“Does the Grand High Priest have any brilliant insights?”
Titmos raised an eyebrow and straightened his posture. He had not expected Rong Mian to still have the energy to get up and come here today. It seemed he had underestimated Rong Mian’s all-encompassing body. Regarding all the events of the previous night, the gloom in his heart suddenly dissipated completely. He had originally intended to let these ministers argue among themselves and ultimately decide the matter of the attack, but now that Rong Mian had stepped in, he could well listen to the other’s opinion.
Holding his scepter, Rong Mian stood at the head of all the civil and military officials. With his exquisite appearance and peerless elegance, he gazed at the most honorable position at the front of the grand hall. This man put on a calm and composed facade in front of people, but the mere thought of the face beneath that hypocritical mask made Rong Mian’s liver ache with anger. Never mind, Rong Mian had his own plans in mind.
“The King has just ascended the throne, and the political situation is initially settling. If we attack Mitanni at this time, it will not only exhaust the people and drain the treasury, but we will also need to levy troops among the populace. Furthermore, it is currently the sowing season, and governors must travel to various localities to collect taxes. Such timing is truly unfavorable for launching a war.”
Whatever the case, he had to stabilize the situation now. If Titmos went to war with Mitanni, his plan would fall through. After a night of painful struggle, Rong Mian had finally decided not to be a fish on the chopping board anymore; he wanted to leave this scoundrel of a man.
And he would use the external force of Mitanni’s envoys to do so.
Titmos’s hazel eyes watched him. Rong Mian was now free from the lingering seductiveness of the aphrodisiac and was analyzing the situation with utmost composure. The way he delivered his points fluently made him look as though he were draped in a layer of golden light. Titmos gazed at him, a flash of appreciation crossing the depths of his eyes.
However, having championed military force since childhood and having been arranged by his late father to experience countless military campaigns of all sizes, he already had a firm resolution regarding a threat like Mitanni. This war certainly had to be fought; already, surrounding small city-states were defecting to the enemy. If he did not strike back with a heavy blow, the very name Titmos would be deeply discounted, not only within Egypt but also among the surrounding neighboring countries.
Yet, what Rong Mian said was also precisely what he had been considering. Perhaps utilizing Mitanni’s current diplomatic mission to visit Egypt would serve as an opportune moment to make a move.
With that thought, a smile flickered across the calm depths of Titmos’s eyes. Watching Rong Mian, he clapped his hands lightly and smiled. “What the Grand High Priest says is not without reason. What does everyone think?”
How else could they think?
The pro-war ministers below immediately fell silent. The King’s intention was already clear; he agreed with the current peace-oriented strategy. Someone below immediately chimed in, “The King is brilliant, and the Grand High Priest is divine!”
Soon, everyone dropped to their knees in a vast sea, and the Hall of Pillared Columns was filled with endless praises.
Sakara looked coldly at these civil officials, a bunch of weather-vane opportunists.
The violent factors flowing through his body were stirring restlessly, but since the King wished to postpone things for a little while, he would simply obey the command.
After the morning court session dispersed, Wuskauf walked out clutching a roll of papyrus tribute records. Seeing Rong Mian, he lowered his head in a hurry. Puzzled, Rong Mian wondered what he had done to offend this royal chief scribe.
“Grand, Grand High Priest, the previous report, did you read it?” Wuskauf’s eyes darted around nervously. Rong Mian felt an indescribable panic in the way he spoke; it had only been a few days since they last met, yet this man looked at him as if he had seen a ghost.
However, hearing those stuttering words made Rong Mian’s ears ring, so he said, “I’ve been busy with many things lately, so it got delayed. Come to the priesthood in a couple of days to pick up the red-inked approvals.”
Wuskauf visibly breathed a sigh of relief, bowed to Rong Mian, and saluted: “Thank you!”
His words were stiff and halting, to which Rong Mian was already accustomed. Wuskauf practically left without his feet touching the ground.
Rong Mian fell into deep thought, wondering why the man felt even more mechanized than before.
Today the sunlight was just right, and taking a breath of fresh air made him feel thoroughly refreshed.
Following the winding palace paths, Rong Mian stretched lazily. Titmos had not acted out of his mind and detained him after the morning court session, giving Rong Mian some rare free time to properly relax today.
“The Grand High Priest is quite leisurely; it seems all your work is finished.” A refined, magnetic voice sounded from behind. At that familiar tone, Rong Mian’s hair instantly stood on end; without turning around, he knew who it was.
Titmos.
Rong Mian thought to himself that this man simply couldn’t stay properly where he belonged; he really did not wish to run into him every single day.
“Your Majesty.” After offering a salute, Rong Mian looked at him and said gently, “Today’s rituals have not yet been completed, and I was just planning to head to the temple.”
Intuition told him that he must not stay alone with Titmos, as it would lead to complications.
Hearing this, Titmos did not stop him. “I have yet to offer individual worship at the temple since my coronation, so I shall go along with the Grand High Priest.”
A chill ran down Rong Mian’s back, though he kept his expression completely unperturbed. “The deities have not yet been venerated today, nor have I changed my attire. If Your Majesty were to see me looking like this, I fear it might offend your sacred eyes.”
He hoped this man had some self-awareness, could understand his hint, and quit while he was ahead.
However, he still underestimated the shamelessness of the man before him; those who managed to ascend the throne truly were no ordinary individuals.
A moment later, inside the Theban Royal Temple.
Rong Mian stood before the statue of the great god Amun, his hands clasped together in utmost piety and his eyes closed. As the Grand High Priest, he was required to come to the temple every day to offer worship and greetings to the deities, replace that day’s offerings with fresh ones, wipe down the bodies of the heavenly gods daily, change their garments, apply scented ointment to their bodies, and only then allow others to worship them.
Rong Mian was already familiar with all the procedures here. After changing the garments of the great god Amun, he proceeded to apply ointment and change the outfits for Osiris and Isis beside him, and finally lit a few sticks of incense in the incense burner before the statues. Wisps of smoke curled upward, and the unique fragrance of the ritual incense instantly diffused into every corner of the temple.
On the altar table sat freshly picked dates, figs, and beef and mutton. A bull’s head, thoroughly cleaned, was placed right in the center. The food most favored by Egyptian deities was beef, so in many sacrificial temples, the central position of the offering tables was always reserved for beef above all else.
Titmos watched Rong Mian’s every move closely. His slender fingers brushed across the offering table as he held ceramic jars, the fair and delicate skin of his hands forming a stark and vivid contrast with the gray surface of the jars, possessing an inexpressible and alluring charm. The Grand High Priest truly had far too deep an effect on him; just looking at those fingers could stir up other thoughts. Titmos averted his gaze, a hint of surprise mixed into his brows.
After Rong Mian arranged the offerings, he began sweeping the entire room, using olive branches dipped in water to sprinkle around the furniture and statues. Holding the branches in his hand, Rong Mian’s gaze suddenly landed before the statue of the goddess Hathor. Titmos had somehow moved his offerings; in front of this goddess with a disk atop her head, Titmos had transferred red-heart apples, bananas, and oranges from before the other deities to her front, and on both sides of the offering table stood two bronze bull-horn sculptures.
Puzzled, Rong Mian stepped closer and asked, “What is the meaning of this, Your Majesty?”
Titmos replied, “The goddess Hathor symbolizes joy and love. Does the Grand High Priest not feel that these fitting fruits should be placed before her?”
Fitting fruits?
Rong Mian looked for a long time, full of confusion, until he saw the golden bananas curved like crescent moons and thick as a pillar, and the round oranges with their smooth skins. Suddenly, enlightenment struck his brain, the goddess of love! Rong Mian felt as though he had been struck by lightning from the heavens, and a certain part of him tingled inappropriately.
He raised his eyes to meet Titmos’s long, narrow, teasing hazel eyes, and a surge of hot blood rushed straight from his lower abdomen to his head. What on earth was this man thinking about every day with all this trashy garbage in his head?
Could he stop producing colored waste every second of the day and polluting the surrounding air?
“The King is wise. The goddess Hathor will surely perceive your sincerity, bestow love and joy upon you, and grant all your wishes.”
With an expressionless face, Rong Mian met his gaze smoothly. He had to remain calm and not break down just because of a few words from the other person. This bastard, he had to get away from here, or else he would be corrupted by constant exposure every day.
“I believe she has already felt my sincerity.” Titmos’s gaze was lingering and deep, his voice low and hoarse as he stepped a fraction closer to Rong Mian, enclosing him within his arms. With an aggressive, top-down leaning posture, he pressed in front of Rong Mian, forcing him into the shadow cast by his luxurious robes and causing Rong Mian’s breathing to tighten involuntarily.
Then:
“Bring the Grand High Priest to me.” As these words fell, Rong Mian’s heart beat rapidly and uncontrollably for two seconds. His voice seemed to come from across distant mountains, carrying a layer-by-layer progressive fascination, and the deep pool within his eyes gradually dyed into thick ink. Rong Mian’s ten fingers gripped the edge of the offering table, emitting a low creaking sound.
He drew closer, pressing his face right to the edge of Rong Mian’s lips, his shallow breath spraying onto the other’s face, the scorching heat making Rong Mian’s calves tremble.
“Does the Grand High Priest like fruit fragrance?” Titmos suddenly heaved his chest and took a deep breath, using a single hand to pick up a stray lock of hair from Rong Mian’s temple. His long, ink-black hair carried the light fragrance of freshly picked morning coconut fruit, a single sniff of which was enough to make someone hopelessly intoxicated and lost.
With slender, elegant fingers resembling bamboo shoots hooking the scattered hair, Titmos lowered his head and gently kissed it. With closed eyes and devout piety, his brow carried a reverence akin to worshiping a deity. Rong Mian’s back pressed against the offerings, not daring to move an inch for fear that a single careless slip would cause everything to tumble to the ground, ruining today’s worship completely and making it all for naught.
An undercurrent seemed ready to burst forth in the air. The distance between the two was so close that Rong Mian felt as though he hallucinated hearing the other’s heartbeat, so resonant and steady, yet so reassuring. However, this man was still holding his hair and smelling it. Rong Mian instantly snapped back to reality, deeply chastising himself for his absurd thought just moments before. This garbage was taking advantage of him; what was reassuring about that?
Seeing him holding the hair and looking so intoxicated, he must have a fetish, it should be terrifying instead.
Rong Mian endured it for a moment; his lower back was aching terribly. This posture was too bizarre; viewed from another angle, it looked as though Titmos had bent down and completely got the better of him, while he was like a pitiful little white rabbit unable to advance or retreat.
Rong Mian almost lost his temper.
“Your Majesty, my cleaning is not yet finished.”
The water in the jar was still sloshing in his hand, and his arm was sore from holding it this long, yet this idiot still wouldn’t get away from him.
Titmos slowly opened his eyes, their gazes meeting. Rong Mian felt as though he had been struck by an electric current, tingling all the way up to the crown of his head. He immediately averted his gaze to look at the main doors ahead, his side profile revealing prominent neck muscle lines and a clear outline. The delicate purple blood vessels beneath his fair neck were clearly visible, resembling a calm and composed Nile crocodile lurking in the water. Titmos’s gaze followed that protruding muscle line, his expression complex as if piercing through everything, his eyes holding a gaze like thousand-year-old hidden gems radiating an elusive glow.
Cold fingertips rubbed against his slender neck, and startled, Rong Mian turned back again. As if bewitched, Titmos traced the flow of the blood vessels back and forth until those noble hands finally came to rest at his protruding Adam’s apple, tapping it lightly every now and then. This tingling, itching sensation was too agonizing; Rong Mian felt like he was falling apart, his heart boiling with anger. Did this man ever finish? First smelling hair, now touching his throat and neck, he was a total pervert.
Footsteps.
Alertly, Rong Mian looked toward the door. Disregarding whether it was impudent or not, he immediately raised a hand to slap away Titmos’s unruly palm, giving him a hard shove to push himself away from the edge of the table. He straightened his clothes, holding the pottery jar and sprinkling branches in his hands. Shoved back two steps by the push, Titmos nearly collided with the thick pillar in front of the temple altar inside the room.
A flash of anger abruptly surfaced in his eyes as he looked displeasedly at Rong Mian, only to hear a gentle voice from behind: “Older Brother.”
He turned around to see Wenges standing behind him holding a small black puppy.