HLM – Chapter 76 Final Price: 25 Million

Old Wang happily made the decision. There was still some lamb left from the last time he treated Lawyer Mueller, so he asked Bowen to chop the meat while he prepared the flour and dough.

The cowboy, lazy as ever, muttered, “You said before that if I followed you, I wouldn’t have to cook…”

The handsome Mexican strolled into the kitchen. “Boss, if there’s work to be done, let me handle it. You just oversee everything.”

Wang Bo shot a sidelong glance at the cowboy. The difference in awareness couldn’t be clearer.

The dough-making was handed over to Juan. Old Wang chopped scallions and ginger and mixed the seasoning. Once the cowboy finished mincing the meat, everything was combined and drizzled with some peanut oil to make the dumpling filling.

As for rolling the dumpling skins, none of the cowboy, Juan, or Charlie knew how. Rolling up his sleeves, Wang Bo said, “Alright, follow my lead. Time to learn.”

The cowboy asked, “Can we help in another way?”

“Like what?”

“Cheering you on? Clapping?”

Old Wang raised his cleaver. “You doing it or not?”

“Doing! Of course we’re doing it!”

The parrot “Commander” flew in, circled once, and landed on the cowboy’s shoulder. Its tiny claws treaded back and forth as it chirped, “Ah, Handsome! Ah, Handsome, Juan!”

The cowboy burst out laughing. “Boss, your bird has defected. It belongs to me now. But… why does it smell a bit funky?”

The handsome Mexican leaned in to check. “Bowen, you better look over your shoulder. I think Commander stepped in cow poop and wiped it on your shirt.”

The cowboy twisted his neck to look. Commander immediately flew off, yelling, “Ah! Ah! Commander loves cleanliness! Ah ah! Commander wiped off poop!”

“F***-squid!”

At least the cowboy was spared from making dumplings. Everyone found him too filthy anyway.

Even Zhuang Ding, the dog, was put off. It had been lying at the doorway watching the rain. When the cowboy approached to play, it gave him a scornful glance and trotted off into the yard…

As they neared the end of dumpling making, Charlie said to Wang Bo with a sly grin, “Wang, I think I just scratched my butt earlier and forgot to wash my hands.”

The Juan groaned, “You’re disgusting! How are we supposed to eat these dumplings now?”

Wang Bo laughed cheerfully. “It’s fine. I can tell which dumplings he made—those ugly ones. I’ll boil those separately and serve them to him!”

Charlie hurriedly said, “I was just joking. You guys didn’t really believe that, right?”

“Heh heh.”

Charlie pulled out his phone. “How about I give you a surprise to make up for that stupid joke?”

“What surprise?” Wang Bo skeptically took the phone. On it was a news article:  “Christie’s Triumphs in Duel of Giants, ‘Bay Psalm Book’ Sold in Paris.”

Seeing the headline, Wang Bo suddenly remembered how important today was—Christie’s spring auction had begun, with the first stop in Paris. His copy of The Bay Psalm Book was being auctioned there.

He quickly opened the article. It detailed how Christie’s had stirred excitement in both literary and theological circles with this rare Psalter. This particular copy, owned by a traditional British aristocratic family and bearing annotations from multiple generations, made it even more valuable.

Two years ago, a similar copy auctioned by Sotheby’s fetched $14.16 million USD, which was about NZ$20.5 million. But this one had the aristocratic provenance, making it more desirable.

After sixteen rounds of bidding, a Russian billionaire won it with a bid of $17.25 million USD—over $3 million more than the previous sale.

$17.25 million USD—that’s NZ$25.5 million!

Old Wang’s energy surged. He rolled the dumpling wrappers with blazing speed. “You guys can stop helping—let me take care of everything tonight. I’ll make sure you all eat your fill!”

Tonight was bound to be a joyous night. Once the dumplings were ready, Wang Bo hummed a little tune as he dropped them into the boiling pot.

With the fire blazing, the dumplings quickly rose, showing their plump white bellies. Bowen asked, “What’s got the boss so hyped?”

The Mexican guy scratched his head. “No idea. He got all happy after looking at Charlie’s phone. Maybe Charlie helped him hook up with some beauty?”

Once the dumplings were cooked and dished out, Old Wang called out, “Bring out the wine—we’re drinking tonight!”

“Drink with dumplings?” Charlie asked. “Isn’t that a staple food?”

“Heh, I thought you were a China expert? We’ve got a saying: Dumplings go best with wine, the more you drink, the more divine! And another one: Whores pair with dogs, together forever… Uh, wait—that one’s not related. Anyway, dumplings go with wine!”

Outside, a light drizzle misted the air. Inside the hall, steam wafted from the dumplings like white clouds. Wang Bo raised his glass and said, “Before we drink, as your leader, I…”

He was cut off when the cowboy snatched a dumpling, popped it into his mouth, and yelled, “No time—hot damn, it’s burning hot!”

Old Wang smirked. Serves you right! These dumplings just came out of the pot.

He cleared his throat and began a pre-meal speech: “Good rain knows its season, spring growth is its sign. It drifts in on the wind by night, moistening things in silence. Dark clouds cover country paths, yet the castle burns bright. In dawn’s red wetness, heavy flowers bloom under the sunset fortress. How’s that?”

The Mexican guy clapped. “No idea what that meant, but it rhymed well. Must be a great poem!”

“Let’s eat, then!”

The three guys furiously blew on their dumplings to cool them. Wang Bo chuckled, dipped his bowl of dumplings in cold water twice, and the temperature dropped right down.

“Haven’t you learned any science? Water transfers heat better than air!” he mocked.

He took a bite. The lamb had no gamy taste. The dumpling burst with juicy broth and savory meat, exploding in his mouth like fireworks.

Wang Bo slapped the table hard. The others stared at him. “What now, boss? Another grand declaration?”

“So good! These dumplings are amazing!”

Zhuang Ding was practically drooling at the door. Wang Bo filled a dish for him. The dog wolfed them down in one gulp, not even chewing. Two plates of dumplings vanished in seconds.

Even the dog could tell how delicious they were. He looked up at Wang Bo with squinting eyes, tail wagging furiously like helicopter blades.

Then the Oceania CEO of Christie’s, Adams Georgetown, called. “Wang, my good friend! You’ve probably seen the news, right? If not, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I saw it—over 25 million NZ dollars, right?” Wang Bo said happily.

Adams replied, “Yes. The funds have already arrived in our account today. After deducting a 7.5% fee—NZ$1.9125 million—you’ll receive NZ$23.0925 million. Once the bank finishes the audit, it’ll hit your account. Please keep an eye out.”

Just as the funds were confirmed, the week-long rain finally stopped. Double blessings had arrived. Wang Bo stood at the doorway, gazing into the distance. The dazzling weather mirrored his shining mood.