Henry Clark had not slept a wink all night and was inevitably a bit weary. Although he suspected Adam Brooks, he had no real evidence, so upon returning to his room, he soon fell into a deep sleep. Adam Brooks, however, made up his mind the moment Henry Clark went back to his room, thinking to himself, “Following the second-in-command to meet that old Taoist priest would be the height of foolishness. If that old Taoist were to see through my secret, even if I, Big Boss Brooks, had ten lives, it wouldn’t be enough for him to toy with. But if I were to return to Tianma Mountain or run away now, what was only a slight suspicion would instantly become a certainty. Henry Clark is a cunning fellow, known for his intelligence in the stronghold—he might figure something out, which would be even worse for me.”

In a single turn of thought, Adam Brooks had already come up with seven or eight ideas, though none seemed entirely reliable. But he was a man of decisive action; after only a brief consideration, he chose what seemed the best option, and walked out the door with a cheerful smile.

During the day, Poyang Prefecture was a hundred times livelier than at night. The main streets of the city were bustling with business and thronged with countless pedestrians.

Adam Brooks hadn’t gone far before he found a rather grand restaurant. He casually picked the most spacious seat and sat down, looking at the table and calling for a waiter.

The restaurant’s waiter saw that he was young but dressed in fine clothes, and didn’t dare underestimate him, hurrying over at once. It wasn’t mealtime, so there were few customers, and the waiter was especially attentive. Adam Brooks casually ordered more than a dozen dishes. The waiter looked troubled, thinking, “How big a stomach could this young master have? These dishes would be enough for four or five strong men. Is he some prodigal son out squandering his parents’ money?” But then he thought, “I’m just a worker—what do I care about the customers’ business? If his parents have money, what’s it to me?” So he reported all the dishes to the kitchen, and the chef in the back worked hard. In less than a quarter of an hour, all the dishes Adam Brooks ordered were served.

Although Adam Brooks had eaten something in the morning, he’d been preoccupied and hadn’t really filled up. On Tianma Mountain, though he ate plenty of meat, what good cooks could there be in a bandit’s den? The meat was just boiled in plain water—plenty of it, but the taste was nothing special. The servants at Henry Clark’s house were only average cooks, nowhere near the standard of this restaurant, which was famous far and wide for its exquisite dishes. The flavors were so good that Adam Brooks nearly swallowed his own tongue.

He was eating happily when suddenly a voice nearby said disdainfully, “This kid acts like he’s never tasted good food before. These lousy dishes are like pig slop—how can he even eat them?”

Chapter Nine: Miss Wan Da

Adam Brooks’s original plan was to eat for free and not pay, then stir up some trouble—ideally getting himself thrown into the yamen, thus avoiding this disaster. Hearing someone speak like that, he slapped the table without thinking and shouted, “No wonder something’s off with this food! So this restaurant is actually a den of thieves, serving pig slop to fool your young master!”

Adam Brooks’s sudden outburst startled the waiter serving him, who couldn’t help but grumble inwardly, “Who’s the fool stirring up trouble like this? Isn’t he trying to ruin our business?”

The waiter turned to look and saw a youth even younger than Adam Brooks, dressed all in white like a young nobleman, with a clear voice, rosy lips, white teeth, and a rather handsome face. Beside him was a young man of about twenty-one or twenty-two, wearing a blue robe, with an ordinary face and medium build, but exuding an imposing air.

Seeing that both these young men were extraordinary, the waiter dared not offend them and could only force a smile, saying, “You must be joking, gentlemen. Our restaurant is famous for miles around—how could we serve pig slop to our guests?”

Adam Brooks, intent on making trouble, immediately picked up the thread and shouted, “If it’s not pig slop, then why would these two gentlemen, who have no quarrel with me, mock me like this? I see—you’re bullying me because I’m young, trying to extort me! Go and fetch your manager!”

With a loud shout, Adam Brooks slapped his palm down, and the fine wooden tabletop was instantly smashed to pieces. He’d only meant to make some noise, never expecting his “palm strength” to be so powerful. The high-quality hardwood table was shattered, splinters flying everywhere, and even he was startled, left speechless for a moment.

The waiter was cowed by Adam Brooks’s display and dared not argue further, hurrying to the back to fetch the manager.

The restaurant manager had already heard the commotion from the back, but having run this place for many years, he was quite shrewd. Without asking about the cause, he first cupped his hands to Adam Brooks and said, “Please don’t be angry, young sir. It’s our restaurant’s fault. If the food and drink weren’t up to standard, here’s a small token of apology from me. I hope you’ll accept it and not take offense.”

The manager came out and saw the shattered table, realizing that Adam Brooks knew martial arts. Not only did he not mention the bill, he even offered a string of copper coins with a beaming, chubby face, looking as if he was easy to bully. Adam Brooks, though used to being a bandit, was not one to bully the weak. Embarrassed, he hesitated for a while, then took the string of coins and could only mutter, “Fine.”