Inside the High Priest’s residence, Rong Mian was alone in the room. That pitiful child, Akah, had been tricked by him into scouting out various information. Thanks to him, all the high ministers within the Thebes royal palace were now firmly memorized in his mind, making this disguise all the more effortless.
The injuries on his body had almost healed. That jade-colored porcelain bottle had been tossed into some unknown corner, and every time he thought of it, he cursed Titmos to death.
As the head of the High Priest’s residence, he was required to go to the temple every day to make offerings to the deities, wipe the shrines, pray, and offer incense. However, this was a sensitive period; the old king had unexpectedly passed away, and the new king was about to ascend the throne. His work had become even busier, as Titmos’s upcoming coronation ceremony required the blessing and empowerment of the High Priest’s residence.
Rong Mian was dressed in a moon-white robe. When alone, he took off the heavy High Priest’s official cap from his head. His arms, rubbed with fragrant ointment, released a faint, lingering scent with his movements. Uskala had sent someone again that morning to urge him to finalize the coffin design for the former Pharaoh Ah-hotep. He picked up the document file woven from papyrus on the desk and flipped through past archives; the task of building a tomb for the pharaoh had to be meticulous.
Rong Mian carried the documents and walked toward the temple.
Along the way, a group of palace maids came toward him. Seeing him, the expressions in their eyes were filled with unspeakable excitement. Rong Mian frowned. What was wrong with these people? Was the original owner really that popular?
“Greetings, High Priest.”
The palace servants were respectful and deferential. Rong Mian nodded mildly on the surface, waving his hand to signal them to go about their respective business.
After the palace servants walked far away, he heard an excited giggle drifting from afar: “Oh my god, the High Priest is so gentle, completely different from before. Could it be true that he spent a passionate night with Prince Titmos?”
“I heard they have always been deeply in love with each other, but now they finally have the chance to be together openly!”
“Gosh, how touching! The two of them are truly such a perfect match and so enviable!!”
…
The whispering discussions of the maids inevitably fell into his ears, giving Rong Mian a headache. He had been wondering why these maids looked at him so strangely; it must have been spread all over the royal palace that he walked out of Titmos’s bedchamber yesterday.
He did not know how these rumors would be distorted next. Rong Mian felt mentally exhausted. There were always some people who clearly had no part in the facts, yet could describe things with such exaggerated flair as if they were eyewitnesses. Once the matter of the coffin was settled, he would have to properly discipline these gossiping palace servants later.
Leaving the palace, Rong Mian took a carriage to the Karnak Temple. This was the largest royal temple in Thebes, and its layout and design elements were incomparable to any other temple.
The carriage passed a dock and an artificial lake. In the middle was a wide main sacred path, and further ahead stood a pylon gate. Several thick and tall date palm trees stood against the backdrop of yellow mud bricks, making that dash of greenery look exceptionally fresh and eye-catching. To the left of the date palm trees were two huge obelisks standing straight into the clouds, carved from limestone and engraved densely with blessing hieroglyphs.
Rong Mian got off the carriage. At the entrance leading to the temple lay two Sphinx statues. Beyond the avenue of guardians was a row of giant stone-built colonnades, surrounded by high walls. From the avenue of guardians all the way inward led to the courtyard, which was the only entrance to the interior of the temple. Entering the interior of the temple, what met the eyes was the shocking hypostyle hall. The column capitals were shaped like papyrus, numbering over a hundred as far as the eye could see, decorated with exquisitely peerless inscriptions and reliefs. Every stroke was carved with the unique imprint of the era, and entering here felt like stepping into a glorious sanctuary of the gods.
Rong Mian inwardly marveled at the grandeur of the temple. The temple servants stepped forward to salute him, and Rong Mian ordered them to lead him to the secret chamber where the coffin was being made. Passing through the colonnade, crossing the first and second pylon gates, there was a small open space in the middle planted with exotic plants and flowers. Moving further forward led to the oldest part of the temple, which was divided into six pylon gates. Ordinary commoners coming to worship were only allowed within the superficial first two gates. As for deeper inside, it was the most private place of the temple; apart from the head of the High Priest’s residence and the pharaoh, no one else possessed the qualification to enter.
Walking to the very end, Rong Mian entered the sixth pylon gate alone. Inside were several rooms and altars, one of which was used to house the sacred boat of Ah-hotep. As the name implied, the sacred boat was the royal funeral boat for the pharaoh after death. Almost every generation of pharaoh would build this large-scale boat model for themselves after death.
The bow and stern were styled like papyrus stalks, and the wood used to build the boat was cedar from Lebanon. The cabin was located at one end of the small boat, decorated to imitate reed patterns, and four oars were placed on each side of the boat. Rong Mian glanced at it roughly; the total length was about twenty meters, and there were a total of two boats of this size in the room. Rong Mian knew that after the pharaoh’s death, he would ride this boat to complete his final journey on the Nile, through which he would eventually reach his permanent resting place, go to the underworld to complete Osiris’s judgment, and return to the human world.
Walking toward another room, he arrived at his main purpose for coming today: making the coffin of the former king. How important a tomb was to the Egyptians was abundantly clear to Rong Mian even before he traveled here. Because of his love for ancient literature of this type, he had spared no effort in studying relevant historical documents.
As the former pharaoh, Ah-hotep’s funeral ceremony would be of magnificent and rare scale. After his corpse was wrapped in linen cloth, it would be placed inside the coffin. However, the step of entering the coffin was quite complicated and tedious. First, fine wood had to be selected and carved into a human-shaped coffin, and exquisite botanical patterns were painted around the coffin. Second, the outside of the coffin had to be wrapped with a layer of stone sarcophagus to protect the wooden coffin, and the outside of the stone sarcophagus was painted with feather decorations, symbolizing the protection of the goddess Isis. In front of him stood three preliminary human-shaped coffins, along with numerous colorful pigments.
Rong Mian scanned them one by one. Uskala wanted him to determine the specific imagery on the coffin, and Rong Mian cursed inwardly. Thanks to the fact that he knew a thing or two, otherwise learning it on the spot would have been impossible. Walking over to the golden coffin, it was broader than the previous two, with a thickness of ten centimeters. Ah-hotep’s burial coffin had three layers, and the outermost layer had a mask for protection in addition to the bottom layer. Now he had to paint pictures on the mask of the golden coffin.
Male coffins were generally painted with a red base tone, and female ones with yellow. He picked up his brush and began painting from the head downward along the human shape carved out on the coffin. The hair was generally black, the pharaoh’s facial features had to be painted with thick eyeliner, and the body decorations were painted with changji and sacrificial texts related to the gods, as well as messengers from the underworld. This was a massive project, and Rong Mian quickly immersed himself in this vast workload.
Before he knew it, he grew tired of painting and stood up. With a loud bang, he crashed into a hard object behind him, accompanied by a low chuckle. Startled, Rong Mian immediately turned his head and locked eyes with a pair of hazel eyes.
Titmos.
Damn it, when did he arrive?
Rong Mian realized belatedly that he was the only person in this temple, the room was vast, and he had been so engrossed in painting that he hadn’t noticed someone quietly sneaking in. Titmos was wearing a dark green ceremonial robe today, his long hair tied up with a striped nemes headcloth. Because the coronation ceremony had not yet been held, there were no cobra and vulture totems on his head symbolizing rule over Upper and Lower Egypt.
The tallow candle flames in the temple flickered for a moment. Rong Mian felt his eyes strain. The sudden fright surging in his heart faded, and he began cursing inwardly again: did he walk like a ghost without making any sound?
Outwardly, he still offered a polite salute: “Your Highness, why have you come?”
Didn’t pharaohs generally not come to the temple unless it was for sacrifices?
Rong Mian harbored caution toward this prince. Titmos glanced around, looked at Rong Mian leisurely, and said, “This king came to see my beloved father and send him on his final journey.”
Rong Mian sneered inwardly. Utter nonsense; Ah-hotep’s corpse was soaking in an underground tomb in the mountain forest. If he really missed his father, why didn’t he go there to see him?
“The High Priest actually possesses such exquisite and superb painting skills, and the color coordination is exceptionally pleasing to the eye.” Titmos had already walked up, looking at the golden crown cover he was portraying, and praised him without stinginess. Painted on it were the slender feathers of Isis, surrounded by dense guides for the dead. The brick-red background color and light golden lotuses blended from fine gold powder ground with white pigment were flanked by a row of green papyri, their winding stems and leaves intertwining. A row of servants pulled ox ropes, the great pharaoh sat in the center of the picture, and in front of him was a round table topped with roasted chicken, duck, bread, and other offerings, symbolizing the life-giving Ankh symbol and the human-headed bird Ba. All the depictions were lifelike and vivid.
Rong Mian thought to himself: as if he needed praise, he had studied painting before.
“My painting skills are crude and barely passable.” Rong Mian lowered his head, his voice gentle and subdued.
“Originally, this king was indeed worried that the High Priest was busy with state affairs and unaccustomed to illustration. Now it seems I was worrying needlessly.” Titmos’s slender eyebrows and eyes drifted across Rong Mian’s face, those hazel eyes seeming as though they wanted to drill a hole through a person.
“The High Priest works day and night for the Thebes dynasty. Once the tone of the remaining content is set, just let the painters finish it.”
Titmos looked at the paintings on the outermost layer. These were meant to be presented on the outside for everyone to admire and worship, while the inner two layers of stone and wood coffins were hidden inside for preservation. Rong Mian didn’t plan to stubbornly paint until the end either; the workload was simply too massive.
“This subject accepts the decree.” Since a ladder was given, Rong Mian took it down without standing on ceremony.
“Have the items to be placed inside the coffin been decided?” Titmos withdrew his gaze, his tone flat.
Rong Mian said carefully, “In the former king’s tomb, it has been confirmed that a pair of enameled light-colored scarab amulets, an Eye of Horus, and six golden fly medals will be placed.”
Amulets could protect the deceased from all dangers on their way to the underworld. When dignitaries with status in the royal family passed away, a piece would be placed inside the wooden coffin, positioned at the neck.
In the dim temple, beneath the ancient and solemn halls, Rong Mian was clad in white as snow, light and softly charming. A belt outlined his slender waist like a crescent moon, and on his fair face, those black eyes were like dazzling stars shining brilliantly in the sky. His flowing gaze was like a clear lotus blooming on the surface of a lake. Today, Titmos discovered for the first time that not only his appearance, but Rong Mian’s voice was also extremely pleasant to hear.
“The High Priest has considered things thoroughly. With this, this king is at ease.” Titmos’s voice was magnetic, echoing back and forth along the walls in the majestic temple, making Rong Mian’s hair stand on end.
In the poorly ventilated indoor space, the tarry smell of burning candle flames drifted between the tips of their noses. Rong Mian’s heart fluttered, and his head felt somewhat dizzy. The strange and unfamiliar sensation from the previous two days welled up again. He blinked his eyes, as if a fresh scent of lotus was overflowing from somewhere unknown. Rong Mian took a step backward, looking at the man in front of him with clouded vision. Why did it have to be here of all places? This was truly going to kill him.
“Your Highness, these colored paintings need time to dry. This subject will go check the burial goods room across the way.” Without waiting for Titmos’s response, Rong Mian walked with floating footsteps and turned to leave.
Walking with a light head and heavy feet, he went out the door, turned right into the opposite room, and the sense of warmth in his heart struck him. He hurriedly steadied himself against the door frame, but the lotus fragrance grew increasingly intense, floating and scattering unbridled in this dark and slightly damp indoor space.
“High Priest, why are you walking so fast?”
Rong Mian’s body stiffened. He instinctively sensed that the other person had quickly followed behind him, and that low voice lingered by his ear. Titmos’s unique fragrance of a cedar forest was easily caught by him again. Rong Mian’s lips turned pale as he tried hard to maintain his composure, not wanting to make any more blunders in front of this person.
In the room ahead, a tall, life-sized human statue was painted with champagne-colored dye, wearing a wide necklace around its neck, and scribbled hieroglyphs covered the clothes on its lower body. This was a shabti figurine; the Egyptians believed that life in the underworld was the same as the world of the living, and people still had to labor after death, so the pharaoh made artificial puppets for himself as burial objects after his death, following him into another world to labor in his stead.
The figurine’s eyes were wide open, with wide eyeliner painted on the upper and lower eyelids, long eyelashes, a curved wig, and hands crossed over its chest. Rong Mian’s vision gradually blurred. He lifted his foot to take a step forward before he could complete it, only to be embraced by another embrace. He was pressed against the doorway, the High Priest’s official cap knocked off, and his long dark hair scattered with the fragrant scent of hair pomade. Titmos’s eyes were pitch-dark. He raised a hand to gather Rong Mian’s long hair from behind and stroked it to one side of his neck. Right at the exact center of the back of his neck, a scarlet mark was dazzling and eye-catching.
That towering lotus fragrance was continuously gushing out from here precisely. The red mark began to change. Titmos narrowed his eyes, extended two slender fingers, and suddenly thrust them straight into that slowly spreading red dot.
Rong Mian let out an irrepressible gasp. Perhaps rubbed too severely, the sound escaping his throat carried a hoarse, pitiful fragility in this narrow space. Chilly fingers reached into the back of his neck, and he could even clearly feel those two fingers wantonly stirring at his neck. His mind was muddled and dizzy, yet the back of his neck felt exceptionally clear, as if a certain empty window in his body had been vacant for too long and urgently needed a fitting solace. Titmos’s index and middle fingers were pushed in together. The back of Rong Mian’s neck seemed tailor-made for him, his soft inner lining wrapping around astonishing heat. His fingertips brushed against the heat wave inside the red dot, encircled by rings of soft delicacy. The bizarre tactile sensation transmitted from his fingertips spread all the way from his arms across his whole body; this was the special hidden gate possessed only by successive High Priests.
They were born with divine bodies, a harmony of yin and yang. The Underworld King Osiris was poisoned and framed by his brother Set during his lifetime, and his wife Isis finally found him after going through hardships and resurrected him. However, this poison lurked deep within the body and could not be removed, following him for a thousand and ten thousand years.
The High Priest was a descendant of a sacred lineage. Only each generation possessing this hidden gate would be recognized as the master of the High Priest’s residence, presenting upward to the pharaoh and protecting all people downward. The location of the hidden gate differed in every generation; it was said that some were on the soles of their feet, some on their abdomens, and others in even more unspeakable locations. It just so happened that Rong Mian’s fell on the back of his neck. Titmos’s gaze surged with deep emotion. Although he did not understand why Rong Mian would suddenly become like this, he knew that once this hidden gate was opened, it required someone with a purely yang constitution to suppress it; otherwise, it would spell the beginning of disaster for the High Priest.
He was the incarnation of the deity in the human world, possessing a purely yang body. At this moment, Rong Mian’s yang energy had dissipated, leaving him in a state of yin, which was the closest state to the underworld. Titmos’s fingers rotated and pulled out a few times, and Rong Mian went completely limp. With unsteady feet, his entire body knelt downward, and Titmos wrapped a single hand around his waist and abdomen, supporting him in time to prevent his body from continuing to sink.
Titmos’s fingers were still probing back and forth there. Rong Mian whimpered and spoke intermittently, “Your Highness, this subject still needs to tally the burial goods.”
The quantity of Ah-hotep’s burial goods was shockingly huge. Uskala had previously shipped several carts over, and he hadn’t expected there to be so many more here requiring him to tally. This workload was simply not ordinary.
In a week, Titmos would officially ascend the throne. After ascending the throne, he would hold a large sacrificial ceremony and also host a funeral ceremony for his father to demonstrate his filial piety and the legitimacy of his imperial succession.
With less than a month left and time so tight, Rong Mian was extremely pressed for time.
Looking at the dazzling array of golden offerings, the corners of Rong Mian’s eyes twitched as he tried to struggle to his feet. However, his strength seemed to have been drained from his body, and when he tried to lift his feet, they only wobbled vaguely without being able to take a step. At the same time, the uncomfortable feeling at the back of his neck gradually underwent a transformation; an unprecedented, light pleasure assaulted him, streaming all the way up his neck and flowing into his limbs and bones. His thoughts were clearer than they had been the previous few days, and everything he felt right now was so real and clear.
“Heh.” Two low, slow laughs sounded in the air. Titmos breathed in the hair fragrance of the man in front of him. Rong Mian truly was dutiful and dedicated; he was still thinking about the burial goods at a time like this. He leaned his face forward and buried it into the crook of the person’s left neck, murmuring by his ear, “The High Priest has such loyalty that heaven and earth can witness it.”
“However, right now, rather than tallying this room full of offerings, perhaps you yourself are more in need of being tallied and tidied up.”
Warm breath sprayed against his earlobe, and Rong Mian had nowhere to escape. Yet his eardrums trembled, shaken by these bewitching words, and his heartstrings were lightly brushed past, leaving behind the trace of a light feather that brought itching and numbness, but even more, an empty, fluttering palpitation.
Through the sheer gauze, Titmos’s large hand unhelpfully stroked his abdomen. Rong Mian shrank all over, feeling the other’s malicious movement flowing downward against the robes. The shabti figurine stood there, its glass eyes outlined with eyeliner staring straight at everything happening ahead, and those smiling lips dotted with pearls and jade were incomparably vivid.
The corners of Rong Mian’s eyes turned red, and his body was shifted and pressed into the sacrificial offerings filled with gold and wealth. His face pressed against jewelry made of amethyst and carnelian, and a blue pottery hippopotamus propped his abdomen up high. The blue-green glaze mixed with quartz and sand was polished smooth and meticulous. The High Priest’s court attire had already been scattered in disarray beneath sacred cup treasures made of turquoise and lapis lazuli. The lotus fragrance at the back of his neck overflowed fully, blending into one with the deep seclusion of the cedar forest. Rong Mian couldn’t help but shed a line of clear tears that moistened a flower-shaped wine cup made of alabaster. The hippopotamus jolted up and down, bumped back and forth by an uncontrollable force, and Rong Mian felt as though his skin was about to be rubbed raw.
“The High Priest’s body is tied to the safety of all the people of Thebes. This king cannot allow you to suffer any mishap.”
Titmos maintained an air of elegance, watching the glittering treasures shine before his eyes. That delicate, smooth white body curled up and sobbed with exceptional pleasure. When that strange sensation faded, Rong Mian had already regained his sanity. Wiping away his tears, he hated fiercely in his heart: a mishap my ass!
What kind of existence was the original owner anyway?
Rong Mian felt like he was about to fall apart. Why did he slip up time and time again? Had he overlooked something?
Why did he have zero resistance in front of this person? He really wanted to bash his head against a wall—oh no, he really wanted to grab the person in front of him by the head and bash it until he died.
Titmos was clear-headed and refreshed, and his voice was much smoother than before: “I leave this place to the High Priest; this king is very at ease. You’ve worked hard.”
Rong Mian’s lungs were fit to burst with anger. He had been handled too roughly just now, and his voice carried a hint of decadence: “The former king cherished all the people and was full of benevolence and love. Being able to personally prepare his matters for rebirth is this subject’s blessing.”
Was this truly his eight lifetimes of ill-fated bad luck? A blessing my foot.
Rong Mian had grievances he couldn’t voice. Having been stuffed too aggressively, he was now left in a state of empty disorientation. Those watery, tear-filled eyes reflected in Titmos’s gaze were exceptionally vivid and alluring, and the corners of his lips couldn’t help curling upward.
The High Priest truly is the most precious existence along the banks of the Nile.