HLM – Chapter 191 Armed Arrival

A warm and lively dinner quickly brought Wang Bo and the Māori people much closer.

The beef and lamb from the ranch were the stars of the meal. The lamb was so tender it was almost gelatinous—once in the mouth, it practically melted without chewing. The rich and savory flavors lingered on the palate, endlessly satisfying.

After trying a piece, Wang Bo got into it too, jostling with the Māori to stab at the lamb with his fork.

Back in China, he had always relied on spices and seasonings for grilling or stewing meat. But after tasting the lamb in the hāngī, he suddenly realized that the best way to enjoy good beef and lamb was to savor their pure, original flavor.

Whether grilling or stewing, the meat would usually be marinated and seasoned during cooking. While that produced great flavor, it left the lingering taste of spices in the mouth, which could dull the senses. In contrast, the unadulterated taste of meat in the hāngī might seem less intense at first bite—but the more one ate, the more delicious it became. There was a unique craving the taste buds had for pure meat flavor that just didn’t apply to seasoning.

To put it simply, seasoned meat might taste great initially, but after a couple of bites, the craving would fade. Pure meat flavor, however, kept drawing one in.

The lamb was fall-apart tender, while the beef had more bite—chewing it released juices that burst in the mouth, growing more fragrant with every chew.

Aturu handed Wang Bo a large potato, saying, “Boss, eat this—this one’s good.”

Wang Bo took a bite and was greeted by a different delight. The potato had its natural vegetable fragrance, but its exterior was coated with beef and lamb fat, imparting it with a meaty aroma—a unique blend of flavors.

He then sampled eggplant, chili, sweet potatoes, green beans, and other vegetables, all offering their original, natural aroma, at most seasoned with just a bit of salt. It was refreshing.

For the next two days, during tree-planting dinners, they had hāngī every night. Wang Bo spared no expense—he supplied the beef and lamb himself, later adding whole chickens and ducks to the mix.

His ranch was brimming with livestock. Not long ago, he’d added a batch of Boer goats, Romney sheep, and Simmental cattle. He had even started raising Limousin cattle—a pure meat breed that could grow to one or two tons.

Just as the tree-planting project was nearing its end, a phone call came in:

“Hello, is this Chief Wang from the Sunset Town Police Department? The firearms your town ordered from GUN-CITY have arrived. Please come to Auckland to collect them.”

Hearing this, Wang Bo perked up—his guns had finally arrived?

It had been over a month and a half since he placed the order. Even though New Zealand’s courier services were notoriously bad, it shouldn’t have taken this long. The delay was due to a recent weapons embargo in the Auckland area.

Because of a recent earthquake, New Zealand’s laws required a ban on the purchase and transport of firearms in disaster-affected areas, to prevent criminals from using them to cause chaos or commit crimes.

Now that the weapons had finally arrived, Wang Bo didn’t bother staying at the flower-and-tree-planting site. He jumped into a pickup truck with Charlie and Bowen and drove straight to Auckland.

The reason he had to go in person? Blame New Zealand’s terrible logistics. Since coming to this so-called developed country, Wang Bo had discovered that the local courier services were far inferior to those back home in China.

Labor costs were high in New Zealand, and the courier industry was underdeveloped. Forget home pickups or deliveries—most courier companies couldn’t even deliver to a customer’s neighborhood or rural area.

At the designated pickup point, Wang Bo and the others presented their IDs, and two young men carried out a securely sealed wooden crate.

As soon as he saw the crate, Wang Bo took a deep breath. Inside lay his guns—the protectors of his small town.

He shot Bowen a look. Bowen and Juan hoisted the crate into the truck. A bored young man at the service point lazily said, “Hey guys, aren’t you gonna check the guns? Once you leave, we’re not responsible if anything’s missing.”

Another youth sneered, “You’re getting SL8s, not Stinger missiles. Do you really need to act all mysterious?”

Wang Bo grinned bitterly. Damn. He’d been trying to stay low-key because buying guns felt kind of shady—he didn’t want to scare people. But these guys knew exactly what he’d bought. Clearly, they were well familiar with these weapons.

Opening the crate released a waft of gun oil. Inside were four silver-gray rifles, already assembled.

Each rifle was constructed with modular plastic parts. They weren’t particularly heavy—about four kilograms. The design was compact, with short magazines, giving them a sleek, lethal beauty.

Wang Bo picked one up and tested the sights. There were no bullets in the magazine, so he couldn’t test-fire it. But he had paid an extra $200, and the crate contained four boxes of golden Remington .223 cartridges.

Charlie picked up a rifle and smoothly pulled the bolt. He explained, “This is a sporting rifle by HK, modified from the G36. It has a small ammo capacity but low recoil and great accuracy—perfect for a newbie like you.”

“It fires 5.56x45mm NATO rounds, mostly .223 Remington competition-grade ammo. One nice feature is its modularity. It has a top rail for mounting different scopes used in competitions.”

Bowen, also a gun enthusiast, picked one up, inspected it, and laughed lightly. “Charlie, you sly dog. You actually have a conscience. This one’s solid.”

Wang Bo asked, “What do you mean?”

Bowen replied, “This rifle can be modified into a G36. It can even use 100-round drum mags if you swap in a few parts…”

He pointed at a small protrusion on the SL8’s magazine, “That little nub is the reason it’s limited to 10-round mags. But this is a first-generation SL8—it can be modified.”

“How?” Wang Bo asked.

“Simple—swap the mag well for one that takes M16-style mags, change the bolt and a few parts, and boom—you’ve got military-level ammo capacity.”

“Don’t go corrupting the kid,” Charlie chuckled. “As it is, this setup is enough.”

Wang Bo asked, tempted, “Will it get discovered? Is this illegal?”

Bowen looked to Charlie, who shrugged and said, “That’s the weird part. I don’t know what those bird-brained New Zealand politicians were thinking, but the modification is legal—as long as a sufficient number of the parts are made in New Zealand. Then the Firearms Bureau can classify it as ‘New Zealand-made.’”

Bowen lit up even more. “Now this is getting fun. I remember HK even made interchangeable stocks for this model, right? Swap the stock, switch the mag—voilà, a G36.”

As they chatted enthusiastically, the two young men at the pickup counter finally changed expressions.

What the hell—are these guys a bunch of warlords?!

You’re casually discussing illegal firearm modifications like it’s Sunday brunch?!