Chapter 83: Is the Akutagawa Prize already secured?

Chapter 85: The Akutagawa Prize Secured Ahead of Schedule? (Third Update!)

When the first rays of sunlight illuminated Tokyo the following morning, the social upheaval triggered by "Love Letter" made headlines in major morning newspapers in a way that defied all common sense and made headlines in a truly shocking way.

What shocked all of Japan was not just the terrifying speed at which supplies ran out, but also a bizarre news report issued overnight by the Metropolitan Police Department: "Redemption Through Words? Several Yakuza Members in Tokyo Wept and Surrendered Last Night!"

The news report revealed that from midnight to dawn, police stations in Shinjuku, Shibuya and other areas received multiple reports of yakuza members and loan sharks turning themselves in.

These thugs, who usually had menacing faces and were known for their bloodthirstiness, all had bloodshot eyes and appeared dazed when they entered the police station.

When the on-duty police officer asked them in astonishment about their motives for turning themselves in, they simply pulled out a crumpled copy of a special issue of "Literature and Art" from their pockets with trembling hands, pointed to the article in "Love Letters," and burst into tears.

A burly man pointed at the title of "Love Letter," slapping himself repeatedly while howling like a wild beast, "Officer, lock me up! I've done so many bad things in my life; if I die in the street, there won't even be a single person to thank me!"

This news, filled with extreme magical realism, was broadcast in the morning, which was tantamount to detonating a terrifying nuclear bomb over the head of the entire Japanese society!

For the first time ever, morning television programs across Tokyo broadcast this news report, showing the horrifying scene of yakuza members crying while holding magazines in a police station.

At this moment, the mainstream media went completely crazy, and the Metropolitan Police Department's phone lines were overwhelmed with calls from reporters.

Those literary critics who usually pride themselves on their aloofness were so shocked when they saw the news footage that they could barely hold their coffee cups.

Who would believe it?

Who could have imagined this?!

The most heinous criminal, whose crimes had been utterly thwarted by countless police officers from the Metropolitan Police Department and even by cold handcuffs and high prison walls, was easily pierced through the soul by a short literary story of less than 10,000 words!

This social frenzy, which can be described as a miracle, together with "On the Collapse of the Showa Family," which is the fourth piece following "Love Letter," constitutes the most absurd black humor in the contemporary Japanese literary world.

In this article, Nijo Tadashi, with an air of superiority, uses extremely ornate but empty language to condescendingly denounce the moral decay and indifference of modern people.

He proclaimed himself a prophet who held the truth in his hands, and attempted to lash out at the masses with cold dogma.

But reality slapped him hard across the face.

The mud-covered masses felt only physical nausea at his arrogant preaching of "Why don't they eat meat porridge?"

Therefore, when the morning sun shone on the front page of the newspaper, illuminating the photos of yakuza members weeping in police stations, Nijo Tadashi, this self-proclaimed aloof scholar from Kyoto, finally felt an unprecedented sense of powerlessness.

He suddenly realized that the literary mission he had painstakingly pursued for most of his life was like a beautifully crafted stage made of waste paper in the face of Kitahara Iwa's rough yet burning genuine compassion—hypocritical and utterly vulnerable.

What humiliated him most was not his loss in sales.

Instead, he discovered that he wasn't even qualified to be Kitahara Iwa's opponent.

Kitahara Iwao never responded to his provocation in any public setting. He simply left behind a novel, which turned the tears of the entire society into a tsunami.

Their pride in their intellectual dignity and their obscure, profound dogmatic theories were nothing more than a speck of dust in the face of this miracle, a miracle born from the tears of the common people, and no one would care about them at all.

At this moment, Nijo Tadashi's resolve was completely shattered.

That afternoon, a fax bearing the personal seal of Tadashi Nijo was sent to the desks of major media outlets and newspapers in Tokyo in an extremely abrupt and awkward manner.

The statement was worded in an extremely official manner: "Mr. Tadashi Nijo has fallen ill due to a sudden medical emergency and requires a long period of rest."

"Effective immediately, all upcoming newspaper column series, literary lectures, and autumn book signings will be cancelled, and the event will be closed to the public indefinitely."

The Japanese publishing industry tacitly sneered at this sudden illness announcement.

What sudden illness?

What's hidden beneath that so-called "fig leaf" is clearly a pathetic escape after being completely stripped bare by Kitahara Iwao's writing, losing all face in front of readers across Japan!

He didn't even have the courage to face the media and defend his arrogant article.

If the Kyoto faction could still maintain its facade by clinging to the banner of literary orthodoxy, then Nijo Tadashi's declaration of seclusion, which sounded like that of a deserter, directly tore away the last fig leaf from these conservative intellectuals.

Just a few days earlier, at an internal cocktail party, this group of conservative intellectuals were still wildly popping champagne.

They complimented each other on Nijo Tadashi's unparalleled glory of sitting firmly on the core page of "Literature" magazine, and, holding their wine glasses, mocked Kitahara Iwao, a peasant writer of suspense and thriller works, saying that he was destined to be rejected in disgrace at the threshold of pure literature.

However, at this moment, faced with the overwhelming worship of "Love Letter" throughout Japanese society and the readers who wept for Bai Lan on trains and streets, this group of writers who usually loved to pontificate in newspapers seemed to have been collectively poisoned and completely vanished from the face of the earth.

Faced with overwhelming power and a tsunami of public opinion, they cowered in their own little circle, keeping their doors tightly shut, not daring to utter even a single sour word.

Because they know better than anyone that attacking "Love Letter" at this time would be tantamount to making an enemy of the entire Japanese people.

The terrifying power displayed by "Love Letter" has completely transcended the scope of popular literature and popular reading.

It was like an incredibly sharp blade, directly tearing away the fig leaf of the conservatives and pointing the spearhead at the highest hall of Japanese pure literature—the Ryunosuke Akutagawa Prize.

Faced with this devastating literary spectacle, the Japanese critical community overnight witnessed an extremely shameless yet perfectly logical collective defection.

Major literary critics who once dismissed Kitahara Iwa's suspenseful and thrilling labels as attention-grabbing have now published lengthy reviews of several thousand words on the front pages of national newspapers such as the Yomiuri Shimbun and Asahi Shimbun.

A renowned critic lamented in his column in the Asahi Shimbun: "If the desolation in Mr. Inoue Yasushi's writing is a contemplation that transcends history, and Mr. Yoshiyuki Junnosuke's coldness is an analysis of human nature, then Kitahara Iwao has accomplished a great sinking in Love Letter."

"He transformed literature from a bonsai in a study into a bloodstained dagger that cut open the most hidden wounds of this bubble era and applied a layer of extremely gentle compassion to the wounds."

Another literary veteran known for his strictness wrote bluntly in the Yomiuri Shimbun: "We narrowly thought that Kitahara Iwao was only good at manipulating readers' fears, but we were completely unaware that he had already mastered the key to unlocking the purest tear ducts in the depths of the soul."

"In the face of Love Letter, any debate about pure literature versus popular literature seems so pale and superfluous."

"He proved that the best literature does not need profound and unfathomable language, but only the vitality that can make villains bow down and the dead speak."

In these highly acclaimed articles, critics made no mention of Tadashi Nijo, who had become a laughingstock, but instead naturally placed Kitahara Iwao's "Love Letter" on the same level as the works of masters such as Yasushi Inoue and Junnosuke Yoshiyuki, who ranked first and second in the list, for discussion.

Some commentators have even subtly pointed out that the vibrant life force in "Love Letter" has overshadowed the somewhat desolate and aging feel of the leading actors.

The person who truly propelled this literary earthquake to its climax was a highly respected critic in Japan who had served as a judge for numerous literary awards.

In the final section of his arts column in the Mainichi Shimbun, he directly abandoned the usual subtlety of Japanese writers and issued an extremely strong declaration to the Akutagawa Prize judging committee: "Although there are still three or four months until the Akutagawa Prize selection early next year, the appearance of 'Love Letter' has already killed all the suspense."

"With this short piece of writing, Kitahara Iwao redefined compassion for our time."

"If this novel, which encapsulates the lives of the Japanese underclass, ultimately fails to win the Akutagawa Prize, it will not only be Kitahara Iwao's regret, but also a stain on the Akutagawa Prize itself!"

"unless----"

The critic added in the last line: "In the coming months, there will be a masterpiece that is more divine and more soul-stirring than Love Letter."

"Otherwise, any attempt to deny it is a betrayal of literature itself."

This resounding conclusion, like an unshakeable cornerstone, has brought Kitahara Iwa's name to the forefront of contemporary Japanese literary circles.

However, in the eye of this social storm, the Kitahara Iwaya was so quiet it was almost completely isolated from the world, with only the rapid, rhythmic scratching of pens on paper.

Kitahara Iwa was writing "The Last Cry" with complete focus.

With Kitahara Iwao's continuous creative work during this period, only half a month remains until the completion of this masterpiece.

Ring ring ring —

Suddenly, a sharp and abrupt telephone ringing sounded next to the desk.

Hearing the phone ring, Kitahara Iwa put down his pen, relaxed his shoulders, and then answered the phone.

The voice coming from the other end was none other than Haruki Kadokawa, a film industry mogul who usually wields immense influence but whose voice now sounded as anxious as an ant on a hot pan.

"Brother Kitahara! You must come to Toho Studios right now!"

Haruki Kadokawa's voice betrayed his extreme anxiety, skipping even the pleasantries and stating directly, "The crew of 'Confessions' is about to go crazy!"

"Yasuko Sawaguchi is currently stuck on the most crucial scene, and it's been two whole days!"

7