Mrs. Nit

When Boy woke again, his head was wracked with pain—a searing, drilling agony, as if a bit were boring through his skull, his temples pounding so hard it felt like his blood vessels might burst at any moment.

“Lord Ai, are you awake?” A stranger’s voice sounded, footsteps approaching.

His heart seemed to stop for a split second, as if something was forcibly torn from his body. He snapped his eyes open, only to be stabbed by the sudden flood of sunlight, tears springing to his eyes from the pain.

A high, arched ceiling loomed overhead, adorned with intricate, colorful patterns. White columns, carved with decorative flourishes, supported the space below, and linen hangings painted with the cat-headed goddess Bastet swayed gently in the breeze.

For a moment, it felt as though divinity itself walked among mortals on rays of light.

Was this the Library of Alexandria?

Boy closed his eyes, but no—their last stop on the trip was the museum managed by Curator Bock, a place far from the library.

That brief moment with his eyes shut was enough for memories to rush back—

The lingering sound of camel bells echoed in his ears, and then he’d lost consciousness. When he woke again, he found himself in this unfamiliar place.

Kidnapping? Could it have been Bock…?

Bock was the first to come to mind—he’d just met the man. But almost immediately, Boy doubted that thought. In ten years as a lawyer, his clients had ranged from mafia bosses to capitalists; he’d seen his share of self-righteous patrons like Bock.

Many described him as a ruthless, amoral legal shark. Boy never denied it—ambition and desire were human nature, and he’d never suppressed his own.

But precisely because he navigated both sides of the law, he’d made plenty of enemies. If it came down to viciousness, Bock was hardly the worst of them.

“Lord Ai?” The voice sounded again, as it had when he first woke.

Boy instinctively turned his head, and pain stabbed through his temple, a vein bulging visibly at his brow.

A woman in a white linen dress knelt at his bedside. Her shoulder-length black hair was plaited into many braids. She seemed to want to approach, concern in her eyes, but hesitated, fearful of something.

“Where’s Xia Xing?” he asked.

Xia Xing was his bodyguard, who’d been with him in the car right before he lost consciousness.

The woman looked confused, raising her head, bewilderment flickering in her eyes. “Xia Xing? Which lord is that, Lord Ai?”

For once, Boy felt his mind stumbling, unable to follow the thread. Lord, what lord?

He scrutinized the woman’s face. Her honeyed skin looked healthy, her eyes lined thickly and tilted up at the corners in a feline, alluring way. Her attire was less a garment than a single length of white linen wrapped around her body, belted at the waist to highlight her slender figure. Red and blue agate jewelry adorned her wrists and neck.

She was a splash of vivid color on an ink painting.

Her style matched exactly what he’d seen of ancient Egyptians on museum murals.

The woman peeked at his expression, cautiously adding, “Lord Ai, Queen Merit is still waiting for you in her chambers…”

Ai…Queen Merit…

Boy’s eyelids twitched. These two names echoed through his muddled mind, names the tour guide had repeated at least twenty times in her gentle voice just recently.

He forced himself upright despite the pain, his gaze circling the room.

This was clearly a palace—bright, solemn, much like the Karnak Temple and the Great Temple of Abu Simbel he’d toured. But unlike those relics, caked with the dust of history, this building was astonishingly new. The bas-reliefs on the walls were vivid, the ancient gods of Egypt standing out in lifelike color.

“Queen Merit…” Boy mouthed the name.

He doubted any of his adversaries would go to such lengths—building a palace and fabricating an elaborate lie just to humiliate him. For them, a bullet was simpler and far more likely.

“Anaka, has Lord Ai not woken yet?” Another woman, dressed similarly, entered the palace hurriedly, interrupting Boy’s thoughts.

“He’s awake, Lady Fufu,” the maid Anaka said hastily, rising and kneeling farther from the bed to make room for the lady. “Lord Boy has just awoken and still seems unwell.”

Boy sized up Lady Fufu. She looked to be in her early thirties, dressed no differently, but her jewelry was more plentiful and of better quality.

If status was marked by such things, Fufu clearly outranked Anaka.

Lady Fufu knelt by Boy’s couch and said softly, “Lord Ai, Queen Merit has asked after you several times.”

“What happened to me?” Boy pressed his forehead, feigning unbearable pain.

It was hardly an act; the pain was real, though a bit dulled now.

“You fainted just now,” Fufu replied with gentle reassurance. “Queen Merit is very concerned for you.”

Boy glanced at her posture—she didn’t kneel fully, only half-bowed. He shifted his gaze impassively.

A half-gesture of respect; she was eager to bring him to Queen Merit, but her regard was not as genuine as Anaka’s.

His eyes drifted between the two women for a while before he asked, “How old is Queen Merit now?”

Lady Fufu’s expression changed at once, her tone turning stern. “Lord Ai, mind your words!”

Anaka, kneeling to the side, hadn’t expected the question either. She trembled, nearly collapsing to the floor in fear.

Boy’s lips curled in a meaningful smile. “I’ve made plenty of enemies; I need to know if someone’s out to get me.”

Thinking of Lord Ai’s current predicament, Lady Fufu’s look softened, but she was still displeased. “You should know Queen Merit detests anyone discussing her age. Please don’t ask such impertinent questions again.”

Boy saw no hint of deceit in their reactions. He stood, his tone light. “Then please take me to see…”

He paused, then smiled. “Queen Merit.”

Anaka happened to look up just then, catching his smile. Her soul seemed to drift away for a moment.

How had she never noticed Lord Ai was so handsome? No, she had—it was his looks that drew Queen Merit’s attention.

But before, she’d only thought him attractive in a superficial way, as were many palace nobles. Now, just a single smile nearly sent her stumbling into Lady Fufu.

Lady Fufu regarded Boy, nodded slightly. “Come with me, then.”

As Boy rose, he adjusted his clothing and saw that he, too, wore a white linen robe—a length of the same material draped loosely from his left shoulder across his chest and belted at his right hip.

He frowned, almost imperceptibly.

This was not attire he was used to.

“Lord Ai, your jewelry.” Anaka came forward, bringing what she’d taken off him when he’d fainted.

Boy hesitated but didn’t refuse.

Anaka’s cheeks flushed as she stood before him, not daring to look up. Her movements were deft but gentle as she fastened the gold armbands, the serpent-shaped bracelets, and finally the gold necklace inlaid with red and green agate.

When the necklace settled around his neck, Boy felt a heaviness settle over his whole body.

Lady Fufu nodded in satisfaction, leading the way out of the palace, Boy following at a measured pace.

Outside, a colonnade of white pillars stretched away, a red diamond-pattern carpet running down the corridor’s center. White linen hung in waves from the ceiling, rippling all the way to the end. Beyond lay a garden, with a pool at its heart, green plants rooting in the water, lotus leaves floating serenely—adding a refreshing touch to the vivid architecture.

In the garden’s corners, vases of varying sizes depicted gods in daily life, their colors as bright as ever. Some vases were taller than a person.

Boy observed everything calmly.

This was no mere palace, but an entire complex. From the garden’s exit, one could see neat staircases descending layer by layer, with more palaces below.

“What are you looking at, Lord Ai?” Lady Fufu asked suddenly.

Boy turned, as if oblivious to her suspicion, and smiled lightly. “How old is Queen Merit?”

“Fif—” Fufu blurted before catching herself, her face darkening as she snapped, “If you have a death wish, don’t drag us into it! Just yesterday, a lady-in-waiting lost her life for speaking out of turn.”

She dared not repeat the incriminating words, fearing someone might overhear and report her.

Behind them, Anaka kept her head down, feigning ignorance.

Boy nodded, as if chastened.

So, she was in her fifties—a long life for ancient Egypt, and as history recorded, Queen Merit died at sixty.

Not many years left.

In her later years, Queen Merit had built grand pyramids and even commissioned a Book of the Dead in gold, hoping that the Tribunal of Forty-Two would see her devotion and grant her passage to the afterlife.

Her fear of aging and death was obvious, and the anxiety of her attendants was ample proof.

The digression had made Lady Fufu forget her suspicion, and she hurried on.

Their footsteps echoed down the empty corridor. A line of maids balancing water jars on their heads passed by, bowing deeply to Lady Fufu before moving on.

Boy glanced at them absently, then looked away.

Lady Fufu pursed her lips in private disdain—such ignorance.

The Queen’s palace was close; they arrived in minutes.

A maid stationed at the door gestured silently. Lady Fufu replied with another gesture and waited outside with the other two.

After a moment, the maid returned and beckoned them in.

“Lord Ai, please.” Lady Fufu inclined her head, stepping aside.

Boy nodded his thanks and entered without pausing.

A heady scent of lavender enveloped him—pleasant at first, but overwhelming in excess.

After a few steps, something brushed his ankle. He looked down to find a black cat, its golden eyes meeting his.

He stared at it in silence. After a moment, the cat meowed.

“Ai.” A slightly hoarse voice called from the other side of the chamber.

Boy turned. A woman reclined on a couch, white linen draping her lithe figure, black hair streaming over her body like a dark river, her eyes lined in black and shaped like a cat’s—seductive and sharp.

Were it not for the wrinkles at her brows and eyes, one would never guess she was in her fifties.

A maid knelt before her, fanning her with feathers. Another knelt by a table, peeling grapes—the translucent fruit gleaming like jade on a colored glass dish.

Ai gazed at her quietly for a moment, then spoke. “Queen Merit.”

The woman bore a striking resemblance to the statue he’d seen in the museum—at least seventy percent alike. Even if he didn’t believe in the supernatural, he could not deny it now.

He had crossed three thousand years into ancient Egypt.

The woman before him was the formidable Lady Nit—Queen Merit—who ushered in a golden age. Though history judged her late years as decadent and burdensome, no one could deny her beauty or the brilliance of her reign.

As for himself…

If he remembered correctly, the power broker Ai and Queen Merit were political adversaries. Ai had played no small part in forcing Merit to relinquish power.

No wonder Lady Fufu’s respect was only superficial.

Queen Merit lifted her eyelids, her eyes tilting up with feline grace. “I summoned you to share my bed, and you fainted the moment you arrived.”

Boy: …?

To share her bed—was it what he thought it was?

Who ever heard of political rivals sharing a bed?

Queen Merit raised her hand slightly, and the maids withdrew at once.

She studied Boy attentively, pausing at his pale skin, her tone tender. “Does your head still ache?”

So fair and delicate—a body clearly unaccustomed to hardship.

Boy’s headache had vanished on the way here.

He fell silent, then pressed his forehead and replied, in a voice weak with feigned agony, “It hurts. Terribly.”