larger space—the echo clearly disperses at the end."

"There's another level below the basement?"

"Or a naturally formed cave. Fifteen meters down would roughly reach the bottom layer of the manor's foundation."

Zhang Wen stood and dusted off his knees.

"We need to find the entrance to that space."

The two spent twenty minutes searching the entire basement.

They found no entrance leading deeper underground.

"If the entrance isn't in the basement—" Zhang Wen considered, "then it may be somewhere else in the manor. Lucius said there are many spaces in this manor that even he doesn't fully understand."

"Ask him?"

"Asking directly might make him wary. He's willing to let us inspect the cabinet, but he may not be willing to let us explore the manor's deeper secrets."

Artoria looked at him.

"You want to find it yourself first."

"I want enough information before negotiating with him. You need cards in hand to have bargaining chips."

"Political methods."

"When dealing with pure-bloods, you have to use pure-blood methods."

The corner of Artoria's mouth twitched slightly.

"You're becoming more and more like them."

"I've only learned their methods. At heart, I'm still a data analyst with a wand."

"A data analyst wouldn't survive the Holy Grail War."

"That's why you're beside me."

Artoria did not respond.

But her stride shifted half a step closer to Zhang Wen's.

The two of them walked through the basement corridor almost shoulder to shoulder.

Since they could not find a direct entrance, Zhang Wen decided to work backward from the ground level.

They returned to the manor's first floor.

"The pipe slopes downward to the east." Zhang Wen constructed a three-dimensional model in his mind. "The basement is directly beneath the main building. The pipe extends fifteen meters eastward—that would put it around—"

He walked to the eastern window of the sitting room and looked outside.

To the east of the manor was a neatly trimmed garden. At its far end stood a small stone structure that looked like a gardening shed.

"What is that building?" Zhang Wen asked a house-elf who happened to be passing by.

The house-elf answered timidly, "It—it's the Old Greenhouse, sir. Master Malfoy's grandfather used to grow magical herbs there. No one has gone inside for a very long time."

The Old Greenhouse. Built by Abraxas Malfoy.

Zhang Wen looked at Artoria.

"A coincidence?"

"Not a coincidence."

The two walked out of the manor, crossed the garden, and arrived before the Old Greenhouse.

The greenhouse was unremarkable in appearance. Gray stone walls, an arched roof, several dust-covered windows. A rusty iron lock hung from the door.

Zhang Wen opened the lock with an unlocking charm. The door creaked open.

Inside—

It was unexpectedly clean.

The floor was paved with stone slabs. Dead vines still clung to the walls. Several empty flowerpots rested in the corners. The greenhouse was only about twenty square meters.

It truly looked like nothing more than an abandoned greenhouse.

But the blue needle on the magical detector was spinning wildly.

"There's a huge amount of magical residue underground here." Zhang Wen held up the detector and circled the greenhouse. "The point with the highest concentration—is here."

He stopped atop a stone slab in the very center of the greenhouse.

This slab was just like the one beneath the cabinet in the basement—its cutting precision was clearly higher than that of the surrounding slabs. It had been replaced later.

Once again, Zhang Wen used Artoria's utility knife to pry up the slab.

Beneath it was a ladder.

An iron ladder that extended downward and vanished into darkness.

"Found it," Zhang Wen said.

The ladder extended roughly five meters down.

Zhang Wen climbed down first, with Artoria following behind.

At the bottom was a natural cave—just as Magical Echo Detection had predicted. It was not large, perhaps fifteen to twenty square meters. The ceiling was low enough that Artoria had to lower her head slightly.

Lumos illuminated the cave.

What Zhang Wen saw made him freeze for three seconds.

At the center of the cave stood an altar.

A stone altar, roughly a meter high. Its surface was covered in runes—three different systems. At its center was a bowl-shaped depression. A dried dark red substance remained inside.

Blood.

Very old blood. Once dried, it had become a thin dark brown layer.

The altar's base connected to that black pipe—which extended upward from here, through five meters of rock and soil, to the cabinet beneath the basement.

"Blood sacrifice." Artoria's voice lowered. "This altar uses blood as a medium to send magic through the pipe to the cabinet."

"Blood contains magic." Zhang Wen crouched beside the altar to inspect it. "If a wizard's blood were poured into this depression regularly—the runes would extract the magic within the blood and send it through the pipe to the entity inside the cabinet."

"Regularly—how often?"

"Based on the depression's capacity and the rate at which the blood dried—roughly once a month. About one hundred milliliters each time."

One hundred milliliters. Not a lethal amount. An adult wizard could withstand losing one hundred milliliters of blood every month without serious health consequences.

But—over seventy years?

"Abraxas Malfoy began donating blood here in 1927." Zhang Wen worked through the timeline. "He died in 1962. Thirty-five years. After that—Lucius took over?"

"Lucius may not know," Artoria said. "Abraxas may have set up some automated alternative—stored blood, magical batteries, or some device that continuously released magic."

Zhang Wen searched carefully around the altar.

On the back of the altar, he found a hidden compartment. Inside were seven glass bottles—six empty, while one still contained around ten milliliters of dark red liquid.

"Stored blood." Zhang Wen tested the liquid with his wand. "These blood samples were placed under preservation charms and could be stored long-term. But—the supply has run out. Six empty bottles, and one that's almost empty."

"When was the last supply used up?"

Zhang Wen inspected the timestamp charms on the empty bottles.

"The last bottle was opened—in August last year. It was likely fully consumed—in September this year."

September this year.

Exactly when the cabinet had begun displaying abnormal reactions.

Everything fit.

Abraxas Malfoy had used his own blood to maintain the seal inside the cabinet since 1927. After his death, he had left behind a batch of stored blood as a continuing supply. That blood had lasted over thirty years—from 1962 until roughly 2023.

But supplies were ultimately finite. The final bottle had run dry in September this year.

The entity inside the cabinet had lost its blood supply—and therefore its magical supply. It had begun struggling, going berserk, trying to break through the seal from within.

"Abraxas Malfoy." Zhang Wen stood. "Where exactly did he get this cabinet—and why did he spend thirty-five years feeding it with his own blood?"

"Whatever is inside is of immense value to him," Artoria said. "Valuable enough to be worth paying with his own blood."

"What could be worth a pure-blood aristocrat bleeding himself every month for thirty-five years?"

"Knowledge. Power. Or—immortality."

Three possibilities.

Each one was enough to make an ambitious wizard pay the price in blood.

The two of them climbed back up from the cave into the greenhouse.

Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows. Zhang Wen narrowed his eyes—after spending so long underground, they had not quite adjusted.

As Artoria climbed out through the ladder opening, she stepped on a loose stone slab—the greenhouse had fallen into disrepair, and the floor was unstable.

Her body swayed slightly.

Zhang Wen instinctively reached out.

His hand caught her by the waist.

Artoria steadied herself.

Her sense of balance did not require anyone's help—with her physical abilities, she could have remained standing even if the slab had collapsed.

But Zhang Wen's hand was already there.

The two maintained that position for roughly one and a half seconds.

Zhang Wen's palm rested against her side. Even through the fabric of her robes, he could feel the warmth of her body—after more than an hour in the underground cave, her temperature was slightly lower than usual.

Her waist was slender, but the muscles along her side were firm. The result of swordsmanship and battle.

Artoria lowered her eyes and glanced at his hand.

"I wasn't about to fall."

"I know. Reflex."

"Your reflex is to grab my waist."

"...The nearest stable point of support within a safe distance. Basic physics."

"You can let go now."

Zhang Wen released her.

Then he realized that the warmth and curve of her waist still lingered in his palm.

That tactile memory would probably remain in his mind for a long time.

"Let's go." Artoria was the first to leave the greenhouse.

Her pace was five percent faster than usual.

Zhang Wen followed.

They crossed the garden and returned to the manor's main building. The winter sunlight was faint, but far brighter than the basement or the cave.

"You have dust on your face," Artoria suddenly said.

"Where?"

Artoria stopped and turned to face him.

She raised her right hand—the hand he had massaged two days ago—and brushed her thumb across his left cheekbone.

"Here."

Her thumb lingered on his face for about a second.

Then she withdrew it.

"There."

Zhang Wen stood still. The spot on his left cheekbone where she had touched him felt hot.

"You have some too," he said.

Artoria touched her own face.

"Where?"

Zhang Wen reached out.

His thumb landed on the right side of her cheek, near her ear. There really was a small gray smudge there—something she had rubbed against in the cave.

He gently brushed it away.

The dust was gone.

But his finger did not withdraw immediately.

Her cheek was cool, from spending more than an hour underground. The lines of bone beneath her skin were clear and distinct—the curve of her cheekbone, the angle of her jaw—every line clean and sharp.

Artoria did not move.

Her eyes remained on him. Her emerald-green irises looked especially clear in the pale winter light.

One second.

Two seconds.

Zhang Wen withdrew his hand.

"There," he said, his voice half a note lower than usual.

"Mhm."

They continued walking.

Neither of them spoke.

But the distance between their shoulders narrowed from twenty centimeters to five.

They were almost touching, but not quite.

Something invisible filled that five-centimeter gap.

Zhang Wen could not name it.

But he felt that five centimeters was too far.

Back in the manor's drawing room, Zhang Wen gave Lucius Malfoy a brief report.

"There is a magical conduit beneath the cabinet, connected to a cave beneath the old greenhouse on the eastern side of the manor. There is a Blood Sacrifice Altar in that cave—your grandfather used his own blood to maintain the stability of the seal inside the cabinet."

Lucius's expression changed.

"A blood sacrifice?"

"Approximately one hundred milliliters every month. It continued for thirty-five years. After his death, he left behind a supply of stored blood for subsequent use. But the supply ran out this September—that is why the cabinet began losing control."

Lucius remained silent for a long time.

"I didn't know any of this," he finally said. "I knew Grandfather had a private greenhouse, but I had never entered it—while he was alive, he warned my father not to go in. I always thought it was just an ordinary herb-growing room."

"Your grandfather took that secret to the grave."

"He trusted no one." Lucius's voice carried complicated emotions—not anger, but something closer to belated understanding. "Not even his own son."

Zhang Wen glanced at Artoria. She gave a slight nod—she had also concluded that Lucius was telling the truth this time.

"The good news is that we now know why the seal is becoming unstable," Zhang Wen said. "In theory, if we restore the blood supply—inject magical blood into the altar again—the presence inside the cabinet will return to a stable state."

"Then restore the supply," Lucius said.

"That is only a temporary solution. Like reinforcing the seal—it treats the symptoms, not the cause. And it requires a continued blood supply. Once a month. Unless you are willing to do this indefinitely—"

"I'm not." Lucius was very decisive.

"So we still need to find out exactly what is inside, and then deal with it once and for all."

"How long will that take?"

Professor Filius Flitwick is analyzing the runes in the middle layer. Artoria is studying the Ancient Celtic Seal in the inner layer. Hermione Granger—"

"Granger?" Lucius's eyebrows rose slightly. "That Muggle-born student?"

"Academic ability has nothing to do with bloodline." Zhang Wen's tone was calm, but left no room for argument.

Lucius opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Artoria watched him from the side.

She said nothing. But the look in her eyes that said I'm waiting for you to say something wrong made Lucius wisely choose silence.

"The research will take three to four weeks," Zhang Wen continued. "During that time, I recommend adopting a temporary measure—restore the blood supply and stabilize the seal."

"Whose blood?"

"You can use your own. One hundred milliliters a month will not affect your health."

Lucius's expression made it clear that he was not particularly receptive to the idea of "bleeding for a dark magic cabinet every month."

But he nodded.

"Fine. I'll do it."

"I'll write out instructions for operating the altar."

Two in the afternoon.

They left Malfoy Manor.

Zhang Wen and Artoria returned to Hogwarts via Floo Powder.

After returning to the office, Zhang Wen organized the day's discoveries into detailed notes.

The Blood Sacrifice Altar. The stored blood. The conduit system. Abraxas Malfoy's thirty-five-year secret.

After writing the final line, he set down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

Artoria made him tea. Then she sat across from him and began leafing through a reference book on ancient Celtic ritual magic.

"Artoria."

"Mhm."

"Today in the greenhouse—"

"Do you mean when you grabbed my waist, or when you wiped my face?"

Zhang Wen choked.

"...I wanted to talk about both."

"Then what did you want to say?"

Zhang Wen thought for three seconds.

"Grabbing your waist was a reflex. Basic physics."

"You already said that."

"Wiping your face was—there really was dust on it."

"That was also true."

"So—"

"So?"

Zhang Wen realized he had gone in a circle and returned to the beginning.

"So it was nothing. Just—" He searched through his vocabulary. "A very normal thing. Between partners."

"Between partners." Artoria repeated the phrase. She turned a page.

"You used that word again," she said.

"Which one?"

"'Partner.' You have been using it more often lately. An average of four or five times a day."

"You're counting how many times I say 'partner'?"

"You count how quickly I eat shepherd's pie. I count how many times you say 'partner.' It's fair."

Zhang Wen had nothing to say.

"And besides—" Artoria's gaze remained on the page, "partners do not leave their fingers in place for two seconds after helping the other wipe dust from their face."

Zhang Wen's breath hitched.

"You timed it."

"One point eight seconds," Artoria corrected. "I rounded up."

"...Isn't your timing precision a little too high?"

"Battlefield timing precision. Every second can determine life or death."

"We were in a garden, not on a battlefield."

"How long your fingers remained on my face had nothing to do with the battlefield."

Zhang Wen closed his mouth.

He realized that he had completely fallen into a disadvantage in this conversation.

Artoria turned another page.

"Zhang Wen."

"Mhm?"

"One point eight seconds," she said. "Next time, it can be longer."

After saying that, she continued reading. Her expression did not change at all. The pace at which she turned pages was perfectly normal. Her breathing was steady. Her posture was upright.

Perfect composure.

But Zhang Wen noticed that she had remained on the same page for more than thirty seconds.

Artoria's reading speed was ten to fifteen seconds per page.

She had stayed on that page for thirty seconds.

Which meant she had not taken in a single word.

Zhang Wen lifted his teacup.

The tea was at just the right temperature.

His face was very hot.

It had nothing to do with the tea.

"Okay," he said.

One word.

Artoria turned a page--this time she was actually turning a page.

The sunlight outside the window filtered through heavy curtains, drawing a pale golden line across the table between the two of them.

The fireplace was burning.

The tea was steaming.

She was right across from him.

There was still plenty of work to do before the cabinet's riddle was completely solved. Rune analysis. Content analysis. Formulating a treatment plan.

But at this moment--

Zhang Wen felt that all the riddles in the world could wait.

He wanted to look at her a little longer.

Just for a little while.

Then saving the world wouldn't be too late.