HLM -Chapter 742 Crab Season

The New Zealand wood pigeons were stunningly beautiful. The reputation of the pigeon family as the “handsome rich men and beautiful wealthy women” wasn’t an exaggeration at all. Soon, the group was drawn over, pointing and whispering under the trees.

The large pigeons stood proudly on the branches, chest out, gazing down at the world below with a calm, confident look. Their posture was exceptional.

A flock of snow pigeons flew by, and in comparison, the New Zealand wood pigeons looked even more robust!

This was the effect of comparison: without it, there’s no sense of scale. The New Zealand wood pigeons were truly large — absolute “big guys” in the pigeon family. Wang Bo estimated that the largest ones were over half a meter long!

Hani exhaled in relief as he looked at them and said, “Boss, in your Chinese words, the castle really is a place blessed by feng shui. To think wood pigeons would appear here.”

“Are they very precious?”

“They weren’t always. They’re native to New Zealand and were once widespread. But as you can see, the feathers are beautiful, and what you can’t see is that their meat is even more delicious. They were heavily hunted in the past.”

“Now, New Zealand wood pigeons are protected. Any hunting is illegal. Their beautiful appearance makes them excellent ornamental birds.”

Wang Bo smirked, “I think the pigeons’ biggest enemies aren’t humans — it’s cats. Da Pang and Er Pang, behave yourselves. What are you thinking of doing?”

The fat cat brothers noticed the wood pigeons too, their mouths twitching constantly — they were probably drooling. Compared to the snow pigeons, the wood pigeons were incredibly plump!

The Pallas’s cats were experts at stealth attacks. Unnoticed, the two climbed up a tree trunk. Wang Bo scrambled up to grab them down.

Eva took control over the two brothers: “No hunting birds. No, no, no!”

The commander shouted, “Ah, Commander obedient, ah, Commander won’t catch!”

Charlie laughed heartily: “Stop pretending here. If you’re brave, go fight them! Wood pigeons aren’t snow pigeons — they’re tough. One of them could take on ten of you!”

The commander seemed to understand and indignantly said, “Ah, Commander obedient, ah, Commander is mighty!”

Wang Bo didn’t want them to scare the pigeons away. The snow pigeons reproduced too fast. Every day, the castle was filled with flocks of pure white pigeons flying in and out.

It looked beautiful — a misty place, with peaceful white doves dancing in the air…

But appearances were deceiving. They were a nuisance, eating fruits, vegetables, and grass seeds. Nothing in the castle could be left outside.

Also, pigeons were straightforward: after eating, they immediately excreted. Wherever they flew, they pooped, utterly at will. Wang Bo hated this.

Having wood pigeons around made him happy. He hoped the wood pigeons would drive away the snow pigeons.

Charlie laughed at the idea: “Look at their size — they eat a lot and poop a lot. I think bird droppings in the castle will only increase.”

“That’s not necessarily bad,” Hani explained. “Wood pigeons eat and poop a lot, but they play an important role. They may bring rare plants to the castle.”

Hani explained that the New Zealand government protected wood pigeons because they could swallow large fruits, which played an important role in the natural ecosystem.

Birds digest the tough outer shell of seeds and excrete the viable seeds, which can then naturally sprout. Some native New Zealand plants have large seeds that small birds cannot eat — only wood pigeons can naturally plant them.

“I’ve seen a study: after wood pigeons lost 99% of their population, many native trees’ growth slowed by 90%. They are natural planting experts. With them around, the settlement would see more new vegetation.” Hani concluded.

This flock was relatively small — about twenty birds. Charlie said it wasn’t a small flock; nowadays, flocks rarely exceeded a hundred. The reason was simple: bigger flocks were easier to spot and more likely to be poached.

The pigeons seemed satisfied with the environment and had already built nests in the trees. The nests were larger than snow pigeons’ nests and hidden in dense branches, difficult to spot without looking closely.

Wang Bo drove the others away and led them to the lakeside to fish, catch shrimp, and catch crabs.

As Bartier knelt on the yacht pulling ropes, he asked, “Can we eat these crabs now?”

“Of course,” Wang Bo said naturally. “September is the best season for crabs.”

Bartier scoffed, “Don’t think I’m ignorant. September is your country’s crab season. This is New Zealand — the seasons are opposite!”

“Have you heard of ‘June Yellow’? If not, I won’t explain. Anyway, in our country, river crabs in June are incredibly delicious.”

Together, they pulled up the crab traps. Over twenty large crabs scurried in panic.

Wang Bo picked one up, feeling it in his hand — even fatter than a few days ago. This river crab weighed at least eight taels, a rare fat crab.

As usual, they put the crabs directly on the grill.

Though Bartier claimed he didn’t like freshwater seafood, he became the most enthusiastic after grilling, putting on gloves to grab a crab.

Atulu grabbed one too, but it was too hot — just cooked. Even a delicacy couldn’t save him. He grimaced in pain, tossing the crab like a juggling prop, enviously watching Bartier and asking, “When did you prepare gloves?”

Bartier shrugged, “When you said crabs should be eaten hot, I grabbed a pair. I thought, eat them hot or they get fishy. But hot crabs are too hot to touch, gloves are a must.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” the Maori man said disappointedly.

“I’ll tell you why,” Bowen quickly snatched the flying crab, grinning mischievously, “If you had Bartier’s brain, you’d already be a billionaire.”

Lifting the crab shell, the aroma hit them. Bartier inhaled, marveling, “Damn, I knew Wang prepared a feast!”

“You were the one doubting the most earlier.”

Bartier retorted, “That’s called building anticipation. The more I doubted, the more effort goes into exceeding expectations.”

“Oh my, just eating and I feel like Sun Tzu’s Art of War is being applied,” Dale said, blowing on crab roe.

“You even know Sun Tzu? Impressive,” the Maori man said in surprise.

“Honestly, Uncle Atulu, even if you had my brain, your wife would still dominate you,” Dale said proudly, nibbling some crab roe. Her face instantly lit up with joy. “Mmm, delicious!”