Chapter Fifty-Eight: Bathing

"Have I arrived at the gathering place of this era's greatest astronomy enthusiasts?" Yan Luo surveyed the scene before him.

It was a sizable plaza, large enough to accommodate over five hundred burly men—participants in the Olympic Games—who were bathing naked. Yes, bathing. The opening ceremony was, in truth, a ritual in honor of Zeus. Maintaining bodily cleanliness was the most basic requirement; otherwise, one would be deemed disrespectful to the gods. Public baths existed in Greece by this time, but none could hold five hundred people at once, so the plaza near the temple had become the designated bathing site.

Each athlete received a linen cloth for wiping themselves, a lump of grease for scrubbing away grime, and a large bucket of water.

Splashes echoed as muscular men, some sinewy and knotted, rinsed their bodies. Some scraped themselves with chunks of solidified grease. Yan Luo's arrival immediately drew attention.

"That one isn't Greek, is he? How did he get to participate in the Games?"

"No idea."

"What's going on?"

Athletes from dozens of Greek city-states eyed him curiously. Among them was one whose eyes seemed to blaze: Cornelius. His chest still bore ten fresh red marks from fingers, remnants from removing his clothes to wash, which had prompted much laughter.

Yan Luo, unfazed, walked among the naked athletes toward the place where items were distributed. Linen cloth, grease, a bucket of water. With these, he sought a corner, set down the water, and then removed his shirt, jeans, and finally his underwear. Instantly, the atmosphere across the whole plaza grew quiet.

A multitude of gazes converged upon him: his skin, white as ivory, his build so utterly different from the Westerners’—streamlined, elegant, muscular. Even among these Olympic athletes, his physique was striking.

Yan Luo’s pupils shifted from left to right, scanning the crowd.

Splashes resumed; hundreds of athletes returned to their routines, rinsing their bodies. After all, this was near the Temple of Zeus, and before the Olympic opening ritual, purity and mental tranquility were required—no undue attention paid to others.

Seeing everyone else bathing, Yan Luo expressionlessly poured water over himself. Then he picked up the grease—a lump, egg-sized, whose composition was unknown, for soap had not yet been invented.

He gripped it in his palm—

The chunk slipped and dropped to the ground.

Yan Luo was about to bend down to retrieve it when, once again, he sensed the air grow silent. His pupils swept from left to right, noticing that the muscular men had all paused, their attention fixed upon him. Some appeared eager, as if ready to help pick up the grease.

He felt a surge of emotion:

Excitement +1, +1, +1...

As Yan Luo hesitated in his bent posture, hundreds of athletes resumed their movements, bathing, wiping themselves, and the quiet plaza returned to its lively clamor.

The air seemed a bit heavier. Yan Luo did not bend to pick up the lump again; instead, he pressed his right foot on it, curled his toes to grip it, stood on his left leg, and lifted his right foot, passing the grease deftly to his left hand.

The maneuver was undeniably stylish.

Maintaining vigilance, Yan Luo, who stood out starkly from those around him, finished washing amid the chorus of splashing. He wiped off the droplets with the linen cloth and then saw Cornelius—whose physique was unrivaled even among hundreds—approaching.

"Is there something you want?" Yan Luo asked.

A stern voice sounded nearby, "No conflicts are permitted during the ritual bath!"

The speaker was an elderly man in a white robe, one of the priests of the Temple of Zeus in Olympia, a member of the clergy. These men served as the Olympic committee, holding great authority.

"Respected priest, there will be no conflict," Cornelius replied, bowing in the direction of the voice. He then fixed Yan Luo with a gaze filled with resentment and aggression. "Just wait until the wrestling match!"

He raised his hand to his throat, making a slashing gesture. His muscles swelled and writhed, chest muscles twitching intensely, even the muscles in his neck leaping.

"Hmph!" He left behind a glare of death and walked away.

This brief episode sparked curiosity among the muscular men from various city-states. Cornelius of Arcadia was known throughout Greece for his valor; many considered him a strong contender for the wrestling championship.

How had this foreign youth managed to offend Cornelius?

It was undeniable—the pale-skinned youth’s physique was astonishing, his muscles almost "beautiful." But to these Olympic athletes, such muscles could not be very powerful. A man without scars could not be called strong!

"It seems this outsider is in trouble," some thought, with a hint of schadenfreude.

After bathing, their original clothes were not worn again. Instead, boys aged thirteen to fifteen carried white linen robes, and each athlete received one, donning a priestly garment similar to a chiton, ready to proceed to the Temple of Zeus.

Yan Luo put on a white robe as well; his striped shirt, black jeans, and even his belt were taken away. By custom, these garments were to be stored until the closing ceremony, but in fact, his clothes were quickly delivered to the chief priest.

Several priests circled his modern textiles, shirt and jeans, the exquisite metal belt buckle and calfskin belt, uttering heartfelt admiration and praise. It seemed Yan Luo’s clothing would be appropriated...

The athletes lined up and marched toward the temple.

Before long, they arrived.

It was a temple less than thirty years old, built of massive, gleaming white stone, standing majestic upon the earth—its grandeur rivaled even the Parthenon! Yan Luo immediately spotted, within the great hall, the thirteen-meter-tall statue of Zeus.

Like the statue of Athena at the Parthenon, this Zeus was the epitome of opulence. Its muscular surface was carved from ivory—how much ivory had this masterpiece consumed?

It was the creation of ancient Greece’s most renowned artist and sculptor, Phidias.

Gold, ivory, ebony, and various precious gems adorned the statue. On its head, Zeus wore a golden olive wreath; his right hand raised, palm supporting a stunning winged figure—the goddess of victory, like an angel.

In his left hand, he held a golden scepter, topped by a golden eagle.

Nine centuries later, after a god who would dominate Western thought rose to power, this temple would be converted into a church, and the statue of Zeus destroyed under the edict against pagan idols. If Western archaeologists knew Yan Luo had seen the statue with his own eyes, how jealous they would be!

In front of the statue stood a large brazier, somewhat reminiscent of a cauldron, flames blazing atop it.

This was the altar for the Olympic flame.

Upon it burned, in this world—

The Olympic Sacred Fire!