Conan: I'm a zaibatsu in Tokyo

After tidying up his room, Takahashi went downstairs and saw several familiar faces.

"Takahashi?"

"Dashan? Ishimoto?"

Takahashi looked at Oyama and Ishimoto Jiro with surprise.

These three are the TV drama editors he is currently working with.

The popular TV series "Detective Kagura" was written by the three of them together.

Among them, he and Ishimoto are veteran screenwriters with many years of experience, while Daiyama is a very talented young man. Although he has not written many plays yet, they have all received high praise.

"I didn't expect you all to come," Takahashi said with a smile.

“Yes, I didn’t expect that either,” Dashan said.

The three had a cooperative yet competitive relationship in "Detective Magure," and now they'll be competing again here.

One billion yen! The competition is even fiercer than in the TV dramas.

"Hello everyone."

Two more female writers came down from upstairs.

"Wow! Ms. Sakurai!"

The three stood up, looking at the middle-aged woman with some admiration.

Ishimoto said enthusiastically, "Ms. Sakurai, I'm a big fan of your books. I've read your book 'Stepfather' many times."

Nara Sakurai smiled and said, "Thank you for your kind words."

She has written many books, but "Stepfather" is her most famous work, which won the Naoki Prize.

Behind her, Kotoko Hashimoto remained silent.

Sakurai introduced to everyone, "This is my former assistant, Hashimoto Kotosu, who is now a writer with some fame."

Sakurai said with a smile, "It was my strong recommendation to Mr. Shoichi that led to her participation in this event."

Hashimoto smiled, and the three of them greeted her politely.

I'd never even heard of this upstart writer.

After chatting for a while, Takahashi asked, "There are still two writers, right? Why haven't they arrived yet?"

"I'm coming."

No sooner had Takahashi finished speaking than two men came down from upstairs, their arms around each other's shoulders.

"Takeda Taiye? Matsumura Kazuo?"

These two are well-known figures, and the people downstairs are familiar with them.

Takeda smiled and said, "Sorry to keep you all waiting."

"It's alright," the group said with smiles.

The group chatted enthusiastically, appearing harmonious, but Takahashi's heart sank.

These competitors, apart from the woman who followed Sakurai around, were all formidable opponents.

……

The last rays of the setting sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting their glow on the villa's luxurious marble floor.

The seven writers took their seats in order, according to the nameplates placed on the seats.

Mitsui pushed the food cart out, bringing out dinner.

"Mr. Zhengyi."

"Mr. Zhengyi." "Mr. Zhengyi."

Zheng Yi walked in from outside with his hands behind his back and finally sat down in the main seat.

Below him, seven writers sat upright.

None of the seven writers dared to offend this generous benefactor.

What if I offend Zheng Yi and get kicked out of the game early?
You don't want tens or hundreds of millions of yen?
"Everyone." Zheng Yi always showed great respect to artists.

"Everyone is welcome to come and help out here."

His gaze slowly swept across the entire room, a faint smile playing on his lips.

The look in his eyes wasn't like he was looking at a group of writers, but rather like he was looking at a herd of cattle and horses scrambling to do free work.

"I believe everyone knows why you're here." Zheng Yi cut to the chase without any unnecessary formalities:
"I need an autobiography. A book that can define my life."

"Mr. Shoichi." Takahashi bowed slightly, his tone respectful yet measured.
"Your invitation letter says that this is a competition. There are seven of us who will each write your autobiography, and you will choose the one you are most satisfied with in the end."

"But... if I may be frank, what do you really want to see: 'reality' or 'legend'?"

As soon as these words came out, the whole place fell into silence.

Everyone looked at Zheng Yi, which was the question they most wanted to know.

After all, writing an autobiography for a living person, especially for an unfathomable figure like Zheng Yi, could easily offend the emperor if one is not careful.

Moreover, the rumors about Zheng Yi are terrifying.

Throughout Japan, everyone knows that Shoichi kills a person as easily as crushing an ant, and destroying entire families is commonplace for him.

Zheng Yi chuckled softly upon hearing this.

He picked up the glass of red wine beside him and gently swirled it.

“Mr. Takahashi, you are a straightforward person.” Masakazu raised his eyes, his gaze intense: “But I believe that ‘truth’ and ‘legend’ are not mutually exclusive.”

His voice suddenly rose in pitch.

"I want you to use the most ornate language, the most dramatic plot, and the most profound philosophical thoughts to describe me."

Takahashi's breath hitched.

He and the other six exchanged glances, all feeling rather troubled.

Could you put it more bluntly?

Whether or not you want to whitewash your behavior, please don't make us guess.

"Mr. Zhengyi, do your life stories need some artistic embellishment?" Takahashi pushed up his glasses, his voice hoarse.

“Artistic embellishment?” Zheng Yi smiled. “No, what I want is essential truth, but…”

Zheng Yi continued, "If your writing is too pale to capture my soul, then fill it with your imagination."

Takahashi nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.

Thankfully, artistic interpretation is allowed; otherwise, it wouldn't be good if the protagonist were to be depicted killing indiscriminately.

What if the police use the autobiography they wrote for Zheng Yi to force him to confess?

Zhengyi will kill them.

Zheng Yi leaned forward, his hands crossed and resting on his chin.

"What I want is a work that I can read and still be amazed by myself."

"It's the kind of masterpiece that makes readers unable to put the book down once they finish the first page, and makes them want to read it all in one go."

The seven writers looked at each other, their eyes filled with both a burning desire to create and a sense of disbelief at Zheng Yi's narcissism.

Writing a compelling autobiography requires considerable skill.

Moreover, he actually wanted the readers to see it.

Zheng Yi isn't just looking to amuse himself; that's a bit of a problem.

The writers looked at each other in bewilderment.

If everything Zheng Yi did were written down, it would be too wicked.

If his life story were truly written according to his real life, it would definitely make the police pay more attention to Zheng Yi.

The police are now paying attention to Zheng Yi. Does Zheng Yi think he can make things easy for those guys who write autobiographies?

Ugh!
The seven writers all sighed in unison.

This job is tough.

“Of course,” Zheng Yi keenly noticed their expressions, his tone becoming relaxed and seductive.

“I know this kind of creative work requires immense pressure and inspiration. So, regarding compensation…”

He snapped his fingers.

The butler, Miki, who had been standing by, immediately stepped forward and placed the seven documents in front of each writer.

“This is…” Sakurai opened the document, his pupils suddenly contracting. “This is the contract prepared for you,” Shoichi said calmly, “As long as you put pen to paper and write the book, even if I don’t like it, you’ll still get fifty million yen.”

Fifty million!
And this is only the money that the losers can get.

The seven writers' breathing became rapid.

“However,” Masakazu changed the subject, “only the final winner will receive the ultimate prize—one billion yen.”

"One billion..." someone murmured, their voice trembling.

Once I've earned this billion, I might as well retire.

He simply shut himself off from the scene and went to enjoy life.

“That’s right, one billion yen.” Shoichi enjoyed their shocked expressions, his smile deepening.

"Moreover, if all of your works are too outstanding and I find it difficult to choose, I don't mind spending a few hundred million more."

He glanced around, speaking casually, as if he had no interest in money and that spending billions or a few dollars made no difference.

“For me, a few hundred million yen is just a number. But a perfect autobiography is priceless.”

"So, everyone, please unleash your full potential. Don't hold back, and don't worry about the limits. I have only one request—"

"Write an autobiography that satisfies me."

Zheng Yi raised his wine glass to them in greeting.

Everyone quickly raised their glasses to toast Zheng Yi.

"Your creative journey begins now. Remember, this villa is isolated from the world. No one will leave until you have produced a work that satisfies me."

Zheng Yi took a sip of red wine:
"Good luck to everyone."

"Clap!"

The study door was pushed open silently, and Zheng Yi clapped his hands lightly, the applause sounding particularly crisp in the quiet room.

"Gentlemen," Zheng Yi said with a mysterious smile, his gaze sweeping over the seven writers sitting around the long table.

"Words are not enough; I think we should let the results speak for themselves."

At his signal, the butler, Miki, left without anyone noticing.

He slowly walked in, pushing a heavy stainless steel handcart that looked like it had been borrowed from a bank vault.

The four wheels of the handcart rolled on the wooden floor, making a dull, suppressed rumbling sound, as if bearing a tremendous weight.

When the trolley stopped in the center of the room, the eyes of the seven writers were instantly drawn to it.

The previously noisy discussion abruptly ceased, replaced by several suppressed gasps of surprise.

It wasn't at all what they had imagined—a few bulging black garbage bags or a few ordinary safes.

That was a real, substantial sum of money, piled up like a mountain.

According to data from the Bank of Japan, a brand-new 1 yen banknote weighs approximately 1 gram.

One billion yen is one hundred thousand of these banknotes.

Although Miki cleverly stacked these banknotes into several neat piles of gold bricks and tightly wrapped them in transparent plastic film, their volume was still astonishing.

The towering stack of cash on the handcart almost blocked half of Miki's body as he stood behind it.

Roughly estimated, the stack of cash would be nearly one meter high and have a volume of about 0.8 to 1 cubic meter.

The total weight reached an astonishing 100 kilograms.

The brand-new banknotes reflected a dazzling luster under the bright light of the study.

The expressions of the seven writers froze instantly.

At first, I was shocked; my eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and my mouth was slightly open.

Immediately afterward, the shock transformed into naked greed.

The well-known writers who usually pride themselves on their aloofness can no longer care about maintaining their so-called elegance at this moment.

Someone subconsciously swallowed, their Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Some people leaned forward, as if they wanted to rush over to the pile of cash and touch it with their own hands.

Some people had their eyes gleaming, clearly already calculating in their minds how much luxury this money could bring them.

Zheng Yi watched their reactions with satisfaction and slowly began to speak:
"If you're all willing to put pen to paper and help me turn this material into a bestseller, these..."

He pointed to the handcart that was almost crushed, "That's all your writing fees."

"One billion yen is just a number. But when it becomes a tangible entity, right in front of you... isn't it more convincing than any fancy words?"

Judging from the performances of the seven writers, it is indeed very convincing.

Zhengyi clapped his hands again, and Miki pushed the cart out.

It took the seven of them a long time to recover from the shock after the banknotes disappeared.

Takahashi looked at Shoichi and asked, "Mr. Shoichi, what is the main focus of your autobiography?"

“There’s no need to focus on any particular aspect; everything about my life will be included,” Zheng Yi said.

Takahashi shook his head and said, "Of course you can write everything down, but there has to be a focus, the career is still..."

"That's up to you," Zheng Yi said with a smile.

Takahashi felt a chill run down his spine.

It seems that the direction everyone chooses is very important, and may directly determine who gets that billion yen.

"Alright." Zheng Yi stood up. "Everyone, please enjoy your dinner. We can start writing tomorrow. Some materials will also be sent to you tomorrow."

Zheng Yi clapped his hands and left the restaurant.

He went straight home, where Ai, who was at home, also learned who her competitors were and felt a lot of pressure.

In terms of writing skills and the ability to create stories and characters, I am definitely far inferior to them.

But she also has a great advantage, which is her understanding of Zheng Yi.

Masakazu patted Ai's head: "Good luck. I hope that 1 billion yen won't end up in the wrong hands."

Ai slapped Shoichi's hand away: "Don't bother me."

She took the paper and pen and went back to her room.

Zheng Yi treated me differently.

Those writers could all stay home and just write Zheng Yi's autobiography.

And live in a place where no one will bother you.

She doesn't get that kind of treatment.

Zheng Yi kept bothering her, he definitely didn't want to give her money.

A week has passed just like that.

Zheng Yi has been keeping a close eye on the progress of these writers; they are all very dedicated.

Moreover, writing an autobiography is much simpler than writing a story.

The progress is very good.

"Don't even think about taking a single penny out of my pocket," Masakazu whispered to Ai.

An autobiography is required, but money cannot be given.

His money didn't come from thin air, so he can't waste it.

Zheng Yi picked up the phone: "Hello, is this Mouri... Ran? Where's your dad? I'm looking for Mr. Mouri."

"By the way, Conan gets weekends off, right?"

"It's nothing important, just an invitation for you to stay at one of my villas for a couple of days."

“There are some things I need to consult with Mr. Mori. I will offer him a reward.”

Ai walked out of the bedroom with a stern face.

I overheard the entire conversation between Zheng Yi and Xiao Lan.

I was treated differently by Zheng Yi again.

Why do they all have consulting services, but I don't?

Zheng Yi put down the phone and rubbed Ai's head.

Those writers are still too lax.

It's time to wrap things up and give them a sense of urgency. (End of Chapter)