Tokyo: The life of a literary giant begins with home self-defense!

Chapter 137 [Pot Cutting]

The man on the stage was a very outstanding figure. The dazzling light from the sky hitting the water seemed to have covered him with a layer of golden light.

The heroic spirit of the literati shines brightly.

Takeda Takako blushed in the stands.

“I’m really awesome.”

Mrs. Takeda praised herself.

If I can raise a young author who won the Youth Award by letting him do what he wants, then what about those who I cultivate seriously...

"Xiao Qian, you can't lose to him."

Mrs. Takeda whispered something in her daughter's ear. She didn't notice that Takeda Akane was looking at the dazzling young man on the stage with a gloomy look in her eyes.

After the Youth Award ended and they said goodbye to the young people from all over the place one by one, a car stopped in front of Longchuan Che.

"Grandpa wants to see you."

Natsuko Imamura, who had lived next door to her for a month, looked at Toru Ryukawa through the half-lowered car window.

The girl was wearing a black kimono with gold-plated furisode today, which was completely different from her previous simple and elegant attire.

"Where's Muzi?"

Longchuan Che swayed left and right and didn't see his girlfriend.

"Her brother is here and will be away from home for a month. If you want to go find her first, you can."

There was a hint of cunning in the girl's eyes. Thinking of the other's burly brother, Long Chuan Che's mouth twitched and he said, "Let's go."

The car was almost bumpy as it drove.

The girl supported her face with her white hands and looked out the window as if something was on her mind.

"unhappy?"

Longchuan Che waved the calligraphy and painting in his hand in front of the girl.

Each winning work will receive a commemorative prize. The outstanding work will receive a certificate and medal, and the second best work will receive a pen.

The girl is holding a 146 bamboo fountain pen, also from a certain brand's Da Wen Hao series.

Young people do not have a high level of appreciation, but they are truly generous.

This pen is very valuable, and Longchuan Che is curious about who wrote the calligraphy and painting on his hand.

The boy's tone hinted at boasting, and the girl rolled her eyes coquettishly.

"childish."

Miss Xia Zi's tone was humming, like the gentle trembling of flowers in early spring.

Natsuko Imamura was born into a prominent family but was not spoiled at all. Ryuukawa Toru felt that he would be much happier if he had grown up with her.

"School starts in half a month. What are you going to do during this time?"

As they were in the same school and were new friends, Natsuko Imamura asked softly.

Early spring snow, with a glimpse of Mount Fuji in the distance.

The girl's skin was as smooth as snow, and Ryukawa Toru once again mourned her flat breasts.

"I'm going back to Yamanashi. Mr. Ono found a house for me and I need to move some things over."

They were in the same space, in a closed carriage, and the scent on the girl was light, fragrant and very elegant.

It smells a bit like pomelo.

Longchuan Che was sitting very close to the other person, only an arm's length away, and he thought so when he smelled the scent of the other person.

"Ah."

Ryukawa Toru saw that Miss Imamura's cheeks inexplicably turned red, and then he opened the car window, letting the faint jasmine scent dissipate.

The car drove across the bridge over the Sumida River, passed the Minato Ward, which has the highest economic income, and then stopped in the relatively quiet Chiyoda Ward.

A villa with dry mountains and artificial water, the surroundings seem a bit quiet.

There was only a light golden chrysanthemum pattern as a nameplate at the door. Ryukawa Toru raised his eyebrows and walked in with Imamura Natsuko.

The courtyard at the entrance is paved with sand and gravel, on which are stacked some neatly arranged stone groups to form a miniature garden landscape.

This is the dry landscape of Japanese Zen. The black rocks represent mountains and the white sand represents water. It is a kind of landscape that can help people meditate.

"Grandpa."

I took Ryukawa Tetsu to a Japanese-style room with an open courtyard door, where I could see the "Sumeru Rock" and "Turtle Island and Crane Island" outside.

The old man was talking to someone, and Ryukawa Toru glanced at the middle-aged woman in her forties, who looked familiar. "Please, Mr. Kujo."

Someone came in, a woman named Masako, nodded to Kujo Fujitaka, and then quietly retreated.

In the middle, he smiled kindly at the two younger generations.

"That's not it?"

"Don't make a fuss."

Natsuko Imamura interrupted Ryukawa Tetsu's question and said casually,

"After the military rule, the 'one dynasty for all eternity' has long lost its real power, and now it's not much better than when Fujiwara no Michinaga had 'three empresses in one family'."

Even if you say so, I find it hard to believe that Empress Masako would ask her former 'minister' for help.

The imperial courtyard, the guest of honor.

Ryuukawa Toru felt that the assessment of the Kujo family's strength needed to be raised.

"Coming."

The woman left and two young men came in.

Kujo Fujitaka smiled and waved to the two young men, motioning them to sit down in front of him.

"It's well done after all. As your elder, I can't go out to celebrate with you. Just stay home and have a simple cup of tea."

The old man seemed to be in a good mood today. He poured two cups of tea for a man and a woman, pushed them to the two young people at the same time, and then sipped them slowly himself.

Golden-red tea leaves floated on the beautiful cup. Long Chuan Che took a look and asked with his eyelids half closed.

"What do you want from me?"

Natsuko Imamura slowly drank the delicious Souchong tea, and Kujo Fujitaka didn't care that she didn't drink it while it was hot.

"The Kodansha Group Portrait Awards will start in April. I want to ask if you want to go?"

Kodansha's Group Portrait Award is one of Japan's five major new literary awards, and Ryukawa Toru frowned.

"Can I still go?"

The Newcomer Literature Award is for authors who have not yet debuted or become famous. Ryukawa Tetsu has the Youth Award, and "Snow Country" has been published a long time ago, so it has nothing to do with the Group Portrait Award in any way.

“No matter how much I write, it’s just like that.”

The old man waved his hand nonchalantly.

"It's the judges."

Literary authority is something that is accumulated through one work after another and one contribution after another.

You have published so many meaningful articles and made great literary contributions.

Only in this way can you become a leader in the circle and the object of others' admiration.

The old man seemed to have found a convenient way for Longchuan Che, and he stared into Longchuan Che's eyes.

"For this kind of award selection seat, officials from the Ministry of Education are always invited to ensure fairness among all parties. They act like idiots every time they go, so you can go on their behalf."

The people from the Ministry of Education are definitely not fools, and the number of judges is definitely not as trivial as the old man said.

"Why should I go?"

Long Chuan Che frowned.

Although he is confident, he is, after all, just a new author who has published a few works. It is difficult to convince others that he is a literary award judge.

"I have a kettle cutter."

The old man didn't respond and talked about other things as if he was chatting.

"I plan to give it to whoever is more famous in the literary world, you or Xia Zi."

Ryukawa Toru's hand holding the teacup paused, and even Imamura Natsuko, who was drinking tea quietly, slowly put down the cup.

The wind blew across the bodies of two young people of similar age, and Natsuko Imamura spoke first.

"Grandpa, I'm going too."

The girl looked at the old man with a smile, as if she was very interested in the literary judges he mentioned.

The Japanese Tsubakiri is a famous sword used by successive emperors as crown princes.

No one has ever seen it, but I didn’t expect it to be collected by an old man.

Longchuan Che took a sip of the warmed Souchong tea, chewed the slightly sweet golden tea leaves, and his eyes moved slightly.

(End of this chapter)