HLM -Chapter 813 Lakeside White Tower Hotel

In Wang Bo’s mind, a garden was just a big flowerbed. Although New Zealand was known as the land of gardens, he had never seen one particularly large. Of course, he had seen large parks — New Zealand had plenty of national forest parks, each vast beyond measure.

However, the area influenced by the “Heart of the Garden” was surprisingly large. Wang Bo compared it to his ranch and estimated that the affected zone covered more than ten hectares.

By ranch standards — where land was measured in square kilometers — ten hectares wasn’t much, not even a tenth of a square kilometer. But for a garden, that was enormous. To put it in perspective, Wang Bo looked it up: the largest garden in the world was in the city of extravagance — Dubai.

Yet, even Dubai’s two-phase garden project covered only 800,000 square feet, which was less than eight hectares.

Wang Bo scratched his head. “Well, that’s kind of awkward,” he muttered. According to the data, Dubai’s garden boasted over a hundred million flowers and hundreds of gardeners maintaining it. “How much money would it take to build something like that here?”

His worry lasted less than ten seconds before he shrugged it off. When the car reaches the mountain, there will be a road. Dubai’s garden was so expensive because it was built with great variety — flowers arranged into all sorts of shapes and sculptures.

His own plan was much simpler: to plant lavender and similar flowers across this vast garden. That way, just a few people could maintain it easily.

But before breaking ground on the garden, he had other matters to handle.

At work that day, after dealing with three traffic violation cases and handing a Toyota Prado driver over to court, Wang Bo called Porter into his office.

Porter came in carrying a cup of coffee, sipping as he walked. Finding himself alone in the office, he casually crossed one leg over the other and continued drinking.

“Good coffee?” Wang Bo asked. From the logo on the cup, it was clearly from the Great Qin Café, featuring a cartoon version of the First Emperor of Qin.

Porter shrugged. “Yeah, tastes great. I love it. What’s it called again? Ba County Jiang–zhou Blend, right?”

Wang Bo blinked in surprise. “You even know that? Your Chinese isn’t bad!”

Porter laughed. “Thanks for the compliment — and the coffee’s great too.”

After Chen Jiashu, Qingyang’s cousin from china, took over the Great Qin Café, he had launched sweeping reforms. Hiring him had proven to be a wise decision — not only did Chen Jiashu have deep expertise in coffee, but more importantly, he was Chinese and understood Qin Dynasty culture.

He used that knowledge cleverly. He divided the café’s offerings into 43 flavors, each named after one of the 43 commanderies of the Qin Dynasty. Each flavor was then subdivided using the names of cities within those commanderies.

For instance, the coffee Porter was holding — Ba County Jiang–zhou Blend — took its name from Ba County (one of the 43 Qin commanderies) and Jiang–zhou, a city within it.

Of course, each blend also had its original name recognizable to New Zealanders, but with the Chinese naming system added, the coffee suddenly felt more high-end and exotic. To New Zealanders, Chinese culture held a certain mystique, and using coffee as an entry point worked surprisingly well.

Using that as a segue, Wang Bo brought up Eva’s idea: “I’m thinking of building a white pagoda — a White Tower Hotel — by the lakeside. Do you have any suggestions?”

Porter nearly spat out his coffee. “Wait, what? A white tower on the lakeshore? Are you kidding me? The ground by the lake can’t possibly support a structure like that!”

Wang Bo shrugged. “That’s an architectural issue. I don’t understand the details, but I know it can be built.”

Porter rubbed his temples. “Sure, it can be built, technically. But my dear friend, do you have any idea how expensive that foundation alone would be? And what’s the point?”

Wang Bo replied earnestly, “Of course there’s a point. Eva wants to see it.”

Porter gaped. “My God, that’s the reason?”

Wang Bo nodded seriously. “Yes. That’s the reason. I want to build a white tower by the lake and play a song for Eva. She’ll love it.”

Porter collapsed back into his chair. “If I had to vote for the world’s biggest romantic fool, you’d have my vote.”

Wang Bo chuckled. “It’s not just about romance. Don’t you think it’s a great idea? A White Tower Hotel by the lake? You’ve seen it yourself — Kobe’s restaurant can’t handle the number of customers anymore.”

“You might as well build it in the lake!” Porter shouted.

Wang Bo frowned, thought for a moment, then said, “Build a white tower restaurant in the lake? That’s a bold and challenging idea. I like it, Porter. I really called the right person for this!”

Porter: “…”

“I’m serious,” Wang Bo added.

Porter groaned. “I’m sorry, but my little company can’t handle that kind of project.”

“Then recommend someone,” Wang Bo said. “I’ve decided — a tower-style restaurant built in the lake itself: two levels underwater, four above water. What do you think of that scale?”

“And I think the end of the pier would be a perfect location. Agree?”

Porter sighed. “Then you’d better prepare at least twenty million New Zealand dollars.”

Wang Bo slapped the desk. “I’ve already prepared forty million!”

The proceeds from the gold mine — equivalent to 250 million NZD — had already been deposited into Bartier’s account, where it was actively generating returns in the international financial markets.

Even without those earnings, Wang Bo wasn’t worried. He held the majority share in Kobe’s restaurant, plus income from the bar, gym, supermarket, and café — all together bringing in over a million NZD per month.

And then there was the ranch — his true money machine. If he went full production, it could generate tens of millions every month.

Finally, Porter looked at him seriously. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes.”

Hearing the firm reply, Porter nodded. “Alright, mate. I’ll contact a construction company for you. Actually, there’s a great candidate — Thomas Wesley.”

Wang Bo paused. “That name sounds familiar…”

Porter rolled his eyes. “Of course. He’s the head of Leighton Holdings (Australia)’s New Zealand branch — the company that built Highway 8.”

Wang Bo suddenly remembered the man. “Oh, right! We lost touch after the road was finished. I almost forgot about him. But isn’t Leighton just a road construction company?”

Porter shook his head, a hint of admiration in his tone. “Leighton Holdings is the largest engineering contractor in the Southern Hemisphere. They can handle any major project. That’s the level I aspire to.”

Wang Bo still had Wesley’s contact information, so he immediately gave him a call.

Businessmen tended to value relationships, and Wesley hadn’t forgotten him either. As soon as he picked up, he said warmly: “Mayor Wang! I’m so glad to hear from you. How’s Highway 8 holding up these days?”