CHAPTER 284: CHAPTER 209: ONLY PRINCE NOZAWA IS THE SAVIOR!

Wanjin is currently operating under an alternative form of public ownership—Nozawa has already toppled all the secondary lords within Wanjin’s sphere of influence. In theory, the entire Chita Peninsula is his. He could even openly plunder and squeeze the blood out of everyone, but he doesn’t do that—he just acts as a distributor of wealth. So, it’s an alternative kind of public ownership.

Everything belongs to him, but he’s willing to share it with others.

The Wanjin economy is dominated by the state sector, meaning the various workshops he personally established, but as a modern Chinese, you don’t have to be a history buff to know that a country just can’t rely on the state sector alone.

State-run enterprises are too prone to administrative interference. Decisions are often made on a whim, leading to all sorts of bizarre and inexplicable situations. Plus, lacking survival pressure, state-owned entities tend to lack motivation for innovation and have little interest in leaving their comfort zone—they’d much rather just guard their own turf and eat their steady meals.

But domestic demand can’t beat foreign demand; the real money always comes from outsiders. Relying solely on the internal market has no future.

The non-state sector is just the opposite. It’s market-driven, bold, quick to react, and uses resources efficiently, which really energizes the market. For example, at the time Nozawa crossed over, the non-state economy already provided around 80% of jobs, about 70% of technological innovations, and more than 50% of all tax revenue.

Even more important, a vibrant private sector meets a wide variety of market demands, offers all kinds of high-quality and affordable products, and hugely boosts people’s happiness.

Yeah, don’t underestimate all those weird little gadgets churned out by modern small factories—they’re not worth much, sometimes just ¥0.99 with free shipping, but that’s the real foundation of a country.

Nozawa isn’t an economics expert—this is about as much as he understands. Even so, back in old Wanjin, he was already encouraging commerce and industry. He’d subsidize things just to get the private sector going, because if he only brewed soy sauce or dyed cloth himself, Wanjin could never become a real country.

Now, after years of quietly slogging away, it seems like things are finally bearing fruit... Well, maybe "bearing fruit" is a bit premature, but calling it a sprout poking through the dirt isn’t a stretch—at least you can see a bud. Even if those ironware workshop masters are being driven out, squeezed by his policies until they can’t survive in Wanjin anymore, as long as they’re willing to venture out, it’s a good thing.

Nozawa is willing to provide them with support and protection, but he still needs to think things over in detail—economic issues are complex. It’s important to guarantee private property rights, set up proper laws and regulations, provide guidance but also impose constraints. You can’t just let the monster out of the box.

And then there’s the issue of distribution—at the end of the day, every economic problem is about distribution. If you mess up splitting the spoils, people could literally die.

After Heita Yoshichiro left, Nozawa didn’t meet any more "old subordinates." Instead, he lost himself in thought, pacing in circles inside the private box, not even bothering to watch the new play directed by Uozumi Hikoshiro.

This stuff is a bit tough for him—his whole life, he never imagined he’d have to build an actual country from scratch, so he’s seriously lacking in study and practice on this front.

Next door, it was just the opposite. Uozumi Hikoshiro’s new play was quite good, capturing the full attention of Princess Dog, Ah Hu, and the others. They were totally absorbed.

Kabuki as known in later Japan was still in its infancy at this time, considered a lowbrow, unrefined thing. Legitimate performances were all about "Noh"—brought in from China as "sanraku" during the Nara Era, then fused with local "sarugaku," and finally improved in the Muromachi Era by Kan’ami and Zeami, becoming an exclusive "yugen" art for the nobility, centering on masks, stylized movement, and religious themes.

Uozumi Hikoshiro managed to poach a troupe from Izumi Hichiji, so he was experienced—he’d worked in Kyoto and Shimizu, sort of a cultural figure. At first, he aspired to align his plays with Noh and dreamed of being an "artist." But after rehearsing the play and inviting Nozawa—the only "Wanjin noble"—to critique, Nozawa just couldn’t get it. It was a bit like a Zoomer watching Peking Opera: one line sung for three minutes, one pose held for thirty seconds, everything achingly slow and totally baffling to watch.

Nozawa arrived excited, left disappointed, and the only thing he could understand was "Kyogen,"—the comedic banter used to warm up between Noh acts, basically performed in plain language and full of jokes. Nozawa was a total plebeian, not a cultured bone in his body, so all he could enjoy was that stuff.

Of course, Nozawa wasn’t the only one who didn’t get it. After the "Uozumi-style Noh" opened in the Wanjin theater, it drew crowds for only three or four days before becoming a ghost town—almost shutting down entirely. After all, the Wanjin folks were all from peasant backgrounds—none of them had any more "artistic talent" than Nozawa. Everyone who’d watched just felt like they’d wasted their money.

Uozumi Hikoshiro was crushed, almost fell apart completely, but after some serious self-reflection, he finally got it.

He was a Wanjin now, and the people he needed to cater to were Wanjin folks. Anything Nozawa and the Wanjin people didn’t understand was trash. If he didn’t realize that, he deserved to go out of business. Once he had this epiphany, he immediately tossed Noh aside, made Kyogen the main act, and, using his connection with Izumi Hichiji, got Ah Man to come help as a consultant. That’s when he started putting on new shows again.

After fumbling along like this, Wanjin theater now sort of resembles modern drama or musicals, or maybe a big sketch comedy variety show—making people laugh is the main point. Only, due to inertia of the era, every act still squeezes in some chorus or solo performances.