HLM – Chapter 97 Why So Kind

Standing on the fishing boat and looking toward the shore, one could see several towering factory buildings crouched across the land like beasts, mouths agape as they devoured what little was left of the nearshore fish and shrimp.

Wang Bo had nothing to say about it. When it came to building factories, it wasn’t just the town government that supported it—most of the locals did too. First, it created jobs, and second, it stimulated surrounding industries like accessories and the food sector.

But why had the factories come here in the first place? Wasn’t it because of the convenience of dumping wastewater into the sea? Just like why Lee Chemical wanted to build their factory in Sunset Town—it was clearly to discharge waste into Lake.

Wang Bo was now the town mayor. He could refuse Lee Chemical’s investment, but the local township leaders couldn’t. Because the town wasn’t their private property—so long as they achieved results while in office, they could trade that for a better future.

As for what would happen in thirty or fifty years? Who cared? Future generations? They cared even less—because their descendants wouldn’t be staying here.

Seeing his son’s low spirits, Old Bo chuckled and said casually, “It’s fine, the sea is vast. You can still catch fish normally if you sail out a bit farther. It’s just too cold now—so we won’t go today.”

Wang Bo knew full well that the reason his father didn’t want to keep sailing wasn’t because of the cold, but because he himself was on board—his father was afraid of strong winds and waves, worried something might happen.

Still, his father’s words gave him an idea.

After half a day at sea, the two of them cast more than a dozen nets and brought in only around forty croakers, twenty sea breams, ten black porgies, and one net’s worth of sardines.

As for higher-value fish like yellow croaker—none. Not surprising, though—those usually migrate to deeper waters to overwinter in wintertime.

Looking at the two crates of fish, Old Bo sighed again without even realizing it.

Wang Bo looked at him, and his father forced a smile. “Not bad. If the weather’s good and tourists come by, we can send these to your second grand-uncle’s guesthouse. That’ll cover the cost of gas.”

That night’s dinner was sardines stewed with frozen tofu. Wang Bo’s mother also stir-fried dried clam meat with chili and made a braised lamb rib dish. While setting the table, she said, “Lamb ribs are good nourishment. Let’s taste how foreign lamb ribs differ.”

No doubt about it—the lamb Wang Bo brought back was freshly butchered, pasture-raised, genetically improved stock. The meat quality was leagues above anything raised domestically.

Sure enough, once his parents had a taste of the lamb soup, they didn’t touch the other two dishes. They kept digging into the ribs nonstop—probably two or three jin worth—and even drank up all the soup.

While chewing clam meat, Wang Bo asked, “Mom, Dad, this lamb’s pretty good, huh?”

Old Bo nodded. “Really tasty. How do foreigners raise sheep? Don’t they just eat grass? But this meat is so tender and smooth, no gamey smell at all, just rich flavor—nothing like what we’ve had before.”

Wang Bo asked, “Then what do you think—would selling this lamb for 50 yuan per jin here be reasonable?”

His mom immediately shook her head. “50 yuan a jin? You wish. Who around here would be willing to spend that much on lamb?”

Old Bo said, “But if you served it at your second grand-uncle’s guesthouse? 50 yuan a jin wouldn’t be a problem. Those city folks—if it tastes good, they don’t care what it costs!”

Hearing that, Mom nodded. “True, 50 yuan might actually work.”

As they continued talking about lamb, the topic shifted to the rising prices of vegetables and meat around the New Year. Both of them started griping about how hard life was getting for ordinary people.

Wang Bo just sat listening with a smile. To him, it was idle chatter—but he enjoyed it. Seeing their son listen attentively, his parents only got more enthusiastic.

The next day, just after he got up, his mom said, “Put on something nice today—we’re going matchmaking.”

Great. The annual matchmaking extravaganza had begun again. Wang Bo groaned, “Not today. I need to go visit Dabao.”

“Matchmaking first. It’s a girl from your Aunt Qiu’s village. Supposedly she’s your old classmate—name’s Qiu Tingting?”

Aunt Qiu was a famously effective matchmaker in town. Thanks to her, over fifty couples had tied the knot. Her reputation was legendary.

Wang Bo grabbed a bunch of gifts and bolted from the house like his life depended on it. “I have business today—not just seeing Dabao. Let’s talk about matchmaking in a few days, okay?”

His mom called out a couple of times but got no reply, so she gave up.

When he arrived, Zhong Dabao had just woken up, shuffling out in slippers to greet him. But the moment he saw the bundles of gifts in Wang Bo’s hands, he woke up instantly, eyes wide.

“Whoa! Old Wang, you getting rich from some pyramid scheme abroad or what?”

Wang Bo nearly exploded. He smacked him with a fist. “Don’t you dare smear my reputation, you damn idiot! What, you think I’ve been hiding out like a rat in these villages for no reason?”

Zhong Dabao giggled. His father came out, saw Wang Bo with the gifts, and insisted he stay for a meal.

Wang Bo greeted the two elders, then said, “Uncle, I really can’t stay for lunch today. I’ve got something to do with Dabao.”

“Go do your business, then. But you’re buying lunch—we save a meal that way!” Dabao said, slapping his thigh.

His father just shook his head helplessly. “Seriously, is that something to say?”

After picking up Zhong Dabao, they drove straight to Haiqing City, the prefecture-level city their village belonged to, in Dabao’s rickety van.

All the way there, the van sped like a rocket, while Dabao belted out songs along with the radio, looking overjoyed.

Wang Bo finally said, “Can you stop singing?”

Dabao grinned smugly. “No can do! People say I sing great. Real singers charge money—but what I ask for is more valuable!”

Wang Bo knew this guy was a bit slow and probably didn’t get the joke. So he asked, “Do you know what’s more valuable than money?”

“What? Gold? Antiques?”

“Life. It’s your life, Dabao! Real singers ask for money—your singing costs lives!”

Dabao laughed. “Right! Life is more valuable than money.”

But then, he slowly caught on to what it meant. His mood dropped, and he muttered, “Old Wang, you’re saying my singing sucks, huh?”

Wang Bo immediately regretted it. Dabao might be goofy, but he was a good guy—kind-hearted, warm, well-liked by neighbors. People joked with him, and he never took offense. It felt wrong to point it out so bluntly.

So he quickly said, “Nah, I was just joking. I’m jealous of how good you sound.”

Dabao instantly lit up again, laughing. “See? I knew you were just jealous of my singing voice! Come on—♪ On the boundless horizon, my love roams free… beneath the rolling green hills, flowers bloom for thee… ♪”

Wang Bo immediately regretted it again.

Why the hell did he have to be so kind?