money player

Qaza Bazar is nestled in the heart of Dhaka’s Old City, a gray landmark that is half-lit and half-shadowed by the rest of the city.

The alley is so narrow that only two people can pass each other. The brick pavement has been worn shiny by a century of footsteps and has been stained with black spots of varying shades by sewage and kerosene spilled over the years. When the rainy season comes, it is filled with murky puddles, reflecting the crooked tin signs and dim light bulbs on both sides.

The houses on both sides were so close together that they were almost touching, their eaves intersecting, cutting the sky into a thin strip of gray-blue, which was dimly lit even in the daytime.

The shops along the street were densely packed together, most of the wooden doors were mottled and cracked, and some simply used faded printed cloth curtains as storefronts.

The shelves were cluttered with coarse cotton cloth and fine yarn from India, their colors dull but sturdy and durable; bottles and jars of Western medicine with foreign labels were casually placed in wooden boxes, making it difficult to distinguish between genuine and counterfeit products.

The kerosene in the tin drums emitted a pungent odor, which mingled with the sweetness of cane sugar, the dryness of jute, and the smell of human sweat, creating a heavy atmosphere unique to the black market.

The sugar bags were piled up in the corner, worn through from being repeatedly moved, and tiny crystals mixed with dust fell to the ground.

Behind every seemingly ordinary grocery store lies another world—hidden compartments are often set up behind the wooden walls of the back room. Some are hollowed-out mezzanines, while others are wooden boxes buried underground, specifically used to hide jute and smuggled goods awaiting transport, while the surface is tightly covered with grain sacks and cloth.

The police never actually crack down on this area; they simply collect protection money monthly, starting at 500 rupees, with the amount varying depending on the size of the shop and the volume of goods sold. After collecting the money, they turn a blind eye and allow smuggling to continue.

After nightfall, Qaza Bazar becomes even noisier than during the day.

The dim, yellowish incandescent light bulbs swayed in the wind, casting flickering shadows that stretched long and distorted. Brokers moved through the alleyways, quietly coordinating supplies and finalizing profit sharing, with their commissions fixed at eight to ten percent.

The sounds of bargaining in Bengali and Hindi mingled together, along with the scraping of goods being dragged, the clinking of coins, and the faint clatter of wheels in the distance.

The entire street was boiling in the dim light, like a giant beast that never sleeps, swallowing and spitting out Dhaka's most secret flows of goods and desires in the gaps of legal order.

On the curtain of a certain grocery store hangs a mottled wooden sign with a variant of the letter "K" carved on it. This is the Dongba branch of Jinji Logistics, which is also the store where it sells its products.

The store was bustling with customers coming and going. Some customers entered the store empty-handed, holding or carrying children, but left with a brown paper bag in their hands.

Dongba has poor sanitation, an extremely high rate of ascariasis, and a shortage of medicines in public hospitals, leading to a severe reliance on black market Western medicines among the local population.

The Dongba people have suffered from roundworms for a long time, and they need pagoda-shaped sugar here.

Thinking of the Dongba children living in dire straits, Sin Yiu-man couldn't sleep for nights on end. He instructed Cheryl to spare no effort to open up the "Hong Kong-Dhaka" pagoda sugar smuggling channel, creating difficulties where none existed, and to keep the profit of pagoda sugar within 30 times.

Cheryl did a good job; the terminal sales profit of the pagoda-shaped sugar was kept within 7 times, and hovered between 3 and 6 times for a long time.

Hong Kong.

On Queen's Road West, under the arcade, there was a razor shop with a signboard. The man running the stall was surnamed Xie, and everyone on the street called him Long-Legged Crab. He was from Fuk Yee Hing.

He was extremely tall with long limbs. When he stood in front of the stall, he looked like a crab with its claws outstretched. When his eyes swept across the street, even the vendors who were bargaining with him subconsciously lowered their voices.

He was casually fiddling with a few Hong Kong dollars. His knuckles were thick, but his fingernails were neatly tucked in, clearly indicating that he was someone who dealt with money all year round.

Not far away, two young men in short jackets leaned against a pillar, smoking. They seemed relaxed, but their eyes never left the stall. They were sent by Fu Yixing to keep watch, ostensibly to keep watch, but in reality to keep the constables and smugglers on this street in check. Anyone who dared to cause trouble at the long-legged crab stall was going against the entire Fu Yixing.

A man named Morocha, wearing a white turban, hurried through the crowd and suddenly stopped in front of the stall, his voice low and urgent: "What's the price today?"

The long-legged crab didn't even lift its eyelids, its fingers still slowly stroking the old banknotes in its hand, and simply said, "P (PKR, Pakistani rupee) or I (INR, Indian rupee)?"

“P.”

"how many?"

"1000."

"1200."

"Too low."

"This is the price. Take it or leave it.

Morocha nodded obsequiously, "Change, change."

After saying that, he took out a rolled-up hundred-yuan Pakistani rupee from his pocket and gently placed it on the wooden stall with a "thud".

The long-legged crab raised its eyelids, its gaze lingering on Morocha's face for a moment, before lightly tapping the roll of banknotes with its fingertip: "The large bills must be checked one by one. I'm telling you this upfront: if you find a counterfeit bill, you won't be able to leave this street. Think carefully about whether you want to have it checked."

Without hesitation, Moro replied, "Test it."

Upon hearing this, the long-legged crab turned its head and gave Fei a quick wink towards the shadows on the street. The roll of hundred rupees on the stall was immediately taken away, and the two young men who had been chatting under the arcade just moments before fell silent, their gazes turning darkly to Morocha.

A few minutes later, the banknotes were returned as they were, except that the outermost two bills had been pulled apart, revealing torn corners.

The underling who took over shook his head slightly at the long-legged crab: "Boss, the paper is soft, the serial number is wrong, it's an old privately minted version."

The long-legged crab's nonchalant attitude vanished instantly, replaced by a cold smile as he casually tapped the counterfeit bills with his fingertips: "Hey, are you kidding me?"

Morocha's face turned pale, and he hurriedly waved his hands: "No, no, boss, this was given to me by my supplier, I really didn't know..."

Before he could finish speaking, the two young men under the arcade slowly surrounded him and stood behind him, blocking his entire back passage.

The wind carrying the smell of kerosene blew past the alley entrance, and the once bustling street seemed to suddenly become half quiet. Several stall owners around glanced in this direction subconsciously, then quickly lowered their heads and pretended nothing was wrong.

The long-legged crab leaned forward slightly, its voice low but carrying an unyielding ruthlessness: "The rule here is that you don't acknowledge the goods when you leave, but you've gone and tried to fool me with counterfeit money. So, do you want to pay me back, or do you want to leave something behind before you go?"

Moro's face turned deathly pale, his legs trembled involuntarily, and he hurriedly bowed and clasped his hands: "I'll compensate! I'll compensate! Boss, please forgive me, I really didn't know the supplier had adulterated it..."

"Compensate?" The long-legged crab raised its chin slightly, its eyes as cold as ice: "Sure, the price difference is gone."

As he spoke, he pulled out a stack of neatly folded Hong Kong dollars from his pocket, flicked his fingers, took two bills and put them back in his pocket, and casually tossed the rest onto the wooden stall, the banknotes fluttering and scattering in a flurry.

"Get lost, and there won't be a next time."

Moro was stunned for a moment before realizing that the other party had only kept two Hong Kong dollars as compensation. He felt like he had been granted a pardon and couldn't even utter a complete sentence. He just kept bowing and nodding, hurriedly shoving the remaining money on the stall into his pocket. Without daring to raise his head, he slunk away into the alleyway.

The two young men who had just surrounded him sneered and stepped aside, their eyes filled with undisguised contempt. Only after Morocha's figure disappeared at the end of the narrow alley did they sit back down under the arcade, as if the commotion just now was nothing more than a trivial farce on the street.

The long-legged crab entertained a few more guests, then headed east with the Pakistani rupees it had received.

Walking a few steps deeper into the arcade and turning through two narrow alleys, you'll find a Western-style building covered in off-white tiles. The Taylor Money Company sign is nailed to the second-floor stairwell, its copper lettering polished to a shine, a stark contrast to the chaotic money exchange shop downstairs.

The long-legged crab, with its long arms and legs arched, pushed open the door with practiced ease. The office had dark wooden floors, several potted orchids on the windowsill, and a faint scent of ink and perfume wafted in the air.

Su Wang was sitting behind the sandalwood desk checking the accounts. She was wearing a light apricot-colored cheongsam and her hair was neatly combed. She didn't look up when she heard footsteps, but her fingers holding the pen paused slightly.

"Long-legged crabs." Her voice was soft, yet utterly devoid of any unnecessary politeness. "How many did you collect?"

The long-legged crab leaned against the table, its long legs almost taking up half the aisle. It pulled out a roll of banknotes wrapped in newspaper from its pocket and gently tossed it on the corner of the table. "Sister Wang, this morning that Moro officer mixed in two counterfeit bills. I took two Hong Kong dollars from him as compensation, and the rest is all here."

Su Wang then raised his eyes, his expression gentle but his gaze intensely bright. He flipped through the newspaper with his fingertips, quickly glanced at it, and then picked up a Pakistani rupee note to check the watermark against the light from the window.

“There are more and more old-version counterfeit rupees lately, and Manager Lu just lost her temper yesterday.” She put the money into the safe under the table, then picked up a black leather ledger. The pages were full of English and dense numbers. “I’ve already calculated yours. It will be shipped in three days. Get the amount together as soon as possible.”

Long-legged Crab glanced at the numbers on the account book and a slight smile appeared on his lips: "I naturally trust Sister Wang's calculations. It's just that there have been fewer people coming to exchange items these past two days, so it might not be possible to gather the total in three days."

“If there are few people, take the initiative to come to Ah Cha.” Su Wang closed the ledger, tapped the cover lightly with his fingertips, his tone was still calm, but it carried an undeniable force, “The company only looks at the results. If the numbers match, you will get your share, not a penny less.”

Upon hearing this, the long-legged crab straightened his back and slightly pulled his long legs to the side, not daring to hesitate for a moment. He replied in a deep voice, "Understood, Sister Wang. I will immediately send someone to Wan Chai and Kowloon City to take the initiative to talk to those Pakistani parallel traders. I guarantee that the amount will be raised without any mistakes."

Su Wang merely raised his eyes slightly, his voice clear and crisp: "Be clean in your work, don't cause trouble for the company."

The long-legged crab quickly nodded and replied, "Don't worry, Sister Wang, I will definitely handle this matter cleanly and efficiently."

Su Wang tapped the table lightly with his fingertips, without even looking up, and said, "Go."

After the long-legged crab left, Su Wang counted the rupee cash and bank drafts in the safe and had his bodyguard Qi Tieshuang take people to deliver them to the parent company, Yudeshengji.

In 1947, during the early stages of the partition of India and Pakistan, both sides used the Indian rupee, with Pakistan only affixing the "Government of Pakistan" stamp.

In September 1949, India unilaterally devalued the rupee by 30.5% against the pound sterling. Pakistan refused to follow suit and insisted on maintaining the original exchange rate.

In early February this year, the two sides officially canceled the currency swap and closed the official settlement channel, permanently decoupling the official exchange rate; at the end of February, the official exchange rate was restored to a limited extent, but the price difference was still huge.

Official decoupling does not mean decoupling at the grassroots level. Not to mention that the two currencies can circulate together at the border, even the "Pakistan" currency, which has long been declared obsolete, is still used in private.

1951年官方牌价：1USD≈4.76INR、1USD≈3.31PKR；理论交叉汇率：1INR≈0.695PKR（1PKR≈1.44INR）。

Due to India's extremely strict foreign exchange controls, the INR has depreciated significantly on the black market, with 1 USD ≈ 6-7 INR; Pakistan has slightly looser controls but a shortage of foreign exchange, so the PKR has depreciated slightly on the black market, with 1 USD ≈ 3.8-4.2 PKR.

黑市交叉汇率：1INR≈0.55-0.60PKR（1PKR≈1.67-1.82INR），价差空间：官方VS黑市≈15%-25%，跨境套利空间巨大。

The existence of price differences gives rise to three arbitrage models:

First, PKR is more valuable on the black market. You can use PKR to buy INR and then resell it back to PKR to make a profit from the price difference.

In East Pataka/Chittagong, purchase INR cash/bank drafts with PKR (black market rate: 1 PKR = 1.7 INR); smuggle/smuggle the INR to Kolkata/Mumbai, India, and exchange it back for PKR on the Indian black market (black market rate: 1 INR = 0.58 PKR); bring the PKR back to East Pataka, completing one round. After deducting expenses, the profit per round is 12%-18%.

Second, INR is cheaper on the black market. Use INR to buy PKR at a low price, then transfer it back to India and sell it at a higher price.

在印度用INR买入PKR现钞/汇票（黑市价：1INR=0.55PKR）；走私PKR至东巴，在黑市将PKR换回INR（黑市价：1PKR=1.7INR），单轮利润15%-22%。

Third, leverage Hong Kong's free port status and the US dollar as a hard currency to engage in triangular arbitrage.

在香港用港元/美元买入PKR汇票/现钞（黑市价：1USD≈4PKR）；在东巴将PKR换成INR；在印度将INR换成美元/港元（黑市价：1USD≈7INR）；回到香港换回本币，完成闭环，单轮利润25%-35%。

Taylor Money was a special trading company engaged in an ancient currency-for-currency business. It could earn an average of 20% net profit for each transaction. After four transactions, the capital would double, and after six transactions, the capital would quadruple... When the capital surged to a bottleneck, the business stagnated.

Today, Taylor Money is pushing for its fourth business deal, with capital investment constantly increasing, and the simplest formula cannot calculate the profits it will generate.

Sirajganj is the core area for Dongba jute cultivation.

The sanitary city creation task force deployed in an inverted triangle formation, closely guarding the center of the team—several researchers from the meteorological institute under Zhongfeng Laboratory.

In 1951, jute was the economic lifeline and political foundation of the Dongba people, and the livelihood of countless individuals. From the powerful and wealthy to ordinary people, regardless of whether they were directly engaged in jute-related businesses, their livelihoods, honors, and daily necessities were all inextricably linked to the price of jute.

Once the jute market collapses, it will lead to economic devastation, social unrest, and the very foundation of the regime will crumble.

If one can accurately predict the rise and fall of jute prices at a specific point in time, one can calmly go long or short and steadily reap huge profits. The Kolkata Jute Exchange, Dhaka Chok Bazaar, and Narayanganj Jute Wharf are all hunting grounds.

The primary determinant of jute prices is yield. Weather events such as monsoons and floods can reduce jute production, as can the rampant spread of stem rot and the jute footworm.

Can the weather be controlled?
can.

Artificial rainmaking technology is mature, but if the rain doesn't fall where it should, or if the dam breaks at the wrong section, it will affect jute production.

Can pests and diseases be controlled?

Also.

Stem rot is highly contagious and can spread through soil, flowing water, hemp stalk residue, farm tools, and human trampling.

The reproductive capacity of the footworm is a nightmare for jute. A single female moth can reproduce tens of thousands of offspring in a month, devouring the jute leaves generation after generation and night after night, turning an entire jute field into bare stalks in just ten days.

Look, it's extremely contagious and has a nightmare-like reproductive rate. If human intervention is added, the consequences are unimaginable.

With the price of jute collapsing, the Dongba people are starving. They resort to the rhetoric of Chen Sheng and Wu Guang, shouting, "The Xiba people are not giving us Dongba people a way to survive!" Fighting breaks out, fighting breaks out. Smith's company's arms deals may have a chance to catch the wave, and Sin Yiu-man's agents may have a chance to be recorded in Bangladeshi political textbooks.

Of course, this idea is a bit too ambitious, and the return on investment doesn't seem as promising as we imagined. Whether we should go all out is still up for debate.

Sin Yiu-man lightly tapped the table with his fingertips, drawing his thoughts from the distant Dongba to Taipei. He composed himself and continued reviewing the various businesses that Prince Trading had already established and were about to launch. (End of Chapter)