432: Chapter 432 Unanimous Dissolution

No one raised a hand. Eighty-three members of parliament pressed the voting keys on their armrests simultaneously.

The numbers on the electronic counting screen flickered for three seconds, then locked in: 83 votes in favor, 0 against, 0 abstentions.

The chandeliers suspended beneath the dome cast light onto the faces of the members, reflecting expressions of not knowing what they were voting for—just as their grandfathers did in 1965 when they signed their names on the resolution to separate from Malaysia, not knowing what they were doing.

At 9:10 AM, the holographic projection array directly beneath the dome of the assembly hall lit up.

Zhang Cheng's life-sized figure appeared, floating in mid-air.

He wore the dark green service uniform of the Myanmar Federal Defense Force, with no rank on his shoulders, only a single badge pinned to his chest—not a rising sun, not a star and crescent, but a dark green baobab leaf. The nanometer-precision holographic projection made it quiver slightly with the rhythm of his breathing.

He stood before the window of the presidential office in Naypyidaw, with the morning light of Myanmar outside, but the projection only captured his upper body—behind him was an electronic situational map covering the entire wall, with Singapore Island shrunk into a blue diamond icon, and the baobab flag floating above it.

When he spoke, there were no pleasantries, no "Honorable Members of Parliament," no "I stand here today with a heavy heart."

His voice was precisely projected to the front of every member's seat through the holographic array's directional speakers, every word seemingly pressed directly into their ears.

"The Republic of Singapore—dissolved, effective immediately."

Among the eighty-three members, thirty-two pairs of fingers clenched the armrests of their benches simultaneously. Fifteen closed their eyes. Six opened their mouths as if to say something—then saw the shadows beneath the colonnade. No one stood up.

"You need not feel anger, humiliation, or disillusionment. From the very first day of its birth, your country was not built on your own blood and will."

"It was the scraps left over on the negotiating table between the British and the Malaysians in 1965—Malaysia kicked you out, the British took the port, and the Americans hooked up the financial pipelines."

"You are a country built on shipping lanes, not on land."

"When the shipping lanes were replaced—the Kra Canal replacing Malacca—your reason for existence plummeted in value."

"When the financial pipelines were pulled away—the Asian Digital Currency Agreement bypassing SWIFT—your pillar industries were left with nothing but memories of past stock."

"When the military umbrella was shredded—the warheads of the DF-17 performed four S-shaped maneuvers over your heads, and the US fleet turned away one hundred nautical miles from your doorstep—you couldn't even reach for your last straw of hope."

Zhang Cheng tilted his head, as if examining a piece of water-damaged old furniture.

"I do not intend to annex Singapore. That word is not accurate enough. The premise of annexation is that the other side has something worth annexing."

"Your oil refineries—the three new integrated refining bases built by Dawn Heavy Industry in Myanmar and Cambodia, each with an annual processing capacity of 100 million tons of crude oil, exceed the total of all facilities on your entire Jurong Island."

"Your ports—after the opening of the Kra Canal, Changi Port's transshipment throughput will plummet by seventy percent next quarter, and your quay cranes will become rusted sculptures by the sea."

"Your financial industry—after the Asian Digital Currency Agreement took effect, the global settlement share of the dollar-pegged Singapore dollar has fallen below 0.4 percent."

"Your military—two hours ago, it just handed over its defense to my troops without firing a single missile. What else do you have that is worth me swallowing?"

The only sound left in the assembly hall was the humming of the air conditioning vents.

Zhang Cheng took a half-step forward—the holographic projection flickered slightly in the air with his movement, like a flag rippled by the wind.

"What I want is not your territory, nor your wealth. What I want is your name. The name 'Singapore'—from today on, it is the Singapore Special Municipality of the Federation of Myanmar."

"Its territory, territorial waters, and airspace are legally incorporated into the sovereign scope of the Federation of Myanmar. Its government agencies are dissolved effective immediately, and administrative power is transferred to the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the Federation of Myanmar."

"Its legal system will be gradually taken over by a special circuit court dispatched by the Supreme Court of the Federation of Myanmar."

"Its citizens—you—will not lose any private property. You will not lose your personal freedom. You will not lose your nationality—you will have three years to choose freely: retain permanent residency status in Singapore, apply for the nationality of the Federation of Myanmar, or take your assets and move to any third country willing to accept you."

"There is only one bottom line that cannot be changed: the name 'Singapore'—it will no longer appear on any map as a label for an independent country."

Zhang Cheng paused, as if waiting for someone to ask a question. No one asked.

An Indian-descended female member of parliament sitting in the first row to the left of Speaker Tan Chuan-Jin took off her glasses and found the lenses covered in the condensation of her own breath.

A Chinese-descended male member of parliament sitting in the third row clenched the seal his grandfather had brought from Zhongshan, Guangdong, in 1947—the seal was engraved with a line of characters: "Take root wherever one lands." He stuffed the seal back into his pocket, deciding never to take it out again.

"The second decision—all assets under the name of the former Singaporean government, including foreign exchange reserves, gold, state-owned land, commercial facilities, and tax surpluses, are all confiscated by the Ministry of Finance of the Federation of Myanmar."

"These assets will be used to compensate for the actual damages caused by the slander and hate speech spread by Singapore at the Bloomberg Forum, in international media, and on the podium of the United Nations against myself, the Federation of Myanmar, the Dragon Country, and the people of various Southeast Asian nations."

"The compensation list will be adjudicated by the Yangon International Court, and the entire adjudication process will be broadcast live."

A table popped up on the electronic situational map behind Zhang Cheng.

Data on foreign exchange reserves, Temasek Holdings' market value, the Singapore government investment company's asset portfolio, Central Provident Fund surpluses, and state-owned land valuations—each item was precise to four decimal places, and each item was marked with a data source, including internal database numbers from Goldman Sachs, Moody's, the Singapore Auditor-General's Office, the Swiss National Bank, and at least sixteen insurance companies.

"Your Temasek Holdings lists 430 billion Singapore dollars in assets on its books, your GIC manages an investment portfolio of 600 billion Singapore dollars, and your Central Provident Fund Board sits on a surplus of 180 billion Singapore dollars."

"The source marked next to these three sets of data is Temasek's internal unaudited financial report for the second quarter of 2027—this document will be sent in a few minutes to all foreign government funds holding preferred shares in Temasek."

"They will recognize this as genuine from the source file numbers. They won't call to ask if you've been hacked. They will only hang up the phone and re-evaluate your credit rating."

"Your credit rating ceased to exist at 4:00 AM. Now—even the data no longer belongs to you."

In the back row of the hall, a former independent director of Temasek Holdings—sitting in the assembly hall at this moment as a member of parliament—took an old wallet out of his pocket, opened it, and inside was a group photo from 1997, the twenty-third anniversary of Temasek's founding.

He pulled out the photo, turned it over to the back, and on it was Lee Kuan Yew's personal inscription: "Wealth is power."

He tore the photo in half on the spot, the shredded pieces of paper falling onto his lap, but he did not look down at them.