Ollivander's shop was narrow and cramped, a space that felt less like a place of business and more like a sanctuary for forgotten relics. Countless slender boxes, faded by time and layered with the dust of decades, were stacked from the uneven floor to the sagging ceiling. They compressed the interior into a single, winding path that felt like a labyrinth designed for a much smaller species. In the air, thick motes of dust drifted lazily in the single, sharp beam of light that filtered through a high, grime encrusted window. The atmosphere was heavy, smelling of ancient cedar, dried herbs, and the sharp, ozone tang of unknown magic.
The enormous Hagrid practically had to fold himself in half to enter. He squeezed his massive frame through the doorway, moving with a cautious, tip toeing grace that seemed impossible for a man of his size. He was clearly afraid of knocking over the thousands of precariously balanced boxes that lined the walls.
From the depths of the shadows, an old man appeared. His silver eyes, unnervingly large and pale, scanned back and forth between Harry and Li Gang. His gaze lingered for a moment on Harry's forehead, focusing on the lightning bolt scar with a flicker of somber understanding. However, as if drawn by an invisible and irresistible magnet, his eyes eventually locked onto Li Gang.
The wandmaker stared at Li Gang's tall stature, which far exceeded that of any eleven year old boy in recorded history. He traced the outline of the powerful, explosive muscles bulging beneath the boy's thin clothing. A look of unprecedented confusion, mixed with a deep, professional solemnity, settled on the old man's face.
"Strange... so very strange..."
Ollivander's voice seemed to emerge from between the pages of a dust laden book, dry and hoarse. He moved closer, his pale eyes squinting.
"This is not the physique a child should possess. It is as if I am looking at a titan in the guise of a boy."
He shook his head and turned to Harry first. An automatic silver tape measure danced around the smaller boy, taking odd measurements of his wingspan, the distance between his nostrils, and the circumference of his head. Harry fumbled about, looking overwhelmed by the attention. After trying a first wand that caused a vase to explode and a second that sprayed documents across the room like confetti, the third choice made its mark. A wand of holly and Phoenix feather erupted with warm, reddish gold sparks the moment it touched Harry's hand, and a gentle breeze ruffled his messy hair. It was a destined harmony, the union of tool and soul.
Then, it was Li Gang's turn.
Disaster began in a very literal, physical way. Ollivander offered the first candidate: a sturdy, dependable wand made of English oak with a core of dragon heartstring. Li Gang's hand, thick knuckled and calloused from years of gripping iron, closed around the slender wood.
There were no magical effects. There were no unexpected spells or showers of sparks.
Crack!
With a crisp, teeth grinding sound, the hard oak wand exploded. Under the pressure of Li Gang's palm, the wood splintered as if it had been placed under a hydraulic press. A plume of sharp wood chips and fine dust rustled down through his fingers, settling on the floor.
Ollivander's eye twitched violently. He had never seen a wand die before it was even waved.
He fetched a second wand, this one made of flexible willow. Learning from the first disaster, he did not even dare to hand it over directly. He suspended it in mid air with a flick of his own wand, gesturing for Li Gang to take it. As soon as the willow approached Li Gang's palm, it began to bend on its own. It emitted a groaning creak, the wood fibers screaming under an unbearable, invisible strain. The wand trembled violently as if it were a living thing trying to flee a predator, resisting the pure, dense force field radiating from the boy's flesh.
The third, the fourth, and the fifth followed. These exquisitely crafted magical objects seemed to have met their destined nemesis. They either refused to react at all, becoming as silent and inert as dead wood, or they self destructed before physical contact could even be made, proclaiming their impotence in a tragic display of splintering grain.
Ollivander's face turned a ghostly shade of pale. He retrieved a crystal energy detector from beneath the counter, a device used to measure the raw magical output of difficult customers. He motioned for Li Gang to place his hand upon its smooth surface.
The moment Li Gang's hand touched the crystal, the shop grew silent. The instrument showed none of the shimmering blue or gold light that a Wizard's magic would produce. Instead, it began to vibrate with a low, bone shaking frequency. The internal needle spun wildly like an out of control compass, unable to find a heading, before finally emitting a sharp, metallic wail of distress.
Crack!
The pristine crystal surface was suddenly covered in a web of fine, spiderweb cracks. Ollivander stumbled back several steps, bumping into his shelves and causing a cascade of wand boxes to clatter to the ground.
"This is not magic!" his voice was hoarse with shock, filled with a fear that overturned his century of understanding. "This is a dormant volcano! It is solidified magma! This kind of internal power is unheard of in the wizarding world. You do not possess magic; you possess a core of absolute density!"
Li Gang understood perfectly. These fragile wooden sticks were designed to channel the gentle, flowing energy of magic. But his power was vital energy, the savage, overbearing force of the body cultivator. It was completely incompatible with the delicate structures of wood and feather. These so called wands simply could not withstand the residual pressure he emitted even while standing still.
"Impossible... every Wizard should have a wand that matches him..." Ollivander murmured, his face ashen.
But then, a flicker of a craftsman's mad stubbornness gleamed in his silver eyes. He looked at Li Gang, then at the pile of destroyed wood, and made a decision. He turned and walked into the deepest, darkest area of the shop, his figure quickly swallowed by the shadows of the towering shelves.
Moments later, a heavy, dragging sound echoed from the darkness. Ollivander laboriously carried a long, narrow box out into the light. He placed it heavily on the counter, stirring up a thick cloud of dust that made Harry cough. The box was made of an unknown, obsidian like dark wood and was bound with thick, rusty iron strips. It looked less like a wand box and more like a small, ancient coffin.
The box was opened. Inside lay something that was not a wand at all.
It was a pure black staff, nearly as tall as Li Gang himself. It was forged entirely from a mysterious, dark metal. Its surface was rough and unpolished, devoid of any decoration or refinery. It possessed a wild, untamed, and chilling aura, looking as though it had endured the cosmic winds and frosts of the void before falling to earth.
"This was my grandfather's most colossal failure," Ollivander gasped, wiping cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "It was forged from an entire piece of extraterrestrial meteoric iron, mixed with the nerves of an ancient Hebridean Black dragon. It is too heavy to wave, too hard to enchant, and completely unable to conduct any fine magic. It has been considered the family iron rod of shame for three generations."
Hagrid curiously stepped forward. His fan like hand gripped one end of the iron rod. His arm muscles bulged, and he used every ounce of his half giant strength just to lift it an inch off the bottom of the box. His face turned a deep, beet red from the effort.
"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid exclaimed, putting the rod down and shaking his numb hand. "This thing is heavier than the oak tree stump I had to move in the Forbidden Forest last winter! No wizard could ever use this!"
Li Gang, however, walked over and extended a single hand. With an ease that sharply contrasted with his stature and Hagrid's struggle, he picked it up. His powerful arm was perfectly steady, supporting the heavy meteoric iron staff as if it were as light as a peacock feather.
The moment the metal touched his skin, a familiar sense of coldness and solidity, originating from the primordial universe, spread throughout his meridians. He tried to infuse a tiny, microscopic trace of his vital energy into the core.
Om!
The iron rod did not glow with a pretty light. Instead, it emitted a deep, heavy hum that vibrated in the marrow of everyone in the room. An invisible force field spread outward, and the air in the shop twisted and warped as if seen through a heat haze. Thousands of wand boxes on the shelves began to tremble violently, emitting fearful clattering sounds, as if they were subjects surrendering to their true king.
Ollivander's eyes gleamed with a light Harry had never seen. He leaned forward, his voice trembling and fervent.
"It did not choose you, child... it simply found its master. This is not about magic. It is about force! Power so pure and extreme that it found its most suitable form in this world! This rod was not made for casting spells; it was made for witnessing crushing and conquest! Its birth, perhaps, was meant only for you."
Li Gang swung the staff in a short, precise arc. The weight was substantial, the texture indestructible. It perfectly matched his requirements for a weapon. He didn't need a wand to channel spells; he needed a tool that wouldn't shatter when he exerted himself.
"What magic?" Li Gang thought to himself. "This is an excellent magic tool embryo." He knew that if he nourished this meteoric iron with his vital energy, it would eventually become a divine weapon capable of shattering the heavens.
Harry, standing nearby, looked at the black staff in Li Gang's hand. It was as thick as an adult's arm and exuded a fierce, predatory aura. He looked down at his own delicate holly wand and felt a strange sense of inadequacy.
"Li," Harry asked in a low, worried voice, "can this... perform magic? How will you pass your classes?"
Li Gang weighed the meteoric iron staff, the substantial feel giving him immense peace of mind. He glanced at a thick, sturdy table nearby, carved from a single piece of ancient oak. The muscles of his arm slowly bulged, the fabric of his sleeve straining against his skin. A supremely arrogant smile curved his lips as he looked at Harry.
"In a world where everything is so fragile," Li Gang retorted, his voice echoing with authority, "isn't it simpler to just smash the problem?"
He brought the end of the staff down, not with a strike, but with a gentle tap. The floor beneath him cracked, and the heavy oak table vibrated so violently that every item upon it was tossed into the air.