HLM – Chapter 32 The Wandering Cowboy

Wang Bo shrugged. This young man had a firm, rugged face and a strong build—he looked like a tough guy. He didn’t expect him to be such a coward.

Once he confirmed there was no danger, the young man took the initiative to reach out and said, “Alright, looks like we had a misunderstanding. My name’s Bowen Ronald, a cowboy from Texas. Nice to meet you. What’s your name? Wang Ba?”

“Wang Bo! Bo! …Forget it, just call me Wang,” Wang Bo replied helplessly.

“Wang… Ba?” Bowen asked hesitantly. “Then didn’t I say it right just now?”

Wang Bo only then realized his slip of the tongue. He wanted to correct it, but it was too late—the Commander was already howling, “Ah, Wang Ba! Ah, it’s Wang Ba! Ah, ah, you’re Wang Ba! Ah, I’m the Commander! Ah, ah!”

“Shut up! It’s Wang! Just the single syllable—Wang! Wang! Wang!” Wang Bo turned and roared.

Bowen instinctively shrank back, lifted his coffee cup and took a sip, then said with an awkward smile, “Wang, my man, for the love of God the Father, could you please keep it down?”

Wang Bo glared at the Commander again, then turned back and asked Bowen, “What are you doing at my castle?”

Bowen explained, “I’m a wandering cowboy. I came to New Zealand in the second half of this year. I spent the past few months drifting around the North Island and just arrived at the South Island this month. Then I heard there’s a famously haunted castle here, so I came to explore.”

“With courage like yours, you’re into exploring?” Wang Bo asked in surprise.

That remark clearly offended Bowen. He frowned and said, “Hey, buddy, I’m not a coward. I’m a cowboy. Cowboys are brave as hell, okay? Let me tell you the truth, Chinese man—as a Texan cowboy, I could run at one, mow grass at three, tend sheep at five, ride horses at seven, mastered poker and Texas Hold’em by twelve, smoked weed at fourteen, hunted wolves at sixteen, hunted bears at seventeen, street-raced all across North America at eighteen—and now I’m twenty-five. You still think I’m a coward?!”

Wang Bo was speechless. This guy was a bit unhinged. He cautiously asked, “Why are you wandering? Does your family know you’re in New Zealand?”

Bowen nodded. “Of course, of course. I report my whereabouts to them wherever I go. As for why I wander—well, that’s the life story of a real man. If you want to hear it, I don’t mind telling it all.”

Wang Bo laughed and said, “I’d love to. That must be a touching tale. How about this—I’ll cook something, and we can chat over dinner.”

But the moment he said that, Bowen was unhappy again. He said solemnly, “It’s not a story! It’s real events that happened to a real man—not one bit of it is made up! Not one damn bit! It’s all true!”

Wang Bo sighed. Wasn’t story the word you used? Powerless to argue, he could only say, “Right, true story. I misspoke just now. Alright then, go ahead. I’m really looking forward to it.”

Bowen looked surprised. “Didn’t you say you were going to cook? You’re Chinese, right? I love Chinese food. When I was in Dallas, my favorite thing was going to Chinese restaurants.”

Wang Bo was silent again. This guy really wasn’t all there. Still, considering the universal truth that food is the greatest thing under heaven, his reaction was understandable.

Since Bowen wanted Chinese food, Wang Bo decided to show off his skills. He pulled out some winged beans, pork, chicken pieces, tomatoes, eggs, and other ingredients from the fridge, quickly forming a menu in his mind.

Just as he was slicing lean pork into thin strips, Bowen shuffled in and said, “Wang, my good man, could I have another cup of coffee? I gotta say, the coffee here is amazing! I bet it’s Blue Mountain coffee, right? I’ve had it before—Blue Mountain, best coffee ever!”

There was still some in the pot. Wang Bo poured him a cup and chuckled. “Nope. It’s Nestlé instant. I bought a jumbo pack—extra quantity, no extra price.”

“Instant coffee? Not freshly ground beans?” Bowen asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. Instant coffee. What’s the problem?”

“Dear God the Father, I must’ve scalded my taste buds earlier. How could I taste Blue Mountain in that?! Nestlé is the worst coffee in the world—only damn Americans like it!”

“But… you are American.”

“Exactly. Damn Americans!”

Bowen left with the coffee. Wang Bo shook his head as he watched the guy’s back. This guy was definitely a bit of a lunatic. But in the sand table castle, there was a green line on his body that extended into the green mist, and the mist—faint this morning—seemed to have thickened a little.

Back to cooking. He marinated the chicken chunks with pepper, soy sauce, sugar, and vinegar, then started by stir-frying winged beans and pork.

He sliced the lean pork into strips and halved the winged beans lengthwise to absorb flavor better—this was the secret to this dish.

He stir-fried scallions and ginger in hot oil to bring out the aroma, tossed in the pork strips until they changed color, then added the winged beans and stir-fried a bit longer. A splash of water helped the beans stay a vibrant green.

Once the beans and pork were nearly done, he added salt and MSG to finish it off. He didn’t use too many seasonings—foreigners didn’t seem to like overly heavy flavors.

Next, he thickened the marinated chicken with a bit of starch slurry, stir-fried it, then coated it with a prepared sweet-and-sour sauce and gave it a final quick fry.

He also sliced some tomatoes, mixed them with white sugar and aromatic vinegar for a simple cold dish.

At the dinner table, Bowen pulled out the cross on his chest, closed his eyes with a sincere expression, and murmured, “Lord Jesus, please bless the food and drink of your servants, for You are holy; so it has been, so it shall be, forever and ever, Amen.”

“Thanks be to the Lord’s mercy,” Wang Bo offered a short prayer too.

The Commander, however, impatiently yelled, “Ah, Wang Ba! Ah, hungry!”

Wang Bo rolled his eyes. Damn, he forgot to prepare fruit for this foul-mouthed brat.

Bowen took a bite of the sweet-and-sour chicken, and his eyes went wide. He gave a thumbs-up and exclaimed, “Shit, that’s amazing! God knows, I’ve never had Chinese food this good. Wang, now I believe you’re not a ghost. No ghost could cook like this!”

Wang Bo laughed and explained, “Actually, I’m the mayor of a town. If you look out from the mountainside, all that land belongs to a brand-new town I’m building. I’m the mayor of that town.”

“Really? That’s incredible! I believe you’ll build a super town!” Bowen said while chewing chicken.

Wang Bo looked at him and asked, “So, Bowen, are you interested in staying in my town? Life on the road can’t be easy, right? How about settling down here for a while?”

Now that all cards were on the table—pants off, chicken out—this had been Wang Bo’s goal in warmly hosting him. First, he was bored out of his mind with no one to talk to. Second, although this guy seemed neurotic and cowardly, he could produce green mist.

Mayor Wang’s invitation was genuinely sincere. Just look into his clear eyes—he even felt touched by his own sincerity.