By evening, the setting sun cast long shadows across the streets of Quito.
“It’s about time. Let’s go. My old friend Dick is waiting for us at the old astronomical observatory in Alameda Park.” Newt tightened his trench coat and walked forward, pushing against the flow of the crowd.
Independence Square was currently immersed in a Muggle rock concert.
The stone walls of the cathedral and the bishop’s palace reverberated with the booming of the drums.
The square was packed with gentlemen in sharp suits and Indigenous people wrapped in coarse woolen blankets, modern and primitive elements forced together in a deafening rhythm.
Frey walked along the edge of the crowd.
The rapid beat of the drums made him feel a restless energy.
He couldn’t help but hum a melody that existed only in the memories of his past life: “Whenever the wave comes, will you be sad…”
“Is that Chinese?” Hermione tilted her head, her brown eyes full of curiosity.
“Are you really interested in Chinese culture?”
Realizing he had let his guard down, Frey quickly stifled his smile, afraid she would pry further.
“Yes, there are many… interesting things there. It’s far deeper and more mysterious than the rainforest we’re heading into.”
Newt led the way ahead, adding without turning his head:
“China is indeed wonderful. I’ve encountered creatures with incredibly restrained magic in those endless mountain forests. I once kept a Zouwu. It was like a giant cat with a long, multicolored tail. In that land, anyone you meet might be a true master of magic.”
The three of them turned into a narrow alley in the Old Town as the setting sun greedily withdrew its last ray of light.
Frey’s footsteps came to an abrupt halt.
He tilted his head, listening closely with furrowed brows, his nostrils flaring slightly.
Newt also stopped and gave a quiet warning:
“Frey, this is the Muggle Old Town. Don’t use magic. It will only bring unnecessary trouble.”
Before Hermione could register what was happening, she felt a sharp gust of wind sweep past her ear.
Frey spun around violently.
He held his heavy yew wand like a short club.
Stepping forward, lowering his center of gravity, and twisting his torso, he unleashed a wild, unrefined sweep with enough brute force to shatter stone!
*Thud!*
The dull sound of wood striking flesh rang out.
A woman wearing a dark green qipao appeared from the shadows.
Her curvaceous figure exuded a mature charm, and the high slit of her qipao revealed toned, tight thighs.
Although she had blocked the blow precisely with her forearms, the monstrous force still left her unable to stand straight.
Frey gave her no time to catch her breath.
He lunged forward, grabbed her neck with one hand, and slammed her brutally against the moss-covered stone wall.
“My, your kung fu isn’t much, but your strength is certainly impressive,” the woman said, completely devoid of fear.
Instead of drawing his wand, Newt pulled a Muggle flashlight from his pocket.
In this land where magic was rejected, even light could sometimes be a sin, but a flashlight did not fall into that category.
The bright beam shone directly onto the woman’s face.
She had the face of a classic East Asian beauty, with upturned phoenix eyes, slender willow-leaf eyebrows, and honey-toned skin that gave her a wild, spirited look.
Frey’s throat moved slightly.
Even though her identity was unknown, he had to admit she was a true beauty.
Worse yet, her scent triggered a destructive desire for conquest within him.
“Are you stalking us?” Frey’s voice was dangerously low.
Hermione stepped forward quietly and deftly snatched a belt lined with numerous throwing knives from the woman’s waist.
“What are you talking about? *Cough*…” The woman blinked, putting on a somewhat comical, innocent expression.
“My strong gentleman, I was just taking a walk. Is that a crime now?”
“A walk?” Frey sneered, tightening his grip and lifting her off her feet with one hand.
“From Independence Square to Venezuela Street, the sound of your high heels clicking on the cobblestones hasn’t stopped once. And more importantly…”
He leaned close to her neck and sniffed.
“You have a scent on you that is rarely used around here.”
A smile suddenly bloomed on her spirited face.
“I just saw that you were all wizards and wanted to ask for directions. How do I get to Santo Domingo Church? As for the scent? Do you mean sandalwood? Plenty of people use that—Japanese, Koreans, Southeast Asians, everyone uses it.”
Frey stared into her defiant eyes, his large hand tightening around her slender neck.
If this beautiful woman dared to make excuses again, he wouldn’t mind snapping her neck.
But Newt placed a hand on Frey’s shoulder and slowly shook his head.
“Santo Domingo Church? Walk down this alley and turn left at the first intersection. The church bells there can wash away the scent of blood on you. It’s very suitable for someone like you.”
Frey released his grip, and the woman landed lightly on her feet.
She elegantly adjusted her rumpled qipao and bowed slightly to the three of them, a breathtaking curve flashing under the beam of the flashlight.
“Thank you, everyone. Until we meet again.”
“Your belt,” Hermione said coldly, holding it out.
“Keep it as a souvenir for that strong, red-haired young man,” the woman said, giving Frey a meaningful look before turning and walking away.
Watching her swaying hips disappear at the end of the alley, Frey frowned and said, “She was targeting us. What’s her background?”
“She’s a Chinese witch. Only Chinese wizards carry throwing knives like these. Look, there’s even a Chinese knot here,” Newt said, pointing to the belt in Hermione’s hand.
“But we don’t know who she’s working for yet. Let’s go, don’t overthink it. My philosophy in life is that worrying means you suffer twice. We need to hurry; Dick’s canoe won’t wait for us.”
After saying this, Newt walked forward without looking back.
Hermione dangled the belt from her finger and looked up at Frey.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she? Some people’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out.”
Frey snatched the belt and stuffed it into his backpack.
“I was just staying alert in case she counterattacked. It’s called being professional.”
“Well, Mr. Professional, please wipe the drool off your face. Also, be careful. I felt a magical reaction from these throwing knives…”
Before Hermione could finish, Frey grabbed her hand and quickened his pace to catch up with Newt.
“Grandfather, someone is coming from behind. At least six of them.”
“That’s normal. Don’t panic. The witch hunters of the Third Salem have noses sharper than hounds. But since we didn’t use magic just now, they won’t be able to track us that quickly.”
In front of the old astronomical observatory, Dick was squatting in the shadows, inspecting his vessel.
“You’ve finally arrived. First time meeting you, so you must be Frey. I’m Dick, Moby Dick—named after the title of a novel I really love. I’m a guide, and also a friend of your grandfather. My job is to take you to the edge of the known world.”
He happily patted his boat.
“Look, this is my new boat. I bought it with the pay your grandfather gave me last time, plus some of my savings. What do you think? Made from a single trunk of Cyril pine. A perfect balance of speed and carrying capacity.”
Frey examined the boat closely.
The hull was covered in intricate, fine patterns, with designs of jaguars and anacondas faintly visible in the dark.
Fresh, earthy vines adorned the edges of the hull.
“We picked up an annoying tail,” Newt said as he climbed nimbly into the boat.
“Let’s go, get out of here. Hurry, it’s nothing major.”
“Everyone get in! Red-haired kid, you’re big, sit in the back to act as ballast. Little girl, sit in the front,” Dick ordered.
“Hurry up!”
Just as the three of them settled in, hurried footsteps echoed from behind.
Several crossbow bolts wrapped in red light pierced the quiet night.
The witch hunters of the Third Salem burst from behind the ruined walls of the observatory like a pack of hyenas smelling blood.
“Impedimenta!” Hermione reacted quickly, her spell accurately striking the burly man leading the charge, blasting him heavily back into the shadows.
A bolt struck the side of the boat with a thud, emitting a puff of black smoke.
A smell of rotten eggs filled the air, and Newt immediately warned them:
“Watch out! The bolts are coated with poison from poison dart frogs. If you get scratched, you won’t be able to use your magic for a week or two!”
He traced a smooth arc in the air with his wand, and a near-transparent magical shield formed instantly.
A few bolts clanged against the shield like metal hitting metal before deflecting harmlessly away.
“Want to play? Then go for a ride!” Frey growled, waving his wand in a fluid motion before flicking it upward.
“Wingardium Leviosa!”
Two witch hunters who had just rushed close let out terrified gasps.
It was as if their clothes had been hooked by invisible giant cranes; their feet left the ground, and they were hoisted straight up into the air, left kicking their legs helplessly in the wind.
Newt shouted, “Quick, Dick, let’s go!”
Dick didn’t draw a wand.
He simply tapped the jaguar pattern on the hull three times with his broad palm, chanting low, short syllables.
The canoe trembled slightly and rose steadily off the ground.
It swept aside the evening mist with ease, gliding as if on an invisible track of ice, hurtling down the slope toward the thick water vapor hanging over the rainforest below.
A few red lights flew harmlessly beneath the hull.
The witch hunters stood stamping their feet by the old observatory, shouting frustrated curses.
Hermione gripped the side of the boat tightly, her face pale, but her eyes were wide, terrified of missing a single thing.
Newt said:
“This is the first lesson I want to teach you. Magic is more than just spells cast from the tip of a wand. That way is too rigid, too Western European. In this rainforest, magic is in the potions, in the alchemical tools, and even in the patterns carved into this canoe. Never limit yourselves to textbooks. There are many ways magic manifests in the world. Africans can perform magic through music, and Romani people prefer crystal balls…”
Frey sat at the very back.
He wasn’t listening to Newt’s rambling.
Instead, he was mindlessly playing with the belt, his mind filled with the defiant look of that woman.
On the inner side of the belt, there was an engraved Chinese character: “Nine.”
Frey had a feeling that this would not be his last meeting with that woman.
No, definitely not.