Daian regained consciousness in the hospital the following morning. The wound on her forehead had been stitched and bandaged.
The doctor informed her she'd sustained a hard blow to her lower back and should avoid strenuous activity. He prescribed medication for both oral and topical use. He also relayed that the person who had brought her in had already settled the medical bills, so she needn't worry.
Holding her medicine, Daian made her unsteady way home. It happened to be the weekend, so she rested for two days, returning to school only on Monday.
In the crowded lecture hall during a general studies class, she unexpectedly locked eyes with Yaruo. Neither spoke. The ponytailed Yaruo nodded at her from across the room. Daian responded with the faintest upward curve of her lips.
For over a week after that, Daian didn't return to her part-time job at Sandalwood Palace.
First, her recent bad luck and injuries required rest. Second, she wasn't sure if Angwei would still frequent Sandalwood Palace without the fights.
If he wasn't around, incidents like the one with General Biyang could easily happen again. She had no desire to plunge herself back into that fire.
As evening fell, Sister Hua called. N had sent word again, saying it was strange – perhaps the beauty trap had worked. Angwei had been seen at Sandalwood Palace for two consecutive days.
In the two years prior, he'd visited so infrequently you could count the times on one hand, and almost always in connection with a fight. Yet there were no fight announcements for these recent visits.
Right after hanging up, coincidentally or not, Asu, the Sandalwood Palace manager, called her.
The background noise was deafening. Daian had to cover one ear to make out his words.
Asu pretended to inquire about her health. Hearing she was fine, he subtly, then less subtly, urged her to return to work soon. He promised she'd only serve as a waitress, no longer be forced to be a Hostess Princess, and offered her a higher commission.
Lying back on her bed, Daian felt the game had reached an interesting turn. She agreed to return the next day. Asu's voice couldn't hide his excitement.
She knew this was likely Asu's own initiative, not an order from Angwei.
She wasn't important enough for Young Master Angwei to specifically send a floor manager to fetch her. This was just a subordinate trying to curry favor by anticipating his boss's desires.
That night in the Ocean Gaze Room, how could this manager, shrewd as a fox after years in the nightlife scene, have missed the intense interest simmering in the man's eyes?
The night Daian returned to Sandalwood Palace, Asu sidled up to her, oozing flattery. He rubbed his hands together as if about to make a significant request, beating around the bush before finally speaking.
"Daian, you're not on the main floor tonight. Young Master Angwei is entertaining guests on the fourth floor of the South Wing. You'll serve them privately – just brew tea and pour drinks."
Daian knew the next opportunity had arrived, but she feigned reluctance, testing the waters.
"Manager Asu, that young master... I'm scared of him. You know what happened last time. His men beat me until I ended up in the hospital. Honestly, if you hadn't called, I wouldn't have come back. This job is very dangerous. No matter what, I don't want to serve him again."
The old fox stroked his chin, trying to reassure her.
"Don't be afraid. Last time was an exception. Young Master Angwei... what kind of man is he? If he truly wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing here now. It was he who ordered me to take you to the hospital. That's... almost unheard of for him."
Asu narrowed his eyes at her, smiling meaningfully.
Daian pretended not to understand, shaking her head. "I didn't get it. I'm still scared."
"Trust me. It'll be fine."
Under Asu's persistent coaxing and guarantees, Daian finally pretended to yield, albeit with extreme reluctance, and headed up to the fourth floor of the South Wing.
The South Wing – the same building that housed the underground fight club.
She'd heard this wing was usually for "legitimate" business dealings. The ambiance was deliberately serene and refined, catering to the supposedly upright temperaments of businessmen.
The contrast was designed to stir desire, gradually eroding their self-righteous defenses, luring them deeper step by step.
The fourth floor was styled like a traditional Chinese teahouse, its décor exuding an air of deep, quiet elegance.
A long corridor stretched before her. The draft whistling through it carried a chill that made her gasp.
As Daian approached the tall bodyguard by the door, a sudden wave of apprehension hit her. Looking up, she realized it wasn't the same man who'd hit her last time, and her chest eased slightly.
A trace of fear lingered, though. It hurt terribly.
Nuozhi, the Thai-German giant, stood at nearly six-foot-three, with solid muscles. If he had been the one to strike her, she might not have survived.
The man didn't speak, just offered her a knowing smile.
Daian gave him a sidelong glance but didn't respond. She curled her index finger and rapped slightly twice on the door before pushing it open.
Inside the spacious, dark wood-paneled Chinese-style private room, the lighting was subdued, and the rich aroma of tea hung thick in the air.
Behind a four-panel jade screen depicting Along the River during the Qingming Festival, a pair of familiar, obsidian-dark eyes watched her through the curling smoke. Calm as still lakes, they held not a ripple of emotion, flicking away after only a second.
The gaze that didn't waver belonged to the portly man sitting opposite Angwei. From the moment she entered, his eyes remained glued to her chest.
Daian steadied herself, deliberately avoiding the man's stare. She dipped her head slightly and approached with a tray bearing premium Dragon Well tea.
Across the nearly two-meter-wide tea table, Angwei and the man sat facing each other, north and south. The atmosphere wasn't tense, lacking any sense of confrontation.
Legitimate business dealings were presumably far more civil, with less room for violence.
Daian settled onto a zabuton cushion in the center, elegantly tucking her legs to one side. Serving both men from her position, the slit of her qipao revealed the pale, smooth skin of her thigh, drawing the heated gaze of the man beside her.
She slowly took the tea leaves from the tray, her pale fingers disappearing into the dark green leaves. She measured out a portion into each cup, then poured freshly boiled water over them. Instantly, plumes of steam rose.
"Sir, Dragon Well tea," she said, nodding with a practiced smile at the man whose chin seemed to merge with his neck. "From the Imperial Eighteen Bushes." She slid the cup towards him.
The man's lecherous eyes drifted pointedly towards the swell of her breasts. He practically drooled. "Fine tea, fine tea! The Imperial Eighteen Bushes are more precious than gold. To taste such exquisite Chinese tea here in Bangkok... Young Master Chan's hospitality is truly exceptional."
"It's rare for Boss Wei to visit Bangkok personally," Angwei replied coolly, lightly flicking ash from his cigarette. "For a distinguished guest such as yourself, only the highest standard of reception is appropriate. This is the Seahold Group's courtesy and sincerity."
Daian pushed the other teacup towards Angwei. Only then did he look up. His gaze traveled slowly from her pale fingers, up her arm, to her face.
He noticed the mole beneath her lip first, then discerned the nearly transparent bandage peeking from beneath her hair.
Quite a hit she took. Shows some grit. Facing me again without a trace of fear.
The corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly at the thought. He looked away, taking a lazy drag from his cigarette.
"Ah!"
The teapot lid slipped from her grasp with a sharp clatter. Boiling water splashed out. Daian flinched, murmuring apologies for her clumsiness.
She instinctively tried to pull back her scalded hand, but Boss Wei suddenly seized it.