11 Teasing

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As its name suggests, the Pure Lake was an oasis near the Pharaoh’s palace, its waters a vibrant blue, like a sapphire fallen from the heavens. Towering palm and cactus plants surrounded it, lush and thriving, a testament to the vitality of life.

Boyi found it difficult to describe his feelings at that moment.

Standing before the Pure Lake, he was struck for the first time by the humbling weight of this ancient civilization, feeling what it truly meant to have to bow under the roof of gods.

“Master Ai, shall I arrange for someone to assist you?” The steward of Pure Lake hurried forward, bowing respectfully to Boyi.

Clearly, he had been informed ahead of time.

“No need.” Boyi smiled softly and replied with just two words.

The steward, responsible solely for guarding the lake, was unfamiliar with the intricate customs of the temple. Most priests preferred to cleanse themselves alone during their purification rituals, so he gave it no further thought.

No one would dare to offend the gods. Becoming a priest was the highest honor and purpose in a priest’s life, a glory to be engraved even on their tombstones.

Everyone who came here bore reverence, cleansing every inch of their body from impurity.

The room for purification seemed much like a modern sauna to Boyi—warm, with a tub of warm water, several brand-new blades, and soap, perfectly prepared.

In fact, their method of hair removal was painless and scientific.

Boyi stepped to the table, picked up one of the thin blades, and tested it on his hand.

The icy blade reflected a cold glint; the sharp edge pricked his skin slightly, and two pale hairs floated down onto the white cloth covering the table.

“Master Ai, shall I wait outside for you?” Amant inquired.

Boyi glanced at him. “Go get the wig care oil for me.”

Amant was stunned—he didn’t know Master Ai had such a thing, nor where it might be kept.

Care oil...

His gaze involuntarily drifted to Boyi’s hair. Could this smooth, beautiful hair really be a wig?

Boyi naturally had long hair down to his elbows. Since coming here, though it was cumbersome, he usually let it flow down his back, so he had left it untouched.

Amant’s eyes widened in shock; he was eager to know how such a wig was made—it was stunning.

If such wigs existed, he would spend everything he had to own one.

Oh, but now he had not a single coin—perhaps he should just sleep; dreams have everything.

“It should be in a drawer in the study,” Boyi said.

Amant left the room, glancing back repeatedly.

Once alone, Boyi calmly closed the door under the steward’s watchful eyes and returned to the table.

In truth, Boyi was not a person with dense body hair; his was light brown and sparse. But having little hair and having none were two different things.

In ancient Egypt, due to the climate and environment—blowing sand and precious water—bathing and washing hair frequently was difficult. Many people shaved their heads and bodies to maintain cleanliness, which contributed to the widespread use of wigs.

For them, wigs were convenient and easy to manage, fitting the contemporary aesthetic ideals. Nobles and commoners alike made and wore wigs.

Commoners’ wigs were mainly made from wool, cotton, or plant fibers, while nobles preferred those made of real hair.

In ancient Egypt, wigs were not only a fashion statement but also a symbol of social status.

This national obsession with wigs lasted more than three thousand years, only gradually fading under Roman influence.

No one would rashly demand another to remove their wig—just as no one would ask another to wipe off their makeup.

Such an act would be a despicable offense and utter disrespect.

Boyi had seen many unearthed wigs in museums, so his hair could barely pass as a wig here; most people would never suspect anyone would dare insult the gods.

They firmly believed that if anyone harbored disrespect, Bau would discover and punish them swiftly and severely.

What they didn’t know was that, even after time travel, Boyi was essentially an atheist.

Rather than divine intervention, he preferred to believe in quantum particles traveling through time, or the time dilation in Einstein’s special relativity, or the changes in time caused by strong gravitational fields per general relativity.

There were countless scientific explanations; the realm of science was vast and infinite. Unexpected phenomena happened, and these very surprises propelled history forward.

But while he could manage his hair, body hair was another matter.

Boyi looked down at his clothing. The desert climate was extreme: scorching hot by day, requiring only a simple cloth to cover himself, yet heavy cloaks were necessary at night.

He certainly couldn’t wrap himself like a mummy every day in over forty degrees Celsius heat—without air conditioning, he would surely perish.

Lowering his gaze, he wetted his body with water, lathered soap, then took up the blade.

With the soap’s lubrication, shaving was painless, smoothly removing hair strand by strand.

Amant returned roughly on schedule, out of breath as if he had plowed ten acres in one breath.

“I couldn’t find the care oil,” he gasped.

Boyi nodded calmly. “Perhaps I misremembered. I’ll look for it myself when we return.”

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Amant felt deeply frustrated at failing his master’s task, his face drawn tight.

Boyi glanced at him, then turned to the Pure Lake steward. “Please excuse me for troubling you. This is a small token of appreciation—please, do not refuse.”

The steward was momentarily stunned, then looked down at the object pressed into his palm: a pair of ruby earrings, burning like flames in the glow of the sunset clouds.

Beautiful!

He admired them silently; these were far too exquisite for him to use.

When he recovered, the earrings’ owner had already walked away with attendants, a slender figure moving beneath the cool moonlight, smooth black hair scattering in the evening breeze.

The steward stood dazed for a long moment until someone asked why he hadn’t gone home yet. Startled, he clenched his fists, hiding the fiery red glow in his palm.

—

The next day.

Before dawn, Boyi was awakened by Thanaro.

“Master, it’s time to go to the temple,” Thanaro reminded him.

Boyi opened his eyes and glanced outside; the sky was pitch black, probably not even five o’clock.

Who in their right mind would start work at four in the morning?

He had pulled many all-nighters before, but those were for work that paid by the hour.

Now, even if he worked twenty-four hours a day, it was only to make ends meet.

Boyi suddenly thought having faith must be a blessing—at least it gave one a reason to rise devoutly at such hours.

Because he was going to the temple, he didn’t even have time for breakfast. Priests first served the gods their meal before tending to their own.

When he arrived, the sky was still dark, but the temple was brilliantly lit. People in white priestly robes bustled about, each appearing busy.

The scent of sandalwood filled the air, rising in wisps of blue smoke under the bright lamps.

The temple’s style was very similar to the temples Boyi had visited in later eras. The main hall housed a grand statue of the great god Amun, over five meters tall—like a modern two-story building.

To the sides were several large chambers: the scriptorium, the meeting room, and the library.

Though it seemed to hold forty or fifty people, the space was unusually quiet; everyone worked silently.

One had to say, the term “majestic and magnificent” fit the ancient Egyptians’ architectural style perfectly.

For Boyi, accustomed to cozy modern homes, it was almost claustrophobic—everything here was made on a grand, monumental scale.

Even the trees were planted in enormous pots within the palace, and the vases in the corners were taller than a person.

“Master Ai,” a junior priest noticed Boyi standing at the doorway, stepped forward and bowed, introducing himself: “I am Teti. Lord Akris sent me to wait for you here.”

Boyi nodded slightly. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Teti was surprised by his politeness. After all, those arranged by Queen Merit often had their heads in the clouds, but he said nothing further and gestured for Boyi to follow.

Following behind, Boyi discovered that behind the statue of Amun was another chamber.

“This is the outer chamber of the inner sanctum, where the high priests usually conduct rituals,” Teti explained, sensing Boyi’s unfamiliarity.

Boyi listened quietly.

“The library holds records of the Pharaoh’s daily life and Egypt’s annals. You can request materials from the priests there,” Teti said. “The scriptorium manages the temple’s accounts; unless necessary, avoid going there.”

His tone darkened with warning.

Boyi guessed that people from Merit’s faction had tried entering the scriptorium before. Whether successful or not, the temple now deeply resented outsiders entering that area.

“We’ve arrived.” Teti stopped and bowed to a man ahead. “Lord Tod, Master Ai has arrived.”

The man standing at the entrance to the inner sanctum was none other than Tod, who accompanied Rahris.

Boyi raised an eyebrow and looked towards the room behind him. Tod nodded and opened the door, saying, “His Majesty said you may enter directly.”

Without hesitation, Boyi stepped inside.

The door closed softly behind him. Inside, the young Pharaoh stood before the statue, dressed in white robes and wearing a wheat-ear crown. He skillfully and devoutly adjusted a candelabrum.

Boyi watched silently from afar.

After finishing his worship, Rahris turned to the door. “I arranged for the temple to assign you attendant duties in the inner sanctum.”

Boyi thought for a moment. “You can influence the temple’s arrangements?”

He had assumed the boy was useless, with no power in the temple.

Rahris gave him a look full of mixed feelings. “Attendant in the inner sanctum is basically a janitor’s job.”

Boyi: “……”

“I see,” he said. “Your influence is just enough to manage the temple’s cleaning staff.”

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Indeed, he was a little waste.

Though blunt, Rahris had to admit it was true. For now, even if the temple sought to use him, it was only with small favors in trivial matters.

Perhaps the temple had its reasons.

Boyi wanted to go to the scriptorium more, but he understood well that accounts were the most vital part of any institution, organization, or company and would never be entrusted lightly.

“I offer prayers for the people daily in the inner sanctum,” Rahris said. “I think working there will be more convenient for you.”

Convenient for what? Perhaps for skipping work.

Though the concept didn’t exist yet, Rahris had already sensed Boyi’s repeated avoidance of work.

What he didn’t know was that Boyi resisted only unpaid work—such as being his prophet.

Boyi looked at him with faint sympathy. “No wonder you never grew tall. You’re kept powerless, yet you still have to rise earlier than the chickens.”

Apparently, Rahris rose at four. By the time Boyi arrived, the young Pharaoh’s rituals were done—meaning this boy must have come as early as three.

There was always a reason why one didn’t grow tall.

Rahris: “……”

Shot in the knee.

“You’re just a slave, and yet you mock the Pharaoh.” Rahris’s face darkened. Height and physique were his biggest concerns, and this man kept rubbing salt in the wound.

Boyi stepped beside him and looked up, comparing their heights. “You only reach my chest.”

Rahris glared, gritting his teeth.

“I’ll teach you how to grow taller,” Boyi said. “Want to know?”

Rahris’s ears twitched but said nothing.

“Fine, if you don’t want to know,” Boyi turned to leave, but after one step, someone grabbed his sleeve. “Tell me.”

Boyi glanced at the hand on his clothes and felt satisfied. Even in urgency, the boy remembered the rule against physical contact.

Good boy.

“Promise me one thing, and I’ll tell you,” Boyi said.

Rahris pursed his lips, hesitating.

Hopefully this guy wouldn’t ask for an exorbitant price.

Driven by his desperate wish to grow taller, he finally said, “Tell me, on the condition that I can do it.”

Boyi met his gaze. The boy’s amber eyes shone brightly in the candlelight, like a cat’s—only a little kitten without sharp claws. Boyi thought he couldn’t help but want to pinch those soft paw pads.

“Let me be clear: I won’t agree to something impossible,” Rahris emphasized, feeling uneasy under the intense gaze.

“It’s simple,” Boyi smiled slyly. “Just meow like a cat.”

For some reason, seeing the boy’s stern face made Boyi want to tease him.

Rahris was stunned; his ears suddenly flushed red. “You dare mock me!”

Such a detestable slave!

“Will you do it?” Boyi folded his arms calmly.

Rahris was furious, cheeks burning. How could he do such a shameful thing? He was Pharaoh of all Egypt!

“Then I’m leaving.” Boyi lifted his foot to go without hesitation. “It’s not like I’m the one too short to sit on the throne.”

Just a step away, a tiny “meow” sounded behind him—so soft that, if not for the quiet of the inner sanctum, it would have gone unnoticed.

Boyi raised an eyebrow and turned to see the boy’s face flushed bright red. “Did you drop something just now?”

Rahris glared fiercely. “Trying to cheat?”

Boyi shrugged innocently. “But I didn’t hear anything. Did you call out?”

Rahris was exasperated. This man had no mercy and clearly denied the sound just now.

“I...” Boyi was about to leave when the young Pharaoh snarled “meow” again, louder this time, perhaps to prevent cheating.

The noise even startled Tod standing by the door. “Your Majesty, Master Ai, did a cat wander into the inner sanctum?”

Rahris’s face turned from red to dark, then back to red.

Boyi chuckled softly. “No matter, it was just a little wildcat outside the window.”