HP: TSH — Chapter 320 - Extra: The Slytherin Trip to China

Getting into China was not a simple matter.

The Chinese Ministry of Magic kept strict regulations, and apparently the Muggle government had a major international conference that year, so advance security measures were already in place on the wizarding side as well.

Millicent had reached out to Wang Wenwen before the Lunar New Year. Wang Wenwen was glad to welcome British wizards, but she needed to "go through the process" first.

Since this wasn't an official trip and had no institutional backing, Wang Wenwen warned them the arrangements were complicated and would take some time. Their travel documents didn't arrive in Britain until mid-March, which left everyone feeling more than a little uneasy.

On top of that, China didn't accept wizard-style entry at all. Muggle transportation was required, which meant flying from Heathrow to Hong Kong or Singapore, then transferring onward to Shanghai.

"The Chinese Ministry of Magic works very closely with the Muggle government," Millicent explained. "Wang says you have to respect what the Muggle government is doing. But my aunt told me they've banned cross-border Apparition entirely. Domestic only, at most."

"I'm genuinely scared," Pansy Parkinson said. "That we'll do something slightly wrong and get killed on the spot. Isn't that what Muggles always say about China?"

"That won't happen!" Millicent patted her chest, optimistic as ever. "Didn't I come back alive?"

The experience of riding a Muggle airplane was something else entirely. They hadn't ridden broomsticks, and yet here they were, flying through the sky.

"Draco, haven't you seen a plane before?" Praeris said, needling him. "You even dodged one on your broomstick that time!"

Draco Malfoy was quite curious about the plane, actually. But having an old boast exposed was a different matter entirely. He awkwardly shoved on his eye mask and said through gritted teeth: "I. Am. Not. The. Least. Bit. Curious."

Astoria leaned over from the seat in front. "That actually happened?"

"A broomstick can't even reach the altitude of a plane, can it?" Grace Jones's voice drifted back from the row ahead. "Unless during takeoff or landing, maybe."

"Stop talking about it," Pansy Parkinson said with a grin. "Keep going and Draco Malfoy is going to lose his temper."

The flight was long. Much shorter than a sea voyage, but still, they were in the air for over a day, and spent a night on the plane.

Draco Malfoy declared there was absolutely no way he could sleep sitting up. "Muggles really know how to torture themselves! This is complete cruelty!"

He was the first one asleep that night.

The moment he woke up, he complained: "My neck is practically broken."

"Miss Bulstrode!" A woman in a blue business suit, her long hair in a low ponytail, waved them over. "Hello, hello — please come through this way."

Millicent dumped everyone's documents out in one pile, and the Chinese Muggle staff member stared at the stack, slightly bewildered, sorting through it all for quite a while.

While she waited, Praeris watched the Chinese Muggles moving through the terminal. They were all so colorful, every single person's clothing was almost completely different from everyone else's.

"We can wear whatever we like and they won't find it strange, right?" Praeris said suddenly.

Wang Wenwen didn't follow at first. Then she caught where Praeris was looking and laughed. "That's right, Miss —"

"Prince," Praeris said.

Wang Wenwen's expression turned puzzled. "Wang zi?"

Millicent jumped in quickly. "Wang, Prince is a surname."

"I'm sorry, Miss Prince." Wang Wenwen apologized with complete politeness. "Especially since you're from abroad — foreigners can wear whatever they like, as long as they're wearing something. In China, ordinary people will just assume it's a regional style or some new fashion trend."

In China, wizards called Muggles "ordinary people."

"Chinese Muggles — ordinary people have such a high tolerance!" Grace Jones's eyes lit up as she craned her neck to look around.

Praeris pointed toward the staff member. "But she heard all of that. Is that fine?"

"It's fine." The staff member smiled warmly. "My daughter is a witch. That's how I got this job."

"If wizards don't come through very often, what do you normally do?" Praeris asked.

The staff member shook her head while stamping the documents. "I'm a brick. Wherever they need me, that's where I go."

The Chinese Muggle's turn of phrase was so unexpected that it made all the British wizards laugh.

"Your English is really very good," Astoria said admiringly. She'd understood immediately.

The staff member drew herself up proudly. "We Shanghainese all speak excellent English!"

After clearing the formalities and stepping out of Pudong Airport, Wang Wenwen brought them to a hotel to check in. It was a particular kind of hotel, foreign wizards who entered China through official channels were only permitted to stay at a small number of certified establishments.

The hotel had its own dining, each dish priced somewhere between a few dozen pence and about a pound. Before eating, though, they needed to exchange some Chinese Muggle currency. "We use the same currency as the Muggles," Wang Wenwen told them.

"Chinese wizards and Muggles don't seem to have much separating them," Praeris observed.

"Of course not," Wang Wenwen said with a smile. "Beyond wizards, we have countless legends of the supernatural. Ordinary people have always respected those with extraordinary power. And now the official line is dismantling feudal superstition — which works rather well in our favor."

Praeris pressed further. "But if they're not afraid of magic, why do ordinary people seem not to know you exist?"

"Freedom with limits is still true freedom," Wang Wenwen answered, steady and unhurried. "Keeping ordinary people and wizards separate is both a restriction and a protection. Wizards aren't the only ones who live this way — some genuine Taoist practitioners operate the same way."

"We have our own organizations, and at official meetings there are seats reserved for our representatives. We can put forward proposals, fight for our own interests through proper channels. There's no need for violence."

Wang Wenwen kept it brief and didn't push the subject further. It was a sensitive topic, not the right place for a deep discussion.

After that, Wang Wenwen brought them to Nanjing Road to try Shanghai cifan, glutinous white rice wrapped around strips of youtiao, a long deep-fried dough.

"You British people should like things on the sweeter side," Wenwen said, and asked the vendor to add a generous heap of sugar.

The texture was remarkable: sticky and yielding on the outside, crispy within. Praeris and the others all found it genuinely good.

After eating, Wang Wenwen said she was taking them to China's version of Diagon Alley, a place called Shenjixiang.

"Only through depth can one comprehend the will of all under heaven; only through subtlety can one accomplish the affairs of all under heaven." Wang Wenwen recited the line as though it were perfectly natural. "Shen means profound. Ji means subtle and precise, the kind of precision that grasps things others miss."

"I didn't understand a word of that," Millicent said pleasantly, "but it sounds extremely impressive."

Wang Wenwen gave a smile that was equal parts helpless and restrained.

Praeris was still turning it over in her head when Millicent nudged her. "Give up," Millicent said with a grin. "Last time, Wang spent ages explaining Yu Garden to us, what 'Yu' actually meant, where the name came from. None of us ever quite got it. I know it's probably something ancient and significant, but in the end we all just agreed it was solid."

Chinese culture was simply too layered. Praeris gave up. The only one among them who could grasp even a fraction of it was Draco Malfoy, the alchemist. He pressed his lips together, fighting a smile, and tried to deliver it in his most offhand tone: "Just think of it as 'profound and subtle.' That's close enough."

The surface entrance to Shenjixiang was a coffee shop, charmed with a Repelling Spell. Only true wizards could see it.

"Last time I was here, a Muggle wandered in by accident," Millicent announced. "It was absolutely brilliant."

"How is that brilliant?" Pansy Parkinson said, baffled.

Wang Wenwen's perfect composure finally began to crack. "That was just an accident," she said, explaining very carefully.

"It was brilliant!" Millicent insisted. "They didn't even need a Memory Charm!"

At the time, Millicent had been traveling with guests from a Quidditch match. In the crowd and the commotion, a Muggle had slipped in right along with them.

When it happened, the commentators and the specially invited spectator guests had all gone tense immediately. After all, this was China.

"Ah, welcome to our," The barista's opening was a string of English so perfunctory that even the British wizards couldn't make it out. His voice was gentle, but underneath it ran something that didn't leave room for argument. He turned to the ordinary person. ", Do you have a reservation?"

"Ah, no," the slightly nervous ordinary person said, shifting their weight. "Can't I just order here?"

The barista's smile went a shade apologetic, a shade deliberate. "Ah, I'm very sorry, we're reservation and membership only. We serve friends, and friends of friends. We're not currently open to walk-ins."

The ordinary person left, flustered and embarrassed.

"No, no, no." Wang Wenwen looked thoroughly tired. "He was joking, it still had to be dealt with properly. What I mean is, someone handled it afterward. They adjusted the ordinary person's memory. Made it so he'd have no particular wish to think back on such an uncomfortable moment."

Praeris's expression cleared. "That actually is a clever solution. Turn them away with a reasonable excuse, then tidy up afterward." She looked at Wang Wenwen with something like appreciation. "Brilliant."

The praise from a British witch did not make Wang Wenwen feel the least bit pleased. In fact, when she led the group into the coffee shop this time, she couldn't stop herself from glancing back repeatedly to check whether any ordinary people had followed them in. She looked, in a word, shifty.

"What are you doing?" the barista called over.

Wang Wenwen answered in Chinese, her tone dripping sarcasm. "Bringing friends, and friends of friends."

She guided Praeris and the others toward the staircase behind the counter. At the foot of the stairs stood a yellow sign: INTERNAL PREMISES, NO ENTRY FOR OUTSIDERS. The group walked around it, and at the bend in the staircase there was a full-length corner mirror, taller than a person.

Wang Wenwen pressed her hand to the surface. The mirror rippled like disturbed water. "You can go through."

"Don't you use wands?" Praeris asked.

"We do. But we don't have to." Wang Wenwen was patient about it. "For us, a wand is simply a tool that helps focus one's power. From our student days, the expectation is that we use magic well regardless of whether we're holding one."

On the other side of the mirror, a different world opened out. Flagstone underfoot, ancient-styled streets stretching away on either side, Chinese wizards moving through in clothing drawn from dynasties across the centuries.

"Our wizards wear styles from every era and every ethnic group," Wang Wenwen said. "Personal preference, mostly, though schools have their own uniform requirements."

She mentioned school, then didn't elaborate.

Millicent leaned close to Praeris. "Chinese wizarding schools aren't public knowledge," she said quietly. "In the words of the Chinese wizards themselves, they guard those schools more carefully than their own eyes."

Shenjixiang had many shops. The nearest was Ruomu Zhai.

"In the east stands the Ruomu, in the west the Fusang." Wang Wenwen seemed to be a remarkably well-read witch. She chose her words with the British visitors in mind. "Ruomu is a magical tree from Chinese mythology, connected to the sun."

Pansy Parkinson was eyeing the wands with keen interest. "We're not prospective students. Can we still look around?"

"Of course," Wang Wenwen said warmly. "All who come are guests."

The owner of Ruomu Zhai was an elderly wizard with hair gone mostly white. His skin was gnarled and furrowed as tree bark, and his eyebrows were as long as his beard. A young girl moved quietly around the shop, his granddaughter.

When he learned what the foreign visitors were there for, the old wizard welcomed them with real warmth and asked his granddaughter to brew tea for the guests.

"Every country's wands," he said, unhurried, "carry that country's character. Some of what you see here you will recognize. Some you will not."

Wang Wenwen translated for the British wizards.

Pansy Parkinson pointed at one immediately. "I know that one. Peachwood."

The old wizard burst out laughing when Wang Wenwen relayed it. "Correct, good eye. This is peachwood. The Book of the Yellow Emperor records that peachwood wards the gate of demons. Chinese peachwood carries the power to repel evil. Its wielder is typically upright and righteous, and has particular strength over ghosts."

Pansy's enthusiasm delighted him. He opened another box and let her guess again. This time she couldn't, but he didn't seem disappointed at all.

"This is huaimu, locust wood," the old wizard said, in that same unhurried way. "Huai is also read as gui-mu. Ghost-wood. Huaimu connects to the Yin, and has spirit. In the tale of the Southern Branch, the great kingdom of Huai'an is found inside a locust tree. Its wielder is spiritually gifted, quick to learn, rich in natural talent, and close to all things that carry spiritual energy. Trees, living creatures, even ghosts."

None of the British wizards had ever heard any of this. This was the kind of knowledge that only existed here, in this room, in this country. They crowded around the old wizard, one more intent than the next.

"This is wutong mu, parasol tree wood." The old wizard lifted a particular wand from its case. "The phoenix sings on the high ridge; the wutong grows toward the morning sun. Wutong wood is the tree where the phoenix rests. Its wielder is upright and incorruptible, enduring, resolute. They work fire magic very well. The one chosen by wutong wood is destined for great things, or at the least, they are extraordinarily gifted."

"This is thunder-struck wood, specifically, jujube wood that was struck by lightning. Thunder-struck wood shares peachwood's power to repel evil, and then exceeds it. Its wielder commands magic of lightning and thunder, and has a remarkable effect against ghosts. They do not yield easily. Hardship does not break them."

"And this is..."

It went on for an hour, perhaps two. The more the old wizard spoke, the more alive he became. The British visitors leaned in, asked questions, applauded. The warmth in the little shop was real.

The only one suffering was Wang Wenwen, who had to translate passage after passage of ancient classical Chinese and was, by the end, thoroughly wrung out.

When they finally stepped out of Ruomu Zhai, Wang Wenwen looked like someone who had just emerged from a very long tunnel into open air.

"That was incredible!" Millicent said. "I didn't find anything half this interesting on my last visit. I really do need to come back to China again."

Pansy Parkinson was glowing. Learning it was currently the British Easter holiday, old Mr. Wu pressed a peachwood tablet into her hands, a taofu, he said, a traditional Chinese charm, hung at doorways for protection, and it carried the power to repel evil.

Old Mr. Wu shook his head vigorously, waving his hands. "Resurrection is not a good thing! Not good! Not good at all!"

➤ Next: Bonus Chapter: Slytherin's China Trip 2