PSW Chapter 9: The Pharaoh’s Special Cat-Petting Technique
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The royal palace’s council hall.
Layers of white gauze curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. Egyptian ministers, dressed in elaborately pleated garments adorned with ruffles and embellishments, stood in orderly ranks according to their status. Their morning makeup—eyeliner and eyeshadow—was meticulously applied, completing their dignified appearances.
On the steps above, two high priests, Hesse and Nephthys, stood on either side of the throne. Clad in pristine, immaculately pressed white robes, they each held a staff symbolizing different divine authorities.
The ministers represented Egypt’s aristocracy.
The high priests represented the religious order and divine authority.
Their gazes swept across the officials below, their expressions stern. They were not just observers but the watchdogs of the gods, overseeing the Pharaoh’s servants.
Every single person in this hall was adorned in luxurious attire, standing in meticulously assigned positions. Tension tightened their nerves as they regarded one another with suspicion, treating even their colleagues as potential adversaries. They were all waiting for someone to make a mistake, eager to expose any hidden agenda and clear obstacles from their king’s path.
Without a doubt—
The royal council hall was always a suffocatingly tense place.
There was no room for mistakes.
Even something as trivial as wearing too much perfume might prompt an official to leap forward, point a finger, and accuse:
"Why are you wearing so much perfume?! You must be hiding some kind of slow-acting poison! You intend to harm the Pharaoh!"
And if, at that moment, the man on the throne happened to be in a bad mood?
Well… too bad. You were either getting beaten up or losing your life.
That was why, from the highest-ranking Vizier—the one standing just beneath the Pharaoh—to the lowest-ranked official allowed inside, everyone behaved like they had a tail tucked between their legs.
Careful. Cautious.
They kept their expressions rigid, their faces as tense as iron plates, their eyes straight and glassy like marbles.
They had to maintain the illusion of being proper and disciplined, while simultaneously finding ways to win the Pharaoh’s favor. The mental gymnastics required for this left them utterly drained by the end of each council meeting, making them long to collapse into bed and become an unmoving salted fish.
The ministers: And not the kind that flips over.
But today…
Among them was a bold and audacious individual.
This little troublemaker was casually sprawled over the lap of a beautiful handmaiden, showing not a trace of dignity. Not only that, but his head was shamelessly nestled against her ample bosom, surrounded by a spread of delicious food.
What was even more infuriating—
Unlike the ministers, who slaved away contributing to Egypt, this little creature had done absolutely nothing of value.
And yet—
The breathtakingly handsome Pharaoh would glance at him from time to time.
His gaze was warm. Indulgent. Even affectionate.
Damn it—it was practically a love-struck gaze!
High Priest Hesse remained stern (while subtly darting his eyes sideways). He pretended to be seriously delivering his report:
"Your Majesty, the Egyptian royal family has two princesses closely related to you by blood. Both possess the moral virtues befitting an Egyptian Queen. Please make a decision soon to ensure the continuation of a pure royal lineage—"
On the throne—
The elaborate golden seat had been removed.
Instead, a thick, luxurious carpet covered the raised platform, upon which sat a low rectangular table and a legless wooden chair.
Yofar sat cross-legged at the table, casually flipping through a stack of ministers’ written petitions. At Hesse’s words, he lazily responded with a brief “Mm.”
Yet—
His gaze never left a certain spot in the hall, completely ignoring the ever-dutiful, nagging high priest.
Hesse frowned. "…Your Majesty."
He pressed again, attempting to regain the Pharaoh’s attention.
But his noble and arrogant king merely lifted his eyes, waved a languid hand, and uttered:
"Move aside, Hese. You’re blocking my view."
Hesse: "…"
View?!
The high priest followed his Pharaoh’s gaze, only to be met with—
A half-grown black cat, lazily sprawled in a handmaiden’s lap, mouth wide open in a yawn, showing a tiny, soft pink tongue.
A vein throbbed violently on Hesse’s forehead.
This—THIS is what His Majesty calls a VIEW?!
This is madness!!!
It was just a black cat!
Why—WHY—had their Pharaoh brought a cat into the council hall?!
And why was he so fixated on it?!
Hesse’s glare darkened.
Was this because of his nearing-terminal-stage cat obsession?!
He couldn’t understand why a man allergic to cat fur insisted on being a cat lover!
Veins bulging, High Priest Hesse shot a death glare at his fellow high priest, Nephthys, who was hiding a smug smile behind her hand.
Then, his murderous gaze turned to the shameless little black cat, unleashing a death beam of pure fury.
High Priest Hese’s Sharp Gaze: Stare—
Lying in the arms of the beautiful handmaiden, Bastet rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"What the hell are you staring at me for?! It was your king who insisted on bringing me here, okay? Meow—ugh, bleh! Believe it or not, I’ll scratch your face!"
This cat… actually rolled its eyes at him?!
High Priest Hesse, utterly dumbfounded, widened his eyes in disbelief.
"Nephthys, did you see that?! It even spat at me?!"
Bastet had just let out an exaggerated pfft!
Standing nearby, Nephthys was trying so hard to suppress her laughter that she nearly snorted out her nose.
Hesse: "…"
Not only did he fail to receive sympathy, but he was mocked instead!
His expression darkened as he reluctantly withdrew, fuming as he shot a glare at the vizier below.
The Vizier—caught in the crossfire of Hesse’s furious, teeth-gnashing expression—felt a chill run down his spine.
Stealing a quick glance at the Pharaoh, he cleared his throat, then took a step forward.
"…My King," he addressed, successfully drawing Yofar’s attention away from a certain troublemaking little devil.
Then he continued:
"Recently, major cities across Egypt have erupted in slave uprisings. Due to their overwhelming numbers, the suppression efforts have resulted in significant casualties among our warriors."
Slave uprisings were commonplace.
And in recent years, they had become especially troublesome.
"Continue, Vizier Lekmara," Yofar’s lazy expression faded slightly, and his strikingly handsome face took on a colder edge.
Leaning on one hand, he propped his chin against the back of his hand.
His platinum-blond hair, arranged neatly beneath his crown, cascaded over his shoulders.
His icy blue eyes locked onto the vizier below, and in that instant—his formidable presence returned.
Whenever the Pharaoh fixed his gaze upon them, the ministers couldn’t help but feel immense pressure.
At these moments, they obsessively analyzed his expressions and gestures, trying to determine whether they had misspoken or angered him.
In the royal court, this was a vital survival skill!
And as the Vizier, Lekmara was even more cautious than most.
For example—
Just now, while speaking, he noticed the Pharaoh’s other hand lift slightly above his knee—moving in a subtle, hovering back-and-forth motion.
Lekmara shuddered.
"W-What does this mean? Is His Majesty displeased? Is he planning to cut my knees?!"
He swallowed hard but forced himself to continue:
"My King, due to Egypt’s ongoing wars, you and our warriors have emerged victorious time and time again, conquering numerous small nations. As a result, the number of slaves in our kingdom has reached an unprecedented historical peak."
"Even in the capital city of Pi-Ramesses, only three out of ten residents are free Egyptians. The rest are slaves."
He hesitated before adding cautiously:
"My King… More does not always mean better."
Yofar’s expression remained unreadable.
"Well said, Vizier Lekmara. Continue."
But then—
Lekmara noticed the Pharaoh’s hand shift again—this time, it hovered near his waist.
Lekmara: "…"
His lower body immediately throbbed with phantom pain.
"Damn it—does this mean he’s even more displeased?! Is he planning to cut me in half now?!"
Overwhelmed with fear, Lekmara gulped and hurriedly continued:
"…Most of these slaves are foreigners. We have no way of knowing how many of them are secretly plotting rebellion. If they rise up out of desperation—fearing our severe punishments—the consequences would be unthinkable."
Severe punishments?
In Egypt, disobedience meant death.
From the moment they defied him, these people forfeited their right to live freely on his land.
Yofar, uninterested in the slaves' fate, let out a bored sigh.
"And what is your suggestion?"
Lekmara recognized the impatience in his tone.
At the same time—
He saw Yofar’s hand form an 'OK' gesture… then flick his fingers in a snapping motion.
Lekmara: "…"
What… what does that mean?!
"Should I say it or not?!"
"Does he mean to flick my head off?!"
"Y-Your Majesty, I—"
As he stammered, Lekmara looked toward Hesse with tears in his eyes, silently pleading for help.
Since Hesse stood closer to the Pharaoh, he had also seen Yofar’s strange hand gesture—but he, too, was utterly confused.
He pondered over it repeatedly until, by chance, his gaze landed on Nephthys.
Unlike them, Nephthys had a look of understanding in her eyes.
After a moment of hesitation, Hesse decided to ask her directly.
Hesse (with his eyes): Nephthys, what does the King’s hand gesture mean?
Nephthys (smiling slyly): And why should I tell you?
Hesse: …
Nephthys (grinning): I won’t tell you~ Unless you give me something in return!
"This damn woman!"
Hesse (gritting his teeth): I have a porcelain vase from a foreign land. It’s yours!
Nephthys: Haha, well then—thank you, High Priest Hesse~
Hese: Enough nonsense. Spill it!
Nephthys smirked and took a step back, motioning for Hese to come over to her side.
Hese hesitated for a moment, knowing that moving from his designated position could be seen as disrespectful to the Pharaoh.
But in the end, curiosity won out.
He cautiously shifted over to the right side of the throne, where Nephthys stood.
Nephthys leaned in and whispered:
"Are you familiar with the 'Holding the Sun' technique?"
Hese frowned. "Of course. It’s a recently popular Egyptian blessing."
The "Holding the Sun" technique involved raising one’s hand to align with the distant sun so that, from one's perspective, it looked as if the sun was being held in the palm.
It symbolized borrowing light and blessings from the Sun God Ra.
"So what does this have to do with anything?" Hese furrowed his brows, still not understanding.
Nephthys sighed dramatically, as if mourning her colleague’s lack of intelligence.
"Oh, Hesse… High Priest Hese, please, bend down slightly. Just a little. Yes—now look at the King’s hand from his angle."
Hese, still confused, lowered his body and looked from Yofar’s perspective.
And then—
He froze.
From this exact angle, Yofar’s hand aligned perfectly with the black cat’s silhouette in the distance.
As a result, from Hese’s viewpoint, it looked as if the Pharaoh were using the 'Holding the Sun' technique—except instead of the sun, he was 'holding' the black cat.
And Hesse himself?
He had become the eyes of this ridiculous illusion.
Hesse: "…"
In broad daylight, in the grand and solemn royal court—before all the most powerful officials of Egypt—
Their bloodthirsty, ruthless Pharaoh was… secretly 'petting' a cat from a distance?!
Meanwhile, poor Vizier Lekmara was still shaking in fear, thinking his life was hanging by a thread.
Little did he know—he was overthinking everything.
Seated on the throne, the Pharaoh was merely 'stroking' his cat.
"And that’s it."
How… poetic.
How… whimsical.
How… unexpectedly childlike.
Even the great High Priest Hesse’s hands trembled slightly as he gripped his staff.
The veins on the back of his hands bulged, his teeth ground together, and his cheeks flushed red from holding back his rage!
He was this close to picking up his staff and beating these two bastards to death—these damned cat-loving freaks!
What infuriated him the most was how synchronized they were!
Whenever Yofar’s hand moved down, the black cat would roll onto its back in the handmaiden’s arms, pretending to expose its belly for petting.
Whenever Yofar’s hand moved up, the cat would tilt its head back, mimicking the motion of having its chin scratched.
Whenever Yofar flicked his fingers, the cat would shrink its head back, rolling over as if startled.
Their coordination was absolutely seamless—flawless to the point of absurdity!
Hesse dared not direct his anger at the Pharaoh, so he channeled all of it toward the black cat, Bastes, practically seething with the urge to tear the creature apart!
But—Bastes was innocent!
How could it have known that Yofar would come up with the most absurdly ingenious cat-petting technique in history?!
Just yesterday, after comforting Bastes, Yofar had suddenly said:
"Oh, right. I just thought of a great idea."
Then, he pressed Bastes to the ground and demonstrated the "remote cat-petting technique."
Yofar: “Haha, now I can keep petting you, Bastes. Are you happy?”
The feline lord rolled its eyes, raised a single paw, and pretended to give him the middle finger:
"Meow!" (Happy, my ass! If you wanna do this stupid trick, go ahead—leave me out of it!)
But Yofar, apparently deaf to feline discontent, simply smiled and said:
"Oh? So you are happy."
Bastes: "Meow meow meow?!?!" (What the hell are you saying?!?)
Yofar (smiling): “That’s good. Starting tomorrow, you’d better behave and entertain me. Understood?”
Entertain you?!
Dream on!
"Meow!"
—Ptui!
Yofar’s smile froze.
Bastes lifted its head proudly. What? You got a problem?!
Yofar (gently holding Bastes’ head, blue eyes gleaming, voice soft):
"If you’re not obedient… I’ll kill you."
"…………"
Bastes: (=Д=) …I-I-I-I’m not scared!!!
Yofar’s smile deepened.
"I’ll kill you~"
Bastes (swallowing hard): I’m not scared—
Yofar’s smile vanished.
"I will kill you."
Bastes: —JUST KIDDING!!!
Holy shit, I’m begging you!
Can you please stop exuding murderous intent toward an innocent, pure-hearted little kitty?!
Please, Dad?!
DAD, PLEASE!!!
____
【Author’s Note: On Pronouns】
In this story, Bes is always referred to as "it."
For example:
"It doesn’t care about that bastard Yofar at all!"
However, since this story is set in Egypt, the Egyptian language doesn’t have an audible difference between "he" and "she."
In the text, characters can distinguish gender through speech, but in Chinese translation, it can be ambiguous.
For example:
"He is my best friend."
Dumb Author’s POV: Is it a man or a woman?
Arabic Speaker’s POV: It’s a man.
When gender is unknown or deliberately concealed, they default to "he."
For example:
"I don’t know if he is a man or a woman."
Dumb Author: Actually, "he" is a girl.
(Hehe, a reader asked about this, so I wanted to explain~ Love you guys! Hope you see this! ❤️)
T/N: Please give support on my ko-fi page, thank you🍊🍊🍊
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