How did the Daoist Order fly?

Malfoy had come with an earnest desire to learn and left in a daze, holding an alphabet chart with a somewhat different order from the usual one.

Meanwhile, Zhang Xiao's words kept replaying in his head, circling endlessly as though they had some magical power.

"Ah, bo, ci, de, e, fo, ge; he, yi, ji, ke, le, mo, ne..."

"J, q, x, you little scamps, pluck out the fish's eyes whenever you see them..."

What is this? Where am I? What am I supposed to do? Why are j, q, and x so cruel, plucking out every fish's eyes they see?

Watching Malfoy's bewildered retreating figure, Zhang Xiao silently lit a candle for him. Chinese was notoriously difficult to learn and master. All he could say was that Malfoy's days of suffering still lay ahead.

He wondered when the seeds would arrive. After washing up, Zhang Xiao opened the study plan his father had given him and found the section on Meditation.

"Meditation is the foundation of everything. This stage focuses on building a solid foundation. I've left a testing diagram in the manual. Once you can pass the test consistently, the next stage of your studies will appear on its own."

Zhang Xiao took out the testing diagram again. It was really just a piece of silk cloth, though he had no idea what sort of silk it was woven from. It was softer and smoother than even the finest silk he had seen in his previous life.

Something resembling a Bagua diagram was drawn on the cloth, surrounded by a ring of unreadable characters that looked like oracle bone script.

The test itself was simple: lay the cloth flat, sit on it, and enter Meditation. Meditation was supposed to be a calm, ethereal state of transcendence in which the distinction between self and world faded away. Yet when he sat on this cloth, all sorts of strange emotions surged up and interrupted his Meditation.

Eight strange characters were arranged on the cloth. Each time he held out for a certain length of time, another character lit up. When all eight were glowing, he would have passed.

At present, however, Zhang Xiao could only manage four at most. He reckoned he would pass in another month or two. Then he would truly begin studying Daoist Magic, rather than being limited to the most basic things as he was now-little tricks that even ordinary people with naturally keen spiritual perception could use.

Most importantly, Meditation actually helped him learn magic too. As he grew more practiced at it and entered deeper states,

Zhang Xiao found that he could now calm himself quickly in most situations and maintain intense concentration.

This made him shine in Charms. Professor Flitwick had praised him more than once with words like "brilliant," "incredible," and "exceptionally gifted," and declared that Zhang Xiao ought to have been sorted into Ravenclaw.

And so Mr. Why was once again mentioned in the same breath as Miss Know-It-All, which seemed to stir the little witch's competitive spirit.

More than once, Zhang Xiao had caught her puffing out her cheeks in class as she tried to outdo him.

This was a war between top students!

Life at Hogwarts was peaceful and comfortable. For students on Zhang Xiao and Hermione's level, the homework that tormented most of their classmates was something they could knock out almost as an afterthought.

In other words, unless they pursued additional studies on their own, top students could enjoy a very easy life at Hogwarts.

Half a month passed in the blink of an eye. At Zhang Xiao's insistence, the seeds had been sent ahead by owl, but growing them still took time.

Accelerating their growth was difficult work. More importantly, anything grown that way tasted awful.

Zhang Xiao entered the dining hall with the resolve of a man marching to his death, only to find it unusually lively.

He sat beside Malfoy, whose face was full of anticipation and self-importance, and asked curiously,

"Draco, what happened? Has Professor Quirrell decided to take a bath and open the windows?"

Only half a month into term, the big boss Quirrell had already become one of Hogwarts' most unpopular professors.

Although his stammering and seemingly easy-to-bully demeanor had earned him considerable sympathy, plenty of students still insisted that they would only reconsider their opinion of Professor Quirrell after he gave himself and his classroom a thorough scrub with Mrs. Cole's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.

As Fred and George put it, "Oh, please, mate. Unless that old Squib Filch is an undercover agent for vampires, what vampire would attack a professor at Hogwarts?"

Malfoy stared at Zhang Xiao in astonishment.

"You don't know? Isn't every wizard looking forward to it?"

This time, Zhang Xiao was the astonished one.

"Looking forward to what?"

"Quidditch! Quidditch!! We have Flying Class today! Don't tell me you don't like Quidditch?"

Right, so it was Flying Class. Although Zhang Xiao was looking forward to it too, he was nowhere near as fanatical as the other young wizards.

Nearly every young wizard who had ever touched a broomstick was discussing Quidditch. With his chin raised, Malfoy loudly recounted his experiences riding high-end broomsticks around his "enormous" estate.

"I wasn't in a very good mood that day, so I decided to take a broomstick out for a spin to clear my head.

"Do you lot know how hard it is to pick the right broomstick from a broom room with more than twenty of them?

"It took me nearly half an hour to settle on one from the Cleansweep Series. A limited edition, of course, of course!"

Malfoy's face was flushed with excitement. He kept waving his hands to accompany his story, occasionally pausing at an exciting moment to keep his audience in suspense.

Someone had to play along-usually Crabbe and Goyle handled that.

Only then would Malfoy continue, satisfied by cries of "Hurry up, Draco!" "And then? And then?" and "I can't wait, Draco!"

The stories all ended much the same way: he narrowly avoided a Muggle helicopter.

Amid the admiring gasps of his obliging audience, Malfoy turned back, still eager for more, and asked,

"Zhang, have you really never ridden a broomstick? I heard you lot used flying carpets over there in the old days?"

Zhang Xiao had actually asked about how to fly. What he had looked forward to most was Flying Sword, but his father had pondered for a long time before answering,

"Flying Sword? It's not impossible. It's fine for a short trip, but if you're flying from Mohe to Sanya, wouldn't standing all that time tire you out?

"Besides, fly too low and you'll expose yourself. Fly too high and the wind is fierce, and you'll freeze."

And just like that, Zhang Xiao's dream shattered. His father had a point. He imagined himself standing on a sword high in the sky, icy winds howling past as he hugged his arms and shivered, his legs painfully numb.

This problem wasn't unique to the East; the West had it too. The main reasons wizards didn't use broomsticks for long journeys were sore backsides, freezing temperatures, and strong winds. Harry had complained about exactly that when he was moved by broomstick in his fifth year.

"Isn't there the Protective Astral Aura?" Zhang Xiao still refused to give up. After all, flying on a sword was a romantic dream shared by every Chinese person. Whatever else you might say, wasn't Flying Sword incredibly cool?

Zhang Chengdao was utterly speechless. "The Golden Light Spell doesn't protect you from cold or wind. The best way to get the effect you want is to fly under a glass dome."

Even so, Zhang Xiao decided that Flying Sword would still be his first choice for short, low-altitude trips.

Which raised the question: how did the Daoist Order usually fly?