I'm a Master in India

Ron's hometown was in Varanasi, a medium-sized city in Uttar Pradesh.

It wasn't the state capital, but it was world-renowned.

The most famous holy river cremations and the floating corpses in the Ganges were held there.

Ron actually had no impression of Varanasi, but that didn't stop him from seeing Manisha as a "fellow hometown person."

As expected, Manisha was pleasantly surprised after hearing this.

"Unbelievable, so Dr. Sur is also from Varanasi!"

"I've been in Mumbai for two years and haven't been back. I really miss my childhood there," Ron said shamelessly.

"The people there are very warm, and there's Tanda, my favorite dessert."

"Oh, I'm practically drooling."

"If you'd like to try it, I can make some."

"That would be wonderful!"

Old Lal suddenly felt a bit superfluous. He was like an annoying, clueless matchmaker stubbornly inserting himself between the young man and woman exchanging glances.

They were clearly there to discuss the advertisement shoot, but so far, he hadn't gotten a word in.

"Ahem," Old Lal lightly coughed, "So, this advertisement is okay, right?"

"No problem, Manisha is great. She's beautiful and makes people feel comfortable," Ron decided without hesitation.

"Alright then," Old Lal turned, "Manisha, can you accept the fee of two lacs for this notice?"

"Of course, I can start anytime," Manisha replied with an excellent attitude.

"Fantastic, cheers to our cooperation!" Old Lal raised his coffee cup.

"Cheers!" Ron and Manisha echoed with smiles.

Things went very smoothly, without any hitches. After all, one was interested, and the other was willing.

When it was time to part, Ron and Manisha exchanged contact information. They were from the same hometown, so of course, they had to catch up on old times.

The most important thing was that Ron wanted to eat the dessert Manisha made; they had agreed on it.

Old Lal would be responsible for the specific advertising shoot. Not long after Ron returned from Bandra, Luka came knocking.

"The people from Merck have agreed to come to Mumbai for inspection in September. If all goes well, the lab will be operational within the year."

"That's good news," Ron nodded approvingly.

It seemed Luka had indeed put in the effort to get those white people to come to Mumbai only half a year after the riots, which truly surprised him.

"We need to make some preparations. That's a five-thousand-dollar business per person. Once they get a taste, they'll definitely need a lot."

"What kind of preparations are you talking about?" Ron asked.

"Of course, it's about serving them well, letting them experience the most top-tier enjoyment in Mumbai, that kind of extremely shocking, jaw-dropping enjoyment!"

"So..."

"The Palace!" Luka blurted out, "I need to go scout it out first so I don't look like a novice when the time comes."

"It's hard to say about the Merck people, but you really just want to get laid," Ron glanced at him sideways.

"At least I need to familiarize myself with the menu, otherwise they'll definitely look down on me," Luka's old face flushed.

"Can you remember an 8-page menu?"

"Going a few more times will do."

What do you need to memorize so many moves for? Are you trying to get into grad school?

"Another day, I'll introduce you to Harry from Customs. Our business needs his connections. He's just as obsessed with the Palace as you are."

"Okay, okay, definitely!" Luka was a bit impatient.

If that place didn't require an introduction from an acquaintance, he would have gone there ages ago.

He heard that the Palace only entertained the rich and powerful. If a smuggler like him went, they'd probably just send any woman to deal with him, and he wouldn't even see the legendary 8-page menu.

"Anything else?" Ron saw he hadn't left and couldn't help but put down the newspaper in his hand.

"A passport," Luka stammered.

"A passport? Isn't your passport fine?"

"Not mine, a friend of mine needs a clean American passport."

"That friend is definitely not you," Ron nodded, "Are you getting it for someone else?"

"There's a corrupt official who's preparing to run away. After hearing I had connections, he came begging here. He's Brazilian and has some connection to my family."

"Why does he need to run?"

"Uh," Luka was a bit confused, "He's running so he doesn't get caught, of course."

"If he doesn't run, will he be sent to court?" Ron asked.

"Of course, any country would do that," Luka spread his hands.

"India wouldn't. Corrupt officials in India are worshipped. Even with solid evidence, he wouldn't be sent to court, at most, he'd be reassigned."

Luka choked, his understanding and logical thinking were severely impacted.

"It seems my great India is even better," Ron said somewhat smugly, his national pride rising.

"So, can you get the passport or not? Money is no problem," Luka gave up on dwelling on it.

"It's easy with money, just wait." This wasn't the first time Ron had done something like this.

Ron was still very serious about maintaining his relationship with Luka.

For no other reason than the business Luka brought him could get him US dollars.

Whether it was smuggling medicine or introducing test subjects, everything was settled in US dollars.

For a long time, Ron had a significant demand gap for US dollars; his Sur Electronics still needed support.

Equipment, technology, and even some raw materials couldn't be bought with rupees.

This was why, even after starting a legitimate business, he still held onto gray transactions.

If you were to say who among the people Ron knew was most knowledgeable about the passport business, it would definitely be Hela.

They had cooperated once, and Ron had gotten a glimpse of the ropes.

"You're not looking for me about the Palace again, are you?" She was wearing a long-sleeved shalwar top with a hem below her knees, loose silk olive-green trousers, and her hair was styled in a playful French braid.

"Of course not, that place makes me uncomfortable," Ron said righteously, "It's about a passport."

"Got a business opportunity knocking?" Hela picked up her coffee, her soft red lips curving into a beautiful arc.

"A Brazilian friend asked me. He needs a clean American passport."

"Seeing as you were quite the gentleman last time, I can give you a discount, eight thousand dollars."

"No, that's too little. At least 20,000, no, what do you think of 50,000 dollars?"

*Pfft*, Hela coughed softly, she had choked on her coffee.

"Buddy, you're not high, are you?" She wiped her mouth with a tissue and then glared at him reproachfully.

"You know I don't touch that stuff."

"If that scumbag Dejan corrupts you, I'll kill him. You're never allowed to touch that stuff," she suddenly said fiercely.

"Hey, did you forget? I can't even get used to eating paan, let alone weed," Ron lightly patted her arm, comforting her.

"Sorry Ron, I just don't want you to become like George..." Hela was a bit sad.

The George she mentioned, Ron had seen him, often begging on the streets of Colaba or acting as a crystal meth broker.

He heard that he was originally a friend of theirs, but later, somehow, under Dejan's influence, he got addicted.

After that, things became uncontrollable, and he even sold his passport. He hid from them, secretly injecting drugs, and finally, his body completely broke down.

Just recently, George was found in a sewage ditch. Rats had gnawed him beyond recognition, and his body was so thin he weighed less than 30 kilograms.

Hela became sensitive because of this incident. She didn't care about Dejan, but Ron was different.

"It's a Brazilian corrupt official. I estimate he embezzled a huge sum of money. He didn't even ask about the price, just wanted a passport. We need to teach a guy like this a good lesson."

"Exactly. Brazil is so poor. If he embezzled money, he must have hurt a lot of people. Come with me!" She grabbed Ron's arm and stood up.

"Where are we going?"

"To my apartment."

Uh, this?

Ron didn't resist at all and obediently followed her.

Hela's apartment was on the second floor, facing the street. She lived alone, but the place was very spacious.

There was an old large refrigerator in the living room, and she prepared some lemonade for Ron. A copy of "India Today" magazine was on the table, looking like it had just been flipped through.

"You cook yourself?" Ron saw that the room opposite was a small kitchen.

"Sometimes when it's too late, I'll prepare something to eat myself," Hela entered the bedroom and changed into a thin house shirt.

Ron was still looking around her apartment with appreciation in his eyes, as if it were some incredible scenery.

He had been to many women's apartments: Mary and Lena, Kavya, and now Hela was added to the list.

This was definitely an incredible achievement in India. If word got out, the men on the streets would be in an uproar.

"Are you going to keep sitting here, or come to the study with me?" Hela looked at him amusedly.

"The study?" Ron stood up, his movements smooth, without a hint of awkwardness.

"Let me show you my passport business," she tilted her head, gesturing for Ron to follow.

Huh? Weren't we going to the study? That direction is clearly the bedroom, right?

Ron's heart rate quickened. He felt a bit thirsty.

What should he do? If Hela was being direct, should he refuse?

That guy Veraj wouldn't come looking for a duel on horseback, would he?

A battle raged in Ron's mind, but Hela in front was getting impatient.

"Are your legs turning soft? Is a woman's bedroom that scary?" she chuckled softly.

Ron was provoked. His whole body started to harden, and some parts even perked up.

As he stepped into the bedroom doorway, Hela turned nimbly, then pushed open a door near the entrance, and slipped inside.

That door was inconspicuous, almost blending in with the entrance area.

Ron was stunned. Hela was the most skilled woman he knew.

He didn't even need to think to know there was no romantic scenery inside; it was probably really related to the passport business.

He lowered his head slightly and turned into the narrow hidden door. The scene before him suddenly opened up.

This was indeed a "study," and it looked not much smaller than the living room outside.

The only drawback was that there were no windows. The lighting relied entirely on desk lamps, the kind of special lamps that could be extended and adjusted in direction.

A long table served as a workbench, covered with a dazzling array of tools, most of which Ron didn't recognize.

*Click*, Hela pressed a switch, and the room suddenly flashed with blinding white light.

Ron instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes and waited until he gradually adjusted. Only then did he realize Hela was standing in front of some kind of lightbox-like equipment, smiling at him.

"Come, let me introduce you to my passport office."