Rebirth: Super Banking System Chapter 2418 - 2258: Be Grateful You Made It Out Alive

Xin’an City.

Public Security Bureau.

Even in the dead of night, a good number of officers stay active on duty. Xin’an City holds the distinction as the world's sole destination buzzing with tourists nonstop, day and night.

As a result.

Operations here run on rotating shifts. Thanks to top-notch safety measures, serious incidents barely surface all year round. Dorne’s sudden arrival has even stirred up a minor stir.

Tough going!

Pickpockets.

Minor infractions.

Have vanished ages ago. Disputes and brawls lead to short stints of manual labor in the mines. Folks who once terrorized locals now toe the line obediently.

Serious crimes?

They exist.

Yet they're rare. With steady access to meals and opportunities, plus endless awareness campaigns against wrongdoing, Myanmar's crime figures have plunged to rock-bottom levels.

On that note.

Folks everywhere can't help but cheer the progress.

Plus.

Even with such low incidents, Myanmar hasn't cut back on its law enforcement ranks. Instead, street patrols have swelled dramatically. Ling’s aim stays straightforward.

--- Ensure readiness whenever trouble arises.

Plus.

A firm commitment against any cuts.

This stance.

Obviously earns full backing from Myanmar's entire police force. They're deeply thankful. Ling consistently rewards community service hires with fair pay.

Right down to remote hamlets.

Along each path.

Assigned workers handle routine upkeep. Official funds cover their salaries, and no village lacks a public service team of at least twenty strong.

In bigger settlements.

Teams of thirty to fifty prove commonplace.

Awareness drives.

Sanitation duties.

Local management.

...

Or guarding nearby protected woodlands.

All told.

When it comes to generating employment, Ling keeps Myanmar's local levels thrilled to the core. Naturally, securing these food allowances demands real commitment and diligence.

If not.

Dismissal follows swiftly.

Overall.

Rural positions offer light workloads, letting workers farm while pocketing bonus income. Crowds vie fiercely for spots, thanks in large part to these initiatives.

Bit by bit.

The whole base layer solidifies under Ling’s firm grip.

...

Inside the questioning chamber.

A pair of officers eyes Dorne across from them, running through standard inquiries.

"Name."

"..."

"Age."

"..."

As Dorne responds, sorrow wells up inside him. Once more, unlike his prior three lockups, this round promises a harsher reckoning.

Of course.

He handed over a phony identity.

Yet.

Once the initial details wrap up.

"Pa!"

A dossier slams down before him; Dorne, brimming with uncertainty, watches the Myanmar questioner smirk icily, "Check out what's inside first."

At those words.

Dorne flips it open, puzzled.

It's hefty.

No less than thirty sheets of A4.

The opening sheet.

Causes his eyes to widen in shock, listing his true personal details, family count, parental jobs, from early years through education.

Every bit documented.

Right then.

Dread grips his chest.

Clearly.

His cover's blown wide open. But what's with the bulk that follows? Turning to the next leaf, shock turns to outright terror, his expression twisting in panic.

Across the pages.

Incident after incident.

Deed after deed.

Every misdeed from his past years laid bare in detail, down to driving tickets and dalliances with women back home.

Utterly thorough.

Details he'd long overlooked appear starkly printed.

In an instant.

Pallor drains his features, terror evident, it's downright chilling. This dossier suggests nonstop surveillance, relentless probing, piecing together a mosaic.

Layer upon layer.

Terrifying to the bone.

"You.."

"I.."

"..."

He falters through stammers.

At last.

A heavy sigh escapes.

"What’s your next move?" It seems his entire life lies bare under harsh light, utterly unnerving. His frame shakes slightly.

Indeed.

He boasts solid mental resilience.

Still.

Out of nowhere.

Details emerge of his web searches, spelled out, alongside logs of nightlife spots visited and companions involved.

The fright runs ice through his veins.

"We're not pressing charges this round. You and your crew get sent back home. Don't let it repeat—we'd rather not see a follow-up, or consequences will follow."

"Humph!"

The warning wraps up, no further words needed.

Facing him.

Dorne gets the message: another slip-up could mean public leaks of their secrets, or far worse steps.

In that instant.

All arrogance evaporates.

Eventually.

He manages one phrase.

"Thank you!"

Grasped so completely, picked apart so finely, capped with a spine-tingling breakdown of their latest scheme.

All of it.

Falls squarely in their grasp—what choice remains?

...

On this occasion.

Tang Qing opts against letting Dorne languish behind bars. After all, this group possesses real talents. For now, expulsion on smuggling counts and more suffices.

Down the line.

They could prove handy.

...

Several hours on.

Dawn breaks.

As dawn's rays spread across the land, crowds stir at the buzzword—broke. Sure, some rouse from sweet slumbers, though that's a tiny slice.

At present.

U.S. Embassy.

Bluem’s cheerful start to the day shatters with a ringing phone, curse it, another pickup duty, who even are these clowns.

They know it's pointless, but show up anyway?

Worse yet.

Learning it's no American spies only fuels his rage. If the CIA can't crack it, why should small-time crooks fare better?

Damn!

Smuggling to boot.

Pfft!

Success? Pigs might fly first. Grumbling aside, duty calls for retrieval, given their U.S. passport stamps.

Damn it all.

Bound to be fraud in the mix.

Still.

Forged or not, it's a mock U.S. document—he's stuck managing it. Spotting the ragtag bunch, battered and downcast, spirits crushed.

A twinge of pity stirs.

Looks like.

They've faced rough treatment, likely scarred mentally, even as they claim mishaps caused the wounds. He figures Myanmar leaned on threats.

No energy to meddle.

File a complaint?

It'd work wonders; they roughed up CIA agents without a blink, ignoring Uncle Sam entirely—much less you lot?

They're breathing.

Count blessings it's not worse!

...

This day.

Hummingbird's IPO launch.

Tang Qing heads out at first light, reaching the Myanmar Stock Exchange amid a swelling crowd. The massive display scrolls details on Hummingbird's debut.

As such.

Sightseers catch wind and grow curious.

A few express eagerness to pour in funds, but outsiders beyond Huaxia and Myanmar ties must route through approved channels.

Hence.

Local finance outfits with trading rights grin wide, eyeing commission fees, though a touch frustrated.

Craving bigger stakes.

Proves tricky.

That prior fiasco.

Prompted Myanmar to clamp down on overseas cash flows, slapping limits on each foreign firm's local bets—from billions up to tens of billions.

Substantial sums.

Yet capped tight, throttling their reach.

Exhaust the allowance.

And it's tapped out.

Left chasing renewals via wheeling-dealing, building trust to bump limits, even after repeated gripes—they brush it off, haughty as ever.

Powerless.

Zilch recourse, as they dictate the rules.