HLM -Chapter 810 Fighting Fire with Fire

By the time the group left, it was already mid-October.

When they came out they’d mostly used up annual leave or taken special leave to stretch the seven-day National Day holiday into ten-plus days, and they’d stayed in Sunset Town long enough to be satisfied. Wang Bo had wanted to take them to Queenstown, but the others refused — they were happy to stay in Sunset Town: picturesque scenery, good food and drink, nothing more comfortable.

After checking the news, Wang Bo didn’t push the idea. Chinese compatriots really had money now — during the Golden Week many Chinese tourists had come to New Zealand, and Queenstown was crowded; going there then wouldn’t have been wise.

When they left everyone had big suitcases. Wang Bo had packed them up with a pile of gifts; Fan Dong joked they were “taking from the rich and dividing the land.” The gold ore was hard to get through customs and security, but he’d found Bartier, and the ore was shipped out under the pretense of commercial testing and sent to the capital for pickup later.

Holding the pickup notice, Zhou Haojie sighed, “They say that China runs on personal connections — isn’t New Zealand like that too?”

Wang Bo explained, “There are differences. Everywhere having connections helps, but in our country connections play a far larger role. I could use contacts here to get ore shipped out, but if it were firearms or something, that’d be another matter.”

After seeing them off at the airport, Wang Bo and Eva returned home. They’d had a lot of fun, but were also exhausted; his classmates especially would probably need at least half a month to recover. He’d planned to rest, but as the car reached town, Bowen waved him to stop and asked, “Did those guys get back to China?”

“Yes, thanks for asking…”

“Oh, I wasn’t asking out of concern. I was just checking your status. Since you don’t need to accompany friends, call a meeting — traffic meeting.”

Wang Bo had been entertaining classmates these past days, so Bowen had been acting for the mayor. Traffic matters fell under the police, so the meeting was with a few officers.

When Wang Bo walked in, Conley handed him some newspapers and printouts. “Boss, look at this.”

Wang Bo skimmed them. The articles were about driving on Highway 8.

For safety he had installed a “Road Heart” on Highway 8 — it had truly helped. Since using the Road Heart, there hadn’t been a single accident on the fifty-plus-kilometer stretch near Sunset Town. But as the saying goes, those who crave war perish by it; those who forget to guard against war are at risk. New Zealand drivers noticed the good road conditions and, of course, didn’t know it was the Road Heart at work — they thought the road itself was just excellent.

Whether driving sedans or SUVs, Mercedes or Volkswagens, many drivers secretly longed to be in an F1 car. Discovering this stretch was smooth, a group of people started speeding through it.

Because there still weren’t many accidents, Wang Bo didn’t pay much attention — in fact, they’d even been a little enthusiastic about the permissiveness because it made issuing traffic fines easier. But after drivers got used to speeding on that section, they began to maintain high speeds on the adjacent stretches too; when those sections grew a little more dangerous, accidents began to happen.

The media investigated and found the source in the Sunset Town segment, and they criticized the local police for not doing anything about the excessive speeding.

“How shall we handle it?” Bowen waited for Wang Bo’s order.

“What else?” Wang Bo shrugged and tossed the newspaper onto the desk. “Catch traffic violators and fine them!”

Uncle Bing shook his head. “The deputy mayor led us to do that a few days ago. Over the past five days we collected twenty-two thousand dollars in fines…”

“How much?” Wang Bo was shocked.

“You heard right — twenty-two thousand dollars, averaging four thousand four hundred a day,” Bowen confirmed.

Wang Bo drew a breath. “So that’s at least two hundred traffic violations a day?”

Traffic fines in New Zealand were relatively high — there were tickets of a hundred or two hundred, but the median was around twenty dollars.

“Actually, not that many,” Bowen explained. “Maybe fifty or sixty violators. It’s just that they were driving so fast that all the fines were large.”

Atulu laughed. “Our colleagues are jealous. Some guys I know in Oak City called and asked if we could spare a few names so they could get some bonuses too.”

In New Zealand, traffic fines were tied directly to police income — there were performance checks and more fines meant more rewards.

“Fines alone won’t work.” Wang Bo tapped the table, thinking.

Bowen continued, “It’s not just speeding — they abuse high beams too. Those bastards drive with their high beams on all the time, which threatens the safety of cars in front and behind.”

Because they drive fast, they want the best visibility, and high beams give that. But high beams affect the driver ahead: the reflected lights can dazzle the driver and also interfere with judgments about the traffic behind.

Hearing this, Wang Bo blinked and suddenly had a good idea. “Have you heard of those ‘devil window decals’?”

Everyone shook their heads blankly.

Wang Bo explained, “I heard about them from a classmate not long ago. They saw news that in China some people use rear-window decals to deal with high beams — a pattern that looks terrifying when lit up by a strong light.”

He searched online and found New Zealand sold such decals too, even 3D versions. These stickers, when attached to the rear window, don’t show any pattern in daylight or under low beams. But at night, when hit by a strong beam, a frightening ghost face suddenly appears.

“They don’t show up under daytime or dipped headlights,” Wang Bo said. “So, what do you think — should we use them to scare those bastards?”

Conley hesitated. “But boss, isn’t that illegal under traffic law?”

“Yes,” Uncle Bing flipped through his notebook. “Hanging or placing anything within the front or rear window area of a motor vehicle that obstructs the driver’s view is punishable by a fine of 120 dollars.”

Wang Bo smiled. “We’re the enforcers. Fighting fire with fire isn’t the ideal way to maintain order, but right now I think it’s the most effective.”

Atulu watched a demonstration video on the computer: a high beam hit a car’s rear window, and a pallid bluish ghost face suddenly appeared.

“Shit — that’s terrifying!” a big Maori man patted his chest, still shaken.

Wang Bo looked around. They all exchanged glances. With no better ideas, they decided to adopt the plan.