There exists a type of man who needs to do nothing, simply stand there, and you can sense his innate danger and wickedness.
Daian first laid eyes on the true visage of the Chan family's Crown Prince at the grand, opulent Buddhist funeral for the family patriarch held in Bangkok's Wat Pho in November.
At that moment, she stood in the center of the temple hall, rotating a string of sandalwood prayer beads in her hand, her gaze fixed on the far end of the entrance.
Amidst the sea of somber blacks and muted grays, that tall, imposing figure radiating an icy chill abruptly invaded her line of sight.
Though his face was somewhat obscured by the shadow of the large black umbrella held over him, an aura of imperious, arrogant menace, second only to one yet above all others, unmistakably proclaimed his unique status.
The rotating prayer beads abruptly stilled. Daian bit her lip, eyeing her quarry as she contemplated.
On Wednesday morning, the Chan family funeral formally commenced at Wat Pho, one of Thailand's three national treasures.
The temple walls outside were plastered with official seals, announcing closure to the public for the day.
Domestic and international tourists crowded every entrance, only to be dispersed by police stationed at the gates, holding them back two meters away.
The Chan family, Thailand's newly minted richest Chinese clan, commanded such an extravagant display without surprise.
Inside the resplendent main hall, countless floral offerings and ritual cakes surrounded a giant portrait of the deceased placed prominently in the center.
Daian, concealed among the throng of ordinary devotees, was tasked that day with tending the incense and lamp oil. She stood like the other attendants before a lotus-shaped lamp, prayer beads in hand, chanting sutras for the departed.
The vast plaza facing the main hall was now filled with countless men clad in uniform black suits and trousers, a single white chrysanthemum pinned to their left chests—members of the Seahold Group, their expressions solemn and severe.
At a glance, it was a sea of uniformly menacing figures.
At the forefront of the black-suited ranks stood a line of men in gray-blue uniforms, fully armed at the waist, their eyes cautiously scanning the surroundings—police.
As the morning light approached nine o'clock, footsteps began to echo from afar outside the main hall.
Daian squinted towards the end of the corridor. Indistinct figures drew near. Instantly, the black-clad formations on both sides pivoted and bowed deeply in unison towards the approaching figures.
She knew: the infamous Nine-Faced Buddha had arrived.
Under the collective gaze, three large black umbrellas, each held aloft by a man in black walking behind, provided slow, ceremonial escort.
The black umbrellas were Triad protocol, symbolizing the power to overshadow the heavens. Used at funerals and confrontations, they signified supreme status and warded off evil.
The man leading wore an understated black silk tang suit, a golden tiger embroidered on his left chest. He walked slowly towards the hall, cradling an urn.
Though his face showed no expression, his formidable aura could make one tremble even a hundred meters away.
Under the watchful eyes of the assembly, Danpha, clad in simple black cloth shoes, advanced with deliberate, solemn steps.
She had seen many men, but Danpha's face exuded a chilling blend of ruthlessness and cunning. His dark, profound eyes were like unfathomable pools, inducing an involuntary shiver.
Danpha, originally named Chen Dan, traced his roots to Chaozhou, Guangdong. He was among the earliest Chinese underworld figures to gain prominence in Thailand.
This Triad overlord, who held sway over Thailand, though plainly dressed, radiated an intimidating menace that inexplicably provoked dread.
As they drew closer, Daian made out the figures behind Danpha: his wife, Nira Nguyen.
And her target for this operation: their only son, the Crown Prince of the Seahold Group.
Angwei—
The procession entered the main hall. Only then did the three men behind them fold the black umbrellas. They bowed to the leading monks, then, guided by the masters, placed Elder Chan's ashes upon the prepared altar in the center of the hall.
Positioned closest to the central incense cauldron, Daian was responsible for handing them incense. With each glance she cast their way, she couldn't conceal the hatred in her heart; her eyes shot forth arrows of ice.
The Nine-Faced Buddha, dominating both the underworld and legitimate spheres, had virtually no equal in Thailand. The impenetrable wall of power erected by the all-controlling Chan family left Daian with negligible chances of infiltrating it.
But this deadlock had introduced a pivotal figure.
Daian had previously been unaware the Nine-Faced Buddha had offspring. But two years ago, this Crown Prince had burst onto the scene. Rumors swirled through Thailand's underworld, all but confirming his existence.
Sister Hua had also received definitive confirmation from her Thai contact, N. From that moment, a new plan of vengeance had begun to brew in Daian's heart.
Yet, over these two years, almost nothing—neither authentic photos nor sightings—of Angwei has surfaced. Raised abroad, he shunned public appearances. Consequently, few knew what the Crown Prince actually looked like, only that his methods surpassed even those of his parents in ruthlessness.
Only after Danpha and Nira Nguyen had offered their incense, and Angwei stepped close to the incense cauldron, clasped his hands in a respectful bow, did Daian finally glimpse his face.