Zhang Ming pushed open the door to Ollivander's Wand Shop, a small bell tinkling softly above him. The air inside was thick with dust and the scent of old wood, a thousand different stories whispering from the countless narrow boxes piled to the ceiling.
A soft voice emerged from the shadows. "Good afternoon."
An old man with wide, pale eyes like moons appeared as if from nowhere. "I am Garrick Ollivander. I wondered when I might see you here."
Zhang Ming offered a slight, polite bow. "I am Zhang Ming. I have come not for a wand, but for knowledge."
Ollivander's silvery eyes gleamed with interest. "Knowledge?"
"I wish to understand the art of wandmaking," Zhang Ming stated calmly. "In exchange, I can offer you a glimpse into the art of… let's call it 'instrument forging' from my homeland."
He didn't produce the flying sword. Not yet. First, he needed to gauge the master's worth.
Ollivander studied him intently, his gaze seeming to measure the very magic in Zhang Ming's bones. "A unique proposal. Most come seeking a tool. You seek the craft itself. That is a rare desire." He gestured for Zhang Ming to follow him deeper into the cluttered shop. "The core of a wand is everything, Mr. Zhang. The wood provides the structure, but the core… the core is the heart. Phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, unicorn hair. Each has its own character."
For the next hour, Ollivander spoke with a passion that bordered on reverence. He explained the subtle properties of different woods, how they resonated with specific magical intentions. He spoke of the 'choice' a wand makes, not as mere superstition, but as a fundamental compatibility of magical frequencies between the wizard and the wand's core.
Zhang Ming listened, his mind a sponge, the [Myriad Celestial Mechanism] silently recording every word, cross-referencing it with spiritual tool forging principles.
So,he mused internally. The wand is not just a focus, but a symbiotic amplifier. The core acts as a resonant conduit, attuning the wizard's innate magical energy to specific effect patterns. Crude, but elegantly simple. The 'choice' is simply a manifestation of optimal resonant frequency matching.
"Fascinating," Zhang Ming said aloud when Ollivander paused. "So the incantation and movement are merely… tuning forks? They provide the initial frequency vibration, which the wand then amplifies and refines."
Ollivander stared at him, utterly stunned. In all his years, no one had ever summarized his life's work in such a cold, yet brilliantly accurate, way. "I… yes. That is… a remarkably precise way of putting it."
"It is a sound principle," Zhang Ming acknowledged. "But it has significant limitations. The dependency on an external tool creates a single point of failure. The energy loss through the amplification process is… considerable." He couldn't help but frown slightly, thinking of the paltry 3% efficiency.
"Limitations?" Ollivander looked almost offended, but his curiosity was piqued. "And how would you overcome these… limitations?"
"This way," Zhang Ming said. He finally reached into his sleeve and produced the small, bronze flying sword. He held it flat on his palm.
Ollivander leaned close, his pale eyes wide. "This… this is not a wand. The craftsmanship… it's unlike anything I've ever seen. The energy it emits is… self-contained! Complete!"
"This is what we call a 'Dharma Treasure' or 'Magical Tool'," Zhang Ming explained. "Its core is not a biological artifact, but a forged energy matrix—what we term 'formation arrays'—inscribed directly into the material. It does not amplify. It channels. It becomes an extension of the will."
To demonstrate, he let the sword drop. Instead of clattering to the floor, it hung in the air. With a mere thought from Zhang Ming, it zipped around the shop in a blur of bronze light, weaving between piles of boxes before coming to a perfect stop an inch from Ollivander's nose, humming softly.
Ollivander didn't flinch. He was mesmerized. "No words… no movement… It responds to intent alone. The connection is direct! The efficiency must be…"
"Near perfect," Zhang Ming finished, recalling the sword to his hand. "The tool and the user are one. There is no intermediary to cause loss or error."
The old wandmaker was trembling with excitement. "This… this is a revolution! The implications…" He looked at Zhang Ming with something akin to awe. "You speak of limitations. You have just shown me a new horizon. What would you ask of me in return for this knowledge?"
"Continue your lesson," Zhang Ming said simply. "Show me the final step. The pairing. I wish to see this 'choice' for myself."
Ollivander, now viewing Zhang Ming as a fellow master rather than a customer, eagerly agreed. He brought out three long, narrow boxes. "These are my masterpieces. They have waited years for the right wizard. I have a feeling… one may choose you."
The first wand, of yew and phoenix feather, shuddered violently in Zhang Ming's grasp, emitting a dark, sickly light before he even touched it fully, as if recoiling in fear from the vast, alien power within him.
"Too fragile," Zhang Ming commented, placing it down. "It cannot harmonize with my energy."
The second, holly and dragon heartstring, glowed with a warm, gold light but felt stubborn, like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. "Its 'personality' is too strong. It would conflict with my control."
Ollivander, looking increasingly nervous, opened the third box with reverence. "Elder wood," he whispered. "A core of both phoenix tail feather and unicorn hair—a dual core. A wood of great power and ambition, but difficult to master. The dual core seeks both stability and adaptability. It has never found a match."
Zhang Ming reached for it. The moment his fingers touched the dark wood, the room exploded with energy. A brilliant vortex of gold and silver light swirled around him, causing the thousands of wand boxes to rattle on their shelves. Ollivander was forced to take a step back, shielding his eyes.
But Zhang Ming stood perfectly still, his consciousness reaching into the wand. He could feel the two cores, one representing life and change, the other purity and stability, locked in a perfect, opposing balance within the elder wood—a natural representation of Yin and Yang.
Exquisite,he thought. A crude but instinctual understanding of dual-energy harmonization.
He sent a wisp of his true essence into the wand, not to force it, but to communicate. The turbulent energy vortex calmed instantly, condensing into a serene, shimmering lotus flower that bloomed above the wand's tip before gently fading.
Ollivander gasped. "It… it has accepted you! After all these years!"
"Not acceptance," Zhang Ming corrected, feeling the wand now as a comfortable, responsive weight in his hand. "We have reached an… understanding. It is a well-crafted tool. For a local product, it is more than adequate." He aimed the wand at a dusty quill on the counter. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The quill shot into the air and performed a perfect, complex series of loops and dives, far exceeding any feather's movement in Charms class. Zhang Ming nodded, satisfied. The wand would serve as a useful tool for blending in and a fascinating subject for further study.
"How much?" he asked.
Ollivander shook his head, his eyes shining. "No cost. To see it find its master is payment enough."
Zhang Ming insisted on paying ten Galleons. "Knowledge exchange is one thing. A transaction is another. I have my principles."
As he left the shop, Ollivander called out, "Mr. Zhang! A word of advice… for Harry Potter. When he comes, ensure he gets a wand that truly suits him. He will need it."
Zhang Ming glanced back. "I know."
The door closed, leaving a awestruck wandmaker alone with his thoughts, his world forever changed.
Later that day, Gringotts Head Office.
A urgent, heavily encrypted message landed on the desk of Ragnok, the Senior Head Goblin. It was from his cousin, the manager of the Diagon Alley branch.
'The individual known as Zhang Ming has demonstrated true transmutation. Not illusion. Not transfiguration. The base atomic structure was altered. He turned common stones into pure gold with a gesture and the energy expenditure of a simple lighting charm. Our entire financial system, based on the scarcity of gold, is fundamentally threatened. He speaks of 'efficiency' and mocks our 'crude' methods. He plans to teach at Hogwarts. We must control this knowledge. Or control him.'
Ragnok read the message again, his sharp, clever mind racing. Control a man who could alter reality itself? A man who viewed their deepest magical arts as primitive curiosities?
He dipped a quill in ink and wrote his reply, a grim smile on his face.
'Fool. We do not control the volcano. We build our city where its heat warms our homes and its ash enriches our soil. Watch. Learn. And do not offend him. The age of wands may be ending. The age of something new is beginning. Ensure Gringotts is on the right side of history.'
That evening, Hogwarts Headmaster's Tower.
Albus Dumbledore finished reading a long letter from Garrick Ollivander, his twinkling blue eyes thoughtful. He popped a lemon drop into his mouth.
"So," he murmured to the sleeping portrait of former Headmaster Phineas Nigellus. "A wand of elder and dual core chooses a wizard who does not need it. A man who seeks knowledge, not power, yet possesses enough to reshape the world. A revolutionary who sees our magic as a child sees building blocks."
He looked out at the setting sun. "Change is coming, old friend. A tidal wave of it. And I suspect trying to stop it would be like trying to hold back the sea with a sieve."
He smiled, a genuine, eager smile. "It has been a dreadfully long time since anything was truly new."