You were supposed to have a fake marriage with the diva, so how did you become her father?

The situation in Japan escalated faster than Lu Ran had anticipated.

It started with several European retail chains announcing the removal of all Japanese-made electronic products from their shelves.

The reason given was presented in a grand and respectable manner, claiming it was a "supply chain adjustment," but everyone knows it's inextricably linked to the historical discussions sparked by that game.

Following suit in North America, Walmart, Best Buy, and Target simultaneously removed all Japanese cameras, headphones, and game consoles from their shelves and replaced them with a row of domestically produced alternatives.

When the news reached China, the public reacted much faster than the government.

Lu Ran came across a post on TUTU's gaming section, posted by a user in Shanghai, titled "I went to RT-Mart today."

The post included several photos of supermarket shelves.

The row that used to be full of Japanese snacks and drinks is now empty, and staff are putting Chinese-made biscuits and mineral water on top.

The photo was captioned: "When I went in, I saw several middle-aged women queuing at the checkout counter, each carrying a huge pile of Japanese goods and tossing them onto the counter. I thought they were having a shopping spree, but upon closer inspection, I realized they were returning items. One of the women, with a particularly loud voice, said, 'I didn't know these things before, but now that I do, I won't buy anything.'"

Within half an hour of posting that thread, there were hundreds of replies.

Someone posted a photo of the convenience store near their home, saying, "My family store downstairs has removed all their Japanese products."

Someone posted a picture of a shopping receipt, which was full of Chinese-made products, with the words "Starting today, I will only buy Chinese products" written at the end.

Someone also shared a short video showing a roadside shop owner squatting at his door, loading boxes of Japanese sake onto a tricycle.

In the video, someone asked the boss what he was doing, and without even looking up, the boss said, "Returning it to the distributor; we won't sell Japanese sake anymore."

By the next day, more details had emerged.

China's largest e-commerce platforms updated their search rules on the same day.

After entering the name of a Japanese brand, the first page of search results is full of domestically produced alternatives to Japanese brands, with the original brands relegated to the back.

The platform has not issued an official announcement, but this algorithm adjustment itself is an expression of its position.

Someone on social media calculated that searches for Japanese brands on Chinese e-commerce platforms dropped by almost half in a single day.

The situation is more direct offline.

The Japanese department store on Nanjing Road in Shanghai, which has been open for many years, is usually packed with people on weekends, but that weekend the entrance was so deserted it looked like it hadn't even opened yet.

A notice printed on A4 paper was pasted on the glass door, which roughly said, "This shopping mall is undergoing internal adjustments recently, and the business hours will be temporarily shortened." But passersby knew that it was just a nice-sounding statement.

Someone took a picture of the entrance and posted it online with the caption "It's over."

Even the owners of the small shops on the street are changing their stock.

One day at noon, Lu Ran went downstairs to buy water and glanced inside the family-run shop at the entrance of the residential area.

The Japanese candies and chocolates that used to be prominently displayed next to the cashier were all gone, replaced by rows of domestically produced preserved plums and tangerine peel.

The shop owner sat behind the counter looking at his phone. The screen displayed a news app push notification with the headline "Spontaneous boycotts of Japanese goods emerge in many parts of the country."

He finished reading, put down his phone, looked up and saw Lu Ran standing at the door, asking, "What do you want to buy?"

Lu Ran bought a bottle of mineral water and left, also giving the shopkeeper an extra dollar.

Japan's response was a beat slower than China's, but the delay was not long.

The automotive industry was the first to run into problems.

Sales of several major Japanese automakers in the Chinese market have begun to decline.

A car manufacturer's largest 4S store in Shanghai didn't close a single deal over the weekend. The sales consultant was sitting at his workstation scrolling through his phone when he looked up at his colleague and said, "Zero sales again today."

The colleague next to me replied, "You'll get used to it. This is the fifth day this month with zero results."

The electronics industry couldn't hold on any longer either.

A distributor of a well-known Japanese camera brand held an emergency meeting in China and afterwards sent a hastily worded email to headquarters.

The email showed that shipments in the past week were down more than 70% compared to the same period last year.

The distributors stated directly at the meeting that if the price were to drop further, they would have no choice but to terminate their agency agreements.

The home appliance industry followed suit and declined.

A distributor of a Japanese air conditioner brand in South China received return notices from several chain stores in one day. The reasons were polite but the meaning was clear: the products were not selling and the inventory needed to be returned.

The distributor did the math and found that even if they cut the price below cost, they still couldn't sell it because customers would walk into the store and leave as soon as they heard it was a Japanese brand.

Then the stock market started to react as well.

Initially, the stock prices of several major Japanese export companies fell for five consecutive days.

The price dropped by two points on the first day, three points on the second day, and then gapped down on the third day, with the opening price nearly five points lower than the previous day's closing price.

The market value of those companies evaporated by a significant percentage within just one week.

The chain reaction in the stock market was like a stone thrown into water, with ripples spreading outwards in concentric circles, even engulfing previously stable sectors.

By the fourth day, even domestic consumer stocks that had little to do with exports started to decline, and panic dragged the entire Japanese stock market into a general downturn.

In the lobby of the securities company, several elderly men and women with gray hair shook their heads as they looked at the green line on the screen.

The public sentiment in Japan is starting to become uncontrollable.

The first to be affected were electronics retailers in the Akihabara area.

In the briefing sent by Jiang Feng, Lu Ran saw a set of photos showing that several shops on the electronics street in Akihabara had posted promotional posters saying "20% off all products".

The bosses stood at the doorway, smoking and chatting, the glow of their cigarette butts flashing in the photo.

One person interviewed said, "We have no choice but to switch; nobody buys Japanese products anymore."

Poor sales overseas can also negatively impact the domestic market in Japan.

Then there are the workers in the automobile manufacturing industry.

Due to a sharp decline in export orders, several car manufacturers have begun to shorten working hours or arrange temporary leave.

A new work schedule is posted next to the time clock at the factory gate: work from Monday to Wednesday, rest on Thursday and Friday.

After the workers stood in front of the time clock and looked at the form, someone cursed. The voice wasn't loud, but it echoed several times at the empty factory gate.

Over the weekend, large-scale demonstrations broke out simultaneously in Tokyo and Osaka. The organizers carried a variety of banners, some reading "Government incompetence," others "Works, not apologies," and still others simply printed the prime minister's image with a large red cross over it.

As the march proceeded along the main road, some people took videos with their phones and uploaded them online. In the comments section of the videos, Japanese netizens were divided into two camps: one camp said, "The government should take responsibility," while the other camp retorted, "People outside are boycotting us, and we ourselves are making things worse."

The protests in Osaka were more intense than those in Tokyo.

Several people tried to rush into the city hall but were stopped by the police, and the scene became chaotic for a time.

The police used a megaphone to order the crowd to back off, and someone in the crowd threw an empty beverage bottle toward the megaphone.

After the video was uploaded online, the debate in the comments section lasted for several hours.

News of a strike began to circulate.

Two major Japanese car factories announced a shutdown on the same day, with workers refusing to work overtime or attend regular hours, bringing the production lines to a complete halt.

The factory issued a notice stating that wages during the work stoppage would be paid at the minimum standard, and the labor union set up a table at the factory gate to help workers register their rights protection demands.

The registration forms were filled out so densely that the line of workers stretched all the way outside the factory gate.

Lu Ran learned about these things through the briefings sent by Jiang Feng.

Jiang Feng's presentation style has always been concise, without commentary, simply listing facts and data.

But one day, an extra note appeared at the end of the briefing. Jiang Feng wrote: "The owner of the convenience store downstairs from my office took down the Japanese flag outside today. He had it up for three years; this is the first time he's taken it down."

After reading that note, Lu Ran closed the report without replying, but he was deeply moved.

What truly escalated the situation was the official statement from the Chinese government.

When asked about Japan's economic downturn at a regular press conference, the spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs gave a brief reply: "China has always advocated the principles of mutual respect, equality, and mutual benefit in international relations. Regarding the internal economic situation of specific countries, China has no comment."

This statement sounds ordinary, but given the context of that time, its meaning was clear to everyone—China does not interfere in the internal affairs of other countries, but the government has no say in what goods the Chinese people boycott.

When the news reached Japan, the Japanese stock market opened nearly five points lower the next day.

Then it dropped another two points during the session before stabilizing.

By the close of trading, the line had moved down a bit further than the previous day.

The exchange hall was chaotic, and the commentators on the TV screen sounded a bit strained as they spoke.

The Japanese government finally couldn't hold on any longer.

The Prime Minister held an impromptu press conference that evening. He looked much more haggard than usual, with noticeable dark circles under his eyes and his tie not quite neat.

He stood in front of the microphone and read a prepared script, speaking more slowly than usual and pausing occasionally.

The manuscript has three main sections. The first section expresses regret over the recent tensions between China and Japan.

The second paragraph called for rational dialogue between the two sides. The third paragraph was the most interesting—he bent down towards the camera and bowed for about three seconds.

The entire room was silent for a while.

Then a reporter stood up and asked him if he was apologizing.

After straightening up, the Prime Minister did not answer directly, but said only, "I deeply regret the current difficult situation in bilateral relations."

The reporter asked again, "Do you acknowledge the crimes of aggression committed against China in history?" The Prime Minister paused for two seconds before speaking, saying, "Discussions about historical issues should be left to historians."

This interview video went viral on the internet in both China and Japan.

The comments section in China was filled with "What kind of apology is this?" and "They're just fooling people again."

The comments section in Japan wasn't much better. Some people were criticizing the "weak government," while others were saying, "Why bow when you don't even dare to admit it?"

The comments section under that video swelled to tens of thousands within a few hours, with both sides sticking to their own versions of events and neither able to convince the other.

The economic downturn did stabilize somewhat after the bow, but only slightly.

The Japanese goods that were removed from shelves did not return, the factories that had stopped production did not resume operations, and the stock market, after trading sideways for two days, began to decline again.

A bow can't solve all problems, especially when there's no real apology behind that bow.

Lu Ran watched the video of the bowing twice.

The first time he looked at the Prime Minister's expression, he noticed that his lips were pursed, the muscles around his eyes were taut, and there was no trace of guilt on his face. It was more like he was performing a necessary action.

He only glanced at it the second time before closing the window.

He leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling for a while, then picked up his phone and sent Zhou Mingzhe a message: "How long do you think they can hold out?"

Zhou Mingzhe replied after more than ten minutes: "Hold on until you can't hold on any longer. That's the nature of their country; they won't turn back until they hit a brick wall. We're still far from that wall."

Lu Ran looked at the message, paused his finger on the screen for two seconds, and then replied with an "Mm".

He stood up and walked to the window.

The streetlights downstairs gradually came on, and the lights of office buildings in the distance lit up in patches in the twilight, decorating Shanghai's evening with warmth and bustle.

A new game of chess has begun.

This time, every piece that was placed was not just his doing; it was the collective will of the entire Chinese nation, overseas public opinion, and the social divisions within Japan that were all pushing the chessboard forward.

He just needs to stand by the chessboard and wait for the players to move to their designated positions.

Lu Ran turned around, walked back to the table, sat down, opened his computer, created a new document, and typed a line in it: "Next step—the information gap in the Japanese education system."

He underlined that line and then added a few lines of notes: By continuously infiltrating historical information among young people in Japan through games and films, the contradiction between the revised textbooks and real-world evidence has become undeniable.

He saved the document, turned off the computer, put his phone in his pocket, and got up to leave the office.

Most of the lights in the corridor were off, with only a few emergency lights casting a dim yellow glow at the far end.

As I passed the technical department, light shone through the crack in the door, and the sound of keyboards clicking and clattering came from inside. I couldn't tell if Zhao Yiming was working overtime or if someone from another project team was rushing to meet a deadline.

Lu Ran did not knock on the door.

He stood outside the door for a few seconds listening to the keyboard sounds, then turned and walked towards the elevator.

He remembered what Jiang Feng had said about the convenience store that had taken away the Japanese flag.

That detail speaks volumes more than any data.

A sign that had been hanging there for three years without being moved was taken down on an ordinary afternoon.

The person who picked it was not the government, nor a politician, but a middle-aged man who ran a convenience store, who made a small decision at a time when no one was paying attention.

Those small decisions, when accumulated, are more effective than ten thousand bows.

At least among the Japanese people, it already has a certain foundation.

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