Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 133 Free Trade

Thursday, November 10, 1988.

It's evening, 7 PM.

Minato Ward, Hotel Okura.

As one of the "Big Three" hotels, this is the true social heart of Tokyo. Unlike the nouveau riche ostentation of the Akasaka Prince Hotel, the lobby of the Hotel Okura is filled with an old-fashioned, almost somber tranquility.

The French restaurant, named "La Belle Epoque" (The Belle Époque), is located in the annex. The Art Nouveau-style stained-glass dome filters out the outside light, casting an ambiguous amber hue inside. Heavy brocade carpets swallow the sounds of waiters moving around, and the air is filled with the aromas of black truffles and aged Bordeaux.

Saionji Satsuki sat by the window.

Outside the window, across a quiet street, stood the wall of the U.S. Embassy in Japan. The Stars and Stripes hung limply in the night wind, its white color cast a ghastly light by the searchlights.

Satsuki wore a black velvet evening gown tonight, her exposed shoulders dazzlingly white under the lights. Around her neck was a Mikimoto Akoya pearl necklace, its smooth luster highlighting her still somewhat childish yet alluring face.

The seat opposite her was empty.

"Miss Saionji".

An old but vigorous voice rang out.

Satsuki put down her silver knife and fork, stood up, lifted her skirt, and performed a standard curtsy.

Good evening, Ambassador Mansfield.

Mike Mansfield. This 75-year-old is not only the U.S. Ambassador to Japan, but also a veteran of American politics, having served as Senate Majority Leader. In Japan, his influence sometimes even surpasses that of the Prime Minister.

"I apologize for keeping this lady waiting."

The ambassador was seated with the help of waiters. Although he was old, his eyes were still as sharp as an eagle's.

"No, I'm just too early."

Satsuki sat down with a smile.

The waiter slid over silently and poured the two of them a glass of red wine that had already been decanted.

"This is a 1982 Lafite." Satsuki gently swirled the wine in her glass. "I heard you like the structure of Bordeaux."

Mansfield took a sip and nodded approvingly.

"Very good wine. However, Ms. Saionji's invitation tonight must have been for more than just wine, right?"

The old man's gaze swept over Satsuki's smiling face.

"I've heard about S-Food's recent experience. The Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications acted quickly and rudely. In this country, although it's always said that 'the customer is king,' sometimes the bureaucrats are."

"Yes."

Satsuki showed no sign of grievance or anger. She picked up her knife and fork, cut off a small piece of foie gras, and moved gracefully.

"For a Japanese company, this is a devastating blow. But for the United States..."

She paused for a moment, then put the piece of foie gras into her mouth and chewed it slowly, as if savoring some unparalleled delicacy.

Mansfield put down his glass and tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

"I would like to hear the details."

Satsuki wiped her mouth with a napkin, leaving not a single stain on the clean white linen.

"Mr. Ambassador, do you consider Cisco routers to be 'dangerous and prohibited electrical appliances'?"

Mansfield paused for a moment, then laughed, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out.

"Unauthorized electrical appliances? No, Ms. Saionji. In Silicon Valley, they are a gift from God. They are bridges connecting to the future."

"Yeah?"

Satsuki put down her knife and fork.

Clang.

The silverware touched the porcelain plate, producing a soft sound.

She took a photograph from her handbag and pushed it across the white tablecloth in front of Mansfield.

These are photos from this afternoon when the S-Food server room was raided. In the picture, a postal official in a gray uniform is pointing at a piece of equipment with an arrogant expression on his face.

Mansfield put on his reading glasses and glanced at it.

"This is... a Cisco router?"

"Exactly."

Satsuki's voice was calm, yet every word was like a nail.

"This morning, officials from the Telecommunications Inspection Division of the Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications pointed to this machine marked 'Made in USA' and announced in front of everyone that it was an 'illegal electrical appliance that endangers Japan's cybersecurity' and must be removed and destroyed."

Mansfield's brow furrowed, and his relaxed smile gradually disappeared.

"destroy?"

"Yes. The reason is that it does not meet Japan's JIS industrial standards."

Satsuki looked into the ambassador's eyes, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips.

"Furthermore, the TCP/IP protocol we use, which is the standard developed by your country's Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), has been officially classified by the Japanese government as an 'unstable and unsafe connection method.'"

Bach's cello music flowed through the restaurant, melodious and deep.

But the air around the table suddenly froze.

Mansfield took off his glasses and slowly wiped them. His movements were slow, but this was a prelude to his anger.

Maybe he wasn't really angry? Or maybe he really was? But none of that matters anymore.

This is no longer a minor case involving a Japanese private company illegally setting up a network.

This is a slap in the face to the United States.

In 1988, trade friction between Japan and the United States was at its peak, and hegemony was being promoted throughout the world except for the Soviet Union. Semiconductors, automobiles, agricultural products... Americans were scrutinizing Japan's "non-tariff barriers" with a microscope.

Now, the Japanese government has publicly declared that the United States' most advanced network hardware and communication protocols are "unauthorized electrical appliances" and "security risks"?

"Miss Saionji".

Mansfield put his glasses back on, his voice as cold as ice.

"Are you sure those were the exact words of a provincial postal official?"

"I have a recording of the scene," Satsuki said calmly. "If needed, I can send it to the embassy's desk tomorrow."

"very good."

The ambassador raised his glass, but this time he didn't drink it. Instead, he looked out the window at the embassy through the red wine.

"If even Silicon Valley's pride is defined as 'illegal' by Tokyo's bureaucrats, then I think Washington's U.S. Trade Representative might have some new and less pleasant views on Japan's 'sincerity' in opening its markets."

Satsuki raised his wine cup.

"This is not just my loss, Mr. Ambassador."

She spoke softly, like a serpent offering an apple in the Garden of Eden.

"This is the Japanese bureaucracy telling Silicon Valley: American standards are not welcome here."

"If we don't teach them a lesson, tomorrow it might be IBM mainframes or Motorola phones that get seized."

Mansfield clinked glasses with her.

"bite."

A crisp sound of glass colliding.

"I think the air in Kasumigaseki (the seat of the Japanese government) will be very thin tonight."

"For free trade," Satsuki said with a smile.

"For free trade." The ambassador downed his drink in one gulp.

……

It's 11 PM.

Minato Ward, U.S. Embassy in Japan, second basement level encrypted communications room.

This is the only piece of "territory" in Tokyo that is absolutely American, and it is also the most heavily guarded black box in the entire city.

The air was thick with the smell of ozone mixed with stale coffee. Several enormous IBM encrypted teletype machines were frantically spitting out paper tape, emitting that anxious, rapid "tap-tap-tap" sound.

The communications officer didn't even have time to wipe the sweat from his brow. He held the memorandum personally signed by Ambassador Mansfield in his hand, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

This document is marked "FLASH"—the highest diplomatic priority, second only to "Go to war."

As he operated, segments of text were converted into encrypted binary streams, which traveled at the speed of light across the dark Pacific Ocean along the undersea fiber optic cable.

The memorandum was concise yet incisive:

[Subject: Discriminatory treatment of US high-tech products by Japanese telecommunications regulators]

[Abstract]: Today, the Japanese Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications used administrative means to forcibly dismantle and seize network equipment manufactured by Cisco Systems, Inc. Japanese regulators publicly denigrated the TCP/IP protocol developed by the U.S. Department of Defense as "insecure and illegal technology" and defined high-end routers made in the U.S. as "illegal electrical appliances."

[Assessment]: This move goes beyond simple technical regulation and is suspected of constructing serious "non-tariff technical barriers," intended to completely exclude American high-tech companies from the Japanese telecommunications market. This is not only an infringement on American commercial interests but also a public humiliation of American technical standards.

[Recommendation]: Initiate the review process for the "Super 301" provision immediately. It is recommended that this case be used as a core bargaining chip in trade negotiations.

……

Washington, D.C., 9:00 a.m.

Winster Building, United States Trade Representative (USTR).

The morning sun shone on the building across from the White House, but a thunderstorm was brewing in Clayton Yeutter's office.

The U.S. Trade Representative, known for his tough stance, held the newly declassified fax in his hand. The paper was still warm, but the temperature in his eyes had plummeted to freezing.

"absurd."

Yut squeezed out the word through gritted teeth.

He slammed the file down on the mahogany desk, making the spoon in his coffee cup rattle loudly.

"Are the Japanese trying to tell us that products made in Silicon Valley are less safe than rice cookers from Akihabara?"

He stood up, strode to the window, and looked out at the Washington Monument.

During this time, the members of Congress on Capitol Hill have been constantly nagging him about the "Japan threat," accusing the Japanese of selling cars and VCRs to the United States but not buying American beef and chips. He's been struggling to find a perfect excuse to put these arrogant Asian allies in their place.

And now, an excuse has been delivered to our doorstep. And it's a perfect excuse, occupying the moral and technological high ground.

Yutt turned around, pointed at the document, and yelled at the secretary.

"This is a slap in the face to the Pentagon! TCP/IP is a product of the Department of Defense, and the Japanese dare to call it 'illegal'?"

He grabbed the red secure telephone on the table; it was a hotline that connected directly to the heads of relevant departments in various countries.

"Bring Tokyo to me. Whoever it is, anyone in charge, drag them out of bed!"

……

Tokyo, early morning.

Setagaya Ward, Residence of the Vice-Minister for Foreign Affairs.

The ringing of the telephone in the bedroom, like a piercing alarm, instantly shattered the tranquility of the night.

The administrative vice minister groggily got out of bed and glanced at the alarm clock.

Damn it, who would do this at this time...?

He grabbed the receiver, and had just managed to utter a curt "Hey!" when he was jolted awake by the roar coming from the other end of the line, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head.

"I am Clayton Utter."

There were no diplomatic words, only raw, undisguised anger.

Even across the Pacific Ocean, 10,000 kilometers away, the vice minister could still feel the oppressive feeling of a special envoy from a major power looking down on him.

"Mr...Mr. Yuto?" the vice-official stammered, switching to English. "It's Tokyo time now..."

"I don't care what time it is! I only care about one thing—"

Yutt's voice was as deep and destructive as a bomber's.

"Just now, I heard that the Japanese government considers American internet technology to be 'garbage' and 'illegal electrical appliances.' Mr. Vice Minister, is this the official position of the Japanese government?"

"What? No, this must be a misunderstanding..." The vice-official gripped the receiver frantically, cold sweat trickling down his back.

"Misunderstand?"

Yute sneered.

"Your postal service officials just shut down a company this morning that uses Cisco equipment, citing 'non-compliance with Japanese standards.' What, are Japanese standards ordained by God?"

Listen, my friend.

Yutt's tone shifted abruptly, becoming sinister and dangerous.

"We are reassessing the import tariff list for the next quarter. If Japan insists that U.S. routers are 'illegal,' then we have reason to believe that Lexus and Sony TVs exported from Japan to the U.S. may also pose some kind of security risk that is 'not in line with U.S. standards.'"

This is a blatant threat.

Trade a router for a car. Trade a Cisco for a Toyota.

"No! Mr. Yutt, please calm down! This is absolutely an isolated administrative error! We have absolutely no intention of discriminating against American technology!"

The vice-minister was so frightened he almost knelt down from his bed. If this incident led to an increase in automobile tariffs, those people at the Ministry of International Trade and Industry would devour him alive.

"I don't want explanations, I want results."

Yute glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It is 9:10 a.m. Washington time. I'm giving you 24 hours."

"If I don't see a reasonable explanation that satisfies Silicon Valley by tomorrow's breakfast table, then..."

Yute paused, then said, enunciating each word clearly:

"The sanctions list will be on the president's desk by noon tomorrow. And I will personally hold a press conference to tell the world: Japan is blocking internet technology."

"Beep—beep—beep—"

The phone hangs up.

Only the faint echo of a blind person remained in the bedroom late at night.

The vice-official sat blankly in the darkness, holding the receiver, his heart pounding like a drum.

Five seconds later, he jumped up as if he had been electrocuted, grabbed another phone, and frantically dialed the number of the postal vice minister's home.

"Answer the phone! You idiots!!! What trouble have you gotten yourselves into, you bunch of morons?!"

The roar echoed through the empty mansion.

Outside the window, Tokyo Bay was pitch black and calm before dawn.

Although the four steam-powered warships spewing black smoke were not visible, the suffocating feeling of having a giant cannon pressed against one's throat was exactly the same as that morning at Uraga Oki 135 years ago.

Faced with this "founding of the nation" ultimatum.

They remained powerless.