Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

The writing in Chapter 67 is even worse than that of history books.

Imperial Hotel, VIP banquet room.

The crystal chandelier cast a warm yellow glow, and the air was filled with the aroma of fine cuisine and a faint scent of tobacco.

Tonight is the night the results of the 101st Naoki Prize will be announced. As is customary in the Japanese literary world, the nominees are here with their respective editorial teams, waiting for the phone call that will decide their fate.

With a glass of wine in hand and a broad smile, Sato, the editor-in-chief of Shinchosha, led Kitahara Iwa through the crowd, taking the opportunity to introduce him to several senior Shinchosha writers who were also accompanying him at the hotel.

"Teacher Kitahara, this is Kenzo Kita, and this is Yoshio Takahashi. They are the pillars of our Shincho-sha."

Editor-in-Chief Sato turned slightly to the side and gestured towards the younger-looking seats next to him, explaining, "This is Takeshi Osaka..."

Miyabe Miyuki—they are the rising stars of our Shincho Club.

Kitahara Iwa politely raised his glass in greeting.

Before the two big shots could speak, Osaka Tsuyoshi and Miyabe Miyuki, who were sitting on the outside, stood up first, raised their glasses excitedly, and leaned over.

"Teacher Kitahara!"

With the fervor characteristic of a creator, Osaka Tsuyoshi said, "I read your 'Confessions' in one go the other night. It was truly a pleasure to write!"

"That long monologue at the beginning is unparalleled in today's mystery fiction world. You're simply a genius!"

Miyabe Miyuki, who was standing to the side, nodded repeatedly. This up-and-coming writer, who would later rise to the top of the Japanese mystery literature scene and be hailed as the queen of social mystery, looked at Kitahara Iwao with undisguised amazement and sincere admiration.

Holding her wine glass with both hands, she couldn't help but excitedly reply, "Teacher Kitahara! Your use of Rashomon-style first-person narration in the book is simply textbook-perfect!"

Miyabe Miyuki's tone was full of the shock of an expert seeing through the details: "Each chapter is a confession of a different character. Everyone is desperately defending themselves and whitewashing the truth, but they inadvertently piece together the most chilling truth."

"This bottomless malice and psychological oppression completely shatters the structure of traditional suspense novels!"

"I've been repeatedly analyzing your narrative rhythm these past few days, and I've truly benefited greatly from it —"

Faced with such professional and enthusiastic praise from two promising figures in the industry, Kitahara Iwa gently clinked glasses with them and said, "Through the prism of human nature, everyone is an innocent victim in their own story."

"And confession is just shining the most dazzling light behind this prism."

"A prism of humanity —"

Osaka Tsuyoshi muttered these two sentences to himself, then suddenly slapped his thigh, his eyes brightening even more: "That sentence is absolutely brilliant!"

"Ms. Osaka and Ms. Miyabe are too kind."

Kitahara Iwa smiled and took a sip of his drink, his posture neither humble nor arrogant. "From now on, we are both on the path of exploring humanity. Let's encourage each other."

Seeing this, Editor-in-Chief Sato couldn't stop laughing, and the atmosphere in the private room reached a climax.

After clinking glasses with the two, Kitahara Iwao walked toward Kita Kenzo and Takahashi Yoshio.

But when he arrived in front of Yoshio Takahashi, the other man was still sitting on the leather sofa, not getting up, just slowly swirling the whiskey with ice in his glass, and then looking up at Kitahara Iwao.

At this moment, Yoshio Takahashi's eyes, already bloodshot from long hours of researching historical materials, were brimming with barely concealed resentment and jealousy.

This year, he just finished his monumental historical work, "The Secret Treasure Moon Mountain Pill," which took him two years to complete.

For this book, he spent countless hours in the musty basement of the library, and even had to consult hundreds of tattered scrolls to verify the title of an official position during the Edo period.

In the eyes of this old-fashioned literati, literature is a sacred ascetic practice, a powerful instrument that needs to be polished with sweat, years, and a rich history.

He was determined to win the Naoki Prize this year, and even rehearsed his acceptance speech countless times.

Unexpectedly, the dark horse "Confessions," which had no historical background, suddenly emerged.

What he found even more unacceptable was that this morbid novel, filled with dark elements such as murder and revenge against society, not only crushed his work in sales but also drained all of Shincho Publishing's top-tier promotional resources.

Looking at this young man who hadn't even done much fieldwork and had made a fortune just by playing with sensational gimmicks, with even his juniors in the company worshipping him, Yoshio Takahashi felt that this was a huge mockery and trampling of his life's research.

Seeing Kitahara Iwa standing in front of him now, the suppressed bitterness in his heart surged up completely, and he let out a very soft but extremely piercing snort.

"Kitahara-kun, you are indeed young and promising."

Yoshio Takahashi stared at the ice cubes in his glass, his tone carrying the arrogance and sarcasm characteristic of an old-fashioned intellectual: "I've read your 'Confessions'."

"Indeed—they really know how to grab attention."

"However, piecing together horrifying social news snippets such as AIDS, tainted milk, and crime, and relying on sensory stimulation to boost sales, is ultimately just fast food."

Yoshio Takahashi raised his eyelids and stared unceremoniously at Iwao Kitahara, saying, "True literature requires the depth of history and the long-term sedimentation in the fields."

"It's baffling how publishers can pour top resources into sensational works like this that only seek momentary pleasure."

These words were extremely harsh, and the quiet conversation that had been taking place in the private room instantly ceased.

The air seemed to freeze. The writers, who had been clinking glasses and exchanging toasts, all stopped what they were doing and stared in astonishment at the sofa.

No one expected that at this critical juncture tonight, Yoshio Takahashi would disregard his dignity and publicly break off relations.

Editor-in-Chief Sato was caught in the middle, sweating profusely. He quickly stepped forward, trying to smooth things over between the two: "Takahashi-sensei, Takahashi-sensei! You've had a bit too much whiskey today."

"The profound depth and artistic achievement of 'The Secret Treasure Moon Mountain Maru' are evident to everyone in our company!"

"It's a blessing for our Shincho-sha to have such a successful book as a newcomer like Kitahara-sensei. Everyone has their own strengths, and we're all doing this for literature—"

Upon hearing this, Yoshio Takahashi interrupted bluntly, "Editor-in-Chief Sato, this isn't a sales issue at all!"

"This is blatant trampling of the dignity of literature!"

"It's your Shincho Publishing House that, for the sake of those measly, money-grubbing results, is willing to elevate this sensationalist, utterly baseless poison to a pedestal!"

"This is simply the greatest insult to those of us who painstakingly study serious literature!"

Before Sato could finish mixing the mud, Osaka Tsuyoshi, who was standing to the side, couldn't stand it anymore.

The sharp-witted young writer frowned, stepped forward, and couldn't help but speak up for Kitahara Iwao, saying, "Takahashi-senpai, I greatly respect your status in the field of historical novels, but you can't completely dismiss 'Confessions' just because the subject matter is different."

"This work's profound analysis of the pathological psychology of contemporary people is not merely a patchwork of news snippets; it also possesses extremely high literary value!"

Miyabe Miyuki nodded vigorously beside her. Although she was a little nervous in front of the literary luminary, her eyes remained firm as she replied, "Yes, Professor Takahashi."

History needs to be remembered, but the pain points of this era also need to be addressed.

"presumptuous!"

Yoshio Takahashi slammed his whiskey glass down hard on the glass coffee table, making a sharp, jarring sound.

His bloodshot eyes glared fiercely at Osaka Tsuyoshi and Miyabe Miyuki, unleashing the full authority of a literary luminary, as he sternly rebuked them: "Since when did it become your place, two juniors, to lecture me about literature?!"

"What's wrong? You've written a few bestselling mystery novels, received some praise from uninformed readers, and now you've completely forgotten the essence, depth, and reverence of literature?"

"A vulgar book filled with tainted milk, malice, and despair—does it even deserve to be called a reflection of our times?!"

Osaka Tsuyoshi's face turned ashen after being reprimanded in public. He clenched his fists, about to argue back, when a long and steady hand gently pressed down on his shoulder.

It is Kitahara Rock.

Faced with the veteran's almost direct criticism, which even extended to other colleagues, Kitahara Iwa did not show any embarrassment or anger as everyone expected.

He calmly stopped Osaka Tsuyoshi and Miyabe Miyuki from continuing their argument.

Under the watchful eyes of everyone, Kitahara Iwa simply swirled the sake cup in his hand, watching the liquid swirl on the cup's surface, a faint smile even playing on his lips.

"Senior Takahashi, I have read your book, 'The Secret Treasure Moon Mountain Maru'."

Kitahara Iwa's voice was calm and polite as he said, "After three years of reviewing classified documents and meticulously deducing the details, it is undoubtedly an extremely well-crafted work of historical research."

Upon hearing the first part of the sentence, Yoshio Takahashi's expression softened slightly, thinking that the newcomer had finally given in.

However, Kitahara Iwa changed the subject, saying, "But unfortunately, what readers want is not the compilation of archives, much less a reproduction of historical materials."

"What they want are people and stories that live in history."

"But in your novels, there are only historical records, no people or stories."

"So what you've written can't even compare to a history book!"