Chapter 36

“Calm down, Harry, calm down.” Harry kept reassuring himself, “Who was the first person to walk out of this maze? Whether it’s a teleportation spell or a recall spell, it must have been developed by someone who returned from here—not by someone who never set foot in it, making things up from thin air.”

“But if it’s easy to walk out of here, why would he bother studying a recall spell?” Zhang Qiu said dejectedly, “Maybe he just got lucky and walked out.”

“Let’s change our approach,” Harry insisted, “The person who invented the recall spell must have come in here often. If we can find his exit, his rest stop—even a single clue—it might help.”

“Do you even know who he was? I don’t. I only saw the words ‘Call of Kin’ in my notes on cryptic script.”

“That’s something, at least. What’s the collective name for those seven spells again?”

“The Seven Chapters of the Xuan Jun Scripture.” Zhang Qiu answered listlessly, already on the verge of collapse.

“Xuan Jun—oh, your Master.” Another lead died. Harry paced in frustration, but kept reminding himself to stay strong, to think of a way out.

“Maybe we don’t need to dig into the mysterious Celestial Dynasty’s magic world.” Harry thought. This place might have been explored by British wizards too—Dumbledore very likely had.

“Let’s go. See if Dumbledore left us anything.” Harry took Zhang Qiu’s hand and walked forward with firm steps.

He saw the back of a girl, skipping lightly toward the distance. No matter how hard he tried to catch up, the gap between them only widened.

“Pant… pant.” Harry gasped for breath. “Who is this girl? Why is she here—in a place connected to Dumbledore?”

“In the entire Dream Realm, is this girl the only one connected to Dumbledore?” Harry murmured, trying again several times, but it seemed there was truly only this one clue.

Precisely put, the only thing in the Dream Realm connected to Dumbledore was “a girl continually moving away.”

“In the Dream Realm, thoughts are the thread connecting everything.” With this new clue, Zhang Qiu perked up slightly, analyzing eagerly. “What were Dumbledore’s thoughts? What did he most desire?”

“Neville said he saw Dumbledore holding a woolen sock in front of the Mirror of Erised.” Harry suddenly remembered. “Why was he holding a woolen sock? What did he see in the mirror?”

“Neville saw himself slashing enemies with a sword, so he took a stick; Ron saw himself winning a trophy, so he took a vase.” Harry analyzed. “They took these small objects to match the dream’s reality—what does the woolen sock mean?”

“Family.” He realized suddenly. “Dumbledore’s deepest desire is family. That girl—yes, a girl—so not his mother or grandmother. Then it must be his daughter or his sister.”

“Dumbledore never married.” Zhang Qiu reminded him.

“Then it’s his sister—but why is she here in the Dream Realm?” Harry hesitated. “As if Dumbledore came here, caught only a glimpse of his sister, then left.”

“Wait—Dumbledore never married?” Harry paused. “Do powerful wizards just not marry?”

“What do you mean ‘all’? I have several mistress-masters!” Zhang Qiu protested. “Dumbledore not marrying is strange—given his power…”

“Antioch Peverell.” Harry murmured. “Powerful. Never married. Walked alone to the end.”

“The Dream Realm is just the Celestial Dynasty’s name. Its true name is ‘Otherworld’!” Harry’s logic leapt to a bizarre conclusion. “The paradise where souls reside before reincarnation, according to Celtic myth.”

No sooner had he spoken than the mist around them partially cleared. Harry could now see endless mountains in the distance and rivers surging ceaselessly. Above, the night sky blazed as bright as day.

“Celtic myth?” Zhang Qiu asked, puzzled.

“Professor Clara told me the Celts believed in an Otherworld, filled with fairies, giants, monsters, and the souls of the dead awaiting reincarnation.” He said. “I always thought that was just Muggle fantasy—never imagined it was real in the magical world.”

“Consciousness reflects the material world,” Zhang Qiu chimed in.

“In Celtic myth, the way for the living to enter the Otherworld is by crossing a small bridge. But where did the three brothers meet Death?” Harry gestured wildly. “When they crossed the river! They cast magic to cross, and there met Death!”

“Oh, you’re still obsessed with that fairy tale.”

“It’s not a fairy tale. Beedle the Bard boldly allegorized reality. The Peverell brothers were very likely the ones who entered the Otherworld alive—and then, by luck, escaped.” Harry flung his cloak open. “That’s why the Invisibility Cloak works here—it’s the very tool they developed to explore the Otherworld!”

“How so?”

“Now I understand what I couldn’t before. The Elder Wand’s true purpose isn’t invincibility in battle—it’s that it can still cast magic in this Otherworld.” Harry snapped his fingers. “And conversely, if you duel here, the Elder Wand is indeed unbeatable!”

“That actually makes sense.”

“The three Deathly Hallows: the Elder Wand can cast magic here, the Invisibility Cloak can hide you from enemies, and the Resurrection Stone—its power is to summon the souls of the dead.” Harry pointed to the ground. “Including living people who entered the Otherworld. ‘Call of Kin’ means summoning with the Resurrection Stone!”

“Really? Explain.”

“Good news: Dumbledore knows where the Resurrection Stone is.” Harry continued. “That girl—he must have used the Resurrection Stone to see his sister, which is why traces of him remain here.”

“And the bad news?”

“Dumbledore may not even know we’re here. He might not have explored the Otherworld much.” Harry grew discouraged again. “And he doesn’t know what your spell does—he might write to your Master. That gives us a sliver of hope for rescue.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“But Antioch Peverell must have studied this place deeply. I’m sure he left behind an exit, a supply station, or at least some information.” As Harry spoke, another thought struck him. “This is the Otherworld—I could meet my parents. Their souls should still linger here—Dumbledore’s sister is still here, isn’t she?”

“You’ve said that several times already.”

“Zhang Qiu, why does your tone sound strange?” Harry finally couldn’t help asking.

“Well, yeah.” She seemed distracted. Harry suspected it was because she neither understood nor cared about these British magical history secrets.

“Forget it. Let’s go. I’ll show you my parents.” Harry walked forward cheerfully, his mind filled with the scene he’d first seen in the Mirror of Erised.

In an instant, he found himself standing in a forest carpeted with fallen leaves. His parents smiled and waved at him.

His father wasn’t tall. He wore the clothes he’d died in, his messy hair sticking up, his glasses slightly askew. His mother’s expression glowed with joy. Her green eyes were identical to Harry’s. She gazed at his face as if she could never look enough.

But when Harry tried to speak to them, James gently shook his head. They smiled again, then stepped back into the trees and vanished.

“Maybe I should look for someone else.” Harry understood their silent message—they didn’t want him lingering in this Otherworld. But he still wanted to see the family he’d never met before they died.

“Why don’t you check on Marx?”

“Oh, Marx.” Harry’s head throbbed again. “He was great—I mean, but let’s not meet. Not until I fully understand his theories.”

“How novel.”

“Let’s just find Antioch’s traces instead. Maybe there’s a way out without bothering Dumbledore.” Harry closed his eyes and walked slowly forward, imagining his ancestor—the mysterious, arrogant man.

When he opened his eyes, a peculiar little house stood before him, its roof peaks sharply upturned, oddly charming.

To the left of the entrance stood a bed, its head and foot nearly touching both walls. To the right was a table, littered with materials and a cauldron. Nearby, on another table, lay strange devices. Harry’s first thought was chemical lab equipment—but he quickly realized they were alchemical tools.

At the far end of the cabin stood a fireplace, with a small pot resting on its grate. The pot was empty, the fire unlit. Beside the fireplace was another table, holding a plate of roasted pork knuckle with potatoes—half-eaten, since a single bone rested beside the plate.

Antioch had lived in the twelfth century—over eight hundred years ago—yet the food remained perfectly preserved, as if freshly cooked moments before.

Both were hungry, but dared not eat. Zhang Qiu found a notebook belonging to Antioch beside the bed. Harry, meanwhile, stared in shock: inside the cauldron sat a small foot, wearing a sock and shoe.