HLM – Chapter 1089 Victory Parade

The restaurant was small, but tidy and well-organized.

The walls were decorated with golden or bright red mirrored floral ornaments, a style popular in New Zealand around World War I, formal and conservative for over a century. The floor was laid with thick oak boards; though some areas showed wear with age, overall it was well-maintained, polished to a warm shine, giving a comforting feeling underfoot.

The tables and chairs matched the flooring, made from the same material. The décor was rustic, with things like forks, shovels, and straw hats hanging on the walls.

Wang Bo smiled. “Going for a countryside theme, huh?”

Parker shook his head. “No, the owner is just a small farmer. Those are tools he actually uses.”

Wang Bo was impressed. That was genuinely unique. Upon closer inspection, he even saw a few pieces of straw stuck in the crevices where the fork handles connected.

When they opened the door, a wind chime attached to it jingled. The owner appeared a moment later, smiling. “Welcome, welcome. Please, have a seat. What would you like to eat?”

Parker extended his hand. “Hi, Uncle John. It’s me, Craig.”

The owner hugged him. “I know, I know! My Craig! Uncle John’s eyes aren’t bad yet—I spotted you at first glance. If you hadn’t come, I would’ve taken a while to come out; there’s a cow giving birth at the back.”

Wang Bo understood the delay—probably the owner changed clothes and washed up before coming out.

There was no fancy cuisine in this small town—just home-cooked meals. Wang Bo let Parker choose. After he ordered, they waited.

The owner, noting the cold weather, brought them each a cup of warm beer. “All home-brewed, made from our own barley. Try it first; if you don’t like it, you can change it. Free of charge.”

Wang Bo took a sip. The malt flavor was rich, alcohol slightly light, and the warmth was comforting.

“This beer is excellent,” he said. “Bring us some more.”

They drank a bit while the food arrived quickly. First came a basket of toasted bread—golden, shiny croissants with slightly browned edges, a faint but lasting aroma.

Then came plates of food: homemade meat with cheese, organic jam with free-range eggs, spicy sauce with bacon, and lamb risotto.

Everything had a strong homely touch, naturally putting them at ease.

Finally, Uncle John brought out a roasted leg of lamb and a pot of spicy pork stew.

Wang Bo grabbed a croissant, still piping hot, dipped it into the stew, and savored it. The fragrant bread combined with the spicy meat soup whetted his appetite.

“Not bad, right?” Parker said, dipping bread into the stew.

“Indeed,” Wang Bo replied. “You picked a good place.”

The egg pancakes were another tasty staple. The meal differed greatly from typical restaurants—fewer dishes, with the egg pancakes and lamb risotto serving as the main course.

But it fit the local style. Farmers and herders in small towns hardly had time or energy for elaborate dishes.

As Wang Bo ate, he reflected that in many ways, New Zealand felt like China—egg pancakes and lamb risotto were popular staples in rural areas there too.

The meal was comfortable—not gourmet, but evoked a return to countryside roots.

Wang Bo treated everyone. Six people ate a huge meal for just 150 dollars—a real bargain.

Back at the inn that night, Uncle Bing suddenly jumped from upstairs and grabbed a middle-aged man. Wang Bo, badge on, went out with a stern expression, thinking it might be horse theft. But the owner came out and clarified that the man was a local farmer.

Rubbing his wrist, hurt by Uncle Bing, the man said, “I know you just came back from Christchurch with the championship. I watched your race—Tuhao Jin is truly an excellent horse. I raise horses too, but mine aren’t anywhere near that level.”

Perhaps some were secretly coveting their horse, but after seeing Bing’s vigilance and skills, the night passed quietly; nobody approached the stable.

The next morning at 10 a.m., they returned to Sunset Town.

Wang Bo swayed to the music in the car, enjoying himself, when he looked up to see both sides of the main street crowded with people.

As they drove in, the crowd surged forward, waving and screaming at Tuhao Jin’s transport: “Tuhao Jin! Champion! Tuhao Jin! Champion!”

Wang Bo was startled. “What’s going on? Has the celebration started already?”

Anderson shouted, “Boss, this is the victory parade! Tuhao Jin’s victory parade!”

Wang Bo laughed wryly. “This is a bit over the top, isn’t it? Just a third-level speed race… and now a parade?”

“Yes, wait until the Spring Sky Championship, then do the parade,” Eva agreed.

Conely, in charge of order, sighed. “Boss, Madam, people are excited. They’ve all made money from Tuhao Jin.”

“What?” Wang Bo reacted quickly. “You all bet on the horse online?”

Anderson raised his hand. “I placed 50,000 on Tuhao Jin to win!”

Wang Bo punched him, furious. “I thought you said you’d never gamble again!”

Anderson protested, “It was my wife’s idea! Barbara told me to bet on Tuhao Jin. She said we had to support him.”

Others cheered, waving printed betting slips: “I also bet on Tuhao Jin! I bet 10,000 and won 100,000!”

“Damn, I bet too little, just 2,000—but I went all in, now I have 20,000.”

“Next time I’ll even borrow money to bet on Tuhao Jin!”

Wang Bo didn’t expect a single horse race to boost Sunset Town’s GDP this much.

As word spread that Tuhao Jin had returned, more people streamed out from residential areas.

Thus, Wang Bo had to hold a victory parade. Malong, wearing a gold medal, rode Tuhao Jin down the streets.

After a few steps, the horse lifted its tail to defecate—it was a clean horse, used to resting in the transport vehicle, so it had held it until now.

Wang Bo tried to get someone to clean it, but over a dozen Māori people came forward and divided the pile among themselves, claiming they wanted to keep it as a souvenir…

Wang Bo was dumbfounded. This was not just extreme—it was outright madness.