HLM – Chapter 169 The Heart of the Vegetable Garden

This time, the heart of the territory that was drawn manifested as a pale green patch of wasteland about the size of a palm. The soil appeared loose and was faintly glowing with a soft green hue, looking rather beautiful.

The land was named Heart of the Vegetable Garden. No surprise—it was clearly a special plot designed specifically for growing vegetables.

Back in school, Wang Bo had read in textbooks about the Beidahuang region and the black soil of northeastern China, described as having a fragrant scent and a glossy texture—soil so rich that squeezing a handful would supposedly release oil.

He had always thought that was an exaggeration, but looking at this Heart of the Vegetable Garden, it genuinely gave him the same feeling—like if he reached down and grabbed a handful, there would be glistening traces of oil left on his hand.

Opening the sandbox interface, he thought it over and placed the Heart of the Vegetable Garden in the northeastern part of his territory, setting it opposite the pasture.

He chose this layout deliberately. He knew the vegetables produced from the garden would be of higher quality than ordinary crops. If it was placed too close to the pasture, the livestock might ruin the crops.

Once placed into the sandbox, the pale green plot expanded to affect a tract of land roughly five to six kilometers in both length and width—similar in area to the Heart of the Pasture.

Looking at this new expanse of green, Wang Bo scratched his head in mild confusion. This land should become a large vegetable garden, right? So what was he supposed to do now? Should he find someone to come till the land?

Of course, he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. He’d suspected this might happen, so when he went home for the New Year, he had bought a large stash of vegetable and wild herb seeds. Now that the garden had appeared, it was the perfect time to start growing things.

That said, he didn’t want to plant too many things—he didn’t have the time or energy to manage it all. When spring came, he’d just get someone to prepare a portion of the land and sow some seasonal produce. As long as it was enough for his own use, that would be sufficient.

During dinner, Bowen—who had been glued to his phone—suddenly turned to Wang Bo with excitement and said, “Boss, did you know you’ve become a viral sensation? Even Zhuang Ding has become a legendary dog!”

Wang Bo was feeding a full bottle of goat milk to Little Wang, the liger still lying helplessly on the carpet. Without looking up, he asked nonchalantly, “Didn’t know, but I was prepared for it. Is it about what happened in Wanderer Town? Caused a stir in New Zealand?”

This was both unexpected and expected. With the press conference and all the news coverage, it was inevitable that the story of him and Zhuang Ding during the earthquake would draw attention.

But Bowen shook his head. “No, not in New Zealand, not in Oceania—your fame is spreading in Europe and America! Especially in the UK and the US. You two are huge over there, seriously huge!”

Wang Bo filled another bottle of goat milk and stuck it in Little Wang’s mouth again. While feeding, he asked, “The UK and the US? What happened? Why are we popular there?”

Little Bartier came running over, holding up his phone excitedly. “I know, I know! Wang, it’s because of this video. Someone uploaded it to YouTube, and in just one day it got over eight million views—it’s the hottest video of the year!”

Wang Bo took the phone and had a look. It was a clip showing the moment an aftershock struck. The collapsing rubble had trapped Zhuang Ding in a rescue trench, and he had rushed in—risking injury—to dig through the debris and pull him out.

He remembered that moment vividly. Zhuang Ding was injured because of it, and that was exactly why—when the earthquake rescue command center later ordered all civilian rescuers to leave—he had decisively taken Zhuang Ding and withdrawn.

He had truly been terrified. If anything had happened to Zhuang Ding, he would never have forgiven himself.

The footage was quite clear, clearly recorded by a reporter using a video camera, not a phone. His facial expressions were captured in detail, and so was Zhuang Ding’s excited reaction when he leapt from the rubble.

Wang Bo scrolled down to read the comments. They were packed densely below the video—nearly a million of them. That meant roughly one in every ten viewers had left a comment.

“That dog is so strong! God bless him!”

“He’s an angel sent by God to help the disaster victims. A friend of mine in NZ rescue services said the dog saved 118 people!”

“Holy Mary! This is insane! He might be the most life-saving dog in history!”

“That’s why dogs are man’s best friend. I heard some Asians eat dog meat—let them all die!”

“That’s too extreme. Look at the dog’s owner—he’s Asian, and he’s amazing. I adore him!”

“This guy totally deserves such an awesome dog. Look at his face during the aftershock—I bet he was losing it! Thank God the dog’s okay!”

“He’s really Asian? Look at that strength—he’s like a yellow-skinned Captain America! Did you see him lifting rubble? Dude’s a walking demolition machine!”

“So moving. When the dog got rescued, it jumped into his arms and even licked his tears. My little sister cried when she saw it!”

Wang Bo kept scrolling. The comments were overwhelmingly positive—praising his bond with Zhuang Ding, his brute strength while digging, and so on. Tons of dog lovers and animal protection groups were chiming in too.

Finding it rather amusing, he replayed the video for Zhuang Ding to see. As soon as the dog noticed it was being shown the video, it perked up, wagged its butt, looked around, then ran over to Little Wang the liger, mounted it, and began enthusiastically thrusting…

“F*ck! Zhuang Ding! You little pervert!” Wang Bo was exasperated all over again!

He’d thought the Tibetan Mastiff had grown out of those bad habits it had picked up from that D-A-V place, but clearly he’d been too optimistic—seemed it had become part of its very nature.

Little Wang, who had been happily drinking milk, suddenly felt another creature of similar size mount him. He frantically tried to squirm away while biting down on the bottle, but his injuries meant his hind legs were wrapped in bandages—he had nowhere to escape to. Once again, he began shedding sorrowful tears…

Wang Bo pushed Zhuang Ding off. He wasn’t going to suppress the dog’s instincts, but seriously—wasn’t there a female dog, Queen, right nearby? Why go for the liger?

Once pushed away, Zhuang Ding seemed to realize this as well. It turned and ran toward Queen. Queen’s black fur bristled, and she bared her fangs and snarled: “Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!”

Her six pups chimed in behind her: “Woof-woof! Woof-woof! Woof-woof!”

Just then, Kobe walked in with a huge plate of fried chicken. The golden chunks glistened with oil and emitted an incredibly rich aroma. Zhuang Ding’s attention was instantly diverted, and it dashed to Wang Bo’s side, staring at the chicken with its mouth wide open and drool pouring out.