“Great Queen, this is a letter for you.”
Chief Unia walked with hurried steps. In the inner courtyard, a court lady was styling her hair. Hearing this, Hatsh raised her head slightly. Her exquisite face held a hint of excitement. After entering the room, Unia knelt down to pay his respects.
“Rise.”
Hatsh waved her hand, signaling him to get up quickly, and then said to her personal maid, “Alright, pin it up with a hair簪 right here. You may step down first.”
The maid nodded, finished styling the last strand of hair, and left.
“Great Queen, this is a confidential dispatch.”
With a head full of silver hair and a ruddy complexion, Unia pulled a wax-sealed letter from his sleeve.
Hatsh took it and inspected it all around. Her fair, slender hands trembled uncontrollably, a brilliant light flashed in her eyes, and a smile curved her lips. “They agree to form an alliance with me.”
“This is good news for you.” Unia’s old eyes were cloudy, yet a shrewd light gleamed in his blue pupils. He had followed the Great Queen his entire life. After the old king passed away, he watched as his mistress’s position grew increasingly awkward and precarious.
He could understand all of Hatsh’s actions; in this inner palace, she wanted to carve out a path of her own.
He chose to support her.
“Unia, I want to talk face-to-face with their leader.”
Hatsh put away the letter, walked over to the mutton-fat jade lamp, and burned the confidential letter over the flame. It quickly turned into a pile of ash scattered in the crystal bowl.
Unia watched her in deep thought for a moment before saying, “The messenger who delivered the letter to me told me that their master will come to make an appointment to meet you when the time is right.”
Hearing this, Hatsh’s brows flashed with displeasure. As a supreme queen, she was now reduced to bowing her head and taking orders from others just to reclaim what she dreamed of from her nephew. This resentment choked her heart, tinging her newly made-up face with a fierce expression.
“Forget it. I’ll endure it for now.” Hatsh calmed her emotions. Ever since Titmos returned from military training, he had seized the initiative over military power. Although the few confidants she had planted in the court held high positions, they could not make up for her shortage in military strength.
She urgently needed a powerful military ally to coordinate with her from the inside and out, ensuring she had enough leverage to contend for power in the future.
“Great Queen, we are currently at a disadvantage and can only endure. Once you seize everything, things will get better.”
Unia bowed his head in comfort.
Hatsh looked at him with complete trust in her eyes and smiled faintly. “You have followed me for so many years; I will surely let you enjoy your old age in peace.”
Tear tracks marked the corners of Unia’s eyes, and he felt deeply moved knowing Hatsh was thinking of his remaining years.
“Who is there?” Unia turned around sharply, his gaze piercing as he flicked a dagger outward.
Clang.
With a dull thud of metal striking a wooden board, a figure darted out from the doorway. Fruits scattered all over the floor. The court lady knelt down in a panic, trembling as she begged for mercy, “Spare my life, Great Queen! This maid only came to deliver your beauty soup.”
Hatsh stepped forward, a fierce look flashing in her eyes. “When did you get here?”
“Just now. I had only reached the door when I saw a dagger fly out. Spare my life, Great Queen!” The court lady pressed her head against the floor, her voice unsteady, as if she had been frightened out of her wits by the sudden turn of events.
Unia exchanged a glance with her, his voice old and resonant. “Get up.”
“Queen, it is time for your facial treatment.”
Hatsh let out a sigh of relief inwardly, looking at the court lady. “Bring it over.”
Every day she drank a bowl of beauty soup and applied fruit juice squeezed from chopped fruit to her face. Just now, discussing grand strategies with Unia had caused her emotions to become unstable, which would accelerate aging. She walked over and sat down on the small couch, and the maid brought the tray forward.
Hatsh waved her hand to dismiss her.
Unia picked up the soup bowl from behind to give to her, and also brought over the mixed fruit juice for her later use.
“Should we kill her?”
After Hatsh finished drinking, Unia began applying the light green fruit puree to her face bit by bit, his voice calm and devoid of emotion.
“A court lady shouldn’t dare to lie.”
Hatsh nodded. Then let’s keep her around a bit longer and see.
Unia looked at the woman lying on the couch. Time seemed unable to leave a single trace on her face; her skin was tight and fair. The former Queen Hatsh had been a very astute person, and he did not want her hands stained with too much blood, nor did he want her to become terrifying because of those external pursuits.
Outside the palace gates, Imhotep smiled as he welcomed the envoy inside.
“Lord Yiti, you’ve had a tiring journey. His Majesty has ordered that you and your entourage be accommodated inside to rest, and a banquet will be hosted in your evening reception.”
The leader, an official named Yiti, was tall and wore a Mitanni-style wrapped court robe. A pair of deep, dark green pupils looked profound and mysterious. He wore a red gemstone-embedded round felt hat, placed his right hand on his left shoulder, and bowed slightly to salute Imhotep. “Thank you, King of Egypt.”
Imhotep led him inward.
Yiti’s demeanor was composed, showing not a trace of fatigue from his long journey. Looking at his profile, Imhotep noted his well-defined facial features as if meticulously sculpted. His high bridge of nose added a rugged charm to his face, and those dark green pupils resembling gemstones sparkled with intelligence, calmness, and decisiveness. His tightly closed thin lips appeared cold at a glance, but actually concealed an unspeakable aura of dominance.
Mitanni had actually sent such an official on a diplomatic visit, showing how much importance they attached to it. He wondered what kind of friction would arise when meeting the king later.
Imhotep marveled inwardly; this envoy’s poise was truly astonishing.
After Rong Mian finished praying in the temple wearing his sacrificial robes and wiping the divine statue as usual, he pushed open the door to his room upon returning to the House of Priests, only to have his mouth covered from behind. Rong Mian was startled and immediately struggled, but heard a soft chuckle brush against the skin of his earlobe, sending a tingling sensation. The familiar scent of the cedar forest entered his nose, and his heart suddenly relaxed. It was Titmos.
This man really ambushed him from the shadows every time. Rong Mian scorned him inwardly. Titmos released his grip, and Rong Mian’s face was flushed red. Once released, he gasped for breath while Titmos observed him closely.
It was strange. Even though they hadn’t seen each other for just a single day, he missed Rong Mian dearly. Halfway through the night, he would wake up automatically, his arms opening out of habit only to embrace empty air. That unprovoked sense of loss would well up, and last night he had actually been driven to stand by the window in the middle of the night, letting the cool wind blow on him for most of the evening.
Rong Mian calmed his emotions and raised his eyes to scan him. “The Mitanni envoys have arrived. Is Your Majesty not curious about what thoughts they harbor on this trip?”
As Rong Mian spoke, he quietly moved a distance away from him. He was carrying a little one inside him now and couldn’t afford any more accidents. Over these three months, he had to keep everything under control.
Titmos acutely noticed Rong Mian’s subtle movement, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at him. “No matter what their purpose is or with what mindset they come, this king has no need to fear them.”
Egypt today no longer had room for the word fear. Mitanni was developing rapidly, but even if they could contend with him, it didn’t mean he would make unlimited concessions to them. If they came with sincerity today and concluded a friendly alliance, he could go along with the current and let the world enjoy a few years of peace. If they didn’t know what was good for them and dared to deliberately make things difficult in the great hall, then they shouldn’t blame him.
Arrogant as a man could be, Rong Mian looked at his handsome face, seeing the peerless dominance and noble, composed posture in his eyes. His expression was so natural when he spoke these words—this was the kind of transcendent poise only someone with true strength possessed.
Rong Mian was stunned by his words, staring blankly at him for two seconds. He thought that saying anything to this man in front of him was redundant; if he wanted to, even a powerful nation like Mitanni would probably be trampled under his feet.
“Majesty is mighty.” Rong Mian raised an eyebrow.
“Does the High Priest have something on his mind?” Titmos stepped forward. Not knowing if it was his imagination, he always felt that Rong Mian was intentionally or unintentionally dodging him lately, a realization that displeased him.
Seeing this, Rong Mian raised his eyes to look at him, calm and detached. “What could I have on my mind? My only concern is praying every day for the myriad people of Thebes, and praying for Your Majesty’s peace of mind and safety.”
Titmos nodded. “It’s good that the High Priest thinks this way.”
“What are you doing?” Rong Mian was startled, wanting to dodge, but it was already too late. He was ambushed successfully again. Titmos reached out a long arm, gracefully pulling Rong Mian into the crook of his arm, lowering his head to gaze at him deeply. Today, Rong Mian had broken his usual routine by not wearing white robes; instead, he wore a warm goose-yellow tone that set off his delicate skin, accented by a sharp chin and thin, vibrant lips. Titmos stretched out a hand to slowly stroke his upper and lower lips. Rong Mian could clearly feel the rough calluses between the man’s broad, fine palms. How could someone living in such luxury have such weathered hands?
Rong Mian let out a couple of whimpers, and Titmos stopped, looking at him. “What is it?”
Rong Mian blinked. “Pricking people.”
Realizing what he had said, Titmos paused. His fingertips stayed suspended in mid-air for a moment without any further movement, prompting Rong Mian to say, “Must be from playing too hard as a child, leaving scars that lasted until now.”
Hearing this, Titmos smiled. “You’re really smart.”
Inside the spacious House of Priests, the two figures formed an enchanting picture—one dared to speak, and the other dared to admit it. Rong Mian watched the starlight twinkling in his hazel pupils, and his heartbeat skipped a beat. This man truly had a natural good appearance; he only needed to show a little bit to dazzle someone’s eyes. Rong Mian turned his head away, not wanting to look at him anymore.
“My late father was worried I couldn’t stand on my own after ascending the throne, so he sent me to the army for separate training since I was a child. As I grew a bit older, he had me lead troops into battle and temper myself in various places.”
Titmos wrapped one arm around his waist, using his free hand to wave it right in front of Rong Mian. The back of his hand was delicate, but his palm was crisscrossed with old calluses. Even without looking into the details, one could tell from those layers of calluses formed after peeling and healing over and over again how much ordinary people’s unbearable suffering the owner of these hands had endured.
A thought suddenly flashed through Rong Mian’s mind: if he ever left this place, he must definitely tell stories to the baby in the future and share Titmos’s experiences, letting the child also learn this man’s resolute character.
Will the child look like him when he’s born?
Rong Mian was dazed. By the time he recovered his wits, he felt a bit disgusted with himself. What was he thinking about?
Why should his child look like a scumbag like Titmos instead of himself?
Will he grow up to bully people just like him?
Rong Mian suddenly burst into laughter, finding his momentary distraction incredible.
“This king is suffering, yet you seem very happy?”
Titmos furrowed his brows slightly. He had told Rong Mian about his childhood experiences, expecting some intimate words and sweet talk in return. Who would have known this person would stare blankly for a few seconds and burst out laughing.
His handsome face immediately darkened.
Realizing his absent-mindedness had caused a misunderstanding, Rong Mian looked at the long-faced man, feeling the grip around his waist tighten. He immediately regained his composure and looked at him with full sympathy. “His Majesty has truly had it difficult. Your subject feels deeply ashamed, because I never suffered any hardships when I was a child.”
As soon as he finished speaking, seeing Titmos’s expression worsen even further, Rong Mian felt his words were a bit hurting.
“Your subject means that His Majesty is an extraordinary person, possessed of royal bearing. All your trials are simply another kind of blessing and grace bestowed upon the world, because it is precisely your past experiences that forged the current majestic imperial might, which is also the fortune of subjects like us.”
After finishing, Rong Mian lowered his gaze to make himself look sincere.
Above him was breathing, a slight breath, even and steady. Stillness, stillness. In the room, apart from sporadic breathing, no other sound could be heard, plunging them into a brief awkwardness.
Rong Mian’s heart thumped wildly. He had to keep steady; Titmos was staring at him like this without knowing what he was thinking.
Could it be that he thought his words were too fake and saw right through them?
“Heh.” Just as he was about to say something, he heard a light chuckle from the man above, his eyes flashing with an unreadable light.
“The High Priest really knows how to speak. Every single word makes sense.”
“However, you just said that this king suffered hardships mortals cannot endure, and that these trials all transformed into blessings and protection for you all, right?”
Those hazel pupils seemed capable of speaking, shining even brighter than the stars in the sky as they poured entirely onto Rong Mian’s face. Under that stare, his small face grew uncontrollably hot.
“Naturally.” Rong Mian felt a bit guilty. After answering, he noticed Titmos’s lips curving upward, his smile widening as he looked at Rong Mian with satisfaction. “Then has the High Priest received this king’s blessing and protection?”
Rong Mian felt a loud bang in his heart, like thunder exploding. What did Titmos mean by saying this?
Suspecting he had divided loyalties?
Although he had never received any protection or blessings from this guy, that was definitely something he couldn’t voice out loud, lest he anger the other party and trigger unknown turmoil.
Rong Mian hesitated for two seconds and nodded. “Of course. Your subject has no way to repay His Majesty’s grace, so I can only…”
“Only what?” Titmos pressed closer. Rong Mian’s brain short-circuited under his scorching gaze, and he suddenly lost his wits. “Can only serve you devotedly…”
Serve devotedly, and fulfill his basic duties properly.
However, Titmos’s gaze was brilliantly bright as he bent down and trapped Rong Mian even tighter. “This king agrees.”
What?
Rong Mian was dumbfounded for two seconds. What did he agree to?
What did he even say?
He just agreed blindly.
Looking at Rong Mian’s dazed, clear eyes, Titmos was in a wonderful mood. He pecked fiercely at his lips, sucking until Rong Mian winced in pain before letting go. “Agreed to let you serve devotedly.”
Aha?
His feet left the ground as a pair of hands lifted his waist firmly. When Rong Mian spun head over heels and his body position underwent a qualitative change, Titmos braced his hands on either side of his body. Leaning back against the indoor wardrobe, Rong Mian hastily steadied himself by grabbing the handle on the cabinet door. A rush of cedar fragrance smashed into him. He hooked one foot around the man’s gorgeous attire, for the first time feeling with absolute clarity the waistline that Titmos had trained so rigorously—it was muscular and powerful even through layers of clothing.
Crack. A cracking sound rang in Rong Mian’s ear. Regaining his senses, he saw that the handle was already in Titmos’s hand.
Damn it all, his wardrobe was the most luxurious piece of furniture in the room besides the big bed. The handle and the door were perpendicular, carved from the finest cyan jade, and featured a small, rounded oval ball handle at the very end. Every time he held it, it felt cool and exceptionally comfortable.
And Titmos just pulled it right off?
Just how much money was wasted here? Rong Mian’s heart ached terribly.
“Cyan jade varies in grade, and its usage naturally has its own particularities.” Titmos weighed the handle in his hand; the cyan jade emitted a faint luster in his palm, and the concave and convex textures were clearly visible.
“There’s more than just one way to use it on a cabinet.”
Watching the playful glint in his eyes, Rong Mian shuddered like a frail little flower in a storm the next second. His tightly pressed lips uncontrollably emitted a string of shattered syllables. Never had Rong Mian felt so clearly—the cloud patterns of the cyan jade were winding and curved, and he knew their exact trajectory clearly. As the round ball slowly wandered through the narrow space, he saw the depth in Titmos’s eyes, more mesmerizing and intoxicating than the vast Milky Way. Titmos submerged the cabinet door handle entirely, leaving a sheen of thin sweat on Rong Mian’s forehead. Wrapping around Titmos’s waist like a water snake at the bottom of the Nile, he coiled around him, as if trying to devour him.
“The High Priest has so much energy.” Feeling the slender waist desperately wrapping around him, like a drowning person searching for their only salvation.
Stunned into a daze by the handle, Rong Mian could only think of climbing onto anything that could get him ashore. The mist in his eyes dissipated, wandering completely outside of all prayers and hymns. That mysterious lotus fragrance suddenly burst forth, its rich scent even overpowering the quiet serenity of the cedar forest. Rong Mian clenched his teeth with difficulty. “No, stop.”
If he had known earlier, he would have dismantled the door handle and nailed it to the door with a few extra nails, which would have been better than letting Titmos snap it off for reuse now. The lotus fragrance billowed out, delivering wave after wave of continuous, high-intensity irrigation. Titmos leaned into the back of Rong Mian’s neck, soothing that red mark.
Rong Mian freed one hand to protect his stomach, cursing Titmos to death in his heart.
It’s a good thing the little one is following him in the future; otherwise, with this man setting a bad example and corrupting a child, it would be the most terrifying thing.
“Cry out.”
Titmos suddenly leaned closer, urging him relentlessly. Rong Mian bit his lips hard, tears streaming down. He simply refused to let the man get his way. Why was it always him who ended up at a disadvantage? He told him to cry out, so he had to cry out just like that?
He was the noble High Priest of Thebes, worshipped by the incense of myriad people, existing as a demigod. This wretched bastard—he wouldn’t cry out, even if he died he wouldn’t cry out.
“Cry out.” Titmos suddenly exerted force. Unable to hold back, Rong Mian let a sob slip past his lips—that delicate and ethereal vocal line, intermittent and echoing in the air like pearls falling from a broken string. Titmos’s last shred of reason was destroyed by him, stamping the final chapter onto this soaring, lingering cadence.
After everything was brought to a devastating end, Rong Mian looked at the man before him. Tonight’s banquet was only a few hours away. He had originally finished washing up, sitting and waiting for the banquet to start so he could meet the Mitanni envoys, but now everything had to be redone.
His makeup was ruined by crying, though fortunately he had desperately protected his stomach, so the baby should be fine.
The prenatal care medicine prescribed by the imperial physician was something he had taken just that morning.
Titmos looked at him, immensely satisfied. “This king has tested the High Priest’s sincerity. You indeed served devotedly; I have felt your sincerity.”
Rong Mian’s strength had been completely drained; otherwise, he would definitely have jumped up to kick him hard. He took advantage of him yet still acted innocent—he might as well just drop dead.
The banquet—tonight’s banquet had to be attended no matter how much it hurt. He had to see the strength of the Mitanni envoys for himself; he needed to leave this place.
A few more rounds like this, and the little one would definitely kick the bucket.
“Then many thanks to His Majesty for being so understanding.”
Titmos burst into laughter, looking at Rong Mian. The more he looked, the cuter he found him—even when angry, he was still so cute.
He lowered his head and pecked him on the face. “If you feel unwell tonight, this king gives you permission to rest.”
Rong Mian instantly sprang up. “I am not tired, and I don’t need you to mind my business.”
Titmos paused, looking at him deeply, deep in thought. “The High Priest still has strength?”
Did he underestimate him?
Seeing the expression on his face, Rong Mian wanted to slap him to death out of anger. He said spitefully, “The Mitanni envoys are visiting. For our first meeting, the House of Priests has to attend no matter what reason or logic dictates, otherwise it will give others something to talk about and make our side look petty and disrespectful.”
Seeing his serious expression, Titmos nodded. “If you feel uncomfortable, you can leave early. This king will cover for you.”
Rong Mian sneered inwardly: You cover for me?
If you covered a bit less, I’d feel much better.