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Hungry.

It felt like there was a fire burning in his stomach.

Hui Zhen clutched his blanket, curled up, biting his lips tightly.

His fellow disciples snored peacefully beside him, each with a round, well-fed head that resembled steamed buns.

Hui Zhen regretted his prideful refusal of the bun his senior brother had secretly offered him.

Punished with a day without food for misspeaking during the morning lesson, Hui Zhen hadn’t eaten a single grain since then.

Ming De Temple’s strict rules mandated that daily chores like meditation, fetching water, chopping wood, and gardening could not be neglected, even if meals were denied.

After a day of hard work, Hui Zhen felt as if his stomach was stuck to his back in hunger.

He regretted his decision to join the Ming De Temple.

“Back home, as a young master, I dined on the finest delicacies, waited upon by maids and nannies even for morning tea,” Hui Zhen lamented inwardly.

“Buddhism, Buddhism, what Buddhism! I’ve been here for half a month, seen no miracles, learned no Dharma, just reciting some calming scriptures every day. Eating porridge and vegetables, my mouth feels so bland!”

Born to a wealthy merchant family in Eastern China’s Jiangnan region, Hui Zhen yearned for the life of an immortal depicted in tales, flying and moving mountains.

As the only child, he was doted on and spoiled.

Unable to dissuade him, his parents sent him to Ming De Temple, the closest monastery to their home.

Once prosperous, the temple was rumored to have produced a Foundation Building cultivator. Though it had since fallen into decline, there were still some cultivation techniques left.

Hui Zhen resented being sent to become a monk.

Monks, with their scarred heads and grey robes, seemed too ordinary and rough compared to the elegant immortals in his books.

Moreover, he’d heard that the waste of monks was heavier than that of ordinary people, a rather terrifying thought.

Yet, he still ended up at Ming De Temple.

Two reasons brought him here: Buddhism was prevalent in Eastern China, and he had no other place to pursue spiritual cultivation.

Secondly, he read in stories that neglected scriptures in the corners of

declining sects’ libraries often hid precious methods and insights. Reality and dreams brought Hui Zhen to Ming De Temple.

His father understood his son’s mindset well.

Sending Hui Zhen to the temple was also a way to discipline him, to teach him a lesson about the harshness of life outside the comfort of home.

Hui Zhen was indeed missing his life back home.

Recalling the delicacies he used to enjoy, his hunger intensified.

He had never faced such hardships before.

“Tomorrow, as soon as dawn breaks, I’m leaving the mountain…”

Hui Zhen gritted his teeth.

He planned to feast upon returning home, to compensate for his recent sufferings.

Then he would post a reward to find a real cultivator.

Monks? Let someone else be one!

Despite the spacious dormitory, the sleeping area for the novices was crowded.

Hui Zhen could smell the sour stench of sweat from the blankets.

“If I’m planning to leave tomorrow, why should I endure the temple’s rules tonight?”

He thought, “There should be some leftover food in the kitchen, even if it’s just coarse grains and vegetables, it will help me through the night.”

With this thought, his stomach growled uncontrollably.

He quietly got out of bed, avoiding his sleeping seniors, put on his monk’s robe and shoes, and stealthily opened the door to slip out.

The moonlight was cool and serene.

Guided by the moon, Hui Zhen headed towards the kitchen.

He wasn’t worried about being discovered. Having been at Ming De Temple for half a month, he was familiar with the monks’ routines.

It was just past midnight, and everyone was asleep, leaving the kitchen unguarded.

After about twenty minutes, Hui Zhen reached the kitchen door.

To prevent rats from stealing food, the door was locked, but this wasn’t a problem for Hui Zhen.

He had noticed that the lock was old and loose.

With little effort, he could pull it down.

“Tomorrow, before I leave the mountain, I’ll confess to the masters. I’ll ask my father to donate a new kitchen to the temple.”

Being wealthy, his family could easily afford a new kitchen in exchange for a

broken lock.

He grabbed the lock and pulled, loosening it significantly.

Another tug made a loud noise as the lock came off.

Creaking, the kitchen door opened.

Before him was a pitch-black room, as foreboding as a predatory beast.

Hui Zhen tensed up, feeling like a guilty thief.

Standing near the door, he found the flint on the stove and the oil lamp hanging nearby.

Once the lamp was lit, its weak flame revealed the room’s interior.

Relieved, Hui Zhen entered with the lamp in hand.