HLM – Chapter 167 Official Press Conference

The Māori war dance-style welcome ceremony drew more and more onlookers. At first, only a few dozen people were shouting around, but the crowd gradually swelled to two or three hundred.

Poor Zhuang Ding still had no idea what was going on. It perked its ears, hopping and barking anxiously. But faced with the roar of hundreds of people, its own growls and presence were thoroughly drowned out.

Surprisingly, the dog’s barking didn’t anger the Māori people; on the contrary, it made them shout even louder. A group of them waved their arms and bared their teeth at Zhuang Ding. Confused and panicked, the dog looked toward Wang Bo. From the scents around him, it caught whiffs of familiarity—some of these people were the ones it had rescued yesterday.

The poor dog didn’t understand they were welcoming it. It thought these people were about to harm it and Wang Bo. Internally, it began to fume: If I had known, I wouldn’t have saved these bad people yesterday!

Wang Bo had no time to console Zhuang Ding. The Māori people were bowing to him, and out of respect, he had to return the gesture. So he waved his arms and tried to perform the haka along with them. But since he had never practiced, his version looked more like a chaotic shamanic dance…

A large number of reporters had gathered around. Dozens of cameras were aimed their way. The clicking shutters sounded like thunder, and the flashing lights lit up the gloomy weather like lightning bolts.

After about five minutes of welcoming chants, the Māori crowd began to disperse. They shouted “divine dog” at Zhuang Ding as they went. Overwhelmed, the dog hid behind Wang Bo, its eyes full of grievance: These scary people—are they going to eat me?!

As soon as there was an opening, the reporters rushed forward, aggressively shoving microphones toward Wang Bo, as if they were trying to shove them into his mouth:

“Regarding this earthquake, Mr. Wang, do you have anything to say?”

“Mr. Wang, what motivated you to perform such a heroic act yesterday?”

“Mayor Wang, from a leadership perspective, how do you think Wanderer Town should be rebuilt after the quake?”

“Doggy, do you have anything to say? Here, have the mic—hey, no, fuck, don’t chew it, that’s not a bone!”

“Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!” Zhuang Ding barked, completely bewildered.

Charlie and Bowen followed behind gloomily. They exchanged a glance, then couldn’t help but mutter, “Why isn’t anyone interviewing us? We saved a lot of people yesterday too.”

Juan beamed proudly at Wang Bo, delighted at how much attention their mayor was getting. “Well, of course. The boss is our leader—he led our rescue mission. Naturally, they’re going to interview him.”

Hani sighed, “Shit, Juan, your attitude worries me. Auditors and mayors shouldn’t be this close!”

Wang Bo didn’t know what to say, but he remembered his mission to promote the town, so he made sure to drop “Sunset Town” into every sentence. Just then, a shout caught his attention. He turned and saw Mo Yuning, dressed sharply in office-lady attire.

“Hey, Old Wang, heard you did something amazing yesterday? Too bad I didn’t get to see it,” Mo Yuning said with a dazzling smile.

Trying to stay humble, Wang Bo replied, “Oh, it was nothing—just my duty as a volunteer rescuer.”

At that moment, two sharp-looking young men made their way through the press crowd to him. One of them said, “Mr. Wang? We’ve been sent by Prime Minister Lawrence to escort you. Please come with us.”

The earthquake’s official press conference was being held amidst the ruins. A middle-aged white woman with short hair and several men in suits were in a serious discussion. Wang Bo had seen the woman many times in newspapers and on his phone—she was Lisa Lawrence, New Zealand’s first female prime minister.

Like Australia and Canada, New Zealand is a constitutional monarchy. Though the British monarch is the formal head of state, actual political power lies with the Prime Minister, who is usually the leader of the majority party or largest coalition in parliament.

Seeing Wang Bo approach with Zhuang Ding, Lawrence smiled and came forward, personally shaking his hand—an unusually respectful gesture.

The reporters immediately raised their cameras again. Flashes lit up the area once more.

Lawrence exchanged a few pleasantries with Wang Bo. He quickly relaxed, shedding the awkwardness of meeting a national leader for the first time. The conversation was warm: the Prime Minister praised him, and he responded modestly.

Then Lawrence turned her attention to Zhuang Ding and smiled. “So this is the heroic rescue dog from yesterday? I’ve heard all about it. The bandages—were they from an aftershock? I also heard its paws were worn to the point of bleeding? My God, what a remarkable and resilient little one!”

Zhuang Ding, with its sturdy, tigerish face, looked especially endearing. Lawrence reached out as if to pet it, but a nearby aide discreetly stepped in to block her hand—clearly worried the dog might act up and bite.

A few men in black suits walked over, and Lawrence introduced them. “This is Sir Pick Maurice Williams, our esteemed Governor-General. He has extensive experience in earthquake relief. He is currently heading our quake response command center.”

Though the Queen of England is New Zealand’s nominal monarch, she resides in London. Her local representative is the Governor-General—a figurehead with little actual power but great symbolic importance.

Sir Pick was an elegant man in his fifties, with graying temples and a deep, warm voice. His features were gentle and comforting, with the kind of older-man charisma that probably devastated many young women’s hearts.

He shook hands with Wang Bo, praised his rescue efforts, and then added, “I’m very glad Uncle Howard entrusted the land to such a virtuous young man. His judgment was excellent—he’s brought honor back to the Roberts family.”

Wang Bo immediately understood—Sir Pick’s family must have known the Roberts family. Judging by his tone, they probably weren’t especially close. If they were, they wouldn’t have stood by while the Roberts fell into such poverty.

The area around the ruins had been cordoned off, with armed soldiers standing guard. Approved media representatives were allowed in one by one to prepare for the start of the press conference.

Wang Bo looked around and noticed that Mo Yuning hadn’t come in. She and her colleague remained outside. So he turned to Lawrence and said, “Prime Minister, may I make a small request? That lady greatly assisted me during the rescue efforts. Could she attend the press conference with us?”

This was the first official press conference after the earthquake—its importance was self-evident. Only top-tier journalists from major outlets had been invited. New Zealand’s own national TV and radio broadcasters were present, while Mo Yuning’s outlet, Voice of the South Island, was a small program with no access rights.

Lawrence glanced at Mo Yuning and smiled. “Of course. It would be an honor for the press conference.”