Today, a falcon soared high in the air, and the sky above Thebes was bluer than ever. Early in the morning, Rong Mian was awakened by Aka.
Today was the momentous day of the new king’s coronation, and as the head of the priesthood, Rong Mian would undoubtedly have a great deal to do.
“Grand High Priest, this is the newly tailored clothing, along with the headwear. Please put them on quickly.”
Aka was overjoyed. The late king’s passing had brought a period of mourning to the palace, but now with the eldest prince ascending the throne, he was certain to lead everyone toward a brighter future.
Aka was full of energy from the very morning. Standing before the bronze mirror, Rong Mian watched him busily buttoning his clothes and tying his waistband. This child truly made one feel proud.
Looking at his own solemn and dignified reflection in the mirror, Rong Mian almost failed to recognize himself. He was dressed in a pure white gauze robe, cinched at the waist with a wide, bright red belt. A cartouche pendant of Thoth, the deity governing wisdom and time, was attached to the front of his waist, serving as the emblem of the priesthood. A maid applied exquisite makeup to his face, and heavy scented ointment was smoothed into his hair. Finally, Aka placed the heavy priestly crown upon his head and handed him the crocodile-headed scepter. With a solemn expression on his outside, Rong Mian was actually thinking inside that the mere thought of crowning Titmos and offering a blessing made his heart twitch.
Outside the door, all the clergy of the priesthood were already prepared. Aka opened the doors, and Rong Mian dragged his long robes down the steps, where a sedan chair had already been prepared. A servant hurried over upon his arrival, kneeling and half-lying beneath the carriage. Rong Mian stepped on the man’s back to board the chair, and the procession marched majestically toward the main palace.
At the other end of the palace, Aemon and Sakara stood waiting by the entrance. Aemon looked at the tightly closed doors and quietly nudged his colleague and friend with his elbow. “Hey, what do you think is the relationship between the Prince and the Grand High Priest?”
Sakara wore a general’s suit of armor, his face as sharply chiseled as if carved by a blade. His slender, phoenix-like eyes were as sharp as a falcon’s, his thin lips pressed tightly together, and an aura of untouchable coldness radiated from his entire being. He was the fiercest god of war in Thebes and Titmos’s most loyal commander.
With an arrogant exterior and a frosty demeanor, he held his head high and looked straight ahead, seemingly ignoring his friend’s words.
Undeterred, Aemon poked him again. “Don’t be so serious. You’re already a myth in the hearts of the Egyptian people, and you’ve won more Golden Fly medals than you can count.”
On the battlefield, enemies would lose half their courage just hearing the name Sakara. A single throw of his scimitar could take on ten men, and no campaign led by him had ever failed. Thus, early on, the Prince had bestowed upon him the nickname: the War God of Thebes.
“If you’re interested, go ask the Prince yourself.” Sakara glanced at him again, his tone stiff. “Once the Prince comes out, we should change how we address him, too.”
From then on, there would be no more eldest prince, only the King of Thebes, supreme across the land, the living embodiment of Amun on earth.
Aemon raised an eyebrow. “That goes without saying. But aren’t you genuinely curious about what happened between him and the Grand High Priest? I actually saw him at the priesthood so late that night!”
A flash of impatience crossed Sakara’s brows. If today weren’t the Prince’s momentous day, he would have really wanted to draw his blade and knock the man flat on the ground.
A moment later, he uncomfortably tilted his neck and said stiffly, “You know as well as I do how immense the power of the priesthood is. The Prince went to greet the Grand High Priest; there’s nothing to make a fuss about.”
Aemon clicked his tongue twice as he looked at his colleague. Sakara truly wasted such a handsome face; aside from his looks, not a single fiber in his brain was flexible. Everything in his mind led straight to the battlefield, swinging swords, and killing people, utterly clueless about worldly etiquette and human relations.
“Uninteresting,” Aemon muttered, straightening his clothes and deciding not to bother with him anymore.
“Your Highness.”
An official spoke from behind, and the two men looked back to see the Second Prince, Wenges.
Both men nodded in greeting. Wenges was quite young and held the closest relationship with the Prince among all the royal brothers. Although they had different mothers, judging by the Prince’s attitude toward him, the Prince clearly regarded him as a true brother born of the same father and mother.
“Has the Elder Brother not come out yet?” Wenges wore a lapis lazuli blue robe, his gaze fixed straight ahead on those doors.
“The Prince is preparing; Second Prince, please be patient,” Sakara said expressionlessly. The trace of impatience faded from his face, and his frost-cold, emotionless gaze swept coldly over Wenges, leaving only a chilling aura of asceticism about him.
General Sakara was always like this, with a temperament colder than a mountain spring, he gave face to no one and spoke only through military achievements. Wenges was not angered upon hearing this; instead, the corners of his lips lifted with a hint of appreciation. “Today is my brother’s momentous day, so I suppose it couldn’t happen too quickly. I was just a bit impatient.”
Aemon listened from the side, glancing sideways at Sakara, thinking to himself that he is, after all, the King’s brother; couldn’t he phrase things with a bit more tact?
Though, on second thought, if Sakara understood tact, even the fish in the Nile would have turned into spirits.
The sun rose, casting dappled shadows among the surrounding trees. The palace gates opened, and Titmos emerged wearing a grand red robe, crowned with the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt in red and white. His crimson robe was cinched with a pure white belt, from which hung a falcon-headed pendant. Wide golden bracelets adorned his wrists, and a beaded collar rested against his throat. Standing atop the high steps, he overlooked everything, and everyone dropped to their knees in salute the moment he appeared.
Aemon announced, “May the King move forward.”
Titmos descended the steps and, amidst the crowd’s escort, arrived at the main sanctuary.
Rong Mian was already waiting there. A red carpet stretched for miles, the pathway was strewn with rose petals, and the air was filled with fragrance. Titmos dismounted his palanquin and stepped into the grand hall. Rong Mian stood upon the highest tier, holding his scepter, his expression one of compassion for all living beings.
Titmos stood at the doorway as sunlight bathed his entire body. Speckles of golden light filtered in from the outside, casting his silhouette into a very long shadow. Standing there, the two exchanged a gaze that seemed to traverse life and death, bringing everything to a standstill. Titmos’s long robes fluttered in the wind, and he raised an eyebrow as he looked at Rong Mian, seemingly appreciating his attire for the day. His motionless eyeliner outlined his deep, charming hazel eyes, eyes that seemed capable of piercing through a person’s soul. At that moment, no one knew whose heart was fluttering without reason.
The courtiers filed into their respective positions, and musicians took their places across the room, plucking ancient strings to produce a low, elegant melody. Titmos stepped forward slowly, while Rong Mian’s noble posture silenced everything else. As Titmos drew near him, Aemon stepped forward to proclaim, “Let the investiture begin.”
Rong Mian stepped out, standing on the elevated platform, and extended his hands in a sacred and pious gesture. His refined, elegant voice carried across the great hall, reaching the ears of every single person: “O Amun, you rise from the horizon, illuminating all things by day. The earth regains its light because of you; your rays dispel the darkness, and the land is awakened by you. People stand tall to celebrate the light, purifying themselves, putting on garments, and raising their arms in high adoration of the great deity, the great divine father. Please grant Titmos all authority upon the earth; he shall rule the mortal realm in your stead, inheriting your wisdom, your courage, and he shall remain mindful of your grace and scatter your radiance across the land.”
With the prayer recitation concluded, Rong Mian turned around so that they faced one another. Titmos was a head taller than him. Rong Mian reached onto a nearby tray and picked up a king cobra headpiece, a piece forged from pure gold, with the snake’s belly painted in iridescent blue and red glass, featuring a triangular tongue and a pair of sharp, ruthless eyes. This was the ruling emblem of Lower Egypt, meant to protect the new king and help him ward off foreign invaders. As Rong Mian approached him, Titmos tilted his double crown forward, and the cobra was seamlessly fitted right into the center of the crown. Immediately after, Rong Mian picked up a vulture ornament, which portrayed the goddess Nekhbet, representing the ruling symbol of Upper Egypt.
Rong Mian placed this item next to the king cobra, signifying that the new pharaoh would inherit the aspirations of the previous ruler and lead the people of the two lands forward in continued struggle.
The crowd below knelt in a vast sea. Once blessed and recognized by the Grand High Priest, this crown would make him the most legitimate monarch in the entire country. Rong Mian shifted his position, taking two steps to the side to pick up a crook scepter from another tray. Crafted from gold and lapis lazuli, it resembled the staff carried by a shepherd, symbolizing that the pharaoh was the supreme shepherd of the nation, guarding his subjects just as a shepherd guarded his flock.
Finally came the long-handled flail, also forged from pure gold, stamped with concentric waves and trailing three rod-like attachments tipped with red agate and blue pearls, symbolizing the whip in the shepherd’s hand. This was the personal emblem of Osiris, the lord of the underworld; the pharaoh was the earthly incarnation of the deities. Titmos received these symbols of authority, and from this moment on, he was the sole monarch of Upper and Lower Egypt, whom all must worship.
Rose petals floated through the air, dancing across the sky. The hourglass in the hall completed its cycle precisely, and the musicians’ melody imperceptibly shifted its tune into something thrilling, inspiring, and beautiful. Rong Mian stood on tiptoe and gently pressed a kiss to the new king’s forehead, light as a feather, sending ripples circling through the depths of Titmos’s heart like fine rain falling upon a lake.
With the blessing of the Grand High Priest, the new king had gained the full support of the priesthood, the icing on the cake. Bursts of applause resounded through the grand hall.
The two men, clad in red and white robes that intertwined, stood at an unmatchable height, looking down upon all living souls.
Below, Wenges wore a smile on his face while his gaze shifted coldly away from Rong Mian’s face. Beneath his blue robe, his hand was fiercely pinching his own arm. Inside his sleeve was hidden a beautifully wrapped square gift box, which he had meticulously prepared; yet the dazzling man on the platform was receiving his first blessing from someone else.
Aemon watched the two of them with amazement in his eyes. The Grand High Priest’s appearance was breathtakingly otherworldly, and the King’s presence was overwhelmingly commanding; truth be told, the two of them standing together really did look quite well-matched.
“Sakara, look, their outfits actually complement each other.”
One white, one red, tangling together with the force of the wind as though they could never be unraveled for a lifetime.
“Hmph!”
Sakara let out a cold snort from his nose. This companion of his was useless at everything else, but he had certainly mastered the art of gossip.
Up on the platform, leveraging his height advantage, Titmos cast a sideways glance at Rong Mian and chuckled softly in a voice meant only for the two of them: “The Grand High Priest went to such lengths for my ceremony today; you certainly put your heart into it.”
Following his line of sight from this commanding height, one could clearly see the delicate makeup on Rong Mian’s facial features, his long hair swept up and crowned with the noble priestly headgear. The red mark at the back of his neck appeared wantonly alluring against his fair skin, and as his slender neck sloped downward, a pair of faint, delicate collarbones came into view. Through the fabric, Titmos could distinctly make out Rong Mian’s protruding bones, his refined and aloof posture, elegant and poised. In front of everyone, Rong Mian was just this lofty and unapproachable figure, whom everyone looked up to in hopes of receiving his blessing.
Yet no one had ever seen him beneath the gauze robe, so real, so enchanting. A profound darkness dyed Titmos’s eyes, though it vanished back into clarity in an instant. No one knew what he was plotting.
Inwardly, Rong Mian felt nothing but disdain. What a hypocritical thing to say. Outwardly, he smiled warmly with polite courtesy: “This is merely my duty, Your Majesty.”
The smile on Titmos’s face widened as he leaned a fraction closer to him. With the two standing so close, Rong Mian wanted nothing more than to kick him off the platform. This shameless scoundrel! Is he trying to take advantage of me in broad daylight?
“Your Majesty, the ceremony is already complete.” Which implies you have no need to lean over toward me anymore.
Titmos maintained his elegant demeanor. “As a semi-divine being among mortals, Grand High Priest, I have just ascended the throne and still rely heavily on your radiance. Please indulge me.”
Shameless, truly shameless.
Rong Mian almost overturned the table on the spot.
“I’ve arrived late.”
Just at that moment, a crisp, clear laugh rang out from the entrance of the grand hall. Everyone turned back to look as an extravagantly dressed woman in a sweeping black gown arrived in a grand entrance, escorted by a throng of attendants.
Rong Mian felt a wave of perplexity. Her voice gives off major boss-lady vibes, she walks with an air of command, and that entire outfit means she is definitely here to crash the party.