I'm a Master in India

Ron arranged for Smith's students to stay at the Xiangtu Indian Lodge, which, while not comparable to a five-star hotel like the Taj Mahal, was clean and spacious.

With his special attention, Xiangtu reserved the best rooms in the lodge, each with air conditioning.

Even these picky students, besides complaining about the heat, couldn't find fault with the place.

After all, it was India, a third-world country, and everyone had lowered their expectations before coming.

However, just as he was leading the students to the front desk to register, some of them started arguing with the staff about the bathing water.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, squeezing through the crowd.

"This hotel is forcing people to work! They're violating human rights!" a blonde girl exclaimed loudly.

"No! Miss, you misunderstand. They're doing it completely voluntarily," the staff member explained helplessly.

"Wait, let us sort this out first. Perhaps there's some misunderstanding," Ron said, stepping between them.

Forced labor? Violation of human rights? Why did those terms sound so familiar? Did Westerners like playing this game since they were kids?

"Look at those poor people outside, carrying water for the hotel in the scorching sun, and it's bathing water! No one would want to work in this kind of heat. You must be forcing them!"

Following the blonde girl's pointing finger, everyone saw a large wooden barrel lying flat on a wooden cart just outside the entrance.

Four or five Indian men were gathered around it, using clay pots to scoop water, and each time one was filled, they would carry it on their heads upstairs.

Seeing everyone staring at them, these dark-skinned men smiled shyly, then pressed themselves against the wall, afraid of accidentally blocking the hallway.

"They are indeed delivering bathing water for the guests," Ron nodded.

"I knew it! You clearly have running water! I don't want to use this kind of bathing water even once!" Now, not only the blonde girl but also the other students frowned, with a hint of disgust in their eyes.

"Perhaps we should ask these water carriers," Ron said with a smile, without explaining much further.

He waved to a familiar-looking Indian man, who quickly walked over with a water pot on his head.

"Labu, what are you doing?"

"Of course, we are delivering water."

Labu couldn't speak English, but fortunately, Wilson had been to India. He understood some Hindi and was now translating for his classmates.

"The hotel has running water, so why are you still delivering water?"

"Ron Baba, Mumbai often has water shortages, everyone knows that. But with us here, you won't lack water," Labu said proudly, as this was their job.

"How much do you earn for each trip?"

"Three rupees," he gestured with his hand.

"And how many trips do you have to make to fill the water tank on the roof?"

"Five or six trips. We're very fast and won't delay your showers."

Listening to Labu's slightly anxious tone, everyone fell silent.

"So you earn money with your own strength to support your families?"

"Of course," Labu smiled, "Because of tourists like you, we have food to eat. Welcome to India!"

The last sentence was newly learned English by Labu, and everyone understood it.

"So, students, how many times a day do you shower now?" Ron turned around.

"Three times!", "Four times!", "No, at least five times!" No student felt ashamed about showering anymore.

These men were strong, proud, and healthy. They didn't beg, steal, or rob, but worked hard to support their families.

They ran into the traffic, showing off their strong muscles, attracting glances from some young Indian girls.

They held their heads high, looking straight ahead.

Hardworking people are always easy to like. These young students from Europe and America were no longer as naive as they had been.

They quietly lined up to check in, but still whispered to each other.

After being tested by the stench and the heat, the students began to feel a sense of novelty towards this contradictory city.

They discussed where to go next to taste delicious food, or which temple's sculptures were shocking and worth visiting.

Soon, the students in the lobby obediently followed the staff upstairs to take their first showers.

Xiangtu behind the bar gave a thumbs up, then shook his head at Ron.

As expected of the most popular travel agency in Mumbai for foreigners, they had these students wrapped around their little finger with just a few words.

Ron's reception of Smith's students followed the usual practice of tour groups, adopting a pre-payment mechanism.

A total of thirty students, each paying 1500 pounds, with Ron responsible for their accommodation and food for the next week in Mumbai.

Attractions and other entertainment activities were separate and more flexible. Students could choose different routes arranged by Ron according to their preferences.

Just like treating other tourists, Ron created packages with different prices, and everyone chose according to their needs.

When he received their information and booked the hotel, Ron had roughly looked at the students' information.

Each of them came from middle-class families or above, and 1500 pounds for accommodation was too cheap.

But for Mumbai Travel Information Company, this was a significant business. The current exchange rate of pounds to dollars was about 1:1.5.

Thirty students meant 45,000 pounds, which translated to about 68,000 dollars. If converted to rupees, it would be even more incredible, 2.1 million!

This was still the official price. If taken to the black market, it could be cashed for at least 2.5 million rupees.

Damn it, Ron's total income for the first half of the year was only more than three million rupees, and this single deal directly accounted for more than 80% of his total assets.

Tour groups were really profitable. The most important thing was that these students would have other expenses in Mumbai.

Thinking about it, Ron's excited heart trembled uncontrollably.

If all went well, after sending these students away, with his savings, he could consider buying land.

Thinking of this, he simply picked up the phone, "Hey, is this Kavya?"

"Ron?"

"It's me, I want to ask you for some information."

"What is it? Let me make it clear first, I'm just an intern reporter, I don't have access to too much inside information."

After graduating from the University of Los Angeles, Kavya came to Mumbai to seek a job in a newspaper.

Last time at the Leopold Cafe gathering, she was just a freelance writer. But Mary said that Kavya's dream had come true recently, so Ron thought of her.

"It's nothing confidential, I just want to ask you, do you know about land transactions in downtown Mumbai?"

"Are you talking about the textile factory that just went bankrupt?"

"That's right, I saw in the newspaper that they plan to sell the land."

"Are you interested in that piece of land?" Kavya's tone was a little surprised.

"Slightly interested, you know, I want to try businesses other than tourism. Otherwise, my company is about to close down during those months of the rainy season every year."

"This transaction is not that simple. I heard that the owner of the textile factory is asking for ten million rupees. He owes the bank a lot of money and is counting on using this land to repay the debt."

"Help me find out the information about the owner of this textile factory, phone number, address, anything will do."

"Wow! It seems you're serious!" Kavya exclaimed.

"Let's talk about it, if I don't have enough money, I can ask the bank for help."

"This is not a difficult task, but there is one thing I need to remind you, Ron."

"What?"

"I heard that the mafia is interested in this land. They are putting pressure on the owner of the textile factory. With their involvement, others don't even dare to bid."

Ron was stunned, "Okay, I'll pay attention."

Damn it, the mafia is interested in that broken place too?

The downtown area he just mentioned to Kavya was not the CBD area of South Mumbai. Ron couldn't afford the land there even if his assets were multiplied several times.

The downtown area here refers to the geographical center of Mumbai, that is, the central area, north of Dharavi, the largest slum in Mumbai. The airport is also nearby. It is not so prosperous there, and even a bit backward.

Ron didn't expect that the broken place north of the Dharavi slum would actually be of interest to the mafia.

Forget it, no matter what, let's first find out what the owner of the textile factory has to say.