HLM – Chapter 12 As Clever and Brave as Old Wang

The restaurant was styled like a kitchen, and the chubby chef, Kobe, cooked right beside their table.

Wang Bo could see every ingredient he used and every move he made while cooking. Everything was out in the open, so there was no need to worry about hygiene.

But in fact, what the chubby chef wanted to show off wasn’t his cleanliness—it was his culinary skill. His knife work, his movements, his control over the ingredients, his use of seasonings—every action seemed practiced to perfection. Cooking, in his hands, looked more like dancing, every motion carrying its own unique grace.

And the dishes he prepared were indeed beautiful. The first to arrive was a plate of dry cheese salad. Red tomatoes, green bell peppers, juicy cucumbers, thin slices of black olives, translucent onion rings, and neatly cubed pieces of white cheese were not just tossed together randomly, but arranged in layers, their colors matched with striking harmony.

Wang Bo took a bite. He didn’t know exactly what dressing had been used, but the cheese was slightly sweet and soft, the fruits carried a faint tangy-sweet flavor, while the veggies retained their fresh original taste—it was something special.

The starters included caviar rolls and a few slices of ham. The soup was a bowl of borscht. There was a cold dish, though Wang Bo couldn’t tell what it was, and the main course was a Spanish seafood paella, accompanied by a piece of steak roughly the size of a baby’s palm.

As he ate, Wang Bo grew increasingly anxious. The meal looked and tasted amazing—but it probably wasn’t cheap! Still, given that it was only a two-star restaurant, surely it couldn’t be charging five-star prices?

After the meal, they were served a small cup of black coffee. As Charlie sipped his slowly, he asked, “So, Wang, how’s my buddy’s cooking?”

Wang Bo grinned and replied, “Fantastic! Absolutely perfect! I’d bet with skills like his, your friend would have no problem being head chef at any five-star restaurant!”

He made sure to say that in English, so the chubby chef could hear the compliment.

The chef burst out laughing. “Wang, you’re different from most Chinese people—you’ve got a sense of humor, you like to joke. I like that.”

Wang Bo was puzzled. How did that sound like a joke?

Clearly, Charlie knew him better than the chef did. After Kobe walked away, Charlie grinned mischievously and said, “Let me guess—you saw the two-star sign at the door and figured this place isn’t as good as a five-star hotel?”

“Isn’t that the case?” Wang Bo asked.

Charlie beckoned him closer and whispered, “That’s a Michelin two-star. I don’t know exactly how many there are in the world, but the top Michelin three-star restaurants? There are fewer than 110 of them globally!”

Upon hearing that, the coffee in Wang Bo’s mouth suddenly tasted terribly bitter.

“Good thing you didn’t bring Eva here, or you’d be leaving a kidney behind today,” Charlie said with growing smugness.

Wang Bo wasn’t about to back down. He replied firmly, “I will bring Eva here one day. I don’t believe she’s the kind of shallow woman who’d order outrageously expensive dishes.”

Charlie shrugged and said expectantly, “I’ll be waiting for that day.”

When it finally came time to pay, Wang Bo was as nervous as a student checking their final exam results.

But to his surprise, the total wasn’t outrageous—just 200 New Zealand dollars for both of them.

Wang Bo breathed a sigh of relief, but then the server told him that they couldn’t issue an invoice because the fee only covered the cost of ingredients. In other words, the raw materials alone for this meal were worth 200 NZD!

“How much would this meal normally cost?” Wang Bo quietly asked the server.

“Around a thousand,” the server replied with a smile.

Wang Bo walked out silently. Why the heck did I bother becoming a town mayor? I should’ve gone to New Oriental Culinary School instead! With a profit margin of 800 NZD per meal—roughly 4,000 RMB—you could buy a car, a house, win over a rich and beautiful wife, and soar to the top of life!

Fortunately, the chubby chef was loyal enough to only charge the cost of ingredients. If he had charged the full price, Wang Bo really wouldn’t have been able to afford the bill.

He had brought 20,000 yuan to New Zealand, which converted to just over 4,000 NZD. After staying in a hotel for a few days and spending on food and other expenses, he only had about 800 NZD left.

When they got back to the hotel, Charlie went to park the car while Wang Bo went upstairs alone.

As he walked down the hallway, he saw five burly men leaning against the wall.

Each of them was broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, and had brutish faces. They wore only black tank tops that showed off their exaggerated muscles and colorful tattoos—one glance and you could tell they weren’t the good kind.

The most intimidating of them all was a bald man with a full beard. He looked to be at least two meters tall, his tank top nearly bursting at the seams from his bulging muscles. His left shoulder was inked with a roaring lion’s head, and his right bore a venomous scorpion. Even his neck was covered in tattoos.

If a guy like this appeared in Beijing, just his face alone would be enough to get him labeled a terrorist.

The five men noticed Wang Bo and exchanged glances. Wang Bo also noticed them and instantly had a bad feeling—these guys looked like local gangsters, and they were probably up to no good.

He became alert and deliberately slowed down, hoping to stall until Charlie arrived. But of course, Charlie had to mess up at a crucial moment—how long could it take to park a car? Wang Bo dawdled for a while, but Charlie still hadn’t come upstairs.

At that moment, the tattooed thugs began to close in on him, their expressions turning hostile. Wang Bo, without revealing any emotion, calmly pulled out his key to open the door while mentally preparing for a fight.

As soon as the door opened, he quickly stepped inside and tried to lock it. If a conflict could be avoided, better not to cause one—after all, this wasn’t China.

But the thugs moved quickly too. They shoved in right behind him, trying to squeeze into the room. Each of them wore a menacing expression, their eyes cold and sharp, practically screaming, “We’re bad guys.”

Wang Bo knew that in a situation like this, striking first is the key to victory. He couldn’t let these gangsters get the upper hand or he’d end up kidnapped for sure.

So, taking a deep breath, he clenched his right fist and launched it like a meteor. With a lunging stance and power from his waist and core, he threw a solid punch.

Before, Wang Bo would never have dared to fight such hulking men. Just one of their arms could’ve pulverized him into dumpling filling. But ever since he’d gained the Lord’s Heart, he was no longer weak. He hadn’t fought back during the airport incident, but it had made him realize—he possessed formidable combat strength now.

In this moment, he channeled Chen Zhen, Ip Man, and Wong Fei-hung all at once. Fear? What’s that?

“Bang!” His fist slammed hard into the belly of the leading thug.

The guy lost his cool instantly. His eyes bulged, his tongue lolled out, and with a painful shriek, he dropped to his knees clutching his stomach.

The remaining thugs roared in Māori and charged forward. But having taken down one already, Wang Bo’s confidence soared. He dashed up to the second thug, whose punch seemed slow in his eyes. Dodging swiftly, he grabbed the man’s arms, let out a roar, and threw him to the floor with explosive force.

Two more thugs rushed at him. The one in front charged like a raging bull. Wang Bo didn’t have time to dodge, so he gritted his teeth, planted his feet in a lunge stance, and took the hit head-on.

The thug’s brute force slammed into his chest, nearly knocking him over, but Wang Bo held his ground. Then he grabbed the man’s shoulders, kneed him in the chest, and with arms bent like in the movies, smashed his elbows into the guy’s back.

“Aaargh!” The thug let out a pained howl and collapsed to the floor. Just then, the other thug swung his fist at Wang Bo. He raised both arms to shield his head, but the punch landed hard, knocking him to the ground.

“Damn it!” Wang Bo cursed as he scrambled to his feet. In close quarters, there was no need for fancy moves. Once up, he grabbed the thug’s thick waist, hooked a leg behind his, and tripped him to the floor. Then his right fist struck like lightning, slamming into the thug’s chin!

The heavy blow made the thug’s eyes roll back as he spat out a mouthful of blood and lost consciousness.

That made four down. Wang Bo quickly stood up from the pile of bodies and assumed a boxer’s stance, eyes fixed on the last remaining thug—the biggest and meanest-looking one of the bunch.

According to movie logic, the last guy to fight is always the boss. And judging by appearance, this guy fit the bill.

But the big thug didn’t attack. He just stared blankly at his four fallen comrades and suddenly howled.

Wang Bo recognized the language as Māori, though he had no clue what the guy was saying. So he shouted right back, “Fu*k-you! Fu*k-you! You think you’re tough? Come at me! Damn it, bald head and tattoos—you know even Bruce Lee never shaved his head or got tattoos! You think you’re tougher than Brother Dragon?!”