HLM – Chapter 206 For the Sake of Friendship

The young cowboy glanced at the pot-bellied white man, then looked at Wang Bo with some hesitation and said, “Mr. Geer, perhaps you could check out the other alpacas. I think you might find a better one.”

The middle-aged white man named Geer grinned at Wang Bo and said, “But I like this alpaca. Name a price, kid—I’m buying it. I want to gift it to this Chinese friend of mine.”

The moment he said this, the previously tense atmosphere immediately relaxed.

Wang Bo scratched his chin in confusion. Seriously? From what he knew, Chinese people weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms in New Zealand. And yet this chubby guy was trying to give him a gift the moment they met? Was his charm really that irresistible?

The young cowboy’s expression eased, and he cheerfully explained, “This is a two-and-a-half-year-old breeding alpaca. You can check its coat, pupils, and nasal mirror—it’s very healthy. The market price is 12,000 NZD.”

Geer didn’t haggle. He took out his checkbook, scribbled a few numbers, tore out the check, and handed it to the cowboy. “Go ahead, bring the alpaca over and gift it to this gentleman.”

Wang Bo reached out to stop him, puzzled. “Buddy, if I’m not mistaken, this is our first time meeting, right?”

Geer nodded warmly. “Yes, first time.”

“Then… why are you giving me a gift?”

The middle-aged white man shrugged. “I like you—”

Wang Bo’s expression changed instantly. Juan and Bowen quickly stepped back, protectively covering their butts.

Geer hurried to clarify, “I mean, I feel a special connection with you! What do you Chinese call it? ‘Yuanfen’? A fated bond or something like that. Anyway, I think you’re a great young man, and I want to be friends.”

Wang Bo wasn’t stupid. This guy definitely had something up his sleeve. Who gives away a 12,000-dollar breeding alpaca just because of a good vibe? Even if he were a billionaire, he wouldn’t be that generous to a stranger—unless the stranger was an incredibly attractive woman.

That thought made him even more cautious.

New Zealand had a sizable LGBTQ+ population, and there had been constant calls for parliament to amend laws to allow same-sex marriage.

Seeing that Wang Bo wouldn’t accept the gift, Geer smiled and said, “Alright, alright. Mr. Wang—you’re the owner of Sunset Town Ranch, right?”

Wang Bo nodded, and Charlie whispered behind him, “Looks like your ranch is getting famous.”

Charlie was right. Geer smiled and said, “I’ve heard about your ranch. It’s an excellent ranch. I want to earn your friendship. I swear to God—I have no ulterior motives. I just want to be friends. This gift… is for the sake of friendship!”

Wang Bo asked cautiously, “Mr. Geer, are you also a rancher? Then I guess… you’re hoping to acquire something from my ranch?”

“That thought crossed my mind, but nothing concrete yet.” Geer waved and smiled as he turned to leave. “Please accept my welcome gift, young rancher. I hope our next meeting will be even more pleasant.”

Watching Geer walk away, Wang Bo frowned. This guy definitely didn’t play by the usual rules. What exactly was he up to?

The young cowboy in charge of the alpacas looked at him and asked, “Sir, do you still want this alpaca?”

Wang Bo reached out again. The “Happy Beast” nuzzled its head over and licked his palm with its tongue.

“Yes—why wouldn’t I? Keep it separate for me. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

“This Mr. Geer—who exactly is he?” Juan asked, voicing the question Wang Bo had been pondering.

The young cowboy’s face lit up with admiration. “You don’t know him? Thomas Wesley Geer—the owner of Centaur Ranch, one of the largest in the North Island. He started as an ordinary cowboy and built up a huge ranch. He’s an idol to all New Zealand cowboys.”

Wang Bo vaguely recalled the name. It seemed that Sharp, the big intermediary, had mentioned him before—but Sharp had referred to him as Thomas Wesley, not Mr. Geer. That’s why he hadn’t made the connection earlier.

On his first day in the ranching town, Wang Bo had already acquired a “Happy Beast.” That night, the group headed to a bar to experience the town’s nightlife, which had received rave reviews online for its unique atmosphere.

There weren’t many bars in town. The group hailed a cab and let the driver choose one at random.

Once he understood what they were looking for, the driver took them to a bar called “Screaming Monster” and said, “If you want something different, this is the best spot.”

New Zealand’s bar culture was quite vibrant. For locals, bars were places to unwind after work. You could spend a lot, a little, or even nothing at all. So local taxi drivers didn’t partner with bars to rip off customers.

Screaming Monster was different from the usual bar. The crowd was made up of stylish young men and women. Only then did Wang Bo realize—even this ranching town had its own trendy crowd.

He’d done some research. Most bars here catered to local farmers and ranch workers, who would drink after work in their work clothes. The vibe wasn’t exactly wild.

Laser lights flashed overhead as the DJ hyped up the crowd. A band of twenty-somethings was screaming on stage, and the bar was buzzing with energy.

Wang Bo and his group sat at the bar. A young man squeezed over and shouted, “Hey, this is our spot!”

Juan didn’t hesitate—he pushed the guy aside, raised his middle finger, and said, “This is money’s spot now.”

The young man spat on the floor and left. Wang Bo asked, “Think this will turn into a fight?”

Juan shook his head and replied casually, “In places like this, as long as you act tough, fights rarely happen. It’s the weak ones who get picked on.”

He used to be a regular at bars back in Mexico. After coming to New Zealand, when he had no work, he even worked at a bar—so he knew all the unspoken rules.

A handsome bartender came over and asked, “Gentlemen, what can I get you?”

Juan pulled out a roll of New Zealand dollars and handed it to him. “Give us something special. If it’s fun, we’ll keep spending. But if you think we’re suckers, we’ll disappear after the first round.”

The bartender chuckled, counted the money, and told them to wait. He promised to mix the most distinctive black beer from this ranching town.

Wang Bo was puzzled—black beer needed mixing?

Soon, several large mugs of black beer were brought over. The bartender took a small bottle from the fridge and carefully dripped in a few drops of something that looked like condensed milk.

Wang Bo remained cautious. “Buddy, what did you just add?”

The bartender smiled. “That’s a secret—but I guarantee it’s nothing illegal. Look around, there are fifty people here. I wouldn’t risk trouble for myself.”

Bowen nodded. “Makes sense.” He grabbed a mug, gave it a swirl, and took a bold swig.