Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

April 18, 1991, 9:20 PM.

Minato, The Bamboo House.

When the black sedan drove into the backyard of The Bamboo House, there were no other vehicles under the porch.

After Mikhail Gorbachev got out of the car, he paused in place for a moment.

The night breeze in Tokyo in April was not particularly cold, but as it swept through the courtyard, it still stripped away the lingering warmth on his body.

His schedule had not stopped since morning; he had successively attended the welcome ceremony, the imperial audience, and the official luncheon, and in the afternoon, he held rounds of talks with the Japanese Prime Minister.

Territory, peace treaties, and economic cooperation—several topics were discussed back and forth by both sides for a long time, and in the end, the content that actually made it onto paper remained very limited.

Not until he left the officially arranged evening activities did his face lose a bit of the formal smile he had maintained all along.

The Bamboo House did not fly the flags of the two countries, nor did it lay out a red carpet for guests.

Shuichi personally waited under the corridor of the inner courtyard, only shook hands with Mikhail Gorbachev, said a brief welcome, and led the few people inward.

The guards and attendants of both sides stopped in the outer room. After passing through the final sliding door, only the soft sound of footsteps on the wooden floor remained in the corridor.

Charcoal fire had already been lit inside the private room.

The first dish on the table had just been served. A small white porcelain bowl held thinly sliced bamboo shoots soaked in a very light-coloured broth, with only a small pinch of tree buds placed beside it. The heat was not obvious, but upon getting closer, one could smell a faint fragrance of bamboo.

The private room retained the original layout of the Japanese-style room, but the seating had clearly been readjusted.

The height of the table was much higher than ordinary low tables, and no cushions were placed on the tatami mats; instead, there were several chairs with thick backs.

Mikhail Gorbachev walked up to his seat, lowered his head to look at the back of the chair, and reached out to press the armrests.

After everyone took their seats, he looked at Shuichi opposite him.

”I went to two imperial facilities today, attended a welcome luncheon, and talked with the Japanese Prime Minister for several hours.”

The interpreter relayed the words.

Mikhail Gorbachev leaned back, his shoulders finally relaxing a bit.

”This is the first chair today that truly made me feel comfortable.”

Hearing this, Shuichi smiled.

”To receive such an evaluation, it seems The Bamboo House’s most successful arrangement tonight has already been completed.”

”Then the chef will probably feel disappointed.”

Mikhail Gorbachev picked up his chopsticks and tried to pick up the bamboo shoots in the small bowl.

His movements could not be considered skilled; the bamboo shoot slipped slightly at the tips of the chopsticks, but fortunately, it was steadily delivered into his mouth in the end.

The taste of the broth was very light, but once bitten into, the bamboo shoot carried a hint of refreshing sweetness. Mikhail Gorbachev swallowed slowly, lowered his head, and glanced again at the remaining two slices in the bowl.

”It is more tender than the one at today’s luncheon.”

”Then it seems the chef has not completely lost to the chair after all.”

Shuichi said with a smile.

Mikhail Gorbachev also smiled.

”Is this produced near Tokyo?”

”No, these are early-harvest bamboo shoots sent from Kyushu.”

Satsuki sat on Shuichi’s right-hand side, picked up her chopsticks, and nudged the tree buds into the broth.

”They are delivered to Tokyo on the same day they are harvested, and The Bamboo House only keeps the parts with the right size and fibre. After a while, the bamboo shoots on the menu will be replaced by ones from a more northern origin.”

Mikhail Gorbachev glanced at her.

”Does the name of the restaurant mean that too?”

”Yes, the main ingredients are adjusted every ten days.”

Satsuki picked up a slice of bamboo shoot, dipped it lightly in the broth, and put it into her mouth. Waiting for that trace of sweetness to slowly disperse, she looked back at Mikhail Gorbachev.

”As the season moves north, the menu moves north with it. Once Hokkaido truly enters spring, most of the vegetables here will be supplied by the group’s own farms.”

The Bamboo House would not forcibly transport all ingredients from Hokkaido just to use products under the Saionji banner.

Bamboo shoots, mountain vegetables, and fish would be purchased separately according to the seasonality of their origins, while the Hokkaido Biotechnology Centre would be responsible for beef, dairy products, and steadily supplied vegetables. Before being sent into the kitchen, all ingredients needed to undergo unified grading and inspection.

This was also the rule personally set by Satsuki at the very beginning of the restaurant’s opening.

The Bamboo House entertained few guests, but it could not establish a separate transportation system exclusively for a few people just because the dishes on a single table were expensive. What truly sustained this restaurant in the long run were Saionji’s already deployed farms, warehouses, ships, and central kitchens.

Foreign Minister Besmertnykh, sitting beside Mikhail Gorbachev, heard this and also picked up his chopsticks.

He first adjusted the position of his fingers and tried to pick it up a couple of times. But the bamboo shoot spun half a circle along the edge of the porcelain bowl and fell back into the soup.

Besmertnykh paused for a moment, ultimately laid his chopsticks flat back onto the tableware rack, and picked up the silver fork prepared in advance by the waiter.

Satsuki happened to look up and see this scene, the corners of her mouth curving slightly.

Besmertnykh noticed it.

”Miss Saionji seems to be laughing at me.”

”No.”

Satsuki answered very naturally.

She glanced at the silver fork in Besmertnykh’s hand.

”I was just thinking that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has prepared for so long, yet seemed to forget to include chopstick practice in the official visit schedule.”

The interpreter paused after hearing this.

Seeing that Besmertnykh was still waiting, he finally had to translate the sentence completely.

The Foreign Minister lowered his head to look at his silver fork, as if seriously considering which department should be responsible for this blunder.

”It seems that after returning home, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs needs to establish a special committee to investigate the responsibility.”

”In the Soviet Union, how long does it usually take to establish a committee?”

Satsuki asked smoothly.

Besmertnykh raised his head.

Their gazes met across the table.

This time, he quickly laughed.

”Miss Saionji, we have only just begun to eat.”

Satsuki blinked innocently.

”So I was just asking casually.”

Shuichi sat aside, picked up his wine glass, and used the rim of the cup to hide the smile that had not completely faded from his lips.

The waiter walked back into the private room at this moment.

The first dish was cleared away, and several lidded lacquer bowls were placed in front of everyone one by one.

After the bowl lids were removed, the heat of the kelp broth slowly rose, containing two petals of lily bulbs steamed almost to transparency, with a scallop whose surface had been lightly seared by charcoal fire in the middle.

Mikhail Gorbachev had already adapted to the use of chopsticks. He picked up a lily bulb petal and paused slightly after it entered his mouth.

”This is also sent from Kyushu?”

”Makkari Village, Hokkaido.”

Satsuki used her chopsticks to split a lily bulb petal, the soft white petals dividing in two along the grain.

She tasted a small bite, and after waiting for Mikhail Gorbachev to also put the lily bulb into his mouth, she continued:

”Lily bulbs have spent a winter in the cold storage, and the starch inside slowly turns into sugar, so they taste sweeter than when they were just harvested.”

Mikhail Gorbachev took another bite.

”And what about the one in the middle?”

”Scallops from Volcano Bay.”

”Also Saionji’s property?”

Satsuki thought about it seriously.

”The ocean is not, temporarily.”

After the interpreter translated this sentence, Mikhail Gorbachev was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.

”Miss Saionji seems to really like the word ’temporarily’.”

”It mainly depends on the price.”

Satsuki said.

Shuichi put down his wine glass and added for his daughter:

”The lily bulbs, the beef and dairy products used later, are all supplied by the Hokkaido Biotechnology Centre. Aquatic products are preliminarily processed by cooperative fisheries before entering the group’s cold storage.”

Besmertnykh separated the scallop with a silver fork.

”To transport them specially from Hokkaido to Tokyo just for this restaurant?”

”The amount used by The Bamboo House is very small, not worth arranging transportation separately.”

Satsuki replied.

”They will first enter the cold storage together with the ingredients needed by the group’s other restaurants, and then be sent to Chiba by roll-on/roll-off ships. After arriving at the central kitchen, The Bamboo House’s portion will be separated out.”

Besmertnykh glanced at the meticulously processed scallop in the bowl.

”In other words, the ingredients here take the same route as your ordinary restaurants?”

”Although the prices are different, the temperature of the cold storage will not change because of that.”

Satsuki said.

”A route capable of steadily transporting ten tons of ingredients can easily deliver the dozens of kilograms needed by The Bamboo House along the way.”

Mikhail Gorbachev did not reply immediately.

He looked down at the lily bulbs and scallops in his bowl.

The dishes in this restaurant looked exquisite, but what truly supported them behind the scenes was not a few expensive ingredients temporarily found by some famous chef.

Hokkaido’s farms, cooperative fisheries, cold storage facilities, fixed shipping routes, Chiba’s central kitchen, and dining terminals scattered across Tokyo jointly maintained this inconspicuous lacquer bowl on the table.

The Bamboo House was merely a table at the very end of the entire system.

The waiter refilled everyone’s wine once and quietly exited the private room. The topic on the table still did not immediately turn to business.

Mikhail Gorbachev talked about the cherry blossoms in Kyoto, while Shuichi asked about his impression of Tokyo. Speaking of the negotiations with the Japanese government during the day, Mikhail Gorbachev rarely showed a hint of helplessness.

”No matter whether we start talking from economy, culture, or future relations, the Japanese side can always return to those few islands in the end.”

”The Japanese have always been very persistent about land.”

Satsuki said.

Mikhail Gorbachev glanced at her.

”Coming from Miss Saionji, this sentence seems very convincing.”

Satsuki did not deny it.

”After all, land will not walk away by itself.”

”People and governments, however, will.”

After saying this, Mikhail Gorbachev picked up his wine glass and took a sip.

After these words were spoken, there was a brief silence around the table.

Besmertnykh looked at him, but Mikhail Gorbachev seemed oblivious, only looking down at the sake in his cup.

Nowadays, new institutions in the Soviet Union declared every day that they possessed new powers.

The union republics demanded control over taxation, the Russian Republic began contending for enterprises and resources, and local governments repeatedly sought truly effective orders between Moscow and local councils.

Before coming to Japan, he was still pushing for a new union treaty.

Everyone at the table knew this.

Therefore, no one continued the conversation.

When the next grilled dish was brought in, Besmertnykh finally had the documents prepared by his accompanying secretary appear on the table.

”Miss Saionji, the working group established in Leningrad last year has completed the first stage of the investigation.”

He said.

”Here is the project catalog submitted by the city of Leningrad. It includes two hospitals, a port cold storage facility, three food processing enterprises, and some research institutions hoping to carry out civilian cooperation.”

Chizuru stepped forward to take the document and placed it beside Satsuki’s hand.

The catalog was very thick.

Attached behind each project were equipment shortages, estimated amounts, and responsible agencies. Some pages had been modified multiple times; the original unit names were crossed out, and new competent departments were added beside them.

Satsuki flipped through a few pages.

”Much more than last year.”

”The problems that need to be solved are also much more than last year.”

Besmertnykh said.

”The Soviet side hopes that Saionji can expand the originally planned pilot cooperation. Medicines, medical consumables, food processing equipment, and cold storage parts can be arranged first. As for payment, we can provide rubles, or arrange deferred settlement through the Bank for Foreign Economic Affairs.”

Satsuki’s gaze still lingered on the catalog.

”In December last year, Saionji provided a set of backup compressors for the cold storage to the port of Leningrad through the working group.”

”Yes.”

”It sat at the port for twelve days.”

Besmertnykh did not answer immediately.

Satsuki turned to one of the pages.

”The city government has issued a receipt certificate, and the port authority has also agreed to install it. But the customs considers the equipment as commercial imports, and the Ministry of Foreign Trade considers it as humanitarian cooperation, and in the end, no one is willing to shoulder the responsibility of tax-free release.”

”Twelve days later, Moscow issued a temporary approval, and the equipment finally left the pier.”

She raised her head.

”Who is paying the storage fees now?”

Besmertnykh looked at Mikhail Gorbachev beside him.

”This is just an individual issue in early coordination.”

”Of course.”

Satsuki nodded.

”So I want to confirm first, after the next batch of medicines arrives, who will let it leave the port.”

”This will be uniformly coordinated by the central foreign trade authorities.”

”Then before the hospital receives it?”

”The Leningrad city health department.”

”Who signs separately for customs clearance, settlement, and transportation?”

Besmertnykh successively uttered the names of several institutions.

As the interpreter translated each name, Chizuru jotted down a line on paper.

After he finished speaking, Satsuki lowered her head and counted them once.

”Five institutions.”

She pushed her notes back to the centre of the table.

”Without the signature of any single one of them, the goods will continue to stay in the port.”

”Miss Saionji, the Soviet government can guarantee that these departments will cooperate.”

”In December last year, the Soviet government made the exact same guarantee.”

Besmertnykh’s brows furrowed.

Mikhail Gorbachev had not interjected all along.

He placed his chopsticks on the edge of the plate and shifted his gaze from the project catalog to Satsuki.

”Then, how do you hope to resolve it?”

Satsuki closed the project catalog.

The thick volume of documents slid forward along the table, stopping between Mikhail Gorbachev and Besmertnykh.

”Saionji can provide an initial revolving credit of 100 million US dollars.”

The interpreter relayed these words.

Besmertnykh’s originally prepared reply stopped there. He lowered his head to look at the project catalog, then raised his head again.

”One hundred million US dollars?”