I'm a Master in India

Early in the morning, Ron came down from Haila's apartment, feeling guilty.

He had, after all, made the mistake that all men make: he had slept with his best friend's dream goddess.

The passport issue would likely take two weeks to resolve. He also needed to think carefully about Luca, aiming to squeeze the corrupt official dry.

Ron felt no guilt about doing this kind of thing.

However, before that, he had to return to the travel agency. Vinod was about to return from Dubai.

Fort area, Mumbai Tourism Information Company office. The usual quiet was replaced by dozens of men and women bustling about.

They were all migrant workers returning from the Gulf countries. Vinod had also done some business on his return trip.

On the reception desk in the office, the table was filled with plane tickets, visas, work permits, and hotel vouchers handled by the travel agency.

The crowd was chattering non-stop, some counting foreign currency in their hands, others fiddling with the jewelry on their bodies.

"Are all these people entrusted by Hard Khan?" Ron looked at the lively scene before him, his expression joyful.

"Yes, a total of one hundred people. We are responsible for their air tickets, accommodation, and various visa issues. This is the bill." Vinod handed him the document bag in his hand.

Ron opened it and glanced at it. Not bad, this trip earned 300,000 rupees. In addition to the service fee, buying tickets, arranging accommodation, and intermediary work all made money.

"Ron, Hard Khan's business is huge." Suddenly, Vinod reminded him in his ear.

"Did you find something?"

"No need to find anything, you can see it too, look over there."

Following his gaze, Ron looked at the group of returning migrant workers. Someone was collecting foreign currency from them one by one, scattered, large and small, not missing a single note.

Soon, bundles of foreign currency were taken away. Brand new rupees were distributed to the workers, who sniffed at them happily, as if very satisfied with this transaction.

Ron roughly estimated that at least millions of rupees were exchanged, and money was flowing before his eyes.

He was prepared, after all, this was something that had been agreed upon long ago, nothing to be surprised about.

Hmm? No, that's not right!

After exchanging the money, those people began to take off the jewelry from their bodies one after another, both men and women were taking it off.

Rings, necklaces, brooches, earrings, bracelets... all gold!

"Each of them can bring one hundred to three hundred grams of gold back to the country, which is the maximum amount allowed by customs. The gold will be sent to a small workshop nearby for reprocessing later, and finally sent to the Zaveri Bazaar jewelry market to be sold."

Vinod's tone was full of admiration. He had never seen such a big business in his life.

Ron, on the other hand, thought of what Pant had once told him: Hard Khan has a big appetite, your travel agency doesn't earn even one percent of what he does.

Looking back at this sentence, it turned out to be not an exaggeration at all.

"Do you know where the gold comes from?" he asked.

"The black market in the Persian Gulf countries, there are also many channels there. Some are bought legally, some are stolen. Drug addicts, pickpockets, and burglars from all over Europe and Africa, when they steal gold jewelry, they sell it to receivers of stolen goods.

Then this gold flows from the black market in Frankfurt or London to various ports in the Persian Gulf. Hard Khan has people in Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Bahrain, who melt the gold into roughly made necklaces, rings, and bracelets."

This is not a secret, Indians working in the Persian Gulf countries all know about this. They are also willing to carry gold back to the country for Hard Khan, because they are paid.

Now that they have reached the location, of course they have to hand over the goods and then take the tips.

Human gold smuggling, simple and extremely low risk.

Damn, compared to them, the 300,000 rupees he earned is not even considered soup.

"I heard that in the past few years, Hard Khan's annual income from the gold business alone exceeded four million US dollars." Vinod revealed another piece of information.

Ron was jealous, four million US dollars, which is more than 100 million rupees.

His Sur Electrical Appliance Factory, running 365 days a year, with machines non-stop, might not be able to earn that much money.

Smuggling, as expected, can make a fortune.

Hard Khan also doesn't have to pay taxes. He fills the pockets of those government officials to the brim, so there won't be any trouble at all.

"But it's not possible now. India has opened up gold trading, and the profit from smuggling has dropped by more than half compared to before." Vinod's tone was quite regretful, as if regretting not having made a fortune earlier.

"We'll just do the travel agency business, that's not something we can handle." Ron quickly calmed down.

"The travel agency is also good," Vinod shook his head happily again, "At least it's not that dangerous, just like tourism."

"There's another batch of people in two days, about three hundred, you continue to lead the team." Ron instructed him.

"No problem!" Vinod rubbed his hands together.

Ron had to call the office in Dubai and tell them to develop more intermediary work.

Although the 2000 rupees service fee per person is very tempting, he also wants more.

These are legitimate businesses, and he can invest heavily without any scruples.

According to the plan Ron and Hard Khan had made, they were going to send five thousand people abroad this year.

Just from the service fee, Ron could earn ten million rupees.

But this is not enough, five thousand people means a huge resource, and it can be squeezed further.

Walking into the travel agency, Ron instructed the employees here to create files for the workers outside.

This information must be stored and maintained in the computer, and it might be needed in the future.

The tourism industry in Mumbai still hadn't improved much, and his tourism company was entirely supported by the travel agency business.

Old Lal was in a bad mood. He was currently in the studio, where the advertisement for Sur Electrical Appliances was being filmed.

He wanted the expression of enjoyment when a cool breeze blew, and the anxiety when it was unbearably hot, but the actor's emotions were always not in place.

"I'm very angry." Old Lal said into the microphone on the set, his tone gloomy, "Your performance lacks passion."

The crew members lowered their heads in silence, especially Manisha, who was the most embarrassed. The so-called actors were only her and another child.

What passion can you expect from a child's performance? Undoubtedly, the director was talking about her.

The camera showed Manisha's residence in the advertisement, a typical middle-class family setting, with a TV, kitchen, and German-style bathroom.

A circle of green screen surrounded it, and the red light of the camera in the distance was flashing very slowly.

There were about fifty or sixty people on set, including lighting technicians, sound engineers, actors, production assistants, and a large group of people who were completely idle.

"Few people know what they are doing." Old Lal said with disgust, "That's why our movies are so rough. Unlike in Hollywood, everyone is professional.

This mess I'm managing is not a film crew, it's a re-employment center. So many people won't work without being whipped."

The Indian film industry, like any other industry in the country, employs far more people than actually needed.

Even to set up the lighting, five or six people were needed, and three more were standing by watching the show.

Manisha kept getting her lines wrong, and the crew had to reshoot with her over and over again.

"Mr. Lal, please come here." She pleaded after the latest round of rehearsal.

Old Lal stayed put, "What you need is not for me to come over, what you need is to memorize your lines, MEMORIZE! YOUR! LINES!"

If it weren't for Ron's preferences, he would have already kicked this actress out.

Being young and beautiful is an asset, but without professionalism, who else would fail if not her?

Manisha was extremely wronged. She had already memorized her lines, and spoke English fluently.

However, who would have thought that when it came to actual filming, she was suddenly required to switch to Hindi.

News came from All India Radio that advertisements broadcast on that station must be in Hindi. News broadcasts, interviews, and TV programs were all the same.

This was a mandatory requirement of the Indian government, aimed at promoting Hindi and unifying the language of the entire country as much as possible.

Many people were not used to it, including Manisha. She was Nepali, and although Nepali and Hindi are very similar, she had learned English since childhood.

The director wouldn't listen to her explanation, and the people on set didn't care about these things. Manisha could only feel wronged by herself.

Until... until a tall and handsome figure, bringing the light of the whole world, entered the set.

"What's wrong, Manisha?" Ron asked caringly.

"Dr. Sur, I... I..." Manisha was about to cry.

Ron looked at Old Lal, who waved his hand helplessly, "Ron, you comfort her."

"Let's talk inside." Ron helped Manisha to the dressing room on the set.

"What happened?" The onlookers on the set asked, watching their backs.

"I heard Manisha is not feeling well, and Dr. Sur is going to give her an injection." Another person replied.

In the dressing room, Manisha was crying in Ron's arms. She was strong on the set, but after seeing Ron, she suddenly couldn't hold back.

"Okay, no rush, we have plenty of time. I can postpone All India Radio for a few more days." Ron gently stroked her back.

"How can that be? How will people in Bollywood look at me in the future?" Manisha suddenly became stubborn.

"Okay, then I'll stay with you."

"Really?" Manisha looked up at him.

Her lips were slightly full, her neck slender, with large eyes and a small, slightly upturned nose.

Her eyes were watery and captivating, coupled with her wronged expression, making her both lovable and pitiable.

Ron couldn't help but lower his head. Manisha let out a muffled sound and her body stiffened.

She had feelings for Ron, but was this too fast?

Her heart pounding wildly, she struggled slightly and then sank into various wild thoughts.

Ron was domineering and fervent, and Manisha was only 23 years old, unable to resist.

After a long while, the two reluctantly separated.

"Feeling better now?" Ron asked with a smile.

"Mm." She was a little shy, always feeling that everything was happening too quickly.

"Okay, shall we try again?"

"Mm!" This time, Manisha was much more determined.

PS: Under review