HLM – Chapter 40 A Treatment Plan for Zhuang Ding

When introducing Zhuang Ding last, Charlie immediately noticed something off. “Hey, isn’t this dog a Mastiff? It doesn’t quite look like one.” 

Wang Bo explained, “Because Zhuang Ding has psychological trauma—it’s extremely insecure and introverted, lacking courage and confidence. I’m really at a loss about what to do.”  

Hearing this, Charlie laughed and said breezily, “Don’t worry, Wang. This is exactly the kind of thing you should ask me—the omniscient Emperor Charlie.”  

“Go on.”  

“Alright, simply put, when a male animal exhibits emotions contrary to its nature, it’s usually due to a traumatic experience that disrupts its endocrine system, suppressing organ function and leading to insufficient testosterone production. So, first, you need to find a way to boost its testosterone levels. That’ll help it regain its natural instincts.”  

Wang Bo eyed him skeptically. “That doesn’t sound very reliable. Is this ‘New Medicine’?”  

Charlie frowned. “What’s ‘New Medicine’?”  

“You know, like how China has Traditional Chinese Medicine. Shouldn’t New Zealand’s unique medical practices be called ‘New Medicine’?” Wang Bo said matter-of-factly.  

Charlie shook his head, pulled out his phone, and pulled up a video. “I’m not going to argue with you. Here, try this. Let Zhuang Ding watch it—it’ll help the poor kid.”  

Wang Bo leaned in to look. On the screen was a muscular Alaskan Malamute mounting a Golden Retriever, its little hips thrusting with impressive vigor.  

“No! Zhuang Ding’s still a child. It can’t watch this!” Wang Bo exclaimed.  

Charlie retorted, “You are not a fish—how do you know what fish enjoy? You’re not Zhuang Ding, so how do you know it shouldn’t watch this? Besides, we’re trying to stimulate its testosterone production and restore its masculinity. Got it?”  

Wang Bo didn’t get it, but Charlie held the phone screen in front of Zhuang Ding anyway.  

Zhuang Ding pressed itself tightly against Wang Bo, backing away whenever Charlie approached, showing zero interest in what was on the phone.  

Charlie’s treatment plan had hit a snag, but he wasn’t discouraged. “This isn’t something that’ll work overnight. We’ll take it slow. Wang, go make me something to eat—I’ve missed your cooking so much. The stuff I’ve been eating in Wellington? Absolute garbage!”  

“You ate garbage? That’s hardcore!” The cowboy, having only caught half the conversation, chimed in.  

Charlie burst out laughing. “Americans really are hilarious.”  

Lunch was served, and Charlie, the cowboy, Zhuang Ding, and Commander all dug in ravenously.  

Watching them eat, Wang Bo sighed. “I’ve basically become your nanny—the only thing I don’t do is dress you.”  

Between bites of steak, Charlie said, “And I’m your butler. Find some time, and I’ll take you to set up the town’s financial bank account and your credit card.”  

Wang Bo thought about it—Charlie really had helped him a lot.  

It wasn’t that he couldn’t do anything without Charlie, but Charlie had explained that he needed to open a dedicated financial account for the town under his own name. Government funds and town taxes would all flow through this account.  

And this account could only be opened at a specific branch—they had to go to Wellington to set it up. If it got lost, they’d have to return to Wellington to get it reissued.  

That afternoon, Wang Bo was on his phone chatting with old classmates. None of them believed he’d actually gone to New Zealand to become a mayor with 1,000 square kilometers of land and a towering castle.  

By now, his social media was flooded with rumors: Old Wang went abroad to run a pyramid scheme…  

But there was some good news—people thought he was both ambitious and kind-hearted, since he was “scamming foreigners instead of his own people.” Fan Dong, their college class monitor, even said Wang Bo was “bringing glory to the nation” and deserved encouragement.  

Wang Bo’s response? You bastards just wait. Once my town takes off, you’ll be kneeling and singing ‘Conquest.’  

Town development required funds, and right now, Wang Bo was strapped for cash. He had a little over a million NZD and $200,000 USD on hand, plus another two million NZD in government grants, but for building a town? That was a drop in the bucket.  

And as the saying goes, when it rains, it pours. Just as he was worrying about money, representatives from Moe Nosebleed International Finance Co. showed up at his door.  

Zhuang Ding hadn’t been raised for nothing. The moment these people appeared at the castle gates, even from a distance, its ears perked up, and it bolted outside, barking furiously.  

Wang Bo was beyond annoyed at the sight of these tattoo-covered Māori men. It wasn’t racism—he just hated anyone trying to squeeze money out of him.  

Ten Māori men arrived, led by the same guy who’d negotiated with Wang Bo before. The leader gruffly held out a contract and said, “Chinese brother, time to pay up!”  

Paying debts was only right, so Wang Bo had no complaints. He handed over a suitcase containing 500,000 NZD in cash and said coldly, “Count it.”  

The leader’s eyes lit up when he opened the case. Just then, Commander flew out, circling above his head and squawking, “Ah, your mom exploded! Ah, your mom exploded!”  

Since none of the Māori understood Chinese, they ignored the bird. They’d brought their accountant, who immediately began counting and checking the bills for counterfeits.  

Once everything checked out, the accountant nodded. The leader, his tattooed face breaking into a grin, clapped Wang Bo on the shoulder. “Chinese man, good credit! I like you! Haha, if you ever need money again, come to Moe Nosebleed International Finance Co.!”  

Wang Bo checked the contract, then burned it—officially settling the debt.  

The Māori were efficient. Once they had their money, they turned to leave. But before they did, they handed Wang Bo a promotional flyer, saying it listed their services in case he needed them again.  

Wang Bo glanced at the flyer, where bold yellow text proclaimed:  

Friend, believe this: When you need money,  

– A friend can give you $100.  

– A brother can give you $1,000.  

– A relative can give you $10,000.  

– Your parents can give you $100,000.  

But only WE—Moe Nosebleed International Finance Co.—can give you a MILLION or even TEN MILLION!  

Charlie came out and asked what had happened. Wang Bo said the Māori had come to collect on the loan. He didn’t mention that he’d repaid it—since the money’s origins were questionable, he couldn’t publicize it.  

When Charlie pressed further, Wang Bo handed him the flyer, quickly changing the subject. “Their slogan’s kinda funny. But seriously, what’s up with their company name? It’s so dumb.”  

After reading the flyer, Charlie chuckled. He gave Wang Bo a you’re so uncultured look and asked, “You don’t know what ‘Moe Nosebleed’ means?”  

Wang Bo was baffled. “What’s there to know? It’s just nonsense.”  

“You really need to learn more about New Zealand culture,” Charlie said, shaking his head before launching into an explanation.  

Turns out, in Māori mythology, a long time ago, a young man named Moe went fishing with his four brothers. He didn’t have bait, and his brothers refused to share theirs, so he smashed his own nose and used his nosebleed as bait.  

In the end, Moe caught an enormous fish—which became New Zealand’s North Island. So, in Māori culture, Moe Nosebleed symbolizes the ultimate bait—it even represents the image of New Zealand itself.