These past few days, John Adams's life had been extremely routine. In the mornings, he went to the Buddha Hall to listen to Samuel Carter chant scriptures, and in the afternoons, he was free to do as he pleased, as long as he didn’t leave the temple grounds.

At first, John Adams wandered around a bit, but he quickly lost interest. Today, he was so bored that he ended up watching ants fight.

“Your meal is ready, young master!”

Just then, Helen, who was responsible for taking care of John Adams's daily needs, walked in carrying a food box.

“What is there to eat? It’s nothing but vegetables and tofu—really kills the appetite!”

John Adams shot him a look. Because Samuel Carter kept to his vows, he was unlucky enough to have to follow suit—every day it was nothing but vegetables and tofu.

“The Grand Preceptor said, ‘Too many colors blind the eyes, too many flavors dull the palate.’ Though vegetables and tofu are plain, they bring peace to the heart, allowing one to focus on Buddhist cultivation.”

Helen had gotten familiar with John Adams by now. He knew that, despite the young master’s notorious reputation, he was actually easygoing, so he spoke more freely.

“I’m not a monk—what am I cultivating Buddhism for?”

John Adams muttered, but still sat down at the stone table under the tree.

Helen took out lunch, and sure enough, it was the same old trio: vegetables, tofu, and rice.

Looking at the bland, watery food, John Adams had no appetite at all. He picked at the vegetables and tofu with his chopsticks, but in the end, barely ate a few bites.

It wasn’t that John Adams was spoiled. In fact, in his previous life, he’d grown up poor. Forget about meat—he only got to eat eggs on his birthday. Every New Year, what he looked forward to most was eating his fill of dumplings stuffed with cabbage and pork.

Precisely because he’d lacked meat as a child, after John Adams started working, he never shortchanged himself when it came to food. Every meal had to have meat, the richer the better—he was determined to make up for all the meat he’d missed out on.

Of course, this also caused his weight to skyrocket at one point—his weight nearly matched his height. It took a lot of effort to slim down again.

As the saying goes, “It’s easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to go back.” For John Adams, who was used to eating meat, being forced to eat vegetarian every day was almost worse than death.

“I’m full. I’m going out for a walk!”

In the end, John Adams shoveled down a few mouthfuls of plain rice, tossed down his bowl and chopsticks, and got up to leave. Since he had no appetite, there was no point in forcing himself.

Autumn was just around the corner, but the sun was still fierce. Fortunately, the Heavenly Realm Temple was lush with vegetation. John Adams only walked in the shade, and the mountain breeze made it quite cool and pleasant.

The Heavenly Realm Temple covered a vast area. In front were several main halls of the temple, and behind were monks’ quarters and guesthouses. Some pilgrims would stay at the temple for ten days or half a month while worshipping.

John Adams walked through a bamboo grove and suddenly heard the sound of a stream ahead.

He was about to go to the stream to wash his face when he suddenly stopped, lifted his head, and sniffed the air a few times. “That smells amazing! This aroma…”

At this point, John Adams's eyes lit up. He had actually caught the familiar scent of cooked meat, instantly awakening his cravings.

He quickly followed the smell, rounded a clump of bamboo, and saw a small stream ahead. In a pavilion by the stream, a big, chubby man was sitting at a stone table, which was covered with dishes.

The chubby man had just picked up his chopsticks, ready to dig in, when someone suddenly barged in. He was stunned, and the two of them stared at each other in silence.

“Uncle, this is a place of Buddhist purity, yet you’re here feasting alone. Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?”

John Adams strode into the pavilion, questioning him with a righteous air.

Faced with John Adams's question, the chubby man was clearly taken aback, and his gaze turned a bit odd.

But the chubby man quickly burst out laughing. “You’re right, little brother. Since fate has brought us together, why don’t you sit down and have a drink with me?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly!”

John Adams protested politely, but his backside was already on the stone stool.

“May I ask your name, uncle?”

As John Adams spoke, he sized the man up. The chubby uncle looked to be in his thirties or forties, about the same age as his father Thomas Jefferson. His face was so fleshy that his features were squeezed together, and when he smiled, his eyes disappeared, giving him a kindly appearance.

“My surname is Sullivan, given name Chad. And what should I call you, little brother?”

The chubby uncle asked with a beaming smile.

“Just call me Wang Shi, uncle. Since your surname is Sullivan, I’ll call you Uncle Sullivan!”

John Adams replied casually. He was the Prince of Wang, so he took the first two characters as a fake name. “So you’re Brother Wang. Life in this temple is austere—I imagine you’ve suffered a bit. Come, come, don’t be shy!”

Chad Sullivan smiled as he handed John Adams a pair of chopsticks and invited him to eat.

John Adams was already craving badly. After a few token polite words, he immediately grabbed the chopsticks and stuffed a few pieces of lamb into his mouth. The rich flavor of the meat almost made him soar with delight.

“Delicious! This lamb must be from the northern steppes!”

John Adams praised as he ate.

“Oh? Little brother, you know your food! You could tell at once that this is northern lamb?”

Chad Sullivan looked at John Adams in surprise.

“It’s actually easy to tell. Southern lamb has a much stronger gamey taste and is leaner, with less fat. Northern lamb, on the other hand, is tender and juicy.”