This Crown Prince was barely in his twenties.
Sharp, slightly wavy shoulder-length hair fell at his nape. A crucifix earring adorned his left ear. Beneath the sharp, sword-like brows were eyes as keen as a hawk's, set in a face of extraordinary handsomeness.
But the profound indifference radiating from his gaze seemed to scorn everything. An aura of chilling menace emanated from him, formidable enough to make others recoil, rivaling—if not surpassing—that of his father.
A few stray strands of hair fell across his forehead, softening the piercing intensity of his eyes slightly. His black shirt hung open casually, revealing a powerfully built chest. Around his neck hung a sacred amulet.
A Somdej – for protection and warding off malevolent forces.
Those deep-set eyes held no discernible expression, yet an air of languid dissolution and recklessness surrounded his very being, potent enough to make others instinctively step back and draw a sharp breath.
The Chan family knelt in the center of the grand hall amidst the undulating chants of the monks, heads bowed, hands clasped in prayer, faces etched with grief.
Subsequently, a procession of dignitaries and luminaries entered through the main doors. Danpha, accompanied by his family, bowed respectfully to each in turn, receiving them and guiding them to their seats.
Daian recognized several formidable figures among them. From the legitimate world: government officials, business magnates, a Thai royal duke, the Chief of Police, the Director-General of the Treasury, the Minister of Labour, and leaders of major conglomerates – many were faces known from the news.
Influential figures who preferred to remain unseen, such as military personnel, sent only floral wreaths to avoid scrutiny.
From the underworld, apart from the boss of Hong Kong's Tai Ping Tong who sent wreaths citing unavoidable business, virtually all the major, established syndicate leaders across Asia were present.
This funeral served as a potent display of the Chan family's extensive connections spanning both sides of the law, showcasing their immense influence. In Thailand, save for the monarchy and the military, they could operate with near impunity.
The prolonged standing during the day left Daian utterly exhausted. By afternoon, the lay devotees had dispersed from the main hall, leaving only a contingent of monks and disciples to tend the incense.
She knew tonight, the Chan descendants would remain in the temple to keep vigil. This was her only chance to get close to Angwei.
As night deepened, Daian slipped out of the main hall. She concealed herself in the bushes near a guest room in a side building, where he was temporarily resting.
Wat Pho was vast, yet accessible areas were limited—mostly stupas and temple halls. She gambled that he would stroll near this spot. After all, it housed the temple's only lotus pond, a secluded and scenic area conveniently close to his quarters.
Approaching midnight, a light flickered in the side building's guest room, guarded by two burly men at the door. Soon after, the light inside went out.
Angwei emerged. She heard his low, gravelly voice instruct the two men not to follow. He had chanted sutras all day and needed to stretch his limbs.
With police stationed outside Wat Pho, safety wasn't a concern. Exhausted by the day's events, the two men, feeling drowsy and lacking energy for anything else, simply acknowledged his order and headed towards the main hall where chairs offered rest.
Before Angwei drew near, Daian shed her worn, heavy monk's robes on the bank, revealing a flimsy, gauzy robe clinging to her light undergarments beneath.
It was rendered almost transparent—intentionally so.
She removed the monk's cap, concealing her long hair, letting a cascade of black tresses fall like a waterfall to her waist. Picking up a string of prayer beads, she glanced towards the approaching shadowy figure in the distance, then plunged into the lake.
Trained to hold her breath, she could manage two and a half minutes at most—her absolute limit.
Daian's objective was clear: use her beauty to capture Angwei's attention.
Her origins were humble, she possessed nothing. Yet, fate had granted her exceptional looks.
Sister Hua had told her: for women in their world, there was no weapon more potent than the body. A beautiful body was worthless if it couldn't be exchanged for money or power.
But Daian sought neither money nor power. She sought only revenge. If she succeeded, this gamble would be worth it.
This body was her sole remaining asset. Resolved, she chose to stake it in the game.
In the world's most sacred place, she would lure out his basest desires. Achieving even seventy percent of her aim would be a complete victory.
The Triad Crown Prince had undoubtedly seen many women. His preferences, inclinations, temperament—she knew nothing. But without trying, she would never know.
If she could seize even a fraction of his interest, she could turn him into a pawn in her revenge.
Yet, she was acutely aware: if her plan failed, she would become an ant beneath his heel, crushed utterly and eternally.
Therefore, within the hollow locket around her neck, she concealed a potent poison—a dose that would bring agonizing death within ten minutes, sparing her prolonged torment.
Daian submerged herself, sensing the outside world through the still water. The footsteps had ceased not far away. Only the faint rustling of insects remained.
Timing it precisely, she surged upwards, flinging her soaked hair back, wiping water from her face to clear her vision.
Through her peripheral vision, she distinctly felt the heat of two intense gazes fixed upon her.
Angwei stood half-concealed in the shadows beside a column of the side building, his expression unreadable. But his deep, inscrutable eyes caught shards of moonlight, gleaming.
In the darkness, they resembled the eyes of a wolf.
He stood with casual ease, one ankle loosely crossed over the other, as if observing an entertaining spectacle unrelated to himself. A cigarette glowed between his index and middle fingers. He took two deep drags, exhaled plumes of smoke, and his gaze never wavered from her through the hazy veil.
Pretending to retrieve her prayer beads from the lake bottom, Daian moved slowly from the depths of the lotus-filled pond towards the bank.
Her thin robe, saturated with water, clung slickly to her skin, losing any semblance of modesty. It outlined every alluring curve of her slender figure.
Silver moonlight spilled over Daian's face and body. Wet strands of hair plastered her neck, tracing down to the full, firm swell of her breasts, dripping with beads of water that seemed charged with desire.
With every inch that emerged from the water, her exquisite form unveiled another measure of intoxicating temptation, holding the rapt attention of those dark eyes watching from the night.
Yet, even as she stepped fully out of the pond, Angwei didn't move forward. He remained rooted, motionless, his gaze as deep and probing as the night itself.
Truly a product of the underworld, she thought. Far more cautious than most.
Barefoot, Daian walked onto the bank, her body fully exposed in the bright moonlight.
Biting her lip, she hugged her arms across her chest, feigning a frantic glance around. She scooped up the discarded monk's robes from the shore and fled in panic in the opposite direction.
As she left, her peripheral vision caught the figure in the shadows taking one, then two large, swift strides forward as if to pursue her—but he stopped abruptly after the third step, rooted once more to the spot.
The plan hadn't failed. Not entirely. She vanished into a pre-scouted side path and fled the temple grounds at speed.
Back in her apartment, Daian retrieved a new SIM card from a drawer and inserted it into her phone.
She filled the bathtub with steaming water, dropping in a rose-scented bath bomb to wash away the scent of mud and pond.
Feeling pleased with the night, she decided on champagne.
Slender fingers curled around the stem of an elegant flute. She shed all her clothes, sinking naked into the fragrant water. One hand held the phone to her ear, resting it on the ledge.
Past one in the morning—while the world might sleep, Sister Hua never did.
For as long as Daian could remember, Sister Hua was the type who scarcely ventured out before dark.
Her true domain was the midnight hour.
The phone rang only once before it was answered, followed by Sister Hua's familiar, urgent voice.
"Dai? Are you alright? Are you safe?"