[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-21":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Literary Giant in Russia",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2317196,4531,"Chapter 21: A Novel for the Public","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-21",21,"\u003Cp>When Mikhail said those words, everyone in the room fell into an unusually quiet state, all turning to look at him at once—but this silence was quickly broken by Pavlovna.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The stout woman first stared blankly, then immediately beamed and exclaimed: “Oh God! This is a university student! Mikhail, I knew you could do it. How much is the payment? Can you clear the rest of the rent?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It might be difficult all at once,” Mikhail said, watching Pavlovna’s dramatic shift in expression, then added: “But it won’t take long—I’ll soon write some new articles, and then I’ll settle everything.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I see,” Pavlovna’s smile faded slightly, yet her usually fearsome face still held a touch of warmth: “Then you must work hard. It’s rare to find a job where you only need to move a pen to earn money.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Verislov, did you see that? That’s a university student,” the minor clerk Smirnov, after a moment of surprise, quickly recovered and turned proudly toward the small merchant Verislov, reinforcing his point:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I told you earlier—if you find the right direction, even I could write. How much more so a university student? Oh dear student, what do you write? Jokes or funny stories? Perhaps we could exchange ideas.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before Mikhail could reply, Verislov, whose face had grown somewhat displeased, interrupted: “Enough, Smirnov. How could a university student write your nonsense jokes? I know what today’s students write—I’ve heard it several times in cafés. All empty talk, nothing to do with us!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s not true, Verislov,” Mikhail finally found his chance to speak and smiled: “I write about the most common people and events in today’s Russia—you’ve surely seen these people and these things somewhere.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s debatable,” the stubborn small merchant Verislov insisted, shaking his head:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What poetry or novel could be more understandable than figures in a ledger? How could they move the heart better than the ruble? Sometimes just hearing articles in magazines gives me a headache—and yet young people get all excited. I simply can’t understand it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mikhail,” the old maid Nastasya, who had been listening for a long time, walked over carrying a tray, urging him on: “Why don’t you read us something you’ve written? How good it is—we’ll know once we hear it!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was clear Nastasya spoke more out of curiosity for entertainment than genuine interest in Mikhail’s writing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And indeed, Nastasya’s eyes gleamed with greenish anticipation—after all, what could a country woman like her possibly understand from a university student’s writing?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail had intended to decline, but seeing the faint, amused interest on everyone’s faces, he hesitated, then nodded: “All right, if you’re interested. The publisher just sent me a magazine—the one Nastasya handed me this morning. I’ll read one piece.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Although literature sometimes does have barriers, and without certain aesthetic sensibility it’s hard to enter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if one writes novels about the people, who else should they be read to but the masses?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Mikhail nod, everyone in the room was startled, glancing at each other, unsure what to say.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because of low literacy rates, having someone read letters aloud—or even dictating a reply—was common, but listening to a novel? For everyone here, it was their first time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And who besides idle noble lords had such leisurely refinement?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though surprised, most present now turned their eyes toward this rare poor university student in today’s Russia, preparing to listen just a little.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, some were uninterested—like our stern landlady Pavlovna, who had already returned to her samovar, guarding against anyone sneaking a sip.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And the small landowner Tushinbach at the table kept stuffing his mouth, determined not to be distracted by any commotion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Amid this slightly chaotic atmosphere, Mikhail stood up, holding the newly arrived magazine, flipping to the page containing “Wanka,” and steeling himself for the final mental preparation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To be honest, though he’d done similar things before, standing before a crowd like this was inevitably nerve-wracking—future Mikhail was just an ordinary university student, the kind who studied for twenty years and graduated with a salary of five or six thousand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What had he ever done on such a scale?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, he had experience.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The original owner had often stood before university crowds, passionately denouncing the Tsar and nobles, his fiery rhetoric and fervor still making Mikhail’s heart tremble when he recalled it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And present-day Mikhail wasn’t lacking either—he’d given several group presentations in university, all to audiences who didn’t listen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cough, cough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But mostly, Mikhail had actually studied some public reading—immersing himself emotionally in the text, knowing when to build, pause, turn, and conclude; without this skill, reading a novel aloud would be excruciatingly awkward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In short, it’s like public speaking—those without technique are treated like flatulence; those with it can try their luck in beer halls.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this moment, looking at the ordinary Russian citizens before him—so real, so immediate—Mikhail gathered himself and began to read:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Nine-year-old boy Vanka Zhukov was sent three months ago to work as an apprentice at the cobbler Aryanin’s shop. On Christmas Eve, he did not go to bed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail read slowly, but with excellent rhythm; he showed no shame in injecting emotion where needed, striving only to convey the sorrowful child’s feelings as the story intended.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come, dear grandfather,” Vanka wrote next, “I beg you, for Christ’s sake and God’s, take me away from here. Have pity on me, this unfortunate orphan—everyone here beats me, I’m starving.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",905,"2026-06-20T14:41:53.633Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","e1f23cc210de0fe9e9b83b1093b84a517ef0f462ae98f36e072d85b7f29c77ee","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-22","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-20",105,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-cover.jpg"]