“How are they going to sort us into houses?”
“I heard we have to fight a troll!”
“No way, my dad said it’s a test—a really scary test!”
“My brother said it’s casting a spell to see how high you can make a feather fly…”
Amid the chorus of excited chatter, Ron’s face turned as pale as his hair was red.
He swallowed hard, leaned toward Harry and Alvin Vance, and lowered his voice with the gravity of someone sharing an earth-shattering secret.
“Fred and George told me…
the Sorting Ceremony…
makes us bleed!
They use blood to test our…
uh…
magical talent or bravery or something!”
Bleed?
The word sent Alvin Vance into deep thought.
In the Eastern cultivation world, especially among ancient sects with long histories, rites such as bloodline testing, awakening via essence blood, or even blood-bond master recognition were indeed commonplace.
Using blood as a medium to communicate with ancestors, gauge natural talent, or bind artifacts was hardly rare.
Near Mount Qingcheng, a sect named the Hundred Refinement Sect—renowned for its artifact forging—had an entry exam whose very first stage was “Blood-Testing Gold.” A single drop of blood was placed on a specific touchstone, and based on the changing colors and patterns of the stone, elders determined which metals and flames a disciple was destined to command.
Could this Western magical school’s entrance ceremony truly be so…
direct?
Alvin subconsciously rubbed his fingertips.
“That is completely impossible!”
A sharp, decisive voice cut through Alvin’s thoughts and soundly debunked Ron’s horrific theory.
Hermione turned around, her brown eyes shining with absolute certainty.
“I’ve read through *Hogwarts: A History*, *A Survey of Modern Magical Education*…
Not a single authoritative book mentions students getting hurt during the Sorting Ceremony, let alone bleeding!”
Her tone oozed disdain for unfounded rumors.
“Hogwarts is a school, not…
not some barbarian trial ground!
Professor McGonagall just said it’s a very important ceremony, not an ordeal!
I’m sure the school has a far more civilized and magical method!”
Stifled by her barrage of book titles and unwavering confidence, Ron opened his mouth.
His face flushed even redder, but unable to refute her, he could only mutter, “Well…
Fred and George said so anyway…
They never joke about things like this…”
His voice trailed off, lacking all conviction.
Harry looked visibly relieved, clearly preferring Hermione’s book-backed assurance.
Alvin, however, did not lower his guard.
Hermione’s confidence stemmed from books, but books rarely recorded everything—especially unwritten traditions best left unspoken.
He was still far too unfamiliar with the rules of this world.
Just as a tense silence settled over the room alongside muffled murmurs, the stone wall near the ceiling on the far side suddenly grew transparent without warning, rippling like water.
Immediately after, over twenty pearly-white, translucent figures glided into the room one after another, emitting faint rustling sounds and indistinct chatter!
They passed through the stone wall as if gliding through thin air, drifting straight through several first-years standing against the wall.
The startled students shrieked in panic and scrambled away, knocking into others and sending the room into instant chaos.
Alvin’s reaction was faster than anyone else’s.
The moment the first spectral form manifested through the wall, his muscles tightened instantly, and the spiritual energy quietly circulating through his body accelerated sharply.
His pupils constricted—not out of fear, but from the instinct born of extreme vigilance.
Yin spirits?!
So many of them?!
And…
condensed enough to clearly reveal their living appearances?!
In Eastern lore, once a person died, their soul departed the body.
Unless aided by extraordinary fortune, deep obsession, or external interference, most spirits quickly dissipated into heaven and earth or entered the cycle of reincarnation.
Those capable of lingering behind while retaining such distinct forms—and even affecting reality by passing through walls and casting cold drafts—were no ordinary wandering spirits.
They were at least on the level of fierce specters or earthbound spirits!
For so many high-grade yin spirits to gather in one place meant this was either a domain of supreme evil, or…
an evil cultivator was refining and controlling them!
His father had solemnly warned him: should he ever encounter such a situation, prioritizing self-preservation and uncovering the root cause was paramount.
He was never to make rash contact.
Almost before the thought fully formed, Alvin reached into his storage pouch.
His fingers precisely pinched the paper talisman with the toughest texture and the most intricate cinnabar lines: a Five Thunders Fiend-Shattering Talisman.
The Lightning Art was pure Yang, supreme and unyielding—the ultimate bane of evil spirits!
He shifted his posture slightly, placing himself half a step in front of Harry and Ron.
His gaze flashed like lightning, locking onto the lead ghosts drifting toward them.
The spiritual energy within his body surged along designated pathways, pouring into the talisman between his fingers.
At the slightest sign of danger, he would trigger it instantly!
Yet the expected howling winds and wailing specters never materialized.
The pearly-white ghosts seemed amused by the terrified reactions of the first-years.
Floating in midair, they let out hollow but harmless chuckles.
One particularly plump ghost in friar’s robes, possessing a kindly countenance, noticed the terrified new students huddled in the corner.
He floated closer, offering a friendly smile.
“Forgive me, but what are you all doing crowded together over here?”
His voice resonated with a soft echo, yet remained remarkably gentle.
“New students, I take it?
About to be sorted?
Don’t be nervous, children.
There’s nothing to fear.”
He patted his round belly with a beaming smile.
“I’m the Fat Friar.
I was a Hufflepuff back when I was alive, and now…
well, I suppose you could call me a resident guest?”
He winked playfully.
“Welcome to Hogwarts!
The food here is as magnificent as ever, though I haven’t tasted a bite in hundreds of years.
Ah, how I miss the flavor of raspberry jam…”
A Hufflepuff ghost?
A resident guest?
Missing raspberry jam?
Alvin’s motion to activate the Lightning Talisman froze.
The spiritual energy gathered at his fingertips slowly dispersed, though he kept the talisman firmly gripped between his fingers.
His sharp eyes remained locked onto the ghost who called himself the Fat Friar, as well as the assortment of spirits drifting behind him.
There was no suffocating malice, no bloodthirsty intent, nor even much sinister coldness.
Instead…
there was a bizarre sense of tranquility.
They were like neighbors living next door who occasionally popped over for a chat—except these neighbors were translucent and could walk through walls.
A ghost dressed in Renaissance court attire, with a gruesome severed ring around his neck, was gloomily complaining to another specter wearing glasses and bloodstained robes about the unfairness of the Headless Hunt’s recent match.
Another spirit with thick spectacles and a dull expression was trying to align his head back onto his neck, repeatedly missing the mark.
This completely overturned Alvin’s understanding of spirits.
In the Eastern tradition, any spirit capable of remaining in the mortal realm was inevitably bound to deep obsession, resentment, unfulfilled desires, or adverse feng shui.
Their very existence signified imbalance and hidden peril, requiring exorcism or purification to find peace.
Yet the ghosts before him…
seemed to treat remaining behind as a natural state of being, smoothly integrating into the castle’s daily ecosystem.
The students feared them, but it was more akin to fearing a cold, peculiar creature that might pop through a wall unexpectedly, rather than dreading a calamity born of evil spirits.
Could the fundamental laws governing the fate of souls after death…
be entirely different between the East and the West?
A tempest surged in Alvin’s mind.
This fundamental conflict of core principles unsettled and confused him far more than encountering a formidable foe ever could.
Just then, Professor McGonagall returned.
Accustomed to the roomful of ghosts, she simply said in a calm voice:
“Now, form a single line and follow me.”
The Fat Friar and the other ghosts cheerfully parted to clear a path, some even waving at the first-years.
Alvin stole one last glance at those relaxed, pearly-white figures before slowly putting the Lightning Talisman deep back into his storage pouch.
Taking a deep breath, he suppressed the endless doubts in his mind and followed Harry toward the heavy doors—doors leading into the Great Hall, and into the core rules of a completely unknown magical realm.