HLM – Chapter 717 Free Labor

The ranch tour began.

It was an organized activity. Peterson, dressed neatly in his cowboy outfit, had the princes watching a few Merino sheep around him. Soon he would perform a sheep shearing demonstration.

Shearing was done twice a year—once in spring and once in autumn. Now that spring had arrived, it was time for shearing again.

Of course, shearing had become a performance activity, which was also why Wang Bo had hired Peterson to work at the ranch.

When the tourists arrived to watch, Peterson bowed politely and then waved at the eldest prince. “Come on, young man, herd a sheep over to me.”

The eldest prince blinked and let out a barking sound toward a sheep, driving it over.

The sheep, thinking it was about to be slaughtered, walked over with a heroic, tragic air!

Peterson reached out, dragged it close, pressed it with his left hand, and used the sheep shears in his right hand to carve a path. After opening a path, he switched to the electric clippers. In just a few minutes, the fat, bulky sheep was transformed into a sleek, trimmed animal.

The tourists gasped. For people from the city, this truly seemed magical.

Seeing everyone raise their thumbs in approval, Peterson smiled warmly and held up the shears. “Who wants to try?”

The English was simple, and the tourists understood, but no one dared to step forward. A young man mumbled, “I have strong hands; if I accidentally poke the sheep, it’ll be a problem.”

Wang Bo laughed, “It’s fine. Go ahead and try. Mr. Peterson is the New Zealand sheep shearing champion. With his guidance, nothing will happen.”

“Even if something does happen, you won’t be held responsible—unless you do it on purpose,” Eva slowly said in Chinese.

Everyone looked at the young man. He had come with his girlfriend, who was eagerly watching him.

The young man rubbed his nose and, steeling himself, said, “Alright, I’ll give it a try.”

Peterson handed him the shears and showed him the correct way to hold them, then took another pair himself and demonstrated a couple of movements.

The work wasn’t difficult; the challenge was doing it quickly and accurately.

As long as the sheep were pressed down and still, they wouldn’t be hurt. In fact, shearing was like a massage for the sheep. After growing wool for two seasons, they essentially wore a heavy coat—of course it was heavy!

The young man tried a few strokes and found it easy. Switching to the electric clippers, he began to push forward with the whirring sound.

Peterson stopped him and signaled, “Slow down, child. Going too fast will jam the clipper. You need to move slowly but with strength. Yes, just like that.”

The young man pushed two more times, and Peterson nodded, telling him to hold the sheep down with his left hand and proceed slowly.

Others became eager as well, and more men stepped up to try shearing.

Tour guides held cameras from all directions, capturing everything for promotional material.

The sheep at Sunset Ranch were perfect for this activity. Thanks to the strong capabilities of the “Third-Level Ranch Heart” system, their wool was exceptionally clean—at most a few green grass specks, never filthy or messy.

Peterson had also prepared something like a photo frame in advance. After the young man finished shearing, Peterson picked the whitest tuft of wool and placed it in the frame. He told the young man, “Develop a photo and put it in here. Consider it a souvenir.”

“How much does this frame cost?” the young man asked instinctively.

Peterson patted his shoulder and laughed, “I made it myself. The glass cost a little, but not much. It’s a gift—a gift.”

The young man was pleasantly surprised; he probably rarely encountered such a nice gesture during his travels.

Peterson had prepared plenty of frames, so anyone who tried shearing received one.

Soon, everyone wanted a turn—women included.

Chen Luoxian arranged for couples or boyfriends and girlfriends to work on one sheep together, giving each family one frame.

Peterson didn’t mind: “A piece of glass is only fifty cents. The frames were made by that guy Mackson, so no cost.”

Wang Bo asked, “When is the old man moving over? I’ve already arranged a moving company for him!”

“When the weather warms up, after the tourists leave, I’ll bring the movers over and just move him!” Peterson said dominantly with a wave of his hand.

Initially, the tourists had doubts: what was worth visiting at a ranch? Could they really spend an entire afternoon here?

But after the shearing experience, by the time everyone had their fill, it was almost sunset.

This exceeded Wang Bo’s expectations; he had other activities planned.

For the second half of the afternoon, he and Chen Luoxian decided to split the group. Some stayed for shearing, while others followed Wang Bo to milk the cows.

There were rewards for both activities: the shearing had the framed wool, and the milkers would drink the milk they produced for breakfast the next morning.

Wang Bo brought out the white yak. This cow was only aggressive toward dwarf children; otherwise, it had a good temperament.

Seeing the white yak herd, the tourists exclaimed in amazement. Learning they could milk the yaks and drink the fresh milk the next morning made them even more excited.

Participation in both activities was high. Other planned arrangements weren’t needed, such as a full ranch tour, though the ranch had a variety of animals: deer, white yaks, water buffalo, beef cattle, newly arrived non-main cows, goats and wild goats, wild chickens, turkeys, and other chickens and ducks. The ranch was almost like a zoo, perfect for sightseeing.

As darkness fell, Wang Bo waved and said, “Let’s go to the beach. We may not have a seaside barbecue, but a lakeside barbecue is also very special.”

Outside the lakeside, there was a parking lot with cars from out-of-town tourists, including several RVs with lights on. Through the uncurtained windows, people inside could be seen moving around.

The first young man who had sheared sheep said enviously, “A Volvo RV! That must cost a fortune. A friend of mine has one. Amazing—wherever you go, if you can drive in, it’s like a five-star hotel.”

Wang Bo laughed, “Not really. In New Zealand, these vehicles aren’t worth much—maybe 80,000 NZD.”

“That cheap?” the young man exclaimed, then extended his hand to introduce himself. “I’m Du Yong, friends call me A Du. I work in Mudu. If the mayor ever visits Mudu, remember to call me—I’ll be a good host.”

Wang Bo was about to reply politely, but someone nearby said, “80,000 NZD isn’t cheap, right? Converted, it’s almost 400,000 RMB.”

Du Yong shrugged, “Brother, my friend’s vehicle costs over a million—RMB, of course!”

Wang Bo said, “Your friend isn’t wrong. Actually, it’s not cheap for the buyers either. People with money don’t buy RVs—they buy houses.”

“Are New Zealand housing prices high too?”

“Compared to first-tier cities in China, not really. But Kiwis think they are high, and they protest often.”