[{"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-51":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},2317226,4531,"Chapter 51: The Flowing Banquet","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-51",51,"\u003Cp>Overall, Mikhail did not place much importance on his first-ever upper-class dinner party, for blending into a circle not his own usually required flattery and a thick skin impervious to insult—qualities Mikhail lacked, so he naturally prepared himself to sit on the cold bench.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Moreover, in this year, nobles were mostly preoccupied with rigid class hierarchies and their own noble dignity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Panayev recounted his childhood, at twelve, influenced by his surroundings, he refused to study alongside children of intellectuals or artisans who were not of noble birth—and this attitude was deemed entirely reasonable; even his relatives, when speaking of it to acquaintances, would proudly say:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Look at him—he’s just a child, yet how noble his feelings are!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, Panayev no longer thought this way, but it still reveals much about the mindset of nobles in this era.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail did not care, but Turgenev, who had grown increasingly close to Mikhail lately, took it upon himself to arrange everything for him:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Dear Mikhail, I know a gentleman as noble as you probably wouldn’t sacrifice your dignity for a bit of attention or fame—but to be so careless is unacceptable. After all, this is a fine opportunity to expand your connections. You know, without various relationships, one simply cannot survive in St. Petersburg!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s always better to know more people. Your current attire won’t do at all. I know you’re not well-off, so let me pay for a decent outfit. You must make an effort, my friend—your looks and talent might just catch the eye of some young lady, and then you’ll never lack for food or drink!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turgenev meant well, but Mikhail was more concerned with another issue:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Dear Ivan, aren’t you already out of money? Did your mother send you more?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of course not,” replied the tall Turgenev with a bright smile. “Don’t worry—I borrowed some. When my mother sends me money again, I’ll pay it back.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail: “?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My good brother, borrowing money to buy me clothes?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such loyalty from a brother—Mikhail naturally tried to refuse, but Turgenev had already made up his mind; he’d even brought the clothes over. Having long mingled in upper-class society, he knew far better than Mikhail what attire would please others.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Mikhail hesitated, Turgenev waved him off reassuringly, adding with a touch of melancholy: “Mikhail, when will I ever get my family’s money? When I do, I’ll set aside a sum specifically—so anyone in need can come to me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, brother, really soon—though I wonder whether you’ll feel more anguish or relief then.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turgenev’s mother was a cruel noble whose class consciousness ran bone-deep, staunchly traditional. Though Turgenev still bore many noble habits, he was largely progressive—leading to a deepening rift with his mother, so severe that even on her deathbed she cursed him:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You will regret betraying your class!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for the current situation, Turgenev’s mother sought to control both sons through money, forcing them into perpetual obedience—hence her strict financial control, leaving Turgenev’s brother barely scraping by in poverty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even on her deathbed, she pondered how best to ruin her two sons, once considering having the steward sell the estate at a pittance—or burn it down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This entailed too many complex emotions; how one ought to feel about it—perhaps only Turgenev himself knew.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By the way, the first thing Turgenev did after inheriting his fortune was to emancipate his serfs, and as a noble, he offered them protection, embodying his opposition to serfdom in action.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He also became the Russian version of Song Jiang, often spending more on others than on himself. Through this generosity and his exceptional writing, Turgenev steadily ascended to the throne of literary leadership.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back to the matter at hand: since Turgenev insisted so firmly, Mikhail no longer refused—he’d repay him as soon as he had the money.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That said, Mikhail’s rise to wealth will likely outpace Turgenev’s—soon, their roles may well reverse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a brief moment of reflection, as evening approached and the banquet began, Mikhail struggled into his new clothes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In today’s Russian upper class, French-style formal wear remained dominant: men wore tight, long coats with gold-thread embroidery or jewels at collar and cuffs, made of velvet, brocade, or silk, paired with a waistcoat and silk breeches.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since Tsar Nicholas I adored wearing military uniforms to all occasions, others followed suit—and many nobles held military ranks, so at formal events, it was common to see nobles in double-breasted coats adorned with sashes and medals.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Colors were mostly dark: dark green, deep blue. Courtiers, to assert status, favored gold and purple—colors symbolizing power.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, due to his status and Turgenev’s financial constraints, Mikhail wouldn’t dress overly lavishly—he was certainly more presentable, but nowhere near the gaudy nobles. To Mikhail, this level was just right.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Mikhail donned the outfit, his naturally good looks made him look quite impressive. His mother stared intently, her eyes slightly moist—as if she glimpsed her son’s bright future just ahead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stepping out of his small room, the old maid Nastasya poked her head out; others in the apartment offered good-natured teasing:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Dear Mikhail, I bet you’ll win many young ladies’ hearts tonight.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I know exactly where you’re going. Ah! I was once as young as you!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mikhail, for the first time, you look like a real university student—even like a nobleman!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’ll come back tonight, right, Mikhail? I suspect you’ll be spending the night elsewhere!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Slightly embarrassed, Mikhail responded to their jibes, then descended the stairs. Soon, a reasonably comfortable carriage appeared on the dim street. When it halted, Turgenev, dressed like a peacock, leaned out and waved to him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the young man with black eyes and brown hair walked forward, he turned back several times—his eyes reflected his excited mother and restrained sister, the old maid, the sturdy landlord, the petty landowner, the small merchant, the minor clerk. He looked again at St. Petersburg, slowly swallowed by darkness. On this deep night, only the Tsar’s glittering Winter Palace and the core of St. Petersburg still burned with light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He paused briefly, waved, then stepped into the carriage. The hoofbeats and wheel rumbles were heavy and strong, carrying him from the dark, decaying street into clean, broad avenues. The surroundings grew cleaner, the lights brighter. The drunks, beggars, and prostitutes of St. Petersburg vanished—until they seemed never to have existed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he stepped out of the carriage, before him stood a bright, three- to four-story stone building. A Persian red carpet lay at the entrance; servants stood silently on either side. Dignified gentlemen and ladies entered, their voices carrying faint, fluent French phrases from afar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail and the slightly excited Turgenev walked in together.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail had always been rather lively, but now, for once, he fell quiet, observing his surroundings with quiet curiosity, listening to the conversations around him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everything before him seemed to glow—but his own eyes, dark and bright, reflected it all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1152,"2026-06-20T14:41:53.633Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","9266ffb86a693253916e3172f3872ede845b1cfdda32b27af521470a368e098e","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-52","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-50",105,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-cover.jpg"]