HLM – Chapter 796 A Toast to Friendship

“No, no, not ‘wife’ yet — you haven’t even proposed to me.” Eva said with a bright smile as she brought out the freshly baked pastries from the kitchen and set them on the marble counter.

Fan Dong and the others immediately began to chant, “Propose! Propose!”

Zhao Xiaohui glanced thoughtfully at Eva before saying, “Miss Irina’s Chinese is so good. She truly loves you, Old Wang — you don’t learn a language this well unless it’s for love.”

Na Qingyang nudged Wang Bo and said teasingly, “What are you still hesitating for, Old Wang? With all your classmates here, go on and propose already!”

Eva laughed lightly, her eyes glimmering with affection. “Then where’s my proposal gift?”

“Pick one,” Wang Bo replied.

Before Eva could answer, Zhu Fang cut in with a grin, “Old Wang, we women are actually easy to please. Asking for stars or the moon might be too much, but a few diamonds will do just fine — ten carats, twenty carats, pigeon-egg, quail-egg size, whatever you’ve got.”

Wang Bo said firmly, “No problem at all!”

Eva chuckled softly. “I’m not really interested in diamonds. Why don’t you build me a bakery room first?”

Only then did Wang Bo realize — Eva had been baking in the kitchen for quite some time, yet he’d never thought to build her a proper baking room. Baking and sleeping were her two greatest passions, after all.

“Wait for me,” he promised. “I’ll get it done as soon as possible!”

After eating Eva’s pastries, the group became lively again.

“No way, you have to build that bakery room for Eva right now!”

“These pastries are too good — I want to learn from Eva!”

“Honey, can’t you learn a bit too? Look at her—okay, okay, I’ll stop talking! Don’t glare at me, I surrender.”

As evening came, the atmosphere of the party grew even more festive.

Since there were many people, Wang Bo chose the spacious outer courtyard — right between his two helicopters.

Several grills were set up. Once the smokeless charcoal caught fire, sparks danced in the breeze like glittering stars.

Ian arrived in his truck with beef, lamb, chicken, and duck. The ranch cowboys took charge of the grilling, busying themselves at the fires.

Fan Dong, feeling a bit embarrassed, went over to thank them, saying they were taking up their off-duty time.

Ian laughed heartily. “There’s no such thing as ‘off-duty’ on a ranch — we’re on watch 24/7. And even if we were free, we wouldn’t stay idle — we’d go dig for gold.”

“You actually find anything?” Fan Dong asked, intrigued.

Ian replied, “Not much for me — bad luck. But the Beeby brothers struck gold, literally. They found ore with more than twenty percent gold content.”

Gold ore with over one-fifth purity — such pieces didn’t even need refining and were considered collectible in their natural state.

Anderson came over with beer — both keg and bottled — and a few low-alcohol cocktails. “These are specially prepared for the ladies,” he said with a smile.

Na Qingyang smirked and said mischievously, “My classmates here? Every single one of them can hold their liquor. They usually drink baijiu. You think cocktails are drinks for them?”

Anderson looked uncertain. “We didn’t file a prior request to purchase large quantities of strong spirits — it might be too late to get any now.”

New Zealand’s Alcohol Management Act was quite strict, reminiscent of the U.S. Prohibition era in the 1920s. Home brewing and illicit distilling had quietly become common again.

Zhao Xiaohui, who spoke excellent English, quickly interjected, “Sir, don’t listen to him — we Chinese women are very traditional. We can’t even drink beverages with alcohol.”

Anderson hesitated. “Then… should I get you fruit drinks instead?”

Wang Bo walked over, glanced at the cocktails, and said, “LCV — that’s fine. These are perfect for the ladies.”

LCV was a small cocktail brand from Auckland, with a limited market reach. Wang Bo had only ever seen it around Auckland.

But the cocktails were quite special — fruit-based wines blended with natural juices. Pricey, yes, but genuinely good.

Wang Bo himself stuck to beer. He lit a bonfire on the ground and skewered marinated chickens on wooden sticks, handing them to a few classmates to roast themselves.

That was what made it fun — the novelty of it. In China, where the country was now prosperous, grilled chicken and roast duck were everyday dishes. But when you roasted them yourself, it was a whole different story.

Wang Bo had learned that from tour groups — as Chen Luoxian once told him, foreign group tours were easier to handle because tourists wanted to experience everything firsthand. Even if the food they cooked tasted awful, they’d still eat it with joy.

Wang Bo made a dish of grilled eggplant. The eggplants in his garden grew fast — after two waterings they were already big and plump, just right for grilling.

He washed them, split each in half, and scored the flesh with crosshatch cuts before spreading a layer of meat sauce on top.

After the sauce dried a bit, he brushed them with peanut oil and laid them over the grill.

As the temperature rose, the aroma of eggplant and savory sauce filled the air. Wang Bo kept brushing on peanut oil until the rich scent of roasted nuts drifted through the courtyard.

He’d already prepared a spice mix — chili powder, cumin, pepper, and ground Sichuan peppercorn. Once the eggplants were nearly done, he sprinkled it on, followed by minced garlic and chopped cilantro. The dish was ready to serve.

He plated the large eggplant halves and sent them around.

Atulu took a bite with chopsticks and nodded approvingly. “Delicious.”

Zhang Rui looked at him curiously. “Wait, you know how to use… uh… chopsticks?” he asked, even miming the gesture in case the Maori man didn’t understand.

Atulu puffed up proudly. “Of course. I can use any kind of utensil.”

Bowen, walking by, quipped, “If poop were edible, you’d probably use a dog’s butt as a utensil.”

Atulu raised his middle finger. “You’re disgusting, mate!”

Fan Dong came over, grinning. “I heard Maori people are good at singing and dancing. Officer Atulu, how about a performance?”

Atulu stood up grandly, stripped off his shirt to reveal his big chest and round belly, and performed a Maori war dance — grimaces and all.

But with so few people, it lacked its usual grandeur. When he finished, panting, he said, “When are you guys visiting our village? I’ll host you with hangi — then you’ll see a real war dance. Fifty strong lads dancing together!”

Fan Dong asked Wang Bo about the plan. Wang Bo said the town wasn’t big, so they could roam freely for now and save the last two days for a trip to Queenstown.

When the meat was finally done, the Scream Time began again.

The beef and lamb from Sunset Ranch were top quality — they were eating only the best cuts from calves and lambs. This wasn’t your average Chinese barbecue.

Wang Bo raised his beer bottle. “Hold on before you dig in — let’s toast, to friendship!”

“Auld Lang Syne!”

They clinked bottles, chugged their drinks, and began devouring the meat.

After wolfing down two skewers of roast lamb, Hou Haibo shouted, “I swear, for as long as we’re in New Zealand, I’m only eating barbecue!”