The Pharaoh's Curse

On the boundless waters known as Nun, eight primordial gods were born: Nun and Naunet, Hu and Hauhet, Kuk and Kauket, and Amun and Amunet. Upon these waters, the gods created an island and left behind an egg, from which the sun god Ra was born.

Ra dispelled darkness from the world, bringing life and hope. Ra-Atum, another incarnation of Amun, created his son and daughter, Shu, the god of life, and Ma’at, the goddess of order, with his own bodily fluids. Shu expanded within Atum’s body, transforming into a colossal sphere.

Amun became Ptah, the god of craftsmen, and carefully sculpted Atum, naming him the world. Shu and Ma’at gave birth to Nut, the goddess of the sky, and Geb, the god of the earth. Shu raised Nut and Geb apart, forming heaven and earth.

Atum sent his own eye to watch over them—this eye, called the "Eye of Ra," was the sun, the stars, and the moon, and also Ptah’s wife. The Eye of Ra dutifully fulfilled its task, but upon returning to Atum, discovered it had been replaced by a new sun called "the Illustrious One."

Angry and heartbroken, the Eye of Ra wept; her tears fell to the earth, becoming humanity. Lacking order and guidance, humankind was plunged into chaos, so Ra-Atum descended to earth and became the first king to rule Egypt.

In the museum, the guide diligently introduced visitors from around the world to Egypt’s unique cultural origins. Usually, she would not go into such detail, but today...

Her gaze furtively glanced to the side.

Trailing behind her was a tall, imposing man with knotted muscles, intimidating by appearance. Yet this formidable man shadowed another, subtly assuming a protective stance.

It was this second man whom the guide observed.

He was slender and lean, wrapped tightly in a black suit despite Egypt’s summer heat, exuding an air of meticulous restraint. Sunglasses perched on his prominent nose obscured his eyes; the exposed skin was pale and flawless. When he turned to listen to the burly man beside him, his jawline was sharp and severe.

Passersby unconsciously stepped aside, casting secret glances at the pair. Even without seeing his full face, the young man’s sleek, angular jaw suggested strikingly handsome features.

The burly companion’s presence heightened the cold detachment of the younger man, projecting an aura that repelled all approach.

The stir caused by the man had not subsided when someone noticed the museum director striding swiftly through the crowd.

The director, a man in his fifties with a grizzled beard and a corpulent body, moved with difficulty. Perhaps from haste, his forehead glistened with sweat, but he made no effort to wipe it away. Instead, he warmly extended his hand to the young man: “Attorney Boye, welcome!”

Seeing the director, Boye gave a faint smile, removed his sunglasses, and handed them to the burly bodyguard at his side.

The bodyguard accepted them respectfully, retrieving a glasses case from his backpack.

As Boye removed his sunglasses, a restrained gasp sounded from those nearby.

His face was even more striking than imagined—an arresting beauty with sharp, aggressive features. Unshielded, his visage was vivid and sculpted. His brows were dark and deep; a casual glance met with his eyes could leave one breathless.

Whether it was the hint of a smile in his gaze or his courteous demeanor, the forbidding aura he carried dissipated, replaced by a refined elegance, gentle as jade.

The eyes upon him grew bolder and less restrained.

Boye lowered his gaze, noting under the museum’s lights the sheen of sweat in the director’s broad palm.

He paused slightly, smiled, and shook hands lightly.

Feeling an unusual texture, the director realized Boye wore half-length leather gloves that perfectly wrapped his slender fingers; his wrist bones were distinct and beautiful.

What a remarkable hand, the director mused. He had seen handsome hands before, but never someone who wore gloves with such...

He was momentarily at a loss for words, finally settling on the phrase—finely sculpted.

The leather gloves hugged Boye’s fingers, accentuating the elegant arrangement of his bones; the tendons on the back of his hand were clear and smooth, graceful yet powerful, as if crafted meticulously by an artist.

No wonder some say that when Ra created humans, some were meticulously sculpted with every hair and toenail cared for, while others were merely formed from the sweat cast off his body.

“Director Bock, long time no see.” Boye nodded, discreetly withdrawing his hand.

“Indeed. Last time, we parted so quickly I barely spoke with you. The previous theft case owed much to your help—without you, we’d have been at a loss,” Director Bock sighed. “Protectors of relics are powerless against thieves.”

Nearby tourists slowed, listening intently. This was a globally sensational case, widely reported.

Half a year ago, the museum suffered a theft. The authorities were contacted, and the thief was brought to trial, but as the perpetrator was foreign, the matter became complicated. During evidence transport, the personnel involved were brazenly shot at the airport, escalating the case.

It was clear someone was determined to protect the thief, acting boldly and without fear.

No one dared take the case—success was uncertain, but the risk to life was clear.

Then an Asian attorney appeared, not only accepting the case but achieving a brilliant victory.

Could this famed lawyer be the striking young man before them?

The crowd whispered, sneaking glances.

Boye’s lips quirked into a modest smile: “You flatter me, Director. It was mainly your country’s strong international influence and the museum’s crucial standing that gave me the advantage.”

His words were tactful and pleasing; the director thought, No wonder he’s a lawyer—he knows how to speak well. Say more of what people like to hear.

“I greatly admire young people like you—capable yet humble,” the director smiled, glancing at the display case beside them, which prominently chronicled the Eighteenth Dynasty.

Compared to other ancient civilizations with extensive records, Egypt’s history was fragmented by centuries of foreign rule and mixed languages, leaving even the most glorious New Kingdom period sparsely documented.

Boye seemed not to notice the director’s subtle change in expression and smiled calmly: “It seems we were just discussing Amun’s creation myth.”

He paused, uncertain, and looked to the guide: “Was that the content?”

The guide was dazzled by his smile, tempted to touch his face to prove its reality, but a glance at the director snapped her back to clarity.

“Yes, we were just speaking of creation, about to reach Egypt’s historical section.”

The director regained his cheerful demeanor: “Since we’re at the Eighteenth Dynasty, why not give Attorney Boye a detailed explanation?”

“Certainly,” the guide nodded, seeking Boye’s approval before continuing. “With the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt, ancient Egyptian civilization began its formal chapter.”

Director Bock tried several times to converse with Boye, but seeing his genuine interest in history—listening intently and asking questions—he suppressed his thoughts and withdrew.

After some time, a museum staff member approached, requesting the director’s help with a complaint beyond the staff’s ability to handle.

Bock frowned, wanting to reprimand the subordinate, but with Boye present, he restrained himself, apologized, and promised to arrange an evening meal.

Boye agreed with a smile, and the three watched Bock depart.

“Please continue,” Boye gestured to the guide. The bodyguard handed him his sunglasses, and Boye explained apologetically, “I’m not used to being stared at. Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” the guide replied, flattered.

As Boye’s handsome face was again hidden behind sunglasses, the guide said she didn’t mind, but internally felt regret.

Such beauty wasted by concealment!

Their attention returned to the relics. The guide resumed her introduction—

“Egypt’s golden era began with the Eighteenth Dynasty, notably with the famous boy pharaoh, Raheris,”

She paused, asking Boye, “Have you heard of this young pharaoh?”

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you,” Boye replied with a rueful smile. “I never passed history in school.”

The guide laughed, offering reassurance: “It’s normal not to know—Egyptian history is fragmentary, and you’re not from here. Allow me to introduce this renowned pharaoh.”

Her voice was gentle, and she recounted the long-hidden history in soothing tones—

“At the end of last century, Raheris’s tomb was discovered by grave robbers, but all who entered died mysteriously. The string of deaths sparked global curiosity. The well-preserved tomb drew several teams of archaeologists.”

She sighed: “Sadly, the archaeologists also died in succession, each in bizarre and frightening ways, as though the sleeping pharaoh cursed those who disturbed him—none escaped.”

Boye feigned astonishment to match her cadence: “I’ve heard of that—very famous indeed.”

The guide was delighted: “Yes, that legend! Though the pharaoh’s curse is terrifying, the boy king led a tragic life. Crowned at nine, he was a puppet to his grandmother, Lady Nit. At sixteen, he took power, but the court was controlled by the minister Ai and the general Sebek...”

She tilted her head, teasing Boye: “Funny, your name sounds just like that minister’s.”

Boye smiled: “Then I am honored.”

Amused by his wit, the guide continued: “Raheris died at nineteen; his three years of rule never brought true authority.

Raheris’s tragedy traces to his grandfather, Amenhotep I, who died unexpectedly while his son was still a child. His wife, Merit, began regency with support from old ministers, later known as Lady Nit. Unfortunately, Lady Nit was ruthless, and her son Amenhotep II never gained real power.”

“Raheris spent much of his rule battling his grandmother, but could not escape his family’s fate. Only when Lady Nit was overthrown by Minister Ai and died in Thebes did Raheris enjoy brief authority. Thus, the Amenhotep family is known as the Amun family, forever controlled by Nit.”

The guide was clearly adept, her storytelling vivid and engaging—

“In Raheris’s three years, every decree bore Ai’s political mark—he was a puppet. Even his sudden death was tied to Ai’s name. Two prevailing theories: one, death by malaria; two, murder by Minister Ai.”

“Very fascinating,” Boye praised, his refined demeanor and charming words making the guide blush.

As they walked, the guide recounted Egypt’s remaining history in detail, only realizing at the end of the hall that she had exhausted her material.

“You’ve worked hard,” Boye smiled. The bodyguard handed over a white envelope. “Sadly, I must hurry on. I hope to invite you to dinner next time—please honor us then.”

The guide blushed, shyly accepting the envelope. A faint scent of tea lingered on her fingers, delicate with a hint of astringency.

How could even tipping be so stylish? Though it was just tea fragrance, the guide felt a dizzying sweetness.

After bidding farewell, Boye and his bodyguard left the museum by car.

As the door closed, Boye’s smile faded. He removed his gloves and tossed them into the trash.

His lashes lowered, hiding the disgust and disdain deep in his eyes.

The bodyguard glanced in the rearview mirror, accustomed to the scene. Only those close knew how severe Attorney Boye’s obsession with cleanliness was—hence the constant gloves, avoiding skin contact as much as possible.

He naturally gathered the trash bag, placing it on the passenger footwell to discard later.

“That Director Bock really loves putting on a show,” the bodyguard said, starting the car and focusing on the road. “If I recall correctly, wasn’t the theft last year actually his own doing?”

The thief did steal something, but not a museum relic.

He was simply unlucky, encountering Director Bock and Attorney Boye.

Boye turned, watching out the window. A strong wind whipped up sand, shrouding the city. He smiled faintly: “It doesn’t matter. Everyone acts for money.”

The director, too. So did he. Each got what they needed.

The bodyguard fell silent. After a while, he asked, “Wasn’t the stolen relic that mummy called something Ra...?”

He couldn’t remember the name, but had been with Boye during the case, and the guide’s earlier words jogged his memory.

Out of professional habit, Boye corrected him: “Raheris.”

The bodyguard laughed, his menace dissipating: “Right, pharaohs were basically Egypt’s emperors. That curse sounds pretty impressive.”

Boye sneered lightly: “It was just a little brat.”

He never believed in superstition; so-called curses were merely bacteria and fungi sealed in tombs. Now, they served as marketing gimmicks to attract tourists and profit handsomely.

The car slowly left the museum, tires rolling over the asphalt. By the roadside, majestic pyramids rose, making humans seem as insignificant as ants.

Local inhabitants rode camels, draped in linen against the sand, plodding through the golden desert. The distant sound of camel bells lingered.

“Ding—ding—”

Suddenly, Boye sensed a gaze following him—oppressive and unsettling. He frowned and looked back, seeing nothing but the straight highway.

At the museum entrance, the victory obelisk faced the road, silently watching their departure.

“Ding—ding—”

Another camel bell sounded, closer now. Unlike the distant melody, this time it was as if it rang right beside his ear, piercing his mind like a sonic tremor.

Boye felt his head buzz, the world before him blurring in layered distortion, merging and separating.

A wave of vertigo swept over him. Darkness engulfed his vision, and he lost consciousness completely.