I'm a Master in India

Karma Courtyard, which refers to the office buildings northeast of Sul Electrical Factory, has been quite restless recently.

First, the owner suddenly changed. The previous annoying landlord posted a notice at the entrance.

The tenants in the building glanced at it and didn't care anymore. As long as the rent didn't change, they didn't mind who the landlord was.

Some even felt a sense of schadenfreude, wondering which sucker dared to take over the properties here.

If he harbored dreams of raising the rent, everyone wouldn't mind teaching him a lesson; the 'Rental Law' was their shield.

Strangely, the new landlord didn't mention raising the rent when he arrived. Instead, he posted another notice at the building entrance.

The content was extensive, totaling dozens of items, all outlining various requirements for the tenants.

The latest time one must enter, how many guests one can bring, where advertising signs and outdoor air conditioning units must be installed, keeping voices down...

The surrounding tenants immediately erupted. They were indignant and wanted to confront the landlord.

Coincidentally, Amor was standing behind them with a group of people.

"Who are you?" the surrounded tenants demanded.

"We are the property management here. From now on, Karma Courtyard is under my management," Amor smiled.

"Property management?" The tenants were confused.

"See the notice on the wall? That's the work of property management. We are entrusted by the landlord to maintain the building's living environment."

Ahem, property management in other places provides services to residents.

Upon arriving in India, Ron decided to do the opposite; property management and the landlord were in cahoots.

Anyway, there was no concept of property management in India yet, so the interpretation was up to him.

Amor was now the property manager of Karma Courtyard. There were about fifty to sixty of them in total, all wearing identical khaki uniforms, looking quite intimidating.

"You have no right to do this!" someone from a law firm immediately objected.

"Oh really? Then go ahead and sue," Amor said flippantly. "Does the 'Rental Law' say that a landlord cannot make such regulations?"

The lawyer was speechless. Of course, the law wouldn't include such trivial matters.

"Listen up! The rules start today. Anyone who doesn't comply will be dealt with by sticks!"

As soon as Amor finished speaking, the dozens of people in uniform beside him simultaneously struck the ground with the iron-sheeted bamboo sticks in their hands.

Thud! The dull impact sound startled the tenants, making them instinctively take a step back.

This was India; six sticks in one second was no joke.

The tenants were a disorganized mess and didn't dare to directly contradict Amor. They decided to go back and discuss tactics slowly.

Watching these people leave, Amor sneered. Did they really think no one could handle them?

The 'Rental Law' restricts rent, but not property management.

Of course, not all of the requirements Amor proposed were reasonable.

But this kind of thing is the hardest to argue about, and the police wouldn't even file a case.

Besides, Ron had already made all the necessary arrangements, so he wasn't afraid of these tenants causing trouble.

Consequently, under the extremely harsh new regulations, the tenants in Karma Courtyard became extremely uncomfortable.

Many training classes had their numbers strictly limited and couldn't run too late. If they exceeded 3 PM, uniformed property management personnel would go up to cause trouble.

They held iron-sheeted bamboo sticks and looked menacing, ordering the training teachers to stop classes. When the students saw this scene, they immediately fled.

Before long, students began withdrawing from classes one after another.

This wasn't the end of it. Amor also arranged for a group of special tenants to move into the building.

They were cow dung cake suppliers from the Slum. Yes, the cow dung cakes plastered on walls.

People in the Slum couldn't afford gas or kerosene, so cow dung cakes became a good fuel.

There were people who specialized in this business. They would cover all usable open spaces around their residences with cow dung cakes.

One can imagine what would happen after they moved into the building.

Corridors, balconies, exterior windows... all places that could get sunlight were quickly occupied by sticky, dark cow dung cakes emitting a fragrant smell.

How could those from law firms and accounting training classes tolerate being surrounded by feces all day long?

They angrily complained to Amor, but it was useless.

Others are also residents, why should you drive them away?

What? They occupied public space?

Alright, first remove your haphazardly installed water pipes and outdoor air conditioning units before saying that.

Those people looked at each other, and in the end, the complaints went nowhere.

They finally understood that the property management was trying to force them out.

The other party's methods were dirty, yet very difficult to sue over.

As a result, within a month, law firms and accounting training classes moved out one after another.

They couldn't receive clients in such a place, and no one would be willing to come to such a place to hire a lawyer; it was too disgusting.

It was clearly an office building, but Amor had utterly transformed it into a stinking Slum.

According to his estimation, most people here would voluntarily leave in another month.

However, just as Amor was preparing to arrange for more troublemakers to enter the building, Ron called him over.

"How many tenants are still left in Karma Courtyard?"

"About forty percent. Those methods are quite effective," Amor smiled.

"Too slow," Ron sighed.

"Mr. Sur?" Amor was puzzled. This was already rapid progress in Mumbai.

Even Ke'erna, the "Demolition King" of the municipal committee, didn't have this efficiency. It would take at least three to five years to deal with a Slum.

They had only been at it for less than a month and had already forced out sixty percent of the tenants. The property management team's achievements were impressive.

"We don't need to personally handle the next steps," Ron's eyes held a decision.

"Mr. Sur, you mean..."

"Karma Courtyard isn't just for us; they should also contribute," Ron stood up and walked to the office window.

Standing here, one could see the Slum stretching for miles to the north, continuous and interspersed with bustling trading activities.

The residents inside had grown from a few hundred to thousands, and now tens of thousands, constantly expanding.

It was like ringworm parasitic on the city, worsening day by day, terminally ill.

Yet the men and women living there were free and unrestrained, smiling and enjoying everything about the Slum.

Ron spoke a few words to Amor in a low voice, and the latter's eyes flashed with shock, but he quickly nodded in agreement.

After the office was empty, Ron pulled open a drawer and took out a pale pink envelope.

His name was written on it, and inside was a photograph, a picture of Elizabeth in a white evening gown.

It had just been delivered, different from the one given to Hella last time.

In the photo, Elizabeth showed a rare smile, a reserved smile, no longer that condescending gaze.

Ron knew what this meant. Elizabeth was extending goodwill, at least on the surface.

She likely wanted to invite Ron to The Palace, either for peace talks or to explain what happened before.

It was too late. Ron only wanted her dead now!

Sometimes a lion must roar, just to remind the horses of fear.

Hader Khan's words made a lot of sense. He decided he would no longer be a horse.

Ron examined the photograph, then gently let go.

The photo fluttered down, was caught by a sea breeze, and spiraled high into the sky, flying over Sul Electrical Factory, eventually disappearing into the rising smoke from the Slum.

In early March, the crowds on the streets of Mumbai grew daily. Holi was approaching, and people were eager to experience the excitement.

Holi, also known as the Festival of Colors, is one of India's most important traditional festivals.

This would be a nationwide color carnival, with colorful powder flying everywhere, pouring down like a storm.

On this day, lower castes could freely tease higher castes, temporarily breaking class barriers.

Amor was also preparing for Holi. He was busy from morning till night, shuttling through the vast alleys of the Surl Slum.

His wife was the first to notice the abnormality and was very worried.

"Are you going to cause trouble again? Isn't such a good job at Sur Electrical Appliances enough to keep you occupied?"

"What do you know!" Amor impatiently waved his hand. "Do you want to live in the Slum your whole life?"

"Wh- what do you mean?" His wife was stunned.

"I'm a Brahmin, I can't stay here forever. See that?" Amor pointed to the northeast. "Buildings! That's where we should live."

His original ambition wasn't grand; he only hoped to have a large enough space in front of his house to build a balcony.

But having come this far step by step, he couldn't stop.

He had read the recent Mumbai newspapers. "Sur Industrial Park" had almost become a star term.

The Chief Minister, newspapers, and television stations were all discussing this industrial park plan to "revitalize" Mumbai.

Amor was educated, even studying economics. He knew what this meant.

When you are standing on the cusp of a storm, you cannot stop. With just a slight lift of your foot, you can soar to success.

I must seize this opportunity, Amor told himself.

This might be the last time he caused "trouble."

March 6th, Holi, the streets outside had long turned into a boiling palette.

Crimson, emerald, bright yellow, and indigo pigments collided in the air, intertwined with the sharp laughter of the crowd and the intense drumming.

Waves of noise surged, penetrating through the crowd, through the streets, spreading in all directions.

Inside the Surl Slum, women and children were all excitedly getting ready. They also held various pigments in their hands, ready to join the street carnival at any moment.

The men watched all of this with smiling faces, but their eyes were more focused on the figure at the very front.

Amor was the organizer of the celebration. After looking at the massive procession, he nodded to Anand in the corner, then waved his thick arm. Let's go!

The crowd began to move, drums, flutes, and trumpets joined in, and the noisy, wild music began.

This was music unique to the Slum, harsh and chaotic.

Amor led the way, followed closely by the musicians, with the crowd surrounding them, walking with solemn, slow steps, gradually heading out of the Slum.

Groups of hopping children danced freely, almost hysterically, without any shyness.

Some of these children struck poses from their favorite movie dance scenes, imitating celebrities walking.

Others leaped around like acrobats or indulged in their own jerky dance steps.

The procession was huge, tens of thousands strong!

A carnival was about to begin!