Rainy Night in the Chan Hall: The Buddhist Prince Breaks His Vows

I married He Guojin, the Buddhist devotee of Beijing's elite circles. He was austere and compassionate, reciting sutras even as he kissed me. Then, in his locked meditation room, I found the walls covered with photos of me, from my girlhood to last night, asleep. I turned around, trembling, only to see him standing by the door, rolling his prayer beads, his eyes bloodshot. “So you saw... Then tonight, let my true self love you instead.”

Later, his twin brother, who looked seven-tenths like him but lived a far more debauched life, pinned me against the altar in the Buddhist hall and chuckled as he bit my earlobe. “Sister-in-law, guess... who's been reciting sutras to deliver the dead every night, my brother or me?”