HLM – Chapter 144 China Road

Evening approached, and night began to fall. In the distant sky, brilliant clouds ignited by the setting sun stretched endlessly across the horizon—layer upon layer of fiery red clouds rippled like a sea of flames in the sky.

The three Beebe brothers were barbecuing. Charlie turned to Wang Bo and said, “Boss, in a bit, you’ll get to taste the best Texas barbecue. The Beebe family are all masters of the grill.”

After downing a bottle of beer, Charlie let out a satisfied belch and remarked, “Although… this doesn’t exactly look like Texas-style barbecue.”

Barbecue is likely humanity’s oldest cooking method, and cultures all over the world have their own variations. American-style barbecue is famously simple—wild and rugged like the New World itself. It’s all about slow-burning wood, huge slabs of meat suspended over an open fire, cooked with minimal finesse, bursting with primal flavor.

But the Beebe brothers’ method was refined. They started by grilling the meat directly over open flames, letting the fat sizzle and render. Then they sprinkled coarse salt on it before placing it on a grill rack to flip and cook evenly.

They continued until the salt melted and seeped into the meat. At that point, they slammed the grilled meat to shake off the unmelted salt, brushed on a touch of lemon or tomato juice, and carved it up for eating.

The eldest brother, Edmond Beebe, chuckled as he spread lemon juice on the meat. “Yep, this ain’t traditional American barbecue—this is the Beebe family barbecue. Try it, boys, and give us your feedback.”

Wang Bo picked up a rib. The lamb was crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. There was no gaminess at all, and the lemon juice added a light fruitwood aroma—an exotic twist.

“Amazing!” Wang Bo never held back praise. He raised his beer bottle and declared, “Come on, a toast to the Beebe family barbecue!”

“Thank God for the feast!” the cowboys cheered, lifting their beers.

As the cowboys dug in, surprised voices rang out. “Wow! This lamb is incredible—is it lamb loin? How is it so tender?”

These cowboys were meat experts. Their knowledge of beef and lamb far surpassed the average person’s. One bite, and they immediately recognized the difference in pasture-raised meat.

Wang Bo was used to first-timers being amazed by pasture lamb. He just chuckled and kept enjoying his meal.

Barbecue, beer, fried chicken, and salad—the Four Horsemen of an American party. The group sat around the fire, grilling, drinking, eating, and chatting like old friends.

By late May, the Level-3 road construction was finally complete. Potter came to Wang Bo personally to invite him for the final inspection.

Since early May, Wang Bo had been driving back and forth along the road so many times he’d lost count. He was very satisfied with the result—there was no need for further inspection.

Without hesitation, he wired the final quarter payment to Potter. The road—built at a total cost of 16.5 million NZD—was officially done.

Wang Bo’s straightforwardness and trust touched Potter. Normally, that final quarter could be held back for a year or even two. Few people were as decisive as Wang Bo.

With the road complete, the next step was naming it—an important matter.

Wang Bo had considered this before. At first, he planned to name roads based on longitude and latitude: east-west roads using latitude plus a number, north-south ones with longitude plus a number. For example, this road could’ve been “Longitude Road 1.”

But that system lacked character.

So instead, he named it China Road. Future roads could follow suit—America Road, Russia Road, and so on—naming them after countries.

Only this way, could Sunset Town’s domineering spirit be fully expressed!

With China Road complete, Wang Bo paused further road construction plans. Winter was approaching—not a good season for building. But roads would still be needed: to the pastures, to the communities—there was a lot to be done.

Now that the road was done, travel became easier, and Wang Bo could start learning to drive.

There was no better place to practice than China Road: flat, wide, no pedestrians or traffic—you could drive however you liked.

Wang Bo didn’t have a license yet, so he couldn’t travel freely. Once the road was ready, he began learning.

Naturally, Charlie stepped up as his driving coach. Starting from the junction of Highway 8 and China Road, where the convenience store was located, he made Wang Bo buy him a hot coffee as “tuition.”

Sipping it in the passenger seat, Charlie said, “Honestly, you shouldn’t rush into driving. Maybe study some traffic rules first.”

Wang Bo snapped, “Just teach, damn it. You think I need to study traffic rules? Red means stop, green means go—I don’t get that?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. Just then, they passed a sign at an intersection. It had the number 50 with a slash through it. Charlie casually asked, “What’s that mean?”

Seeing that the sign was shaped like a “P,” Wang Bo thought of parking. He smirked, “No parking, right?”

Charlie blinked. “Why would you think that? Look, it’s got a number too.”

Wang Bo sensed something was off and asked tentatively, “Does it mean… no parking for 50 cars?”

Charlie exploded. “You idiot! That’s a speed limit—50 miles per hour! Shit! You don’t even know that and still want to drive? Let me out!”

Wang Bo clenched his teeth, stepped on the clutch, shifted to neutral, started the engine again, then shifted into first and hit the gas. The car took off with a roar.

He’d been riding shotgun for weeks, watching others drive. Plus, the Heart of the Lord had enhanced his learning abilities—he’d practically mastered the skill already.

Unfortunately, Charlie was still holding a hot cup of coffee. “Shit! I’m getting scalded alive!”

It took only one day before Wang Bo drove like a pro. He drove back and forth showing off, until Anderson at the convenience store, who knew Wang Bo didn’t have a license, joked, “Boss, driving without a license will land you in jail.”

Wang Bo hung his police badge out the window proudly. “Let me see who the hell dares stop me!”

Just then, Hani walked up to buy cigarettes. He waved and said with mock seriousness, “Pull over, officer. I need to see your license.”

Wang Bo ignored him. Auditors didn’t have that kind of authority—traffic regulation was police work. And there was only one cop in this town: himself.

Now that he’d learned to drive, Wang Bo registered online for the license exam—it was scheduled for June, giving him plenty of time to study.

That night, he suddenly got a call from the domineering CEO, Bartier. “Wang, how have you been lately?”

Being personally called by a billionaire—or even a multi-billionaire—Wang Bo felt flattered, but kept a cool demeanor. “Not bad. And you?”

Bartier paused for a moment and then said, “Not great. I have a favor to ask of you.”