HLM -Chapter 773 Honey-Glazed Barbecue

“What’s with this color?” Wang Bo exclaimed in astonishment.

He hadn’t expected the Bee King to be able to explain it — after all, even with his proper university education, he couldn’t figure it out. So he didn’t hold out much hope for the uneducated Bee King.

But Tatak surprised him a little. He said seriously, “Some flowers are red, some are white, some are yellow, and some are blue. The color of pollen is different. In the end, honey looks the same, but if you look carefully, there are many shades.”

His English was broken, but fortunately, Wang Bo had gone through that same phase himself, so he understood him.

This was truly multifloral honey — nectar from different blossoms had been fermented together, and under ultraviolet light, the colors varied. When blended, they finally produced this pale golden hue!

Eva came out, and when she saw the color, she gasped, “Oh my God, what is this? Wine? It’s so beautiful!”

The Bee King proudly and earnestly explained, “Not wine. Honey.”

Wang Bo brought it to his nose and took a sniff. The sweet aroma was subtle yet lingering, as if he were standing in a field of flowers — not an exaggeration, but exactly how it felt.

Honey can be eaten directly. He took a small sip, and the fragrance of blossoms filled his mouth.

“This stuff’s amazing,” Wang Bo said, passing it to Eva. “Darling, have a taste.”

The Commander buzzed out, flapping his wings. “Ah, Commander wants to try! Ah, no giving to Commissar!”

The big mastiff’s nose was even sharper — it caught the sweet scent, wagged its tail, and came trotting over eagerly, eyes fixed on the jar.

The Bee King, terrified of the dog, immediately backed away.

Eva reassured him, “Don’t worry, the dog won’t hurt you. By the way, Tatak, have you eaten yet?”

“No,” the Bee King shook his head. “Since morning, I’ve been working with the sieve and burning the Adura. Haven’t eaten.”

“You didn’t even have lunch?” Eva frowned slightly.

“What’s Adura?” Wang Bo asked curiously.

Eva gave him a look. “Hey, darling, your focus is all wrong.”

The Bee King didn’t mind and explained, “Didn’t eat breakfast either. Adura is this jar — it’s called Adura.”

Wang Bo understood — “Adura” must be what the Fijians called the clay pot.

Eva invited him to sit and went to the kitchen, returning with a slice of yogurt cake and a cup of warm milk. “Eat something first. Stay for dinner tonight — we’ll celebrate your first batch of honey.”

The Bee King grinned wide, took the cake, and began stuffing it into his mouth without a word — he really was starving.

Eva took a sip of the honey, her brows arching with delight. “This is the most magical honey I’ve ever tasted — it’s even better than Macalu honey!”

A moment later, Dale came hopping home from school. Climbing up the hill was tiring, but she was used to it — she’d ride her little white cow part of the way and walk the rest, so she wasn’t too out of breath.

Seeing the workers still busy, she asked eagerly, “Teacher, are we getting a swimming pool?”

Wang Bo blinked. “What swimming pool? Haven’t we always had one? The super big one — Lake Hawea.”

The girl shook her head quickly. “No, no! Not that one. The one on top — like the pool in that hotel in Auckland when we went to get your award.”

Wang Bo finally understood — she was talking about a sky pool.

He laughed. “That’s only for summer. It’s spring now. Come, forget the pool — Teacher will let you taste some honey. It’s delicious.”

Dale sniffed. “What’s so good about honey? We drink a small cup every noon. It’s not tasty. Teacher says it’s Macalu honey, but it tastes like syrup!”

“You can tell the difference?”

The girl lifted her chin proudly. “Of course! Dale isn’t a little kid you can fool so easily.”

Then she took a sip of the honey.

Eva had to keep a close eye on her afterward to make sure she didn’t gulp down the whole jar. Honey was good, but too much wasn’t.

In New Zealand, honey was used for all sorts of things — even barbecue. A lot of New Zealand barbecues weren’t spicy; they’d glaze the meat with honey.

Wang Bo suggested, “Let’s make honey-glazed barbecue.”

Eva hesitated. “But darling, this is wonderful stuff. If we added it to our morning coffee or milk…”

“And ten Aduras! Ten every day!” Tatak said cheerfully.

Wang Bo did a quick calculation. Each Adura clay pot held about two liters, which meant the hive was now producing roughly twenty liters of honey per day.

That was a pretty high yield — but given the hive’s scale and the abundance of nectar and pollen, it made sense.

Since Conley hadn’t had a welcome party yet, Wang Bo called Uncle Bing in town, asking him to gather Atulu, Conley, and the others to come up for a barbecue.

When night fell, Little Wang came trotting back, wagging his tail. The sight of the liger terrified the Bee King so much that his legs gave out — he fell to his knees, clasped his hands, and began tremblingly muttering prayers.

Little Wang’s massive body was intimidating — especially with a bloody pig hanging from his jaws.

Wang Bo quickly helped the Bee King up and made him reach out to pat Little Wang’s neck. “First time seeing him? This is Little Wang. He won’t hurt you.”

Little Wang gave the trembling Bee King a curious look, then turned to Wang Bo and proudly showed off the pig in his mouth.

Wang Bo almost cursed. That wasn’t a wild boar — it was one of the native pigs raised from the piglets he’d brought from home! It looked to be over a hundred catties, a half-grown hog.

But thinking about tonight’s party, he figured a pig like this would do just fine. He’d once eaten honey-glazed roast suckling pig in Beijing — tonight, they’d have a honey-glazed full-grown pig!

So he patted Little Wang’s head and praised, “Good job. My Little Wang’s getting braver and braver.”

Little Wang strutted proudly into the courtyard, tail high, as if inspecting his territory.

Wang Bo could only shake his head helplessly. What the hell… the liger catches one domestic pig and acts like a hero!

Uncle Bing arrived first, and Wang Bo told him and Gerald to skin the pig and clean out the innards.

One good thing about Little Wang’s hunting — he always tore open the neck first to drain the blood. That was something Wang Bo had taught him; otherwise, dead rabbits or wild boars wouldn’t taste good. The beast had remembered it well.

Wang Bo poured lemon juice into a large basin and soaked the pig in it.

Seeing this, Bowen asked, “Are you making Peace Pig?”

“What’s Peace Pig?” Wang Bo asked, puzzled.

Bowen looked at him like he’d been living under a rock. “You don’t know Peace Pig? The pig eaten on Christmas Eve!”

“I thought Christmas Eve was for eating chicken?” Wang Bo laughed.

Eva turned her head and said sharply, “Could you two please speak English when the child’s around? I know your Chinese is great, but be mindful, okay?”

Wang Bo looked embarrassed. With so many domestic tourists lately, he often spoke Chinese with his men for practice — but clearly, this wasn’t the time.