Chapter 248: The Zhengyi Descent of the Holy Covenant Scroll

Harry's mind was a mess; in this vast, white, utterly silent space, an indescribable loneliness surrounded him. Such grand matters should never have fallen to a fourteen-year-old boy—but what could he do? The headmaster who once shielded him from storms was now frozen in place.

One unspoken truth was that even if Harry timidly hid behind everyone else, someone would always step forward to lead the forces of justice against the Death Eaters; but another obvious truth was that Harry now understood the conspiracies better than anyone, and after the Triwizard Tournament's publicity, he was now the most beloved wizard among them.

"I'm still too young to worry about these things," Harry muttered, pacing restlessly, then suddenly turned and walked back. "But who can believe me—and lead everyone fairly?"

"But I'm just a student; I can't truly lead any organization—I can only be a banner." Harry sat down and sighed. "Who can I rely on? Someone I can trust absolutely, who won't hold back against the Death Eaters or the Soviet Union, who understands the conflict between the Order and the Death Eaters, who grasps the Boyi between Britain and the Soviet Union—and can devise strategies on that foundation."

"And he must also have sufficient ability—to use his own wisdom to crush the Death Eaters, withstand the Soviet Union's schemes, and maintain Britain's deterrent power."

It was impossible. Countless names flashed through Harry's mind; he believed no one could achieve this. Even if Dumbledore had not been frozen, he relied on his strength, not his wisdom, to deter the Soviet Union.

Harry decided he had to do something—but he didn't know how. As he racked his brain, a sudden idea struck him. He pulled out the Elder Wand, pressed its tip to his forehead, and whispered softly: "Superior wisdom is humanity's greatest treasure."

Then, certain words became crystal clear in his mind: Barty had said Yanayev didn't care who was black or white; to foreigners, Dumbledore and Voldemort were both powerful wizards, both capable of deterring Britain; Voldemort had created multiple Horcruxes—he was immortal, and many knew this; but if Voldemort were truly dead, his empire would instantly collapse, and Lucius and Regulus would both be strong contenders for the next Dark Lord; Regulus didn't exist—he was Sirius in disguise, one of us.

Voldemort was now sealed within this space, but his Horcruxes remained scattered, untouched… Just as Harry felt he had a path forward, a faint female voice spoke, shattering his thoughts.

"Nothing is not Heaven; nothing is not fate; nothing is not divine; nothing is not the primal. If all things are thus, how could humans be different? All humans may be called Heaven; all humans may be called divine; all humans may attain fate and commune with the primal…"

This was a spell Harry had never heard before—and unlike other secret incantations, it was short, and ended quickly.

Then, the once-dead fog began to churn. In the blink of an eye, Harry saw Zhang Qiu's figure floating in midair, wearing a pale yellow qipao with black floral patterns, half her face concealed by a fan—but Harry recognized her instantly. It was her, no one else.

Golden threads of light drifted from Zhang Qiu's entire body, resembling the aura Barty had emitted during the ritual, but far more numerous and radiant. The half of her face revealed bore a faint smile, and she extended her empty right hand toward Harry—pale as jade, soft and smooth, warm to the touch.

Harry took her hand—and suddenly realized these golden streams were visible, dense time energy. In that instant, he saw countless visions, flashing past…

He saw Voldemort's face grafted onto Quirrell's skull, screaming at him; he saw himself wielding Gryffindor's sword alone against the Basilisk; he saw Sirius riding Buckbeak flying through the air; he saw himself dueling Voldemort with spells; the next second, Voldemort fled in terror before Dumbledore.

But simultaneously, he saw Dumbledore struck by the Killing Curse and falling from Hogwarts' tower; he saw Sirius tumbling into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries; he saw Lupin lying among ruins; he saw Snape clutching his bleeding throat; he saw George sobbing over Fred's corpse.

"Phew. Ha." Harry gasped loudly. When he snapped back from the visions, it felt as if he were still in the tower—but all the frozen figures were gone. Only a single corpse lay motionless on the ground. Harry looked—and his heart nearly stopped. It was Zhang Qiu, wearing Ravenclaw's uniform.

"Don't be afraid, Harry," said Zhang Qiu, her face half-hidden by the fan. "This is my Yang Shen."

"What?" Harry's heart sank back into his chest.

"The Zhengyi Jiangsheng Weimeng Lu summoned vast amounts of time energy. My physical body could not withstand it—I had to use soul-out-of-body to guide it." Her tone was unnervingly calm, almost ethereal; Harry suddenly remembered—it was the voice of ghosts. "Time's will is fate. It shaped this form for me, nearly solidifying my soul. I pulled you back just now, but this energy is too immense—it will never be exhausted, and it keeps leaking…"

"Can't you bring Dumbledore back too?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"He is already frozen. If you pull him back, he will die." Zhang Qiu spoke without sorrow or joy. "Fate will not let him die at this moment."

"What were those visions I saw? The original path of fate?" Harry already guessed the answer. "Are you alright? Will you return to your body?"

"Time is frozen. Fate no longer exists. I saw countless futures—you can save everyone, Harry. But one misstep, and you kill them all. You may seek Him. You are the Child of Fate."

Harry blinked. He couldn't understand this riddle at all—he simply let it go.

"I used cracks in time to guide your past self to hide inside the painting, to repair the tower damaged by Tardis—it took immense effort, yet it was still a drop in the ocean. The mighty river suddenly froze; all kinetic energy was drawn into my body by the Zhengyi Jiangsheng Weimeng Lu—limitless, inexhaustible." Harry heard urgency in her voice. "Soul-out-of-body cannot last long. I'm already tired. When I return, I may fall into a coma for one or two months. You must protect my body. Yes—drag your companion's corpse back to school. That too is part of fate."

"I must seal this energy. I need a vessel—but our bodies, even the painting, are too small. I can only channel it into the frozen time-space, and the only entrance and exit is the Time-Instant Matrix, the only thing still connected to it." She gestured into the air—and Harry's wand flew from his hand. Then Zhang Qiu lowered the fan from her face.

From her collar and sleeves, three golden torrents surged forth, converging on the Time-Instant Matrix. Simultaneously, countless identical golden torrents appeared out of nowhere, flowing into her body.

Harry stood close, directly before Zhang Qiu's Yang Shen, at the heart of the time energy exchange. He began seeing visions again—scene after scene, overwhelming, some real, some unreal, some impossible.

He didn't know how long it lasted—or perhaps it was no time at all. The golden torrents vanished. For an instant, Zhang Qiu's soul stood naked—but before Harry could fully see, she shot back into her body with a whisper.

Harry knelt and checked Zhang Qiu's body. Her breathing was even, her lips curved in a smile, her eyes gently closed. She seemed unharmed.

"Who is that? What happened here?" A sharp voice demanded. "How many tricks are you going to play?"

Harry turned. Renata stood at the mouth of the collapsed corridor, gripping her wand tightly.

Her clothes were torn, her body covered in wounds. Her posture remained haughty, but she was clearly weakened—only holding on by force of will.

"First, you tricked me out with phantom voices. Then came the explosion." She snarled. "Worse—you sent an old man to attack me personally."

"But I won't surrender easily. You may have used some dark means to overcome the final trial," Renata declared proudly. "But I brought down that old man—and arrived at the tower's peak in time."

"Come then. I always knew we'd have to fight." Renata drew her wand, pointing it straight at the Triwizard Cup.

Harry took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. Good—he was angry. Renata knew nothing of Yanayev's meticulous plans. She was just a conceited schoolgirl, causing trouble everywhere.

In that instant, his fingers brushed two wands. After a brief hesitation, he pulled out his own holly wand. But it felt different now—the Time-Instant Matrix had become its very tip, and the white sand within was gone. Forever, a single thread of golden time energy pulsed within, radiating warmth.

"You're wrong about one thing," a frail voice suddenly spoke. "That old man wasn't defeated by you—he let you win, to avoid hurting you."

"Because if I harmed anyone else, I'd have no face left to see him one last time." From around the corner, an old man Harry didn't recognize stepped forward slowly.