Ever since his return from the temple last time, Rong Mian had been searching for relevant information on the original host. If he could not figure out why his entire body felt abnormal the first time he transmigrated, then if he still failed to understand after the temple visit that the original host differed from ordinary people, he would simply be too foolish.
Inside the priesthood compounds, after finishing his breakfast, Rong Mian sat before the dressing table, holding a mirror shaped like the Ankh made of pure gold. On the back of the mirror, framed by a circle of gold, were hieroglyphic characters forged from lapis lazuli and carnelian symbolizing the name of the High Priest. The intertwined and curved fonts resembled a painting, inlaid with round, grayish-yellow agate jade stones. It felt heavy and precious when held in hand.
The mirror reflected Rong Mian’s delicate and vivid visage: a fair face, flawless facial features. In private, there was no need to wear that heavy official cap, and his long hair was draped casually over his shoulders. He turned slightly, and right at the nape of his neck was a small red dot. Through the light reflected in the mirror, one could still tell how eye-catching that birthmark truly was.
That day, Thutmose had uninhibitedly plunged his hand into this exact spot, throwing him into shambles, leaving him defenseless and driving him to the verge of madness. This red dot sat quietly there, a birthmark as ordinary as could be, revealing not the slightest hint of anything special. Rong Mian withdrew his gaze and gathered his long hair up to cover this peculiar spot.
Putting down the bronze mirror, that fresh, soothing lotus fragrance echoed in his memory. During both bouts of entanglement, there seemed to be the moist scent of fresh lotus intersecting and reflecting each other. Could it be that this fragrance was also emanating from his own body?
Indeed, whenever his rationality was online during normal times, this scent did not exist, leaving only the scent of the body oils and hair pomades he applied. Almost every time, that uncontrollable fragrance would only drift out when his consciousness was shattering.
It was strange, yet remarkably familiar.
A flash of inspiration struck, and Rong Mian’s mind darted back to those trashy, dog-blooded romance novels he had read before, which described various scents of pheromones. Thinking along these lines, he exploded.
ABO mpreg fiction!
That was rut scent seen only in ABO novels, and the primary factor causing the scent to leak was that the protagonist shou’s body was in the surging tidal phase.
Could such dog-blooded things happen in ancient Egypt a thousand years ago as well?
That was a dog-blooded trope seen only in novels!
Rong Mian was completely dumbfounded, subconsciously looking down at his own flat stomach.
A shudder ran through him. Rong Mian’s back went numb, and his thoughts had already drifted to a few months later when his body would be heavy, his waist stiff when walking, and his whole body exhausted.
He couldn’t think about it. Thinking too much would make a person sick.
Rong Mian stood up immediately; he needed to investigate this. He refused to believe his very first time transmigrating would be this tragic.
Shortly after, the Royal Palace Library of Theban.
Rong Mian flipped through the materials regarding the priesthood on the bookshelves. As High Priest, the original host was bound to have detailed personal records. The library was categorized with extreme precision, featuring sections on agricultural irrigation, horticulture, royal historical political events, past imperial name registries, and many other minor classifications, covering almost everything that had happened since the founding of the state.
The Priesthood.
A plaque written in hieroglyphics served as a guide, standing upright on the bookshelf. After scanning around, Rong Mian finally found what he was looking for on the rearmost row near the window. The High Priest’s name was quickly located, alongside statements regarding him being a demigod, how he had devotedly served since ascending to his position, loving the king above and the people below, and silently dedicating his entire life.
It was all rainbow-fatted flattery, elevating the original host to an unreachably high pedestal. However, there was not a single trace of what he actually wanted to see; the documents contained zero information about the High Priest’s physical peculiarities. Rong Mian put down the scroll, figuring it made sense, since if it were a closely guarded secret, naturally it wouldn’t be written in a place like the library where anyone could come and browse. He was afraid nobody else knew about this matter except the original host himself.
Rong Mian’s mind was still tangled back and forth over whether he could give birth or not.
Just then, a low, smiling voice sounded from behind: “The High Priest, what a coincidence.”
A strange voice. Rong Mian instinctively turned his head to see a tall youth wearing a Prussian blue gold-embroidered magnificent robe, a Nemes headdress with horizontal blue stripes, and emerald gold earrings in his ears. His slightly youthful face already possessed facial features of extraordinary clarity and handsomeness; given time, he would undoubtedly blossom into a strikingly handsome man.
The youth’s deep eyes swept over from the library stair landing, bearing a sense of familiarity at first glance.
Rong Mian was momentarily stunned, then smiled in response: “Second Prince.”
Wingers.
Thutmose’s half-brother. Fortunately, he had done his homework beforehand; he could name even a cat in this palace.
Wingers’s slender figure wrapped in luxurious robes made him look even more delicate. His complexion was fair tinged with pallor, resembling the morbidity of someone who never went out or suffered from chronic illness for years.
Rong Mian asked: “Did Your Highness come to the library to look up information?”
Wingers gave a couple of light coughs, his voice trailing at the end with a soft, fine, lingering quality like drizzle during the Nile’s flood season, carrying a bewitching and tender gentleness: “I came to find a new recipe for Baki. Its appetite hasn’t been good lately, and it is listless.”
Baki. Rong Mian was slightly startled; this was Thutmose’s favorite dog.
When Aka had explained the figures in the palace to him, he mentioned that Thutmose loved dogs, believing them to be symbols of loyalty. Before the old King passed away, Thutmose had been leading troops away on a military campaign, and this dog had been fostered by Wingers.
He hadn’t expected their relationship to be so brotherly and affectionate, which somewhat exceeded his expectations.
Seeing that the Second Prince was at most under twenty, lacking the bloody sibling rivalry and brutal clashes over the throne he had imagined, this younger brother held quite a bit of deep affection and respect for his elder brother.
Rong Mian secretly raised an eyebrow, wearing an elegant smile on the surface: “With the Second Prince looking after the Great Prince’s beloved dog, it is naturally reassuring.”
Hearing this, Wingers’s bloodless thin lips curved slightly upward into a pleasing arc, and his voice turned correspondingly crisp: “My brother is outside sharing the country’s burdens, so I must guard something for him to give him peace of mind.”
A thump sounded in Rong Mian’s heart, though his expression remained unperturbed. After exchanging a few polite pleasantries, Rong Mian said: “I won’t disturb Your Highness further. I still have matters to attend to and will take my leave.”
Wingers nodded with a smile, and the two bid each other farewell with mutual courtesy.
After stepping out of the library, Rong Mian summarized his sense of discomfort. The youthful yet worldly gaze Wingers had given him just now, coupled with his tone of lingering attachment toward Thutmose, felt wrong somewhere, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Exhaling softly, Rong Mian shook his head. He decided not to think about it anymore, as it wasn’t easy for a royal family to produce brothers with genuine affection. Besides, whatever the two of them did had nothing to do with the priesthood.
As for whether he himself could actually bear children, after taking a full stroll around, his nerves had relaxed considerably. He figured he was just overthinking things; in Egypt a few thousand years ago, where would all that fantastical novel logic come from? How could a man possibly give birth to children?
As for the birthmark on the back of his neck, no reasonable explanation had been found yet; he would just take his time understanding it in the future.
Rong Mian’s figure vanished through the library doors. On the second-floor window, the slender youth stood straight, sending off the departing figure through the large French window.
“Cough, cough.” Until the person’s back was no longer visible, Wingers withdrew his gaze and pressed his hand into a fist against his lips, coughing twice. The echoes of his coughs reverberated throughout the vast two-story library, drifting among the papyrus scrolls.
“After my brother returned, he didn’t come to see me right away, but instead crossed paths with the High Priest multiple times. Is that right?” When the final sentence fell, his voice was neither high nor low, turning somewhat hoarser after the dry cough, making it sound even lower and more morbid.
A shadow emerged from the corner with half of its face buried behind a mask. It was a young man clad in black with a dagger at his waist. He spoke in a deep voice: “Reporting to Your Highness, after investigation, that is indeed the case.”
What kind of person was the High Priest? He didn’t dare investigate too deeply. The Great Prince was also about to ascend the throne as king, so he didn’t dare investigate openly either. He only knew that over the past two days, the two of them had successively appeared at the temple, returned together, and moreover, the High Priest had emerged from the Great Prince’s bedchamber aimlessly not long ago.
Although he didn’t know what this was all about, it seemed that the High Priest had inadvertently offended the person before him.
After pondering for a moment, the subordinate still couldn’t help speaking up to offer a hint: “He is the High Priest.”
The head honcho in charge of the priesthood.
Even if the Great Prince ascended the throne as king, he would still have to show him superficial courtesy and deference. The Second Prince better not stir up trouble for himself.
“I know, which is why I came here to have a chance encounter with him.” Rather than going straight to…
Heh.
The youthful innocence between Wingers’s brows had receded God knows when, leaving a lurking gloom in his eyes. That pair of emotionless, light chestnut-colored eyes flashed with an unknown light. His slender fingers hidden beneath his robes stretched out into mid-air, forming a scissor shape, the slightly shorter index finger bending slowly toward the middle finger until they finally resembled two people standing together, embracing and shoulder to shoulder.
“I’ll be fine; I know my limits.” Facing his loyal servant’s worry, he smiled, a smile that could topple a city. The previous low mood reverted to a bright tone as he gently lowered his arm, causing the two small figures in the air to vanish as well. He raised his eyes to look at Sair: “Find me some books. Baki is being picky about its food; change its new menu.”
The servant named Sair nodded, withdrawing from the tense conversational atmosphere. The Second Prince was still young, and many things still had room for turns.
“When my brother left last time, he specifically instructed me to fatten Baki up a bit. Do you think he’ll blame me when he comes back this time?”
“Little dogs all have their own growth phases; Baki isn’t any thinner than before. The Great Prince will only appreciate your care.”
Sair replied while flipping through the pet care manual, soothing his young master’s heart.
The corners of Wingers’s lips turned upward, as if thinking of the promise between him and his brother could put him in a good mood.
“That’s right, how is the gift I asked you to commission coming along?” Wingers frowned as something occurred to him.
Sair said: “Rest assured, the craftsmen are already putting the finishing touches on it. It will be ready in time for the Great Prince’s ceremony.”
That was good.
Wingers raised an eyebrow; he would definitely present his blessing to him.
The Royal Palace Courtyard.
Amidst the deep, fluttering curtains, a line of musicians dressed in light gauze robes stood in queues. Some played harps, others played lyres and lutes, while some blew flutes. Woodwind instruments like clarinets and oboes were accompanied by a small horn, trumpets, and bells. The grand palace was filled with singing and dancing, and curly-haired dancing girls wearing enchanting, light attire swayed gracefully to the rhythm of the musicians. In the foremost seating area at the front of the palace, lounging before a couch was an elaborately dressed woman with her eyes closed in repose.
Her curly hair, styled with hair pomade, was crowned with a tiny, gleaming golden crown. Her facial features were three-dimensional, and she wore an exquisite necklace around her neck. Even with her eyes closed, one could catch glimpses of considerable majesty from her noble and elegant posture.
Behind her, servants raised ceremonial fans made of ostrich feathers. Suspended above the roof was a mobile swaying fan, and maidservants knelt in pairs, pulling the nylon lines of the fan back and forth to sweep a cool breeze across the massive hall.
The woman opened her eyes, her gaze enveloped by thick eyeliner flashing with shrewdness as she spoke in a cold, proud voice: “Thutmose has cozied up to the priesthood.”
No wonder whenever she had shown goodwill to the High Priest in the past, the other party always maintained an indifferent, detached demeanor, as it turned out he had already made his choice in his heart.
A gloomy look pierced the woman’s arrogant eyes. A servant knelt before the couch holding a crystal bowl overhead filled with freshly picked purple grapes. She glanced over it, scooped up the male servant’s chin with one hand, and spoke softly: “Tell me, what must this palace do next to resolve this predicament?”
Her voice was gentle, yet her eyes were devoid of any affection. Her index finger pressed against the other’s jawbone, light and delicate, yet the servant shook like a sieve, trembling all over. The crystal bowl he held was on the verge of toppling, and he looked half ready to cry: “This servant does not know. The Great Queen is precious and protected by the god Amun; you will surely rise straight up and endure for all eternity.”
Hearing this, the woman let out a low chuckle, tapping the chin she held a few times while her eyes masked any discernible emotion: “Is that so?”
For all eternity, protected by the god Amun?
“Yes, yes, yes.” The servant was so frightened he was nearly ready to pee himself.
“Then why is it he who inherits the throne instead of this palace?”
“Didn’t you say the god Amun protects me, for all eternity? Hmm?” The woman’s sharp gaze stared unblinkingly at the man on the floor whose waist was groveling toward the abyss of the earth.
“Because, because…”
The servant was already weeping, and the grapes from the crystal bowl tumbled one by one onto the carpet with a dull thud. “Mercy from the Great Queen, this servant knows his wrong.”
The servant was frightened out of his wits, kowtowing incessantly. Against the thick carpet, a fine layer of blood beads was forcefully knocked onto his forehead. Hart stood up, no longer looking at him, her eyes filled with sheer, uninteresting annoyance as she waved her hand: “Drag him down and kill him.”
The music stopped abruptly, and the dancing girls froze in mid-dance, panicking and not knowing what to do.
Hart didn’t even look at them, simply saying: “Continue, do not stop.”
With that, she walked toward the inner palace.
Guards stepped forward to drag the pitiful servant away, leaving only cries of desperate wailing that gradually faded from everyone’s sight.