HLM – Chapter 934 Don’t Scam Me

Wang Bo wanted to refute Cousins, but the further he read, the less strength he had to speak.

No wonder people envy the living conditions of these dairy cows, and no wonder some even joke about wanting to become a dairy cow. Just look at the life these cows live!

They eat top-grade silage, with red wine added to it.

Their environment is cleaned by dedicated staff, constantly ventilated, and kept as spotless as a hotel.

The cowshed is equipped with a sound system, playing carefully curated soft music.

Isn’t a desert supposed to have high temperatures and low humidity? The cowshed even has American-imported misting fans that spray fine water droplets as they rotate—cooling the air and giving the cows a mini “shower.”

Think that’s it? You’re so naïve!

Every afternoon, cowboys come with hoses to scrub the cows down, washing them from head to toe. Just drinking water and cooling water alone takes 120 liters per cow per day.

And after the bath? Not over yet! There’s also massage time, massaging the cows’ udders to ensure smooth milk production…

At this point, someone couldn’t take it anymore:

“Stop! Stop torturing us! Fine, I get it—I’m poor! I get it, I’m too poor to raise cows like this, okay?!”

After watching the video, Wang Bo still had one question:

“These cows live in literal paradise. Why are they so skinny?”

Peterson replied, “Because Saffi cows are bred according to one golden rule: Keep the thin ones. Kill the fat ones.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t get it? Desert temperatures are extremely high. Even with air-conditioning, cows that are too fat struggle to dissipate heat. That leads to fatigue, poor appetite, and eventually they stop producing milk,” Peterson explained.

Realization dawned on Wang Bo. No wonder Saffi cows were all skin and bones. But the Saudis weren’t just rich—they were knowledgeable. The cows that survived their strict selection were thin but energetic, with strong appetites and high milk production.

That’s what’s terrifying—not rich people with money, but rich people who understand science.

The rancher who previously shouted about wanting to become a cow fell silent. Someone teased:

“Fuginiho, look at your size—if you went to the Saffi Ranch, you would’ve been slaughtered on day one!”

The hall burst into laughter. Wang Bo glanced back and saw a group teasing a massive man two meters tall with an equally large waistline.

But Saffi Ranch wasn’t as comfy as it looked. Peterson added:

“In fact, even if he weren’t that fat, he still wouldn’t survive. To reduce costs, except for those qualified as breeding bulls, all male calves are slaughtered at birth.”

“And even among the heifers, half fail the screening and are also killed. And even if a heifer makes it through screening, she’s still not safe—if her milk output drops below eight liters, she goes straight to the slaughterhouse.”

Wang Bo stared at him in shock. “Whoa, how do you know so much? Isn’t this farm supposed to be mysterious?”

Peterson sighed. “You know, Boss, I traveled the world when I was young.”

“You went to Saudi Arabia and worked as a Saffi cow handler?”

“No, but I almost did. Back then Saffi Ranch wasn’t as big as it is now. It had just started. I prepared tons of materials and applied… but I didn’t get in.”

Wang Bo comforted him. “It’s okay. That’s their loss.”

Peterson gave a bitter smile. “Thanks, but do you know why I got rejected?”

Cousins forced a laugh. “Let me guess… because of your skin color?”

“Yes. Because I’m Black—and a New Zealand Black man at that. They didn’t believe New Zealand Blacks were good livestock handlers. American Blacks had a better chance than me,” Peterson said helplessly.

That angered Wang Bo; he hated racism most.

He patted Peterson’s shoulder. “They think a New Zealand Black man isn’t qualified to raise these cows? Fine. I’ll buy them—and they’re all yours to manage!”

The old cowboy was touched. “Thank you, Boss. I’ve already let that past go. And seeing these cows being auctioned today actually makes me happy.”

“Why?”

“It means Saffi Ranch is having operational problems and needs to sell cattle to stay profitable.”

“Japanese people auction Wagyu too,” Cousins remarked.

The old cowboy smiled. “Are you really comparing Saudi tycoons with Japanese businessmen? The Japanese may be proud, but they’re shrewd. Middle Eastern billionaires are just… proud.”

After the introduction, a bull and a cow were brought onstage. They were about 1.65 meters tall—clean, skinny, bright-eyed, with lean but firm muscles.

Wang Bo nodded. “They really are fine cattle.”

Saffi milk is the most expensive milk in the world. Many top athletes drink it, and even wealthy people can’t afford it unless they’re very rich.

Normally, auction starting prices aren’t high, but the Saffi cattle’s prices shocked everyone:

Breeding bull: 200,000 NZD each;

Cow: 100,000 NZD each.

Wang Bo almost swore aloud. These were more expensive than the premium Simmentals on his ranch!

These Saffi cattle were being sold by the Saudi royal family through the Stubborn Bull Club. Wang Bo suddenly recalled Leonard’s mysterious smile earlier—that must have been the “surprise.”

He said as much, and Cousins swore:

“Shit—what Mona Lisa smile, huh? Boss, don’t buy these cows! They’re pointless!”

Wang Bo also thought they were pointless. But he trusted Leonard; Leonard said he wouldn’t lose money no matter the price.

Wang Bo decided to believe him. And if that guy dared scam him… Wang Bo wasn’t letting him off.

This was real money!

Livestock auctions always sold in bundles—not one or two at a time. There were fourteen Saffi cows total: two bulls and twelve cows.

Which meant the starting price was 1.6 million NZD!

The venue fell silent. Everyone looked shocked, curious, impressed—but not a single person raised a paddle. Clearly no one was interested.

With 1.6 million NZD you could buy fourteen gold-plated cows—why buy these? Livestock are meant to make money. These cows? They’re not livestock—they’re ancestors! Who makes money raising ancestors?

Perfect. No competition.

Wang Bo raised his paddle.

The auctioneer’s white gloves lit up with joy and immediately pointed to him…