great-warnovel Chapter 143 Burying Oneself in the Ground
Chapter 143 Burying Oneself in the Ground
December 24, 1988.
Christmas Eve.
The sky over Tokyo was heavy with clouds. Although snow was forecast, only freezing rain mixed with dust fell until evening.
Bunkyo District, Saionji Headquarters.
Inside the main dining room, a huge crystal chandelier casts a warm yellow glow, making this century-old room feel like a dream. Oak wood burns in the fireplace, occasionally making a soft crackling sound, and the air is filled with the aroma of roasted turkey, herbs, and red wine.
The long dining table was covered with a clean white linen tablecloth.
Shuichi sat in the main seat, holding a knife and fork, cutting the tender and juicy turkey meat on the plate.
Satsuki sat opposite him. Today she wore a deep red velvet dress with an exquisite holly brooch at the neckline, and her long black hair fell smoothly over her shoulders.
"Father, the meat here is more tender."
Satsuki pointed to the turkey's chest, her voice soft.
"Um."
Shuichi put a piece of meat he had cut into his mouth and chewed it slowly.
"The sauce is well-made this year, with a strong cranberry flavor."
The father and daughter moved with elegance, the sound of their silver cutlery touching the porcelain plates kept to a minimum. If one ignored the television set in the corner of the room, it would appear as a warm and luxurious Christmas dinner scene.
But what came out of that 29-inch Sony color television was a roar like that of a wild beast.
"Smash! Smash!"
"An enemy of the people!"
"A resolution passed through violence is invalid!"
The television screen wasn't showing any Christmas special, but rather a live broadcast from the House of Representatives chamber in the Capitol.
The footage was shaking violently, and the cameraman was clearly struggling to maintain his balance amidst the shoving.
Chaos reigned in the council chamber. Countless distorted faces flickered in front of the camera, and shouts, curses, and even the muffled thuds of physical collisions mingled together, echoing jarringly through the loudspeakers in the quiet restaurant.
Xiu put down his knife and fork, picked up a napkin, and dabbed at the corner of his mouth.
"here we go."
He looked at the television screen.
"Shinjuku's underground fighting arena is even opening a branch venue in the Diet now... "
Satsuki didn't look up. She scooped up a spoonful of pumpkin soup with a silver spoon and put it in her mouth.
"For some people, this is more brutal than the fighting arena."
She swallowed the hot soup.
"This is a funeral. Takeshita Noboru is cremating himself, and also the old political era that values 'personal relationships and money'."
……
Nagata-cho, the main chamber of the House of Representatives.
This place, the heart of Japanese power, has now become a purgatory.
The clock on the wall pointed to 10 p.m.
There are only two hours left in the session.
If the consumption tax bill cannot be passed within these two hours, the Takeshita cabinet will completely collapse, and the Liberal Democratic Party will face a crisis of splitting.
In an attempt to stop the vote, opposition lawmakers resorted to their last weapon – the "bullwalk".
This is an extremely old and extremely unscrupulous tactic of parliamentary obstruction. Members of parliament line up in long queues, and it takes them several hours to walk the short distance of a few dozen meters from their seats to the ballot box.
In the television footage, a female member of parliament from the Socialist Party is standing in the aisle.
She raised her right foot, hovered in mid-air for five seconds, and then moved forward five centimeters in slow motion.
"Hurry up! Don't dawdle!"
The ruling party's lawmakers are roaring in anger.
"This is a democratic right! You are trampling on democracy!"
Opposition lawmakers immediately responded with insults.
The two sides exchanged insults across the aisle, spittle flying under the bright lights. Several young members of parliament even rushed to the podium, trying to grab the speaker's microphone, but were forcibly pulled away by the strong and burly members of the TV station.
confusion.
Extreme chaos.
The camera focused through the frenzied crowd and landed at the very front of the venue.
Prime Minister's seat.
Takeshita Noboru sat there alone.
He was wearing his signature dark suit, his hands neatly placed on his knees, his back ramrod straight.
Someone threw a piece of paper at him.
Some people pointed their fingers at him and called him a "thief," a "traitor," and a "murderer."
A leather shoe even flew over and hit the table in front of him, bouncing to the ground with a "bang".
Takeshita Noboru didn't even blink.
His face was as pale as paper, his eyes sunken, as if he hadn't slept for days and nights. Those eyes, which were always squinting and carrying a kind smile, were now open.
His pupils were deathly still.
He was like a stone statue weathered for thousands of years, remaining unmoved amidst the overwhelming malice and insults.
He can't hear anything.
Or rather, all he heard was the voice of his dead secretary.
"Prime Minister...please."
Takeshita Noboru's fingers twitched slightly, touching the cold fountain pen in his jacket pocket.
He felt his heart pounding, each beat accompanied by excruciating pain. But this pain kept him awake.
He cannot fall.
At least for tonight, in these final moments, he must become a demon.
"How many people are left?" Takeshita Noboru asked the Chief Cabinet Secretary beside him in a hoarse voice.
"There are still over a hundred people who haven't voted..." The Chief Cabinet Secretary wiped his sweat. "At this rate, we won't finish voting by tomorrow morning. The session is almost over."
Takeshita Noboru nodded.
He slowly stood up from the chair.
This single action caused the surrounding noise to freeze for a second.
Everyone was looking at the old man who seemed to be on the verge of collapse at that moment.
Takeshita Noboru didn't look at anyone. He turned to the speaker's seat and made a tiny, yet resolute, gesture to the equally sweaty Speaker of the House of Representatives.
That is—the gesture of "cutting off".
The speaker was startled.
He got it.
This means resorting to the last resort, the most desperate measure.
The speaker stared into those dark eyes for a moment, then clenched his teeth tightly.
"The current sluggish tactics are severely disrupting the normal functioning of Congress!"
He slammed the mallet down, the sound booming through the loudspeaker.
"According to the rules of procedure, I have the right to terminate the voting at the ballot box!"
"What?!"
"You dare?!"
The opposition seats erupted instantly, with shouts of anger nearly lifting the roof off.
"quiet!"
The speaker struck the gavel again, his voice trembling, but his tone resolute.
"Now, let's vote while standing!"
"Members of Congress who support the Goods and Services Tax Bill, please stand!"
At that moment, time seemed to stand still.
Opposition lawmakers rushed toward the podium in an attempt to stop the violence. The television crews formed a human wall, desperately trying to block the advance.
Against this backdrop of chaos.
Someone stood up in the Liberal Democratic Party's seat.
One, two, three...
That was the loyalist force of the Takeshita faction.
Immediately afterwards, the Abe faction, the Miyazawa faction... all the ruling party members, regardless of their past grievances or their own calculations, all stood up at this moment.
A black forest stood up.
Silence, repression, yet carrying an unstoppable force.
Noboru Takeshita stood.
He stood at the very front, with his back to everyone.
He didn't look back at the forest that supported him, nor did he look at the opponents in front of him who wanted nothing more than to tear him apart.
He simply looked up at the enormous crystal chandelier on the dome of the council chamber.
The light stung his eyes.
"The voting results..."
The speaker's voice trembled, carrying a hint of fear and a hint of relief.
"Most agree!"
"The Consumption Tax Act has been passed!"
"boom--"
This announcement completely ignited the atmosphere in the venue.
Shouts of anger, cries, and the sounds of overturned tables and chairs filled the air. Some people threw documents into the air, while others collapsed to the ground, weeping bitterly.
Amidst this scene of carnage, Takeshita Noboru still stood ramrod straight.
The dead do not cheer.
He simply lowered his head slowly and deeply.
Towards the void.
Towards that friend who will never return.
Towards the end of his political life.
bow.
……
Saionji Honke Restaurant.
The television screen froze on Takeshita Noboru's back as he bowed deeply.
The silver fork in Satsuki's hand stopped in mid-air.
The carefully selected melon on the fork gleamed enticingly under the light.
She looked at the screen.
Looking at that old man who remained steadfast amidst the chaos, defying all odds. Watching the terrifying will that erupted from him in that instant, a will that transcended calculation and self-interest.
She has always believed in game theory.
She believes that people are rational and naturally seek profit and avoid harm. In her script, Takeshita Noboru should act like a shrewd businessman, cutting his losses and exiting the market before they escalate.
But he didn't.
He staked everything, including his life, on the gamble, all for a result called "the future of the nation," a result that offered him absolutely no personal benefit.
"Father."
Satsuki put down her fork.
The melon fell back into the plate with a soft "plop".
"We have indeed reaped the rewards of victory."
She turned her head and looked at Xiuichi.
Shuichi was holding a wine glass, watching TV with a complicated expression.
"But he buried himself in the soil and became a root."
Satsuki's voice was soft, carrying a hint of respect that she herself was unaware of.
"Is this the final act of 'seppuku' for Showa men?"
She closed her eyes, and the image of the old man standing there appeared in her mind.
madness.
Stubborn.
Inappropriate.
But...it's awe-inspiring.
"yes."
Shuichi sighed and downed the glass of red wine in one gulp.
Even if I'm covered in mud, even if I'm cursed by thousands.
"Some things just have to be done by someone."
"That's the difference between a statesman and a politician."
He picked up the remote control, intending to turn off the TV.
"etc."
Satsuki held her father's hand.
Her gaze returned to the screen.
In the picture, Takeshita Noboru has already raised his head.
Against a backdrop of chaos, his gaze pierced through the lens, as if he were looking at everyone in front of the screen.
"The page has been turned."
Satsuki said softly.
"The old lion is dead."
"The jungle... is now empty."
She picked up the champagne glass on the table and gently raised it towards the old man on the screen.
The golden liquid sloshed in the glass, bubbles rising and bursting.
Goodbye, Mr. Takeshita.
"Thank you for the legacy you left us."
"You are a worthy opponent."
outside the window.
The long-overcast sky finally saw the first snowflake fall.
The snow was heavy.
It was in a flurry of activity.