HLM – Chapter 941 Dou Mi’en

Father Bo immediately realized that this must have been his son playing a prank on the driver. Anger surged from his heart, and he burst out, cursing: “Damn it! No respect for elders—what kind of joke is this?”

If anyone else had dared to say those first three words, with Wang Bo’s temper, he would definitely have lashed out. But Wang Bo said nothing this time, because it was true.

Eva got out of the car with Dale, feeling a bit awkward. Just now, the future father-in-law’s heroic leap had made her almost laugh.

Seeing Eva and Dale, Father Bo stopped himself from speaking, letting his son save face.

In truth, seeing his son brought him more joy than anger. His son’s little prank was no big deal. The reason he had wanted to scold him was to show the surrounding villagers his authority and status at home.

Everything should have ended there, but Zhuang Ding came out and caused trouble.

Earlier, it had been pressed against the car window and had seen Father Bo’s heroic stance. Jumping down, it sniffed, stood in front of the car, leapt into the air, spread its paws and legs wide, and with a “thud” landed squarely in a snowdrift.

The scene left everyone dumbfounded. Father Bo stood frozen.

Then someone started laughing. Wang Bo’s cousin said with a grin: “Dashan, it looks like the dog is copying your moves just now.”

Wang Bo awkwardly said, “No, no, Zhuang Ding is always like this. He goes crazy when he sees snow and likes to jump around.”

The ones who really went crazy over snow were the Fat Cat brothers. Last night, Wang Bo had worried they might catch a cold in the snowstorm, so he had brought them back, only to find they were fine—but he caught a cold instead.

By now, the snow on the roads had been cleared, leaving it only in the ditches.

The Fat Cat brothers eagerly leapt into the ditches, plunging their round heads into the snow.

The villagers watching laughed even harder. The Fat Cat brothers weren’t imitating Father Bo—they were just naturally jumping like that—but with Zhuang Ding leading by example, how could the villagers not read into it?

The smile on Father Bo’s face faded, and his eyebrows twitched violently.

Wang Bo hurriedly appeased him: “Dad, don’t misunderstand. Zhuang Ding and the Fat Cat brothers are just going crazy over the snow.”

Father Bo growled: “I’d have to be a ghost to believe you!”

Amid the villagers’ laughter, Wang Bo awkwardly waved and went home. “Everyone, tomorrow come to the village committee to collect some meat. I brought beef from New Zealand—it’ll be perfect for New Year’s braised beef.”

His words earned applause from the villagers:

“Xiao Bo has done well and still remembers the villagers. This kid’s a good one.”

“Yeah, Xiao Bo has made it. Dashan and his wife are truly lucky.”

“Last year we had Xiao Bo’s braised beef for New Year—it was delicious. This year we can make some ourselves. Wonderful.”

Wang Bo brought beef for the villagers because, in past years, when everyone came over for catfish meals or visited his home, they would always praise the beef and ask how to get some.

This year, with his farm expanding, he brought back a batch to share with every household in the village.

The fishing village wasn’t big—around a hundred families. Even if each got ten kilos, it would only amount to half a ton.

Bo fully understood the saying, “Small gains are cherished, but even small debts can breed resentment.” After getting rich, he never flaunted wealth in the village. Apart from buying his parents a boat, he kept a low profile.

In this context, giving each household ten kilos of imported beef still earned gratitude.

It might not help him directly, but it reflected well on his parents, building good relationships and giving them face.

In small villages, generosity and respect matter.

Sure enough, hearing the old friends and neighbors praise him, Father Bo’s earlier embarrassment vanished. Proud but trying to stay low-key, he said: “It’s nothing, nothing. Xiao Bo raises cattle in a foreign town—bringing beef back is only natural.”

Mother Bo, who was drying fish behind the village, returned upon hearing the news. She picked up Dale, held Eva’s hand, and fussed over them.

Dale was almost eight and no longer a child. She was growing fast, with a shapely figure, yet before Mother Bo, a towering woman, she still looked like a doll to be played with.

As it was getting late, Wang Bo left the driver to stay the night. The driver helped carry things from the car, which was no easy task.

Father Bo wanted to give the driver a small box of beef, ten kilos in total. Wang Bo shook his head and simply gave him an extra five hundred as a tip.

The driver was overjoyed and thanked him repeatedly.

Father Bo looked a bit distressed: “That much for a tip?”

Wang Bo said: “Do you know how much that box of beef costs? In New Zealand, my farm’s beef, even the lowest grade, goes for 100 NZD per kilo. This grade is 200 NZD, so ten kilos is 2,000 NZD—almost 10,000 RMB!”

Father Bo didn’t understand his business, nor the farm situation. He inhaled sharply: “And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, we’ll distribute 500 kilos. Converted to RMB, that’s at least 500,000 yuan,” Wang Bo said.

Father Bo hesitated: “Wouldn’t it be better to just give 50,000 yuan, 5,000 to each household?”

Wang Bo laughed: “Dad, it’s not like that. First, this beef only sells for that much in New Zealand. Second, if I handed out 5,000 yuan per household, everyone would start speculating how much I have. Giving beef is about goodwill; giving cash is asking for trouble. You help in emergencies, not solve poverty, Dad!”

Father Bo was pleased and patted his shoulder: “Alright, son, you’ve really matured. But how much money do you actually have? Your mother and I don’t know.”

Wang Bo thought a moment: “Liquid funds are probably around 300 million NZD. Including real estate, that’s the entire town of Sunset—worth over ten billion!”

He wasn’t exaggerating. The castle was priceless, and the two farms were among New Zealand’s best. Add the harvest potential from Lake Hawaii, and Sunset Town was truly invaluable.

Father Bo laughed: “You little rascal, just brag. Never mind, your mother and I don’t care.”

Wang Bo had no choice—his father was right.

In winter, every household dried fish. Under his roof hung a full row of large dried mackerel and big jack mackerel, at least half a meter long.

Father Bo said: “The weather’s good these two days. Let’s go out—after the storm, the mackerel will be plentiful. If we’re lucky, we might even get some tuna.”

Tuna was a valuable commercial fish, but in their waters, only yellowfin tuna appeared. At best, they could get bigeye tuna or, rarely, bluefin tuna—the most precious—but in decades, none had been seen.

Even the more common yellowfin tuna had declined—not from overfishing, but because of poor water quality; the tuna simply wouldn’t come.

Naturally, dinner was dried fish—a local specialty.