I'm a Master in India

“You’re not joking?” Ron looked at Johnny suspiciously.

“Dr. Sul, you haven’t even been to the palace. You really are a good person.”

“Cut the crap,” Ron rolled his eyes. “Hela is still in Goa. She can’t help.”

“She came back yesterday. Go call her.”

“How do you know she’s back?” Ron found another blind spot.

“I ran into her. She was with someone from the German Embassy.”

“Alright, I’ll go find her now.”

“Hey! Ron, when you get to the palace, don’t disgrace Indian men. Make sure you utterly defeat them!”

“Don’t talk nonsense, I’m doing this for business!” Ron retorted loudly, then paused. “And to learn some foreign languages, by the way.”

Learning foreign languages was an urgent matter, so Ron immediately rushed downstairs to Hela’s apartment building.

Honestly, he was very curious why Hela would be involved with the palace.

Didn’t only men go to that place? Or did Hela have some special preference?

Holding various strange questions, Ron called Hela from downstairs. They agreed to meet at the coffee shop next door.

“What do you need me for?” Twenty minutes later, Hela sat opposite him.

“Did you have fun in Goa?” Ron solicitously ordered coffee for her.

“That place is amazing, Ron. You should experience it once.”

“Wow, I’m a little impatient now.”

“Alright, just say what’s awkward. You look like you’re buying a condom for the first time, but you’re too shy to ask. And there’s a girl waiting for you in the hotel room to spend the night.”

“Do I look that eager?” Ron was stunned, then burst out laughing.

“You’re a gentleman, you don’t want to be too direct when talking about certain embarrassing topics with a lady.” Hela raised an eyebrow at him.

Oh, she’s playing at a high level. Ron looked at Hela with newfound respect.

“Alright, this does sound a bit strange. I want you to take me to the palace.”

Pfft, Hela almost spat out her coffee.

She stared at Ron in astonishment, “You want a lady to take you to a brothel to find more women?”

This was completely upside down.

“It’s not me going to find women, it’s helping other people find women.” Ron briefly explained.

“Business related?” Hela keenly realized the key point.

“Exactly!” Ron nodded. “I heard you’re a regular there?”

“Hey, I take back what I just said. You’re not a gentleman at all.”

“That’s why I didn’t say it directly before.” Ron spread his hands.

“Tell me, who are the clients? Different groups have different demands for the palace.” Hela changed her sitting posture, her fair, long legs subtly visible under her skirt.

“Customs officials, I have a batch of goods to move.” Ron hadn’t expected there to be so much to it.

“Local Mumbaikars. I know what kind of entertainment to arrange for them.” Hela understood.

“Alright, I’ll come find you tonight.”

“So soon?”

“You know, Indian men are just that eager.” Ron winked at her.

Ron had never been to the palace and had no idea what went on inside.

Hela told him that because she often had to entertain people from the embassy, she would bring them here.

She would also arrange for some gem merchants to meet at the palace, giving them enough fun to close deals.

Hela herself didn’t understand why so many people wanted to go to the palace. Legend had it that Madam Elizabeth was stunningly beautiful, but no one had actually seen her.

“It’s very puzzling. Everyone knows Madam Elizabeth is dangerous, but they’ll do anything to see her.”

“What about you, have you seen her?” Ron asked.

“No, through a screen, you can only see a silhouette. It’s the same for the guests I bring, but when they leave the palace, they look as excited as if they had met Joan of Arc.”

“Perhaps the mystery is what fascinates people?”

“I don’t know, she gives me goosebumps all over.”

Ron and Hela took a yellow-and-black Fiat taxi, which was very common, to the palace. The traffic was congested, and they could only move slowly through the gaps between buses and wooden handcarts.

Mumbai was still lively at night. The curfew had just ended, and everyone seemed to want to vent the frustrations of being confined.

Workers pushing wooden carts chanted in unison as they went uphill. Their wages were in cents, not dollars, but reality didn’t allow them to stop.

“How are things with you and Mary and the others?” Hela suddenly asked.

“They are very ambitious and are eager to invest in movies.” Ron, the Sea King, answered irrelevantly.

“What about Kavya?” Hela tried another tactic.

“Very moist.”

“What?”

“I mean, aren’t we almost there?” Ron looked around in the car.

“Not yet, damn rotten traffic!” The driver in the front suddenly interjected in vulgar Hindi. “This cursed city is constipated today.”

He was in high spirits. Earlier, Hela had clearly told him in fluent Hindi which streets to take and where to turn to reach the palace.

Hela was a foreigner, which made him see Ron as a foreigner too, so he decided to test the two of them.

“A 20-rupee tip might help clear things up.” Hela retorted in Hindi. “Brother, what are you doing, charging by the hour? Go ahead, we’re not new customers!”

“Yes, Miss!” The driver replied in English, laughing happily and driving even more aggressively through the traffic.

This guy had deliberately turned on the taxi meter device, which was used to rip off foreigners.

Clearly, neither Ron nor Hela were fooled. But the driver didn’t mind and was even happier.

“Did you bring a business card?” The previous topic was interrupted, so Hela simply acted as if nothing had happened.

“No, do I need to bring a business card to a place like this?” Ron was confused.

“Don’t worry,” she laughed, “Madam Elizabeth will ask for one. She likes to collect business cards for future reference. But since it’s your first time, you’re exempt.”

This was so troublesome, making Ron even more curious about the palace.

At this moment, the taxi finally reached the vicinity of the palace by sheer bluff. The driver pulled over and parked the car next to a milk tea shop.

Ron and Harry had agreed to meet near here, and the two got out of the car to walk to the palace.

The driver stuck his thumb out the car window, pointing downwards, telling them he would wait for them here.

He wasn’t doing it to earn more money or a tip; he was just worried about their safety.

In Mumbai, if a taxi driver voluntarily waits for customers, it can also be a sign of concern. This happens frequently.

Hela was beautiful and generous, and the driver was captivated by her, especially since she could speak fluent Hindi.

If an Indian taxi driver likes you, whether it’s your eyes, smile, or your reaction to the beggars by the car window, he will be so happy at that moment that he will feel like a close friend.

He will be happy to do things for you, no matter how troublesome, like taking you to a place he doesn’t like, the palace. He will wait outside for you, just to make sure you are safe.

Hela gave the driver a tip and told him not to wait for them, although both of them knew he would still wait.

“That’s one of the reasons I like India. If they like you, they like you quickly, without any pretense.”

“India is too hot, which makes the people here very warm too.”

“You’re different from them.” Hela glanced at him.

“What?” Ron was a little confused.

“You have a different quality about you. Sometimes you’re like a hero, and sometimes you’re like a scumbag.”

“If you were a doctor, you’d definitely diagnose me with multiple personality disorder.”

Hela laughed. Ron was indeed different from ordinary Indians.

The palace was a large building with a triple facade, three stories high, and the street-facing windows were decorated with wrought-iron grilles in acanthus leaf patterns.

This building was older than the others on the same street, but it showed signs of renovation. The thick stone sills and lintels were carved into star-shaped crowns.

The third-floor balcony was enclosed with glass, spanning the entire facade, and the rooms inside were covered by bamboo blinds. The outer wall was gray, and the door was black, carved with intricate patterns.

It seemed Madam Elizabeth had spent a lot of money renovating this building. This made sense; business was in the bustling city center. The original textile factory was in a desolate place, why would it compete with him for territory?

Harry and the others were already waiting on the street in front of the door. They had arrived early, impatient.

“Ron, I thought you weren’t coming.” Harry greeted him while repeatedly looking at Hela.

The few people around him, although they tried their best to hide their gazes, Hela’s appearance still made them very curious. This was the palace, after all.

“Brother, it’s still early before the agreed time. Hela is in charge of taking us in, she has connections.” Ron emphasized the word “connections,” and sure enough, their gazes were no longer so unrestrained.

Hela said nothing. She reached out and touched the door, and it opened. Ron followed.

Harry and the others exchanged glances and quickly followed. It was their first time there, and they didn’t understand anything. Hela’s nonchalance subconsciously made them gather around her.

Inside was a cool corridor, with soft light reflected from lily-shaped glass lamps in the distance.

The walls were wallpapered, the corridor was filled with the scent of incense and flowers, and the surrounding closed rooms were soundproofed into silence, which felt strange.

A man stood in the corridor, facing the group, his fingers casually clasped in front of him. He was tall and thin, with fine, dark brown hair tightly tied back and braided into a long plait that reached his hips.

As he got closer, Ron realized he had no eyebrows, but his eyelashes were thick. On his pale face, from his lips to his chin, were tattooed some spiral and swirling patterns.

He wore a black robe and loose silk trousers, and plain plastic sandals on his feet. This attire looked very uncomfortable.

“Hello, Rab.” Hela greeted him, her tone familiar.

“Hello, Miss Hela.” Rab replied in Hindi. “Madam has mentioned you many times. Just walk straight ahead, and I will have someone bring cold drinks. You know the way.”

He stepped aside, bowed slightly, and pointed to the stairs at the end of the corridor. His fingernails were very long, and seemed to have designs painted with henna dye.

After the group had walked away, Harry couldn’t help but shiver. “This Rab, he’s really creepy.”

“You’re right, I feel like he eats people.” His companions nodded quickly, all of them scared.

“Madam Elizabeth has two private servants, and he is one of them. He is a eunuch, a castrato, and his actual role is more terrifying than it appears.” Hela said in a low, mysterious voice.

“No wonder that guy felt so eerie,” Ron also got goosebumps. “With this kind of atmosphere in the palace, why are so many people still fascinated by it?”

“You’ll know later.” Hela smiled and glanced at him.