The Scent of August Osmanthus

He was elegant and handsome, devoted to Buddha and untouched by worldly ways. If he had never met her, perhaps he would have continued living that simple life. But why, oh why, had fate made him meet that domineering, cunning woman, who forced her way into his life and stirred up his tranquil heart? He hated himself for being unable to resist temptation. His master often said he had a gift for enlightenment, yet he had never been destined for Buddhism, because he could not escape the trials of love. A trial of love?! What a joke. What was she to him, that woman who was like a demon? He hated her. Without her, perhaps he would have been fine, instead of heartbroken and battered as he was now. She was bewitching and alluring. Men across the land were willing to spend a fortune just to win a smile from her. Someone so accustomed to getting her way had never met a man like him, who acted as though she were a ghost. Her pride would not let her accept it, so she barged into his life like a bandit, disrupting his monastic rules and hindering his spiritual practice. All because… all because she wanted him to stop rejecting her. She had always been free-spirited, so when had she ever willingly let herself be bound? If she was willing to trade her freedom for his love, why wouldn’t he accept her? Yes, perhaps her motives were impure at first. Perhaps she had only meant to tease him for fun. Perhaps she had secretly delighted in watching him break the rules and get punished. But now that she was ready to offer him her whole heart, why was he still unwilling to accept her? To hell with Buddha! What did Buddhism matter? If she wanted something, she would stop at nothing to get it, even if she had to slay gods and Buddhas!