[{"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-42":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},2317217,4531,"Chapter 42: A Second Mikhail Has Appeared!","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-42",42,"\u003Cp>The old wooden clock rasped out ten, eleven… still no sign of her husband. He never cared for his own body, often braving the freezing winds and waves to fish. She toiled from dawn till dusk—what did it matter? They barely scraped by.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just this opening alone revealed it to be an exquisitely concise novel, sketching the family’s hardship with only a few strokes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For a family like this, merely surviving by their own efforts was already difficult—but the female protagonist still thought of others:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sanna suddenly remembered she had meant to visit her sick neighbor since evening. ‘No one has tended to her yet!’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A widow’s life is so hard! She has only two children, yet everything falls on her shoulders—and she herself is ill! Alas, a widow’s life is so hard! Let me go see her.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sanna knocked repeatedly, but no one answered; finally, she had to enter the house—and saw this sight:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“She lay there so still, motionless, as if she had just breathed her last. Sanna brought the lantern closer—yes, her head was tilted back, her pale, bluish face serene in death.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dead woman’s pale hand, as if reaching for something, had fallen limp onto the straw mat; beside her, two plump-faced, curly-haired infants slept, wrapped in a tattered cloth, legs curled, two golden-haired heads pressed tightly together.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It seemed the mother, even in her final moments, had managed to wrap their little legs in an old headscarf and cover them with her own garment. They breathed evenly and calmly, sleeping soundly and deeply.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dostoevsky, who had begun reading merely to study, now found himself immersed—and his heart clenched.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In today’s Russia, two orphaned children with no one to care for them—there was no need to guess what fate awaited them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With Sanna’s family barely surviving, how could they possibly take on more?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dostoevsky didn’t know how to resolve it; the female protagonist in the novel didn’t know either:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sanna took the cradle, wrapped the children in her headscarf, and carried them home. Her heart pounded wildly; she didn’t know why she did it, or how she had come to do it—but she knew she could not have done otherwise.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though Sanna had made this decision unconsciously, the household was not hers alone to rule—indeed, their survival depended entirely on her husband’s labor. Adding two more mouths to feed was no small burden.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So the Sanna who had been waiting for her husband’s return now grew frantic:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is he back? No, he isn’t. Why did I bring those children home?… Will he beat me? Of course he will—I deserve it. He’s back! No!… Ah, better he not come back.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But some things cannot be avoided. Eventually, the fisherman returned, exhausted as always—and again, fortune did not favor him; he had caught almost nothing:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Worst night ever—caught nothing, and the net’s torn. Things are bad… I tell you, the weather’s cursed. I’ve never seen such a night. Fishing? Just being alive to return is a miracle. Well then, what have you been doing while I was gone?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sanna fell silent for a while; finally, seeing no escape, she spoke:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You know,” Sanna said, “our neighbor Sima is dead.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Really?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No one knows when she died—probably yesterday. The children are still so small… one can’t even speak, the other just learned to crawl…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sanna fell silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Faced with this, the weary fisherman could have ignored the tragedy—but he did not:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The fisherman frowned, grave and troubled. He scratched his scalp repeatedly. ‘We must bring them over. Children can’t stay with the dead! All right, it’s settled—we’ll manage somehow. Go get them!’ But Sanna didn’t move.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They’re right here,” Sanna said, pulling back the mosquito net.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing this ending—unexpected yet somehow inevitable—the gaunt man, usually tense and burdened, felt his brow relax unconsciously, genuinely glad for this outcome.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Who says the poor lack kind hearts?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Somewhere deep inside, the man felt he had grasped something—but seeing the next story, he suppressed the urge to write, focusing instead on the tale that followed: “Sleepiness.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as he thought this, too, might be a tender tale, he froze at its ending—ambiguous yet devoid of ambiguity. His gentle heart was suddenly overtaken by a fierce emotion; his pale lips began to tremble.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this moment, he longed to speak to someone beside him—but no one was there. After struggling for a long while, he sat at his desk and began writing a letter to his brother:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“God! Brother, do you remember the Mikhail I told you about? He has new stories published in ‘The Fatherland Chronicle.’ I hope you’ve already read the issue with his work—then you know how brilliant he is, and I needn’t repeat it!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two more stories. Unlike the last issue, these two form a stark contrast. I was just uplifted by the beauty of the soul—and then he punched me in the face again!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How can he write two stories that seem utterly opposite, yet both so concise, so exquisite?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I won’t say more—you’ll understand when you read them. I hope you’ll write back and tell me your thoughts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I must continue writing, brother! My stalled work now has new momentum. I feel I will finish this novel at an unprecedented speed! I didn’t know what to call it—but after reading his stories, I think I know now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if I give it the same title as his, what will others think? Will they assume I wrote mine after reading his? True as it may be, I still don’t want to hear that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet perhaps this is also an homage to him? I must think deeply about this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One thing is certain: I will finish my novel as soon as possible and submit it to ‘The Fatherland Chronicle.’ Then you’ll hear people cry out: “A Second Mikhail has appeared!” Brother, I have this faith—bless me!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If you can spare it, send some money—I plan to focus entirely on writing for a while.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thank you to “The Fisherman Who Never Sleeps,” “Juda Lang’s Summer,” and “Hell No Longer Bleeds” for your generous tips, and to all of you for your monthly votes—thank you so much!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I must work harder to save up drafts—I’ll definitely reward you all with extra chapters for your votes and tips. I’ll keep pushing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1061,"2026-06-20T14:41:53.633Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","082266359dc01cb1149250fbf7c3e50770e42696944d9c1c5293aee9fd043766","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-43","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-41",105,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-cover.jpg"]