Longshan.
Mosque.
In a section of the inner courtyard where outsiders were refused entry, burly men in black suits stood shoulder to shoulder.
Each man had a white flower pinned to his suit pocket.
Silent and solemn, the atmosphere was quiet and oppressive.
Inside the incense hall.
Seoul's preeminent underworld boss, Cui Zaiye, stared at the urn of ashes placed before the shrine, his facial muscles taut, his eyes quivering with a mix of hatred and pain.
Next to the shrine.
A high-ranking monk from the temple stood with his hands together, his head bowed in silent chant, praying for the deceased.
"Da da da..."
The sound of footsteps arose.
A man, hurrying, made his way through the pressing crowd and quickly approached Cui Zaiye.
First, he bowed deeply to the urn, then he turned slightly, bowing his head, and spoke in a lowered voice, "All of our people have been captured by the police."
