HLM – Chapter 207 Specialty Beer

Seeing Bowen drink, Juan and Charlie also took sips. Wang Bo didn’t really care for dark beer; he thought it was too strong and didn’t drink any.

After a couple of sips, Charlie nodded and said, “The aroma of the hops is rich and mellow—this is good beer. Wang, why aren’t you drinking? Try the local dark beer. They love brewing their own here—it tastes great.”

Bowen and Juan also chimed in, praising the beer’s freshness and saying it had a strange yet appealing flavor that set it apart from the beers in Auckland.

The bartender smiled and said, “Yes, sir, this is a beer you absolutely can’t find anywhere else. Even if you could, the buck essence used wouldn’t be as fresh as ours.”

“What?” Wang Bo stared in disbelief.

“What what?” The bartender looked confused.

“What did you say is in the beer?”

“Buck essence, of course. This is our region’s famous Buck Essence Dark Beer. It’s only been on the craft beer market for less than two months, and hasn’t been distributed anywhere else yet.” The bartender looked at them like they’d hit the jackpot.

Wang Bo turned gleefully to Charlie and the other two. “You heard him. This beer has…”

“Aaaugh!” Charlie clapped a hand over his mouth, dry-heaving as he bolted for the exit, Juan right on his heels, the two running like rabbits.

Watching the two get “caught,” Wang Bo was secretly thrilled—thank goodness he hadn’t taken a sip or he might have thrown up right on the spot.

But to his surprise, Bowen didn’t run off or vomit. He was still drinking, swaying rhythmically to the music.

Wang Bo thought maybe he hadn’t heard clearly, so he leaned in and loudly pointed to the dark beer: “Hey, Bowen, listen up—this beer has buck essence in it!”

Bowen kept swaying and said indifferently, “I know. It’s got buck essence. So what? It’s not poison. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Wang Bo wasn’t just shocked—he was staggered. This guy had seriously intense tastes. In Wang Bo’s opinion, this stuff was scarier than poison.

“You’re not grossed out?”

“Why should I be? Don’t you think this way of drinking is kinda cool? When I was wandering in Dallas, Texas, the bars there had apple-flavored stallion essence shots. The women loved it. I still don’t get what they saw in it.”

Wang Bo quickly waved his hands. “Stop, bro. Say one more word and I’m gonna hurl.”

Charlie and Juan came staggering back in, supporting each other. When they saw Bowen still guzzling the beer, their faces twisted and they nearly vomited again.

The bartender leaned on the counter and said regretfully, “You don’t like our dark beer? It’s actually very clean. The essence is collected from perfect seven-year-old bucks. Didn’t you notice how smooth and delicate the flavor becomes when it blends with the dark beer?”

Charlie and Juan looked like they’d been hit by a truck. Clutching their mouths, they rushed back out again. Unfortunately, they’d already thrown up everything earlier—now it was just dry heaves.

Wang Bo exclaimed, “God, you guys really don’t hold back, huh? Who even comes up with something like this? Do you have Satan locked in your brain or something?”

Clearly not the first time the bartender had seen this reaction, he just giggled and said, “It’s nothing really. Every year we brew a few fun beers. People react all kinds of ways, but hey, it’s always worth a try, right?”

Wang Bo shook his head vigorously—there was no way he was trying that weird stuff.

The handsome bartender, still being responsible, saw that they weren’t into the Buck Essence Dark Beer and brought them a new round—this time, a white beer.

“I’m not gonna let you guys spend money here for nothing. That’s not how things are done at Monster Scream Bar. Come on, try this one—roast lamb and mint. Also a great beer.”

“Shit, what’s in this one? Lamb blood?”

“Nope, not at all. It’s made from potato water, carrot juice, pea extract, sweet potato broth, and concentrated lamb broth mixed into white beer. Try it—it’s absolutely delicious.”

“You sure there’s nothing else in there?” Charlie asked, still traumatized.

“Swear to God.”

Wang Bo cautiously took a small sip. The flavor was a bit odd—nothing like regular white beer. It did taste a bit like lamb soup, but since he knew it had concentrated lamb broth in it, he could accept it.

After the lamb-and-mint beer, Wang Bo—under the bartender’s enthusiastic urging—also tried chocolate and barbecue-flavored beers. These actually tasted pretty good; since they contained lactose, the texture was extra smooth.

By the end, he was shaking his head, saying this whole thing had been an eye-opener. He had no idea beer came in such wild flavors.

The bartender giggled and said, “These are just the regular ones. If you guys can handle it, I could bring out the lamb liver beer or the blood sausage beer…”

“Whoa, whoa, spare us!” Wang Bo raised his hands in surrender. “My buddies and I just came here to buy livestock. No need to torture us like this, right?”

All the beers they’d had were local craft brews. They were rich in malt aroma but also high in alcohol content. Wang Bo was feeling a bit buzzed and figured he’d go back and sleep it off.

But that night, he didn’t sleep well. He was used to the comfort of his castle, and sleeping in a small hotel felt off. It took a long time to fall asleep.

The next morning, the livestock auction in the small town began. This was nothing like Christie’s or Sotheby’s. The venue was set up out in the wilderness, with a simple stage thrown together. If it rained, they’d pitch tents. If not, the auction happened under the open sky.

Each rancher participating received a numbered paddle. When picking up the paddle, they’d register and verify their identity. During the auction, they just had to raise it.

Wang Bo got number 44—not a great number. Seeing his reluctance, Charlie took the paddle, left, and came back with a new one: number 13. He shrugged and said, “Everyone’s happy now, right?”

After updating the information tied to the number, Wang Bo and the others headed to the auction stage. The round-bellied Thomas Wesley Geer was loudly chatting and laughing with a few ranchers. When he saw Wang Bo, he waved and came over to chat.

New Zealanders were good at reading the room. Geer was well-known among the ranchers, and seeing him greet a Chinese man so warmly, others started asking around about Wang Bo’s identity.

At 9 o’clock, the auction officially began. Wang Bo flipped through the auction catalog and saw that the alpacas he was interested in would come up near the end. But he wouldn’t be bored before that—there were quite a few other animals that piqued his interest.