"For us Buddhists, purifying a ghost is normally as easy as lifting a finger. If an ordinary person were possessed, a single recitation of the six-character mantra from this humble monk would be enough to scatter its soul entirely. However, the ghost in the benefactor's mind has been there for a long time. It can't even be considered an outsider—it's a resident, just like you. It's simply been suppressed by you all this time, which means it'll take a bit more effort."
"How long?" Harry asked.
The old monk raised one finger.
"A month?" A little long, but worth it.
The monk looked at his own finger in confusion and replied, "This monk meant one day."
Harry: "..."
Harry finally realized just how huge the cultural gap between East and West really was.
"So how exactly do we fix what's wrong with my brain?" Harry asked, and immediately felt that sentence sounded a bit off.
"By using scripture to enlighten the ghost."
"You mean I just listen to you chant sutras all night?" Harry looked like, are you joking?
The old monk calmly nodded. "It's quite the hassle, really. Normally, reciting a scripture once is enough to redeem a mass grave."
Harry shut his mouth.
Following the monk, Harry entered the Great Hall of the temple. Inside sat a golden Buddha statue, glowing brilliantly. It was so large that Harry couldn't even reach the toes of the statue if he tried.
Upon entering, Harry's powerful spiritual senses picked up something different. It was solemn, and an oppressive will seemed to press down on him.
The stronger one's spirit, the more intense the sensation. Normal people wouldn't feel a thing.
Could this be the power of faith, accumulated through centuries of prayer to the Buddha statue? Harry mentally connected the dots based on his knowledge from second-rate cultivation novels.
This hall was not open to the public.
Harry sat on a prayer cushion, the old monk beside him.
Then the chanting began.
As soon as the monk infused his cultivation into the first syllable of the scripture, Harry's mind jolted with a slight sting.
Harry entered his own spiritual realm, a world of blue. Within it lurked a shadow—that was the fragment of Voldemort's soul.
Harry had never been able to do anything about it.
But today, things changed. A faint golden light appeared in his mental space. It was the natural enemy of the shadow. The moment it emerged, it surged toward it.
This golden light was the effect of the monk's chanting.
Harry kept watching the shadow. Although slow, it was undeniably fading.
Ever since the soul fragment entered Harry twelve years ago, it had been dormant, weak and asleep.
But not today. If it didn't awaken now, it wouldn't even know how it died.
It seemed like an automatic defense mechanism—if Voldemort's soul fragment sensed fatal danger, it would wake, as it did when Harry was dying or when it itself was on the brink.
Now, finally, this last piece of Voldemort's soul had awakened.
But too late. At this point, it was nothing more than meat on Harry's chopping block—ready to be steamed or fried at will.
The shadow took the form of a grotesque face—identical to the one Harry had destroyed at school.
Voldemort looked pained, unable to make sense of what was happening.
Harry's spiritual realm conjured a figure in response—Harry himself. But since Harry had never visualized himself like this before, the form was crude, even faceless.
Voldemort screamed in agony, his mind a mess. He lunged instinctively toward Harry, but was enveloped and drained by the golden light.
At first, Harry flinched—but then realized: There's no reason to fear him.
So he ran straight at Voldemort and punched him in the face. Harry's soul was far stronger than Voldemort's. The impact only made Harry slightly dizzy, but Voldemort let out a bloodcurdling scream as a chunk of his shadow was dispersed.
Seeing that it worked, Harry didn't hesitate. He unleashed a full routine of the Ninth National Primary and Secondary School Morning Exercise Routine™—vigorous and unstoppable, like mowing down a preschool army.
Voldemort had no way to fight back.
With the monk's main assault and Harry's support, Voldemort grew weaker and weaker. Eventually, even his groans stopped. All that remained were wisps of gray mist.
Finally, Voldemort vanished completely. In the sea of Harry's consciousness, only a single orb of transparent energy remained—pure soul essence.
Ghosts don't leave this kind of thing behind when they die, but Voldemort was not a ghost—he was a soul. And souls are fundamentally different from ghosts.
Harry sensed that this energy posed no harm to him, so his spirit enveloped it and absorbed it.
——
When Harry awoke, dawn was breaking—though he didn't know whether it was morning or evening.
The old monk had remained there the entire time. Once he no longer sensed the dark aura around Harry, he stopped chanting and sat facing the Buddha, reciting some unknown scripture.
Harry opened his eyes to the sound of the monk's quiet chanting.
He stood up, sore from sitting all night.
But his mind felt amazing—clear, calm, and invigorated.
Harry walked out of the hall. Below the Potala Palace were rows of temple buildings, many of which were lit. Hearing a rooster crow, he realized it was morning.
The old monk approached and handed Harry a string of transparent glass prayer beads.
Harry took them in his hand. They felt warm—he couldn't tell what material they were made from.
"This is a Buddhist artifact," the monk said. "It wards off ghosts." After seeing Harry had been possessed, he had crafted it to help him resist such things in the future.
"Thank you," Harry said with genuine joy. That's really thoughtful. Now I don't have to worry about Voldemort anymore.
The beads had twelve orbs, each engraved with a different Buddha, every one unique. Harry immediately wore them on his wrist. They looked impressive.
Then Harry bid farewell to the monk—without forgetting the promise he had made.
Both of them had resolved a major issue, and parted ways in good spirits.
——
Harry hit the road again. You couldn't expect trains at this time to be fast.
He made it to Beijing and boarded a direct flight to London.
Though the journey was tiring, Harry was in high spirits.
With the biggest problem solved, what else was there to worry about?
Then, on the plane, Harry began reviewing an unexpected gift he had received after absorbing Voldemort's soul fragment—
Voldemort's memories.
He hadn't seen that coming.
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