HLM -Chapter 1290 With No Choice but to Wander

Wang Bo handed the old man a cup of liquor. The two clinked glasses, and Wang Bo said with a sigh, “Come—let’s drink a toast to this son-of-a-bitch life.”

The old man clinked his glass with his, took a sip, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree in bliss. After half a minute, he slowly let out a breath and said softly, “Good liquor.”

Wang Bo couldn’t really taste what was so wonderful about strong spirits, but the old man clearly knew how to live. The pleasure he took in savoring the drink rubbed off on Wang Bo, making the liquor in his own cup seem a little better than usual.

While drinking the first cup, the old man said nothing, only taking small sips, tasting it mouthful by mouthful.

Yet Wang Bo didn’t find it boring at all. On the contrary, he watched the changes in the old man’s expression with keen interest, observing the way he enjoyed the wine—it was like watching a story unfold.

When the old man finished the first cup, Wang Bo reached to pour him another.

The old man shook his head. “Such fine liquor—drinking it too fast would be a real shame. How about telling a story instead? Kind-hearted young man, you seem dissatisfied with life.”

Wang Bo said in surprise, “Not at all. I love life. I think life is wonderful.”

The old man looked at him strangely. “Then why did you say just now, ‘a toast to this son-of-a-bitch life’? That doesn’t sound right, does it?”

Hearing this, Wang Bo burst out laughing. “Oh, you misunderstood me. I was just being emotional in the moment. I’ve recently become a father, and the baby really wears me out sometimes. I get tired, so I couldn’t help saying that.”

The old man laughed as well, hugging the little cat in his arms. “So that’s how it is. Then I should congratulate you, young man. Becoming a father means you’ve entered an entirely new stage of life. Experience it well, remember these feelings—when you reach my age, you’ll miss them.”

Wang Bo shook his head. “Maybe. I’ll be happy to miss them then, but right now I don’t want to experience it too deeply. Otherwise, I think I might die!”

“Driven crazy by it, eh?”

Wang Bo laughed again and gestured to pour more wine for the old man.

The old man hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m grateful for your generosity, but I don’t want to waste such good liquor. Could you pour me just a little, so I can save it for tomorrow?”

Wang Bo said, “My friend, why wait for tomorrow? We Chinese have a saying: When life is good, enjoy it to the fullest; don’t let your golden cup sit empty beneath the moon! Come on—since you like this wine, drink your fill tonight!”

The old man murmured Wang Bo’s words to himself, then broke into a smile brighter than any before, the wrinkles on his face spreading wide.

He handed his cup back to Wang Bo and said, “You’re right. Your attitude toward life is something I should learn from. Clearly, I’m still not open-minded enough.”

Wang Bo felt the old man was being modest. New Zealand’s drifters were generally open-minded enough already—someone of his age still choosing to wander clearly had his own unique understanding of life.

New Zealand’s welfare system ranked among the best in the world. No matter the circumstances, it was actually quite difficult for someone to end up utterly destitute and homeless.

Sick? No problem—healthcare was free for everyone.

No job? No problem—the government provided regular subsidies.

Even homeless people received living allowances. The government covered food and shelter, and many cities had built special charity apartments for the homeless. Living there, they didn’t even have to pay for water or electricity; lawns and garbage were handled by government workers.

Of course, under such conditions, living well was out of the question—but surviving without starving or freezing was easy enough.

Even so, New Zealand still had homeless people, for all sorts of reasons. Some were gamblers who had lost everything and, with nowhere to go, chose to wander in search of redemption.

Others were heavy drinkers—not lovers of fine wine, but alcoholics. They drifted around New Zealand in a stupor, becoming society’s castoffs.

From the old man’s attitude toward alcohol, it was clear he loved good drink, but he was definitely not an alcoholic. Alcoholic drifters couldn’t control themselves—once they saw liquor, they drank relentlessly until they passed out on the ground.

There were also more interesting cases among the homeless: bankrupt small business owners, students crushed by academic pressure, unrecognized artists, philosophers searching for the meaning of life, and so on.

Being homeless in New Zealand wasn’t a hard life. The country’s scenery was picturesque everywhere, and local governments constantly organized charity events to distribute food, clothing, and money to them at regular times and places.

Some people wandered simply because they liked this detached, carefree way of living. But in Wang Bo’s view, that was an irresponsible attitude toward life and family.

There had been homeless people in Sunset Town before, but Wang Bo couldn’t tell why this old man had chosen to wander.

As they drank, the old man seemed to guess his confusion. Smiling, he said, “You’re wondering why I wander, aren’t you? Yes, I’m a drifter.”

Wang Bo replied, “You’re different from most homeless people, so I guessed you might be an artist or a philosopher.”

The old man shook his head and asked, “What makes you think I’m different?”

Wang Bo pointed to the cat in his arms. “Your clothes are clean, and this cat’s fur is clean too. Clearly, you love life—that’s the biggest difference.”

The old man took a slow sip of wine and said, “You have wine, I have a story. If it won’t take up too much of your time, would you like to hear it?”

Wang Bo said, “Go on.”

Holding the cat close, the old man said, “I won’t introduce myself. Names are just meaningless labels. The reason I wander in New Zealand is that I’m searching for my child.”

“I’ve been wandering for thirty years. Saying I’ve been to every corner of New Zealand might be an exaggeration—but it’s not far from the truth.”

Wang Bo immediately frowned. “Your child went missing? Why didn’t you call the police?”

The old man smiled. “Of course I did. My child disappeared—how could I not report it? But thirty years ago, police resources weren’t as plentiful as they are now. There were no surveillance cameras, and computers hadn’t even been fully networked yet.”

“Was the child kidnapped? Did he wander off on his own? Or was he murdered? I don’t know. I sought help from the police, from newspapers and television—it was all useless.”

“Then I thought I must have done something wrong. I had to atone. So I resigned from my job at the school and began wandering across New Zealand, searching for my child.”

Wang Bo asked again, “Then why don’t you carry his photo with you?”

The old man chuckled. “Good boy. If my child grew up healthy, he’d be even older than you by now. Even if I carried his photo, what use would it be?”

As he spoke, a trace of sorrow appeared on his face. “I don’t even know what he looks like now. Only in my dreams can I see his face clearly—but once I wake up, there’s nothing left.”