Daian turned to face Manager Asu, her mind racing.
In this dragon's pool and tiger's den, this place where people vanished without a trace, where her body being dumped in a landfill tomorrow wouldn't even warrant a police report. She gritted her teeth.
Survival came first.
"Fine," she said, crossing her arms, laying down her terms. "Agreed: I only pour drinks. Nothing else. And only for tonight."
Asu's face instantly brightened with relief. He readily agreed, then whisked her into the VIP hostesses' dressing room. He barked orders at several experienced women to get Daian ready.
The women worked with barely concealed resentment. The guest tonight was the prize they all vied for, yet this clueless server had snatched the opportunity. They pulled her hair sharply as they styled it, making her scalp sting.
Daian sensed their hostility. She deliberately picked up a hairpin, pretended to test its placement near her head, then "fumbled" it. The pin nearly pierced one woman's eye, leaving her pale and shaking, her comb clattering to the floor. The rough handling stopped immediately.
At eighteen, Daian possessed the fresh, dewy beauty of youth. Many have remarked that her most striking feature was her eyes.
Naturally narrow phoenix eyes, their outer corners tilted sharply upwards, radiating an alluring yet disdainful charm – an innate, captivating sensuality.
Paired with her high-bridged nose and slightly smaller-than-average lips, she resembled a clever fox – playful yet beguiling.
Once dressed and made up, Manager Asu marveled at her reflection, praising his own discerning eye, claiming she was born for this role.
Asu had the women brief her on basic etiquette, then handed her a bottle of liquor and escorted her to the fourth floor.
He whispered constant reminders: this guest was high-ranking military brass; she must serve with the utmost care. Daian nodded outwardly, inwardly rolling her eyes.
General Biyang, no doubt. The old man from the fight pit must have taken a liking to me.
Her plan was simple: get the old man drunk, then slip away.
Asu told her the VIP was in the "Mountain View" private room.
The fourth-floor corridor was a vast, square-shaped gallery done in Japanese style, though far grander and more opulent than typical.
Each private room bore an elegant name. Looking down the seemingly endless row felt like entering a deep, mysterious forest.
Occasionally, as hostesses or servers entered or exited rooms, snatches of suggestive music and laughter escaped through the door cracks, setting ears tingling.
As Daian passed a room named "Ocean Gaze," the sliding door suddenly burst open. A male server carrying a tea tray emerged. As she stepped aside to let him pass, her eyes flickered through the gap and caught a glimpse of a profile.
Angwei sat calmly at the table, a sinister smile playing on his lips.
He's still here.
Surprised, Daian paused, considering how to eavesdrop. Thankfully, this was near the end of the corridor, with little foot traffic.
She decided on boldness: she would peer through the crack. If caught, she'd feign being lost. It could work.
The server hadn't fully closed the door, leaving a small gap just wide enough for her eye.
Inside, two men sat facing each other, tension thick between them.
One was a middle-aged man with greying temples, classically Thai features radiating cunning and deceit. He had only one attendant.
Angwei sat opposite, several imposing bodyguards standing behind him. He wore a white shirt, open to reveal his chest where the Somdej amulet still rested. He toyed with a porcelain cup; his hands were large, knuckles prominent, radiating a wild, powerful energy.
Angwei leaned back lazily in his chair, silent. An air of calm, almost scholarly, refinement surrounded him, belying his age.
The maturity and composure he projected were rare for a man barely in his twenties.
The room's lighting was subdued. Soft wall lamps cast deep shadows on his sharply defined features, making his handsome, sculpted face appear even more profound and composed.
He gestured slightly towards the other man, a barely perceptible storm brewing in the corners of his eyes.
"Drink your tea."
The man opposite took a sip, then set the cup down before speaking. "Yesterday, your men smashed up our Hua Lamphong territory without a word. That's a direct challenge to Siam. How do you expect me to explain this to my brothers?"
He leaned forward. "Angwei, Seahold and Siam have had peace for twenty years. I believe anything can be resolved through talk. There was no need for such drastic action, to provoke conflict."
Siam?
Daian's mind raced. That must be the Siam Syndicate, once Thailand's largest crime organization.
The Siam Syndicate was founded by Siam Gong. The Nine-Faced Buddha, Danpha, had been Siam Gong's top enforcer before breaking away to form his own group: the Seahold Group.
Since then, Seahold's power has grown, rivaling and eventually surpassing Siam. During its rapid expansion, it absorbed many smaller gangs, becoming Thailand's dominant syndicate and a major force across Southeast Asia.
The current leader of Siam was Saichin, Siam Gong's son. Saichin's son, Desai, shared power.
So this man is Siam Syndicate.
Angwei toyed with the ring on his left index finger, his half-lidded eyes opening fully, radiating indifference. His voice was low, smooth, devoid of any discernible anger.
"Uncle Pong," he began, "I respect you as an elder. That's the only reason you're sitting here, in my territory, talking to me. But regarding this matter... you seem to be overstepping your authority to question me. If this is all you came for, then I see no point in continuing."
Though motionless, his smile held daggers. Each word carried chilling weight.
"Even if I said I was deliberately provoking Siam... what could you possibly do about it?"
Seeing Angwei wouldn't grant him any face, the man called Pong paled, though he maintained a rigid smile. "Angwei, even in our world, we must play by the rules—"
"Regardless of who broke the rules first," Angwei cut him off, his voice slow and deliberate. "I, Angwei, operate by three words: I feel like it. Moreover..."
He fixed Pong with a dark stare, took a slow sip of tea, and let his smile vanish. His voice dropped, cold and fog-laden. "I am, by nature, disinclined to follow rules."
Pong was momentarily speechless, infuriated by Angwei's unreasonable arrogance. His smile finally disappeared.
On Seahold turf, he dared not act rashly. He'd hoped to invoke some past loyalty to Danpha, but Angwei clearly wasn't buying it.
"I came today merely to remind you," Pong said tightly, "not to destroy decades of peace between our families. I believe Danpha would not wish to see this."
"Peace?" Angwei echoed, as if hearing a joke. His eyebrows arched. He turned to the tall, mixed-race bodyguard behind him. "Nuozhi, my Thai is rusty. Translate for me. What does Uncle Pong mean?"
The powerfully built guard smiled. "Young Master, Mr. Pong says he's begging you to spare his miserable dog life."
Pong's face instantly flushed crimson, veins bulging on his neck. "Who the f*ck asked you to speak, you bastard!" he roared at Nuozhi, then lashed out with his foot, kicking the low table violently aside. Instantly, Angwei's men drew their weapons, training them on Pong and his single attendant.