【Scent of Enchanting Beauty】

Scent of Intoxication (1)

(Part 1)

She turned over, her snow-white thighs curving beautifully on the blanket. The sweltering heat of Taipei gave her

body a subtle sheen. I went over and pulled her up, holding her against my chest, carefully wiping her down, and then

dressing .

For a moment, I wished she would open her eyes, perhaps for a hug, or even just a

wistful look, anything would be better than this, but I dared not. I was afraid I would lose her forever.

I kissed her soft, sweet lips again, saying goodbye. Her head drooped to one side, her long,

dark hair spread out on the pillow like a black sunflower. I opened the window, letting the faint sweet scent of the rooster's crow at dawn dissipate,

then leaped westward.

(A moment later)

In a daze, it seemed my clothes were completely gone, followed by a heavy weight pressing down on me. This had happened many times before. I

imagined it as sleep paralysis, chanting Buddhist mantras, hoping the ghost would pass quickly. But the pleasure emanating from my chest made me

feel it was just a wet dream. Who was he in the dream? I couldn't piece together a single image; it was as if I was making love with a

masked stranger.

His penis was thick, long, and powerful, seemingly reaching my heart, grinding and drilling beneath. I wanted to lift

my hips to meet him, but I couldn't; I could only anxiously await his impact on my sensitive spot. His hands groped under my buttocks, seemingly

wanting me to come closer. His calloused palms had a unique charm as they caressed me, their squeezing and kneading seeming even more powerful.

I could feel him wiping me, from my breasts down to my lower body, back and forth repeatedly. For a moment I

must have been asleep, no, I really was asleep. Was it a dream or not? Was it a butterfly, Zhuangzi? Or was it just

a monster in my heart?

I opened my eyes; dawn was breaking. The birds hanging on the windowsill sang loudly. What a dream! I think I'll have

a very energetic day.

(Second Grade)

She and he came back together. I hadn't seen him before, and he didn't seem like much. He put his arm around her waist and led her intimately

into the house. I hid on the balcony, watching them through the gap in the curtains. I watched him passionately tear off her clothes, watched him

remove her bra and panties, watched them calmly make love under the light.

I stared at her. Sometimes her brows furrowed, sometimes she gritted her teeth; her facial expressions were rich and varied. I

remembered last night; her face was just a blank expression, like a plastic beauty. Her legs were wrapped around the man's

waist , her hips swaying violently. The man breathed heavily, and the muscles of her breasts bulged between his fingers, her bright red

nipples swaying before my eyes.

When I entered, the man was already unconscious, but she seemed to still have some awareness, I didn't know. Maybe I should have

waited a few more minutes, maybe I deliberately let her regain some consciousness, I didn't know. Anyway, her eyes slowly closed.

Would she remember me? Or would she be completely oblivious as usual?

Her lower body was wet and crimson, the man's semen still lingering in her vagina. I suppressed my fear

and thrust into her forcefully, pumping hard. Her face was calm, as if she were completely unconscious. I continued to ravage her until

the night was almost over.

(Second Middle School)

I woke up, the room filled with the smell of semen. No wonder I was dizzy; I had ejaculated

too much last night. She's so incredibly lewd, hehe, I'll issue the personnel order today and transfer her to be my

confidential secretary . Oh dear, look, she still has tears on her face, that's no joke, she must be fucking ecstatic.

"Are you crying?" I asked her deliberately, and she just said lightly, "Nothing." Damn it, women

always pretend, clearly enjoying themselves but refusing to admit it. Next time I'll make sure you're in heaven, fucking ascended to immortality.

(Second part)

I think this isn't a dream, is it? He came in at the last moment, with a melancholy expression on his face. What was he melancholy about?

It was that I was drugged and raped by him. The scene of our first meeting was still playing out in the dream, but I knew that the stranger wearing the mask

was him, which made me feel a little better; at least he wasn't as vulgar as the vice president.

From his violent thrusts, I could feel his anger. What was he hating? Did he hate me? I tried

to stay awake, but my senses were slowly fading. I knew he was still thrusting, tearing at my hair. I wanted

him to stop, to let me have a good dream, but... but he was so big, I didn't want him to stop.

(2)

(Explanation 1)

"You said you couldn't use it, but you must have used it, right?" The master didn't answer, turning his face to the window.

Outside was a lush green lawn, and several nurses were pushing hospital beds past hurriedly. That was the direction of the morgue.

The master muttered something, a tear glistening in the corner of his eye. This was how he had been for the past few years; he could

return to any point in his memory at any time. His profound martial arts skills couldn't shield him from the erosion of time.

The "cockcrow at dawn" incense is a low-class sleeping potion in martial arts novels. Could the master actually be

a disciple ? Nowadays, what does it matter which school or sect is related? These martial arts have probably been lost long ago. Would anyone still bother practicing these skills

that can't even stop a bullet? Master is overthinking it. But it's true that you shouldn't use sleeping potions too often. It seems

Master must have had some painful experience with them.

Is learning Wudang really just about building a strong physique? No, I want to steal from a thousand households at night. I fucking refuse to be poor.

Anyway, probably no one believes in any martial arts masters these days.

(

Second explanation)

"Why can't I use it?" he kept asking. "You must have used it." He said. Of course,

otherwise how would you be here? But I can't say, son. That's the reason, son. If I say it, all

the good things will be lost. That's the reason.

I turned my face to the window, avoiding his questioning. Which unlucky bastard was summoned by the alliance leader and pushed to

the morgue by the nurse? Am I next? You didn't come today. Sigh, do you even know me? All these years, haven't you ever

suspected anything?

Hmm, I remember. Your hair went from long to short, from black to white. But all you know is me as a

friendly neighbor, a kind old man who could help you soothe your children. Do you know I sat beside you every night, gazing at you intently?

"Oh? Ah, I love to pull open your breasts and carefully lick your bright red buds, letting them stand erect before me. It reminds

me of my mother, of the maternal love I lost. The rich, juicy peach always draws me to savor it.

Hmm, your man is always sound asleep beside you. He can't make you happy, can he? I can make you happy,

really . I've practiced kung fu. Look, it's almost dawn, and it's still strong and powerful. Look at me, look at me

. You always peacefully enjoy my caresses, don't you? You like receiving my thrusts in your dreams, don't you?

Don't you?

" (Explanation 3)

"It'll be in the next few days," the young doctor said. Twenty years, twenty years? I still

remember what he looked like twenty years ago. How come he's about to finish his journey all of a sudden? He wouldn't know his

secret, would he? I discovered it the first few times, would I? That was an embarrassing scene. I can't shamelessly proclaim it out.

That time, I secretly took a sip of cold water; the sleeping potion didn't work. After he sneaked in, I

quickly closed my eyes. He was like a cat, rubbing against me, making me feel ticklish. But I dared not make a sound,

nor open my eyes, afraid he would suddenly pull out a knife.

Was he a gentle man? He always gently inserted his member, then

moved . I had a lot of discharge; he must have known I was enjoying his gentleness, right? But he pretended not to know

. Perhaps he really didn't know; I didn't know. Maybe this was for the best; I didn't want to ruin everything.

Through my vagina, I knew its size, but I could only mentally describe its shape, its

color , and imagine it covered in my vaginal fluid, standing proudly erect. I am wanton; I know that. From him,

I know.

Scent of Intoxication (3)

(Let's start from the beginning)

Damn it, why do we have to start with me? I'm not even a supporting character in the story, why do we have to show

my face? I'm just using a little privilege to play with girls, it's not a big deal, I'm not

playing with you guys anymore.

(Let's start from the beginning, part two)

In the world of martial arts, you're not in control of your own destiny. I mean, once you start something, it's like you're addicted to drugs and

can't stop. I anxiously wait for midnight every day, that's the happiest time of the day. I can freely

use Eight-Step Cicada-Catching Lightness Skill to run through the night.

Humans have inherent flaws. Once you learn to walk, you become impatient with crawling, and

you'll unconsciously jump over low walls.

That night was destined to be eventful. I had just gotten up when I caught sight of two watchdogs approaching.

They rubbed their eyes, probably thinking they were seeing things—after all, who would be like Liao Tianding these days? I lay prone on the roof

for a while, finally finding an opportunity to climb into another dark alley.

That's when she appeared. Judging by my professional judgment, she was probably not my target, but

she was truly beautiful. My intuition reminded me of my unhappy mother. Was she an unhappy office worker? She went upstairs, and I

waited for her to turn on the light before leaping onto her balcony.

She threw herself onto the sofa, stretched out her legs, braced herself with her hands behind her, tilted her head back, and let her long, black,

glossy hair cascade down like a waterfall. At that moment, I think I will never forget it. I remember the moment her hair fell down

, the little bell hanging from her ear seemed to ring once. Of course, it was my imagination, but in the days

that followed , the sound it made in my dreams tugged at my heartstrings.

For a moment, my master's words, "Don't use it," echoed in my mind, but wasn't now the perfect time

? I took out the sleeping incense and sprayed it into the room. The incense had a faint sweet scent, like the lingering fragrance of my mother's hair.

I rolled into the room, and she was already unconscious.

She was wearing a traditional, sack-like nightgown, the skirt trimmed with white lace, the satin fabric

shimmering silver in the night. Her bare arms peeked out from the thin straps, resting on a teddy bear. There were two

smallpox scars on her arms; she must be from the countryside.

City life must have exhausted her, I thought.

It took me a lot of effort to free her from her clothes. She had a head of beautiful, jet-black hair,

and of course, her pubic hair was thick and curly. I thought of the classic Playboy model;

shaving it into a straight line would be a good choice, and her man would definitely agree.

Her eyes were darting around under her eyelids, indicating she was in a deep sleep. I didn't know if she was asleep or

had been knocked unconscious by the incense. My master said its effect lasted two hours, which is four hours, but who knows

how long this stuff had been left out? Maybe only an hour left, who knows?

The lower abdomen is always a man's focus, and I was no exception. I parted her legs;

the fuzzy hair extended all the way to her labia and even lower down. The area where her legs met was dark red. Wearing a bikini might require

some makeup, but that didn't detract from her beauty.

I pressed her down, drawing her close to me. Perhaps she would remember my scent, and

someday , perhaps her senses would suddenly awaken, and she would subconsciously remember this erotic dream?

(Let's start from point three.)

Since retreating to Taiwan, I've escaped the sect leader's clutches. I should thank the Communists for that shot; it

hit the sect leader right in the heart. He only had time to say something, but I didn't hear it clearly amidst the hail of bullets

. I didn't want to be a thief for the rest of my life anyway.

But fate is always so cruel, letting me see her. I keep thinking, if I hadn't seen

her, what would I be like today? Maybe I'd be surrounded by a bunch of children and grandchildren; well,

who knows, maybe I'd be in jail eating prison food!

Anyway, she just walked into my heart, and my heart is my chest. She makes my heart ache every night, so I

must open her chest and see if her heart is made of flesh and blood. I must have her, no matter what; I've

made up my mind.

I once told him never to use the rooster-crowing incense, but my master told me I should

use it , saying, "It's the way to get rich." It's ridiculous, isn't it? In less than three generations, there's been a complete 180-degree turn.

Her man lay naked beside her, and so did she. They slept in each other's arms, which made me very uncomfortable.

I kicked him aside, and he didn't dare utter a sound, completely under the influence of the incense. She remained fast

asleep . My hands trembled as I touched her body, hoping she would react, but she didn't.

She just lay there quietly, without even a snore. Actually, I knew she couldn't react at all; it was just her inner

desire.

(Let's start from the beginning)

He didn't come to the hospital that day, so I stayed by his bedside. He needed to urinate, but the nurses were busy, so

I had to take the urinal from under the bed to help him. He was a little embarrassed, pulling his pants tighter and smiling at me. Actually,

shouldn't I be the one feeling ashamed? For twenty years, he had seen every part of my body, and had entered and exited me countless

times, yet now he was so shy and hesitant. It was both infuriating and funny.

Actually, I was quite nervous too. The thing I had described day and night for twenty years was finally something I could touch with my own hands; it

was a kind of closure for myself.

I pulled down his pants, staring at the thing I had once longed for. Now it

hung to the left, still large, but no longer as virile. A few strands of pubic hair were graying; it seemed he couldn't

escape the ravages of time.

I leaned down and held his penis. It suddenly sprang to life, swelling. I felt a pang of

longing it seemed to have been fulfilled in this moment. I held it in my palm, letting it slowly swell until it

was fully erect. He lowered his head, silent, tears welling in his eyes, his lips twitching. I knew he wanted to

apologize , but he didn't say it.

(Let's start from point five.)

The vice president had long coveted me, but I never expected him to make a move on me in the office. I'd heard plenty of

sweet talk ; the important thing was whether they could keep their promises. He's actually doing alright. Last time he secretly touched my

butt twice, and his base salary increased by two thousand on his payslip this month. Like today, when he pinned me down on his desk and kissed me,

wouldn't that increase to ten thousand?

What worries me more is that I've been having frequent erotic dreams lately. Well, not quite erotic dreams, though. My labia always

feel swollen. I haven't had sex recently, so this shouldn't be happening. Ah! Could it be that I'm

touching myself in my dreams? Ugh, so embarrassing! It's all that jerk's fault. When will he finally retire?

Yesterday was really strange; how did I fall asleep like that? But that erotic dream really made my soul fly to heaven. If

there were a man with such extraordinary talent in the world, I would abandon everything to be with him.

Scent of intoxication (4)

(Woman with legs spread wide)

He entered reeking of alcohol, no longer the refined man he usually was. Was this the man I knew? I began

to doubt my choice. He roughly tore off my clothes, then spread my legs and knelt down

to look at my genitals. I shyly squeezed my thighs together, but he pulled them apart even more forcefully, like a beast eager to hunt.

I didn't know why he was so eager to look at my genitals. Maybe it was simply because they

had been covered , which made them seem mysterious to him. Maybe he wanted to confirm whether I was a virgin. I

didn't know.

I obediently let go of my reserve and let him look directly at me. He breathed heavily with excitement, his hot breath wafting towards my

crotch—the kind of hot, itchy breath that makes you itch uncontrollably. I dared not move, because I wasn't

a wanton woman; I was a virgin, only eighteen.

(Woman with legs spread, part two)

I spread them in a V-shape. Her pubic hair was sparse, concentrated only near her pubic bone, with

the densest area above her labia. Her vaginal opening was slightly open, wet and slippery; I didn't know if it was natural secretions or

residual . I felt a pang of jealousy, but there was nothing I could do.

There seemed to be an endless suction there, enticing me to ride inside. She had a lot of secretions; I had to

wipe them constantly to prevent them from staining the sheets. He was still lying in the corner of the bed, his breathing fine and long. This

wretched man, he married her, yet couldn't give her a happy life, while I, the one who could give her a happy life

, had to rely on this drug to be close to her. God was truly unfair.

I kicked him lightly, and he rolled over, still snoring loudly. I gave him another kick, and he finally

got off the bed. Are you happy to be rid of this jerk? Today I'm going to shoot my passionate semen full into your

womb , and then you'll have a baby with my blood. That's proof of my love for you.

Can you feel its heat? That's my passion for you.

(Woman with legs spread wide, part three)

I hate it when he spreads my legs. He always sniffs around like a dog, as if there's

some . My legs are on his shoulders, so sore, so sore. But it's his favorite position, and I

have to please him because the personnel department is closing its accounts tomorrow. If I don't let him have his fill, my raise will probably be delayed for another month.

I have to endure, endure, endure.

Why doesn't he touch my breasts? I don't know. Actually, I think my breasts are the most beautiful

part . They're white where they should be, and red where they should be. Licking and kissing my nipples makes me even happier. But men are strange; they always

focus on that dark area. I don't think it's pretty, and it smells awful, but men are always

drawn to odors, without exception.

He finally barged in. I had to change positions. Yes, let him enter from behind. That way, he'll be satisfied

quickly and leave quickly. I'm so tired; I want to get a good night's sleep.

(Woman with legs spread wide, part four)

Her sleeping posture is unsightly; she always likes to spread her legs, like a plastic doll in a sex shop. I

like watching her with her legs bent, sleeping soundly on her teddy bear. It reminds me of many heartwarming little stories.

Today she's wearing black lace panties, the kind sold in sex shops. This must have been

bought for her by that lecherous man. That bastard! What has he done to this innocent girl?

I didn't like her lying there motionless, but what could I do? That's how the drug works; it can't

make her both unconscious and conscious, just like you can't make a woman both dignified and promiscuous. Nothing in this world is perfect, isn't that what

it means?

I took off her panties, turned her to her side, and the curve from her waist to her hips was her most beautiful feature.

Square, it was a smooth line, without a single ounce of fat or wrinkle. Touching it was like touching

a Ferrari; you could feel the taste, the sophistication, the expense.

Finally, I entered her, I don't know why. I didn't necessarily want to sleep with her, but I couldn't

help myself, as if that was my purpose. Who knows? Perhaps that really was my purpose, but deep down,

I vaguely felt I was falling into a terrible trap. Was this why my master warned me "not to use it"?

I don't know.

(Woman with legs spread wide, part five)

Damn it, what business is it of yours if I like smelling women's genitals? I just fucking love smelling

women . Which woman in the office hasn't I smelled? Of course, that old maid doesn't count; is she even a woman?

Scent of Intoxication (5)

(Illusion 1)

She lay there like a wax figure, her crystalline naked body under the light, stirring my desire. Can a woman

only attract a man with the offering of her body, or do men only expect the offering of a woman's body? I don't know.

I only know that at this moment, I must bend down to play with her, to appreciate her, to taste her, and only through this

ritual can I truly possess her.

But the pleasure of sex is ultimately just my one-sided fantasy, an illusion I deliberately created.

She remained silent in the face of my ravaging; perhaps it could be said that even her right to remain silent was taken away by the scent of intoxication. Her wooden

face seemed to protest my brutality, or to express helpless indifference.

Is this my love? Is loving a woman without a real soul the fate of those who use incantations

? Do I love the illusion I've created? Or am I unable to bear the cruel reality behind the illusion? What is reality anyway?

Isn't reality also an illusion?

I gently insert my penis into her wet lower body, shortening the distance between us inch by inch. I hold that warm female body

tightly , yet I feel her soul growing ever more distant from me.

(Illusion Two)

I can feel my energy draining away from me, bit by bit. I must clench my fists

to feel life. Actually, I know that no matter how tightly I clench my fists now, I can no longer grasp anything. Perhaps I

'm just anticipating, anticipating something I don't know will happen? Perhaps it's the death I'm about to face? I

don't know.

Her image swirls in my mind. I am the zither lying on your lap, stretching out my

graceful waiting for the tenderness of your fingers. This is the poet's experience, but it's my unbearable reality. Fantasy is just an illusion.

I fantasize about her yielding, about her opening her clothes and expecting my caresses, but those are all just illusions.

I can't let her know the truth, yet deep down, I yearn for it. Isn't this a great

tragedy ?

My penis—no, my cock—slowly, bit by bit, swelled in her warm, long heart

. For years, it had never felt so real. She finally held it in her conscious state, even though she didn't know

the truth. But, but, I was already satisfied.

At that moment, I didn't know what she was thinking. She held it in her palm, staring at it, as if she

too was recalling something. She wouldn't know, would she? Perhaps she already knew? I don't know. I dared not look up at

her, afraid my eyes would betray my secret. This is my tragedy. I can only let her see an eternal

illusion . For her, is this happiness?

(Illusion Three)

How can you call me an old maid? The truth is hidden behind the illusion.

How will you know the truth if you don't take off my clothes?

(Illusion Four)

Truth and falsehood are intertwined; I can't distinguish between them. If he were real, would I fall in love with him? No, I

will still climb higher. This is my most important task right now; I can't let obstacles stand in my way. So everything

is fake. Even if he were real, I must let go.

In my dream, he ignited my passion. I writh restlessly, but I am powerless. It feels as if

a monster is darting in and out of my vagina. I want to grab it, strangle it, and make it lie still, but it

keeps darting until it finally tires and withdraws automatically like a decaying leaf.

Then I woke up, looking at the birds singing outside the window, excited and happy. I thought, perhaps it was all

just a dream, a dream that brings both joy and anxiety. And I, I must face tomorrow, confront reality, uh, maybe.

(Illusion Five)

This is good, I kept telling myself, let's all take the secret to our graves, maybe this is the best

solution, I don't know.

Life is hard enough, why pursue truth or illusion? Truth is falsehood, falsehood is truth,

who can tell the difference clearly? He lives a tiring life, and I'm not at ease either; this is the pain of those who hold the truth. Perhaps death

is also a relief for him, why be so attached?

But my dream can only ever be a dream, never to become reality again. Perhaps, an eternal

dream is eternal happiness?

Scent of Love (6)

(Love and Death I)

Suppressing my overwhelming desire, I rushed in the opposite direction from her dwelling. I had to find a place where

I could calm myself and let my thoughts settle. I dragged her shadow along, running through the night. Her

quiet face kept flashing through my mind. I crossed rooftops and jumped over ponds, but she remained calm and composed.

Was that my love? A love like that of a scented incense?

But, without the scent of love, could my love still exist? Love is always just a one-sided desire . The scent of love

makes illusions real, but it also makes reality seem like fiction. Perhaps, in the end, it was just a dream, a dream

like that of a scented incense, and I, too, was trapped in the scent of love, just like her.

(Love and Death II)

I took her hand, and she didn't pull away. It was a soft and delicate hand, I knew it.

But now it was cold, the chill spreading from my fingertips to her palm, and she trembled, as if she had already

foreseen my death.

I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I knew it was too late. Fate never seemed to grant my

wishes. "I love you" became a long sigh. She leaned down, listening intently to my sigh, tears dripping onto

my left cheek. She whispered, "I know, I know." What did she know? Did she know I loved her,

or did she only hear my sigh?

I closed my eyes. Her hair seemed to still retain a faint, sweet fragrance,

swirling Goodbye, my love, goodbye.

(Love and Death III)

I saw him in my dreams, but he wasn't in my dreams, I knew that. So, the birds

protested , the blazing sun shining down on me.

I didn't know what I was expecting. Maybe I should hire a security company or something to protect myself

from harm, but I also enjoyed his touch. Maybe it had become a habit, or like opium

, I was addicted. I didn't know.

Can love arise from pleasure without passion? I don't know. But I do know that

love can be fulfilled through sex; perhaps this is the inevitability of life, the kindness and consideration of the Creator.

I lay flat in the sunlight, the scorching rays, filtering through my thin nightgown, bursting

into waves of heat within me, rolling around my body. I squinted, imagining him as that peeping ray of sunlight, gently

yet intensely ravaging my skin. Then, the entire sky seemed to press down heavily, pressing into the damp swamp,

indistinguishable between myself and him, crawling deep into the marshland, struggling in the mire.

(Love and Death IV)

I know, I know. But I'm not sure if you know. Your hand has loosened,

those once warm hands that caressed my body, no longer able to lift. Does love end with death? Or does love only begin to unfold after

death ? I truly don't know.

But I know that in your sighs, there is your love. You won't be in my dreams, but you will come back to

me in my dreams , I know that.

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