My husband and I once prayed for love at Putuo. Now that our wish had come true, we returned to the temple to give thanks on our third wedding anniversary.
But on the register of donors, I found a stranger’s name wedged between ours.
I called my husband. “Did you come to the temple before me?”
He sounded distinctly guilty. “I came with a client last week. I also donated some incense money for you while I was there. Why?”
The client he was talking about was a staunch atheist who wouldn’t even set foot inside a temple.
I gave a short laugh, hung up, and headed straight for the meditation room in the back courtyard.
“I knew it! Sincerity always gets results!”
“I wrote my name between theirs. The Bodhisattva will surely bless us and help us get together soon!”
I crossed my arms and looked at her.
Zhang Ming always said I was his destined love, the one the Bodhisattva had brought him together with.
It seemed he’d finally found a mistress bold enough to steal a man from the Bodhisattva.
