Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 202 Reactions from All Parties

In contrast, the atmosphere in the editorial department of the Nikkei was the most complex and subtle.

On the large desk, there was originally a densely packed list of dire data to be released the next day: a risk forecast of a precipitous drop in bank stocks, a report on the trend of foreign capital frantically shorting the yen, and the impending chain of bankruptcies in real estate companies triggered by the Ministry of Finance's introduction of aggregate regulations.

As the most professional and astute financial media outlet in Japan, everyone at this newspaper knows better than the average person outside—

Japan's economy is now in such a hopeless state that it is beyond saving.

That's why, when the news of Kitahara Iwa's Nobel Prize in Literature nomination reached the editorial department, several senior financial reporters who usually only focused on data and reports put down their pens and remained silent for a long time in front of the table full of bad debt documents.

After a long while, the chief editor, with a full head of white hair, took off his glasses and wearily rubbed his deeply sunken brow.

"How absurd!"

He let out a bitter sigh in a hoarse voice: "When this country's balance sheet has rotted into a mess, the last thing to stand up for Japan and save face is literature."

The young assistant editor beside him seemed a little flustered, still clutching a roll of fax paper: "Editor-in-chief, what about our analysis report on the bank stock market decline tomorrow—"

The chief editor's gaze gradually darkened as he looked at the bad debt recession data on the table, data that threatened to drive investors to the brink of despair.

"Send it as it is. The financial market will continue to fall as it was going to tomorrow, and the bottomless holes in the banks won't magically fill the gaps just because Kitahara Iwa was nominated."

"but----"

At this point, the chief editor reached out and pushed the front page, which was originally analyzing the curve of Japan's economic recession, to the side of the typesetting table.

"Move the news about Kitahara Iwa to the very center of the front page."

"This country needs some news that isn't bad debt."

This sentiment is shared by almost all the editors-in-chief of newspapers in Tokyo tonight.

Over the past few months, when ordinary people open their mailboxes every morning, they are almost always greeted with worse news.

Yesterday, a long-established brand went bankrupt; today, a credit union was exposed for shady dealings; tomorrow, a family burdened with a huge mortgage will be driven to despair by defaulting on their payments.

The excitement left by the bubble era dissipated too quickly.

So fast that countless people hadn't even had time to understand the true meaning of "bankruptcy liquidation" before they were dragged into the quagmire of reality by layoff notices, debt collection notices, and precipitous housing price drops.

The whole country was like waking up from a long hangover, with chaos everywhere.

The bureaucrats of Kasumigaseki and the elites of the Ministry of Finance, faced with this enormous mess, remained helpless, passing the buck to each other.

On such a weary and oppressive late autumn night, the news that Kitahara Iwao had officially entered the final shortlist for the Nobel Prize in Literature, carrying the recognition of the literary circles in Stockholm and London, crossed the ocean and first reached the hands of every journalist in Tokyo.

Even if this is just a nomination, and even if it is still unknown whether I will win the award.

But these editors and reporters, their eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, knew better than anyone else that once those few words were printed and made public tomorrow morning, they would bring a tremendous shock to this country, which was currently in a state of spiritual wasteland.

Because this is no longer just a nomination for a literary award.

It also means that while the outside world is watching Japan's mess and collapse with indifference, it doesn't see them all as a pile of money-grubbing garbage.

The world has seen that even in this sinking swamp, there are still people who can hold their pens and write words that Western civilization can listen to in silence.

At five in the morning, the cold wind in Tokyo was blowing straight down people's necks.

With a loud crash, the newspaper deliverymen, their breath steaming in the cold air, slammed bundles of newspapers, still warm from the machines, into the front baskets of their bicycles.

The rapid grinding of the bicycle chain broke the deathly silence of the early morning as they hurriedly plunged into the city's cold streets and alleys, carrying these freshly delivered messages.

The newspaper stand in front of the tram stop had just cut the binding ropes of the newspapers.

A few office workers, dressed in thin trench coats and with sallow complexions, rubbed their frozen hands and squeezed through, habitually preparing to take out coins to buy a morning newspaper.

Many of them may have had a big argument with their wives last night over not being able to pay their mortgages, and their resignations, which they plan to hand in today, may be buried at the very bottom of their briefcases.

But just as they lowered their heads to grab the newspaper, their hands, which were reaching for their money, involuntarily stopped.

There were no shocking reports of "a certain bank going bankrupt" as expected, nor were there any numbing reports of "a certain business owner committing suicide."

The previously empty gaze was now fixed on the name that occupied the entire front page.

Northern original rock.

Just a few months ago, this name was always associated with a joint ban by banks and violent attacks on the streets.

Just a few days ago, he led the "Freedom Alliance Writers Association" to publicly state in the newspaper that they would not compromise with the banks.

In the hearts of readers, Kitahara Iwa is already an undisputed literary giant of this era.

But it is precisely because of the intense crackdowns and turmoil over the past six months that people subconsciously believe that Kitahara Iwa will be entangled with domestic conventions and power for a long time to come, with his pen in this quagmire of a bursting bubble.

But now, looking at this newspaper that still smells of warm ink, people suddenly realize:

Kitahara Iwa's name has long transcended all the mud and strife of this island nation, and is now associated with the Nobel Prize in Literature.

On this early autumn morning in 1991, almost all of Japan's major newspapers simultaneously used the largest, boldest, and seemingly cathartic boldface to cover every train station and intersection in Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, and Nagoya:

"The Myth of Twenty-Seven! Kitahara Iwao Officially Enters the Nobel Prize in Literature Nomination List!"

The pen that pierced the bubble era has arrived in Stockholm! The world is beginning to listen seriously to Japan's voice!

The greatest literary miracle since Kawabata Yasunari: From "The Collapsing Tower" to the world's top literary halls!

In this harsh winter of debt, literature still holds onto the last glimmer of our dignity!

On the train platform in the early morning, countless office workers carrying briefcases, their faces sallow from the wave of layoffs, stood in the cold wind, staring at the names on the front page of the newspaper, not turning the page as usual.

The middle-aged men, who had been up all night worrying about bank debts and were figuring out how to get through the day, stared at the three words "Kitahara Iwa" for only a moment before exhaling a long, misty breath.

These ordinary people struggling in the ruins know better than anyone else that a literary prize nomination in Sweden is simply not enough to repay the bank loans they owe.

It couldn't stop the company from laying off employees, nor could it save the Japanese economy from its decline.

No matter how hard life gets, today is still just as hard.

But on this morning, the entire country was weighed down by bad debts, foreclosures, and despair.

This news from across the ocean was like a tiny vent opening in the suffocating, icy waters for them.

Newspapers at the street newsstands are selling faster than ever before.

The subway car was filled with people looking down at their newspapers.

Even investors who usually just stare at the financial section with furrowed brows subconsciously glanced at the front page news a few more times.

This country hasn't heard good news in far too long.

Stock prices are falling, housing prices are freezing, and companies are going bankrupt.

For the past few months, newspapers have been like a towel soaked in ice water, pressed tightly against people's faces every day.

Now, the name Kitahara Iwa has finally loosened the towel a little.

On this morning, as people rush about to make a living, the pedestrians on the street may not really understand the Nobel Prize selection mechanism, nor may they have the mind to delve into the status of "The Collapsing Tower" in European literary circles.

Everyone just felt that they didn't feel so frustrated anymore.

Because this means that when the outside world looks at Japan, it will no longer only see a mess of debts, bursting bubbles, and those embarrassing bankruptcies.

At least there was a man named Kitahara Iwao who, when this country was sinking into a sorry state, managed to salvage some dignity for them in the outside world.

Kasumigaseki's reaction, in particular, showcased the extreme realism of the Japanese bureaucratic system and its lightning-fast change of heart.

In the high-level conference room of the Ministry of Finance, the bureaucrats tacitly and collectively forgot the past underhanded suppression and scheming.

Instead, there was a chilling solemnity.

The atmosphere in the room was so solemn that it felt like a high-level preparatory meeting for welcoming a state guest.

Several high-ranking officials from the Ministry of Finance sat at a long table, looking at Kitahara Iwa's name on the front page of the newspaper, their expressions all tacitly changing to a dignified yet hypocritical "respect".

"Nominations for the Nobel Prize in Literature —"

The Vice-Minister of Finance clasped his hands together, looked at the newspaper, and said with a solemn, businesslike tone, "This is an unparalleled honor for all of Japan. Professor Kitahara truly deserves to be called a literary genius, one in a century."

In this level of bureaucracy, no one openly displays "fear" or "compromise."

They will only use the most polite words to smooth over the previous filth.

"Since he is a literary giant who is about to represent the country at the pinnacle of the world literary scene, we should naturally give him the highest level of treatment and respect."

The Vice-Minister turned to the National Tax Agency official in the corner and said in a gentle tone, "Were there any unnecessary misunderstandings caused by the overly rigid work style of your subordinates during the previous routine tax audits of Professor Kitahara?"

The head of the National Tax Agency immediately understood and bowed deeply, saying, "Yes! It was our carelessness that disturbed Mr. Kitahara's creative work."

"We will send a senior representative to apologize in person first thing tomorrow morning."

"No tax bill will ever again disturb the tranquility of our nation's cultural treasures."

"Let's also put in a good word with the Financial Services Agency."

Another senior executive picked up his teacup, gently blew on the tea leaves, and said, "Let those bank managers understand the principles."

"Professor Kitahara is now representing Japan on the world stage. Anyone who dares to disturb him at this crucial time is creating an irreparable international scandal for all of Japan."

Everyone in the meeting room nodded in agreement, but each of them knew perfectly well what was going on:

Previously, Iwao Kitahara dealt with a troublemaker who broke the rules.

But now, to confront Kitahara Iwa again would be to make an enemy of Reuters, the BBC, and the entire European literary world.

Even more devastating is that in this autumn filled with despair, Kitahara Iwa is seen by many people as the last shred of dignity in the country.

If the Ministry of Finance is going to suppress even literary giants who "bring glory to the country," then what they will face is a devastating backlash after the bottom line of the entire society has been trampled on.

The Metropolitan Police Department's restructuring was even more swift and decisive.

The Superintendent of Police also had today's newspaper on his desk.

Seeing Kitahara Iwa, who was attacked at the alley entrance a few months ago, now a Nobel Prize candidate, several high-ranking officers of the Metropolitan Police Department felt a cold sweat soaking through their shirts.

If this literary giant, who is about to win the Nobel Prize, were to suffer even the slightest accident, even a scrape, in their jurisdiction, everyone present would have to resign or even commit seppuku to atone for their sins.

"The old case at the alley entrance is sealed in the top-secret archives; no one is allowed to mention it again."

The Superintendent General of Police ordered in a deep voice, "From today onwards, Professor Kitahara's security level must be directly aligned with that of a Cabinet Minister."

The superintendent beside him cautiously confirmed, "Superintendent, do you mean to deploy the Security Department's SP (Special Police Bodyguards)?"

"Not just SP."

The Superintendent General slammed his hands on the table and said sternly, "Notify all police stations in the area where his residence and publishing house are located to double the number of patrol officers. The official line is: The Metropolitan Police Department will do everything in its power to protect our nation's precious cultural heritage."

"What about internally?"

"Internally, it boils down to one sentence—"

The Superintendent General gritted his teeth and lowered his voice, saying, "Anyone who dares to let any reckless yakuza get within ten meters of Professor Kitahara at this critical juncture, thus alerting the SP protecting the literary giant, I'll personally rip off their uniform!"

On the same morning, Kenzaburo Oe gave an exclusive interview to the Asahi Shimbun.

The reporter originally only wanted to ask him to comment on the significance of Kitahara Iwa's inclusion in the shortlist, as is customary.

But this usually serious literary elder sat in front of the camera with an expression that was more solemn than expected.

"Kitahara-kun's nomination proves one thing to us—"

Jiang Jianzaburo clasped his hands together and said in a deep but powerful voice, "As the world sees that Japan's Piji is suffering from a terminal illness, it also sees that on this land, there are still people who record the pain of ordinary people with the most honest words."

"The Collapsed Giant" is far more than just a financial documentary novel by Chang Lan.

Jiang Jianzaburo continued, "It depicts how people gradually lose their dignity when crushed by systems, desires, and lies. Kitahara-kun won this equal gaze from the world for those people who were buried under the rubble and unable to speak."

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