454: Chapter 454 The Colonial Agreement is Torn

"Spit it out."

She did not. She closed her eyes, and her throat bobbed—the edges of the key scraped against her esophagus, and the taste of rust surged up from her throat.

An iron rod struck her left shoulder. The sound of her collarbone cracking was sharper than the sound of the fire in the iron cabinet. She collapsed, her face pressing into the ink leaking from the printing press. The lesson plan caught fire—paper ash rose up and drifted into her nostrils. The last stroke of Lin Wenqing's name burned into ash.

The underground command center of the Presidential Palace in Naypyidaw.

On the holographic situational map, hundreds of distress signals across Malaysia were increasing at a rate of a dozen per second. Penang was red, Johor was red, and Kuala Lumpur had already turned deep red.

At the edge of the screen, the real-time casualty statistics aggregated by "Vega" were jumping— "Confirmed dead: 7. Seriously injured: 46. Missing: 129. Total distress signals: 1847. Growth rate: 23 per second."

Zhang Cheng stood in front of the situational map, holding a cup of unsweetened Pu'er tea in his right hand, his left hand tucked into the pocket of his military uniform. He watched the numbers on the screen jump from 7 to 8, and then to 9.

Li Lanzhi connected via an encrypted channel, her voice very low: "The ninth one—Malacca city, owner of a Chinese hardware store, pushed off a second-floor balcony. Shuguang Cloud just received the last message sent by his daughter."

"Read it."

"'Mom, don't come back home. This is not home anymore.' Four minutes after sending, the account went offline."

Zhang Cheng placed the teacup on the console. The porcelain made a sharp sound against the marble countertop, and all the operators in the command center stopped what they were doing at the same time.

"Activate the 'Protect Overseas Chinese' orange alert." When he said this, his tone was no different from usual, as if he were saying "turn the air conditioning down a bit." "All Myanmar citizens in Malaysia are to receive emergency avoidance guidance via Shuguang Cloud. All 'Shadow Blade' squads within Malaysia—starting from the third squad, activate in order. Mission priority after activation: Protect local Chinese communities. Do not act as combat units—act only as armed guards. Rules of engagement: Return fire if attacked."

Li Lanzhi noted down every word on her tablet. After recording the last point, she looked up: "Mr. President, once the orange alert is activated, the Malaysian military will consider this an act of war."

"Then let them think so."

Zhang Cheng switched the situational map to the Kra Isthmus. The firing parameters for the six PHL-191 rocket launchers were still there, and the infrared thermal imaging of the Kuantan base still showed forty-three people—Sergeant Farid and his forty-one comrades, plus two veterans smoking at the entrance. They already knew they had almost been blown up by their own people. They were still at their posts.

"Notify Zhao Yuxun—'Thor' is to remain on standby. As long as the people at the Kuantan base don't move, my artillery won't fire. But if they dare to bring bombs out of the ammunition depot to use against the Chinese—tell Zhao Yuxun that while annihilating the target area, he must keep the targeting deviation of the launch vehicles within two meters. I don't want to bomb the wrong people."

"Understood."

Zhang Cheng picked up the encrypted phone and dialed Zhao Gang's channel. The phone was answered after one ring.

"Zhang Cheng."

"Zhao Gang. Are you watching the situation in Malaysia tonight?"

"We are watching." Zhao Gang's voice came through the encrypted line, with the sound of keyboard typing and more than one person talking in the background. "The Chief has just finished an emergency meeting. What is your stance over there?"

"I have already activated the 'Protect Overseas Chinese' orange alert. In the next forty-eight hours, more violent incidents against the Chinese will occur in Malaysia—I have already seen signs of organization on Shuguang Cloud. This is not a spontaneous riot. Someone is manipulating it."

Zhao Gang was silent for two seconds. "Do you have evidence?"

"The person manipulating it is named Rashid Hassan. Behind him are the conservative faction of UMNO and some members of the royal family. American funds are circulating through three foundations in the Cayman Islands, handled by the 'Free Asia Initiative' controlled by Council of Elders. The CIA Kuala Lumpur station has already provided Rashid with demonstration route planning, target lists, and media operation manuals. 'Vega' has intercepted the entire email chain—fifty-four emails, with digital signatures. Do you want me to send them to you?"

"Send it."

Zhang Cheng gestured, and Li Lanzhi began transmitting the files to the encrypted line.

"Longguo's stance. I need to know." Zhang Cheng said.

"The Chief has authorized me to tell you—you are to take any necessary measures to protect the overseas citizens, and Longguo will provide unconditional support on moral and diplomatic levels. But the public stance must be controlled—wait for an appropriate opportunity. You understand what I mean."

"I understand. You need an entry point that the international community cannot refute."

"Correct."

"That entry point will appear within forty-eight hours." Zhang Cheng hung up the phone, stood silent before the situational map for a moment, and then turned to issue the final order to the command center:

"All Federation of Myanmar citizens within Malaysia—starting from now, turn on your mobile phone cameras. Every act of smashing, every act of arson, every attack—upload it all in real-time via Shuguang Cloud. I want the whole world to see. Not tomorrow morning. Now. Every second. Every frame. Every deceased person."

Li Lanzhi looked up at him.

Zhang Cheng picked up the cold Pu'er tea and took a sip. Tea dregs stuck to the rim of the cup, and he did not wipe them off.

"They think the light of fire can illuminate their 'sovereignty'," he put the cup down, "the light of fire can only illuminate their faces clearly."

At 2:11 AM, the Parliament Hall of the Malaysian Parliament Building.

The cold lights of the emergency lighting system made everyone's face under the dome look pale. The Speaker held the gavel, knuckles turning white, and struck the gavel against the wooden block—the first strike was too light and made no sound. The second strike was too forceful, and the gavel head bounced up, almost slipping out of his hand.

The vote counting screen jumped three times—147 in favor, 120 against.

The 5 people who abstained sat in the back row, not looking up.

Anwar Ibrahim was in the Prime Minister's seat, with the constitution text spread out before him, turned to the page about dissolving the cabinet. There was a vertical red line on the paper—drawn with a pen handed over by the Finance Minister behind him. The pen was still resting on the edge of the paper, the cap off.

Anwar picked up the pen and put it back on the desk in front of the Finance Minister. The pen rolled half a circle and stopped beside the spine of the constitution text.

He stood up without using a microphone. The parliament hall was so quiet that the low-frequency hum of the air conditioning vents could not drown out his voice—

"I have stood in this building for thirty-nine years. In 1976, when I first entered parliament, the management rights of the Strait of Malacca were already gone. They were gone in my father's generation. Tonight, a colonial agreement was torn up by a Chinese person. The colonial agreement—it's not about ships, it's not about fishing grounds, it's the British document you've signed for sixty years and dared not show anyone. He reclaimed forty percent. You said no. You said no with the fire that burned Chinese signs, you said no with the fire that burned fishing boats, and you said no with the fire that pushed a seventy-three-year-old man off the second floor."