HLM – Chapter 868 The Beggar Chicken Sparks a Historical Conflict

To catch these pukeko (purple swamp hens), they could only rely on Zhuang Ding, because it would be very difficult for Wang Bo’s group to succeed on their own.

The pukeko were too cunning. Whenever they saw someone in the flower fields, they wouldn’t approach. The group could only shoot to hunt them, but near the lake, with so many tourists around, shooting was inappropriate.

Luckily, these little guys were capable. The Fat Cat brothers soon each carried one in their mouths, looking very proud on their round faces.

They couldn’t catch the birds in flight, but the two brothers were skilled at hiding. With all the aquatic plants by the lake, they could conceal themselves, and the pukeko couldn’t spot them.

So whenever a wild chicken came ashore, they would suddenly pounce and easily capture it.

Atulu sat listlessly in the car and said, “Boss, we can’t just watch, right?”

Wang Bo impatiently replied, “You can go catch them yourself. Run and catch them—perfect way to lose some weight.”

Uncle Bing said, “Atulu, don’t you have bows or crossbows in your tribe? Give me one and I’ll teach them how to cook chicken in no time!”

The Maori man frowned, “Sorry, brother, we used to have a lot, but we sold them all to tourists, especially Chinese tourists. They love our bows and crossbows, bought them all at high prices.”

Wang Bo asked, “How did they even get them past customs?”

Atulu shrugged, “I don’t know. They’re just really rich. My neighbor had a crossbow unused for over ten years, just hanging on the wall as decoration—it was bought by a Chinese tourist. Guess how much he paid? Two thousand five hundred!”

“Kiwis are rich now, why is that?” Kidd said enviously.

Elizabeth rubbed her lady’s rifle and said, “Is your money not enough?”

Kidd chuckled, “Of course, I’m well off. The boss is generous, and I’m satisfied with my income.”

Uncle Bing patted the car door, “Where are we going with this? Aren’t we here to catch these pukeko? Actually, it’s easy without guns. I can set a few traps.”

Gerald nodded, “I have a hundred types of traps to catch these birds.”

Wang Bo felt it was no fun and said, “Let’s just do target shooting. Park the car in the flower field, hide inside, and shoot.”

Several cars drove into the flower fields. After a short wait, pukeko flew in.

“These things are really stupid. Are their brains only the size of a walnut?” Atulu sneered.

Juan glanced at him, “Looking at their head size, how big do you think their brain really is?”

Bowen chuckled, “You misunderstood our Maori friend. He’s just amazed. If you scale by his head size, these birds’ brains are probably only as big as a peanut.”

Atulu was furious, “Are you insulting us Maoris? You’re playing with fire!”

Leading this bunch of jokers made Wang Bo truly exhausted.

Luckily, he still had reliable subordinates like Uncle Bing, Gerald, and Conley. When the pukeko landed, a few rifle barrels rose. Uncle Bing whispered, “I’ll count one, two, three, then we all shoot together. How about it?”

“OK!”

“One, two, three!”

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The sharp gunshots rang out. In the flower field, colorful feathers flew in the air. The pukeko, happily nibbling lavender shoots, were terrified.

The remaining birds ran wildly; their speed rivaled that of rabid dogs.

Wang Bo wondered, “They have wings—why don’t they fly?”

Conley raised his hand, “Boss, I know why. Pukeko are too heavy. Their wings can generate lift, but it costs too much energy. Running is a more efficient escape method. Remember, this is New Zealand—before humans, there weren’t strong predators.”

Pukeko killed by gunfire were no longer good for eating. Even if not completely shattered, the bullets caused internal destruction. The meat had a gunpowder taste, completely unpalatable.

They couldn’t eat so many anyway. The ones caught by Zhuang Ding and the queen alone made a big pile. Each person killed two pukeko that day, ending the activity.

Wang Bo could continue hunting, but Kidd and the others wouldn’t. This was due to the values and upbringing they had received since childhood.

Catch a pukeko? Then eat it.

After following Wang Bo, Uncle Bing, Gerald, and Conley developed the same habit: make use of what you find.

In New Zealand, hunting is about the thrill of the kill, not necessarily eating the game. But eating is the ultimate motivation, which is why animals there are never fully hunted—people are just there for entertainment, then stop.

Entertainment happens occasionally, but eating is daily!

By the lake, processing chickens and ducks was simple: bleed them, scald in boiling water, peel the skin.

Pukeko meat was snowy white and tender, though with a gamey smell—the natural scent of wild birds.

Wang Bo rubbed the meat with scallions, ginger, garlic, and cooking wine to remove the gamey smell, then used New Zealand methods to sprinkle lemon juice. This fusion of East and West eliminated the odor.

He let Atulu roast some of the chickens. Others were only plucked, wrapped in large vegetable leaves—eggplant leaves, sweet potato leaves, etc.—and buried in the ground to cook with fire.

Atulu laughed, “Is this Hangyi’s new method? Boss, you’re really smart.”

Wang Bo rolled his eyes, “This is Beggar Chicken. It has a history of thousands of years in our country—longer than your Maori history!”

Atulu protested, “Our Maori history is two thousand years.”

“Don’t act cultured! Why not claim the Maori created New Zealand at the dawn of time?” Wang Bo snorted. “Even if you have two thousand years, the Chinese civilization has five thousand years—want to compare?”

Eva stepped in, pulling them apart, helpless, “My god, it’s just a chicken. How did this become a debate about national history and culture?”

Wang Bo proudly said, “Those who offend China must be suppressed in any topic!”

After an hour by the campfire, he extinguished it and dug up the mud covering the chickens, now fully roasted.

Wang Bo threw it to the ground—ka-ba—the dried mud cracked, revealing the chicken inside, snow-white and steaming.

Atulu no longer argued about which nation’s history was longer and leaned in, “The chicken looks good, let me try.”

Wang Bo split the chicken for Zhuang Ding and the queen. One pushed Atulu away with his head, glaring: “You really want to steal my meat? Fight me!”

Atulu could only grab another one. Then Little Wang came up, staring at Atulu even more fiercely: “Believe it or not, I’d eat you! A fat guy like you, I could eat two raw!”

Thus, the Maori strong men had to continue waiting in line.