HLM -Chapter 1372 Iron-Fisted Measures

Wang Bo personally led the team onto the streets to straighten out discipline.

He was driving an old Willys Jeep, rolling along at a slow pace. Wearing sunglasses, he sat in the front passenger seat, leaning back with a posture that made him feel like an American GI—damn cool.

They hadn’t gone far when, at the entrance of Haidilao, he spotted a Māori woman sitting behind a small stall, calling out to customers. She was deftly counting money in her hands, looking very pleased with herself.

The jeep pulled over. He jumped out and asked, “What’s going on here? What are you doing?”

The Māori woman wasn’t intimidated at all. She glanced at him and said, “Oh, Mayor. I’m selling handicrafts here. Want to buy one? Look—keychains, jade carvings, cheap prices.”

So now business was being done right under his nose. Wang Bo said irritably, “Didn’t you see the regulations the town just issued? No street vending allowed. Pack up and go to the farmers’ market.”

The Māori woman shook her head. “I’m not a farmer. I’m not going to that market.”

Wang Bo said, “The farmers’ market isn’t only for farmers. There’s more foot traffic there than here. Go—I’ll help you find a stall.”

The woman still shook her head. “No. I’m not going.”

A polite approach first—since courtesy didn’t work, Wang Bo wasn’t going to be nice anymore.

He said, “Then, ma’am, according to Section Two, Article Fifteen of the Sunset Town Public Security Management Regulations, you are obstructing the town’s appearance and disturbing public order. You will be taken to the police station for investigation.”

The Māori woman started making a scene, shouting, “Mayor, how am I disturbing public order? This is an abuse of power! I really regret voting for you as mayor back then!”

That kind of threat didn’t faze Wang Bo in the slightest. If he didn’t deal with this and allowed Māori stalls to sprout everywhere, even more people would refuse to vote for him in the future.

He waved his hand, and Atulu got out and blocked the woman. “Kakalai, don’t make trouble for nothing. You have to cooperate with the investigation now. I’ve already told you—setting up stalls here will get you fined.”

The Māori woman yelled, “This isn’t the middle of the road! Why can’t I set up a stall here? You’re not allowed to take my things, or I’ll file a complaint against you!”

Wang Bo handed her his phone. “Go ahead and file it. We’ll pack up your things for you.”

Seeing his tough attitude, the woman lost her confidence and calmed down, saying, “Don’t do this, Mayor. Fine, I know I was wrong. I’ll take my things and won’t set up a stall by the roadside anymore.”

This was Wang Bo’s first time enforcing the law. He didn’t want to come in swinging with thunderous measures right away—overstimulating the Māori people wasn’t a good idea either. Since the woman had backed down, he nodded and let her go.

But before she left, he warned her, “The only place where stalls are allowed is the farmers’ market. If you keep setting up randomly outside, I swear I’ll punish you strictly according to the regulations.”

After the Māori woman left, someone waved at Wang Bo—it was a shop owner wanting to discuss lease renewal.

Back when they were trying to attract businesses, rents in Sunset Town were dirt cheap—some deals were even buy-one-get-one-free: rent one year, get another year free.

Now, Sunset Town had developed into New Zealand’s number one town and the most famous tourist destination in the entire Southern Hemisphere. Naturally, it was time to raise prices.

Wang Bo discussed things with the owner and told him that renewing now would cost two dollars per square meter per day. His shop was about two hundred square meters, which came to twelve thousand dollars a month.

The owner said awkwardly, “Mayor, isn’t that rent a bit too high?”

Wang Bo smiled. “I look at your tax records every month. I know the income this shop brings in better than you do. An investment return ratio of four to one is already quite good.”

The owner said unhappily, “But before, the rent was less than twenty cents per square meter per day. Raising it by more than ten times is too much.”

Wang Bo replied, “You know very well—that was because my asking price was too low before. Buddy, you should also know how sought-after properties in the town center are now, right?”

Hearing this, the owner stopped bargaining and accepted the terms.

Wang Bo’s price wasn’t high at all—this was the town center. If the owner’s restaurant wasn’t making at least fifty thousand a month, that would count as a business failure.

After settling the lease renewal, he and Atulu grabbed a cold drink. Late January in New Zealand was still scorching hot, with a blazing sun.

After finishing their drinks, they got back in the car and continued their patrol. When they reached the small square in front of the supermarket, Wang Bo was left speechless.

This little square was meant for tourists to rest, but now it was cluttered with stalls—not just Māori jade stalls, but all kinds of street vendors.

Wang Bo frowned. “What’s going on here? There was nobody here before I left. How did it turn into this?”

Atulu gave an awkward laugh. “Well… boss, I really did try to manage them. But these guys won’t listen to soft or hard approaches. I couldn’t do anything.”

The Willys Jeep drove over, and one woman started packing up her stall, trying to slip away.

Wang Bo looked closely and got so angry his nose practically started smoking—it was the same woman he had just chased away from the roadside. She’d run over here instead.

When she realized she’d been spotted, she put her stall back down, but shifted it a bit to the side, squeezing in next to a tall, heavyset woman selling cherries, clearly trying to play the “they can’t punish everyone” card.

Wang Bo wasn’t having any of that. He got out of the car and shouted sternly, “Everyone listen up! Other than shops, the farmers’ market, and your Māori tribal areas, stalls are forbidden everywhere else. Pack up and leave immediately!”

The Māori people didn’t argue with him, but they didn’t listen either, continuing with their own business.

Wang Bo said to Atulu, “Very good. Since you want to play hardball, don’t blame me for being ruthless. Call Uncle Bing and have him bring all the police over.”

“What about the auxiliary police?”

“No need to involve them. But if any auxiliary police come to cause trouble, arrest them!” Wang Bo showed no mercy.

Seeing this, Atulu quickly called Uncle Bing.

Soon, five police cars arrived, and twenty officers lined up neatly.

Wang Bo pointed at the stalls. “Pack up the goods. Take the people away!”

Most of the vendors were Māori women, and they weren’t reasonable at all. When they saw the police trying to shut them down, they rushed forward to block them, spreading their arms and shouting chaotically:

“Whoever touches my things, I’ll beat them to death!”

“This is my stall—get lost!”

“Don’t expect to ever get our Māori votes again!”

“Report them! All of us report them! Tell the media!”

Many tourists, intrigued by the conflict, stopped to watch. Some even remarked, “So New Zealand has urban management officers too?”

Wang Bo picked up the microphone from under the police car’s loudspeaker and said, “Ignore them. Carry out the mission. Arrest anyone who obstructs. Arrest anyone who uses force. Expel them from the town!”

“Yes, sir!” The police immediately sprang into action.