195: Chapter 195 The President Visits the Refugee Camp and Declares War Live Globally

"Where is Prime Minister Li?"

"The Prime Minister has already flown urgently to Myitkyina, the capital of Kachin State, and is preparing to personally visit the border refugee camp."

"Tell her to stay safe and to bring enough guards and medical supplies." Zhang Cheng took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the raging anger in his chest, "Prepare my private plane; I am going to Kachin State. Also—"

He turned to Old K, his eyes as sharp as knives: "Connect me to all influential international media—CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, Xinhua News Agency... count every single one of them. Issue an invitation in the name of the Presidential Palace; I want to hold a globally live-streamed press conference in Myitkyina tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."

"The location will be right next to the refugee camp."

Old K's eyes narrowed: "Master, are you planning to..."

"Don't they like playing the race card and labeling rebels as 'spies'?" Zhang Cheng pulled his mouth into a cold arc. "Then I will show the whole world what true compatriots are, and what subhuman atrocities look like! Notify the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to condemn the Indian government's crimes against humanity in the Sam Region with the harshest possible language. Also, send an ultimatum to New Delhi—"

He paused, enunciating every word with ironclad determination: "I, Zhang Cheng, in the name of the President for Life of the Greater Myanmar Federation, demand that the Indian government immediately cease all military suppression and persecution in the Sam Region within 48 hours, unconditionally withdraw all additionally deployed armed forces, and open all humanitarian corridors to allow international observers and relief supplies to enter."

"Otherwise, I will regard it as a declaration of war by the Indian government through the massacre of my compatriots abroad. To protect my blood-related compatriots, the Defense Forces of the Greater Myanmar Federation reserve the right to take all necessary measures!"

"Yes!" Old K and the staff officer stood at attention simultaneously, their voices resonant.

The orders were quickly issued. The entire state apparatus, from diplomacy to the military, from propaganda to civil affairs, began to operate with unprecedented efficiency.

At the Kachin State border, a makeshift refugee camp.

The air was filled with a complex scent, a mixture of disinfectant, blood, and sorrow. Simple tents stretched out in rows, and the tattered, terrified, and exhausted Sam refugees sat or lay about. Children stared with hollow eyes, neither crying nor making a fuss. Myanmar military doctors in white coats and medical volunteers from the Long Country moved through the crowd, treating wounds and distributing limited medicine and food.

Li Lanzhi was not wearing her usual exquisite Prime Minister's suit, but rather a dark green field uniform designed for easy movement, her hair simply tied back. She crouched in front of an old woman whose arm was wrapped in a blood-stained bandage, gently holding the woman's withered hand, listening to her tearful complaints in a mix of Burmese and Kachin languages about how her home was burned and her son was taken away.

Nearby, a little boy of at most seven or eight years old, with dirt on his face, clutched a tattered doll tightly, saying to a social worker in a childish yet numb voice: "Mom was beaten to death by people wearing green clothes... Dad said, run this way, run across the river, and you will live..."

Li Lanzhi could no longer control her tears, which streamed down her face. She took a handkerchief from her assistant and wiped her face haphazardly, but new tears welled up again. It wasn't that she hadn't seen suffering before, from scam compounds to war-torn ruins, but at this moment, this systematic and cruel persecution targeting a specific ethnic group still made her feel a suffocating sense of anger and grief.

She walked to a relatively quiet command tent and used a satellite phone to connect with Zhang Cheng.

"Brother Cheng..." Her voice was thick with nasal congestion and suppressed trembling. "I have arrived... The situation is ten times worse than what was written in the reports. Many people have... gunshot wounds, brand marks from hot irons, bones broken by clubs... The children say their parents were... killed right in front of them. This isn't a conflict; this is a massacre!"

On the other end of the line, there was a brief silence, followed by Zhang Cheng's deep and firm voice: "Lan Zhi, I know. I have seen it all. Stay steady, take good care of the refugees. I have already dispatched additional medical supplies and food convoys, and they will arrive tomorrow. Stay there. Tomorrow, let the cameras of the whole world see clearly what our compatriots are going through."

"Are you... really going to say that tomorrow? 'Compatriots abroad'?" Li Lanzhi asked with some concern. "In terms of international law, this might be seen as interfering in another country's internal affairs, and the provocation is too strong. India will definitely retaliate crazily, and the USA might take the opportunity to make an issue of it."

"Lan Zhi," Zhang Cheng's voice carried an unquestionable strength. "There are some lines that, once crossed, mean you can no longer talk about international law or political correctness. If they dare to use hot irons on my compatriots, I dare to use missiles to reason with them! If we don't set this precedent now, anyone will dare to trample on our faces in the future! As for the USA... Hmph, their own chip market is already being crushed by us; do they even have the spare time to care about India's fate? At most, they will issue a painless statement. Do as I say; I will bear all the consequences."

"I understand." Li Lanzhi wiped away her tears, her eyes becoming resolute again. "Don't worry, leave this to me. Tomorrow, I will let the whole world see the truth."

The next day, at ten o'clock in the morning, on the outskirts of Myitkyina, at the temporary press conference venue next to the refugee camp.

The background consisted of continuous gray tents and curling smoke, with lush green mountains in the distance, and further beyond that, the mountains of the Sam Region, which theoretically belonged to India. More than two hundred journalists from various countries had gathered at the scene, their cameras and microphones aimed at the simple podium in front. Several drones belonging to the Myanmar military were conducting aerial photography in the sky, with the signal being transmitted simultaneously to major global live-streaming platforms.

Zhang Cheng appeared. He was not wearing his presidential ceremonial attire, but like Li Lanzhi, he was wearing a crisp, dark green combat uniform without rank insignia. His expression was solemn, and his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. Li Lanzhi stood behind him to the side, her eyes slightly red, but her posture was upright.

There were no pleasantries, no opening remarks. Zhang Cheng walked to the microphone, his gaze sweeping over the dense crowd of cameras below, and he spoke directly. His voice, carried through the loudspeaker, spread across the scene and to every corner of the world:

"Friends of the press, and all people around the world who care about justice and conscience."

"Today, I stand here, and behind me are thousands of compatriots who have escaped from the edge of hell. Their homes have been burned, their loved ones murdered, and their bodies brutalized, simply because—they share similar bloodlines with me, use similar languages, and inherit the same culture."

The large screen lit up and began to play the edited, yet unembellished video clips of the Sam Region massacre, as well as close-up photos of the wounded in the refugee camp. The shrill cries, the hideous scars, the hollow eyes of the children... shocked the nerves of every viewer. A wave of suppressed exclamations and gasps of cold air erupted at the scene.