[{"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-52":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},2317227,4531,"Chapter 52: I Love You More Than Nature","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-52",52,"\u003Cp>Under the servant’s guidance, Mikhail soon met the estate’s owner, General Danilevsky, a man of high rank—his full name, needless to say, was so long and cumbersome that even among Russians it was considered unbearable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The aging general, upon seeing Mikhail and Turgenev, walked over warmly to greet them both; he knew Belinsky well and often invited him to dinner, so naturally he was familiar with Mikhail, the young writer Belinsky had recently championed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After exchanging pleasantries with Turgenev, whom he had met before, he turned kindly to Mikhail, patted his shoulder, and said with friendliness:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ve heard your name long before, young man—I never imagined I’d meet you here today. You’re even more handsome than I imagined. Where’s your home? We might have crossed paths somewhere.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Holy hell, straight to family background?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“My family is from the provinces; now I’m studying at a university in St. Petersburg,” Mikhail replied honestly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oh? From the provinces?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The general’s warmth slightly dimmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he wished to ask a few more specific questions, he was too seasoned to pry at a first meeting, so he merely nodded gently, exchanged a couple more pleasantries, then led them toward the parlor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Honestly, it was lucky the general didn’t press further—if he had, he’d have discovered Mikhail wasn’t just some provincial outsider, but a penniless commoner training as a student; knowing that, his friendliness would’ve vanished entirely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now, upon reaching the parlor, several people were already seated—minor essayists and critics—and among them sat what appeared to be the general’s daughter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She looked about seventeen, dressed in a white ball gown adorned with vine and moss patterns, shoulders like freshly fallen snow, eyes as lively as a deer’s, and clear blue irises.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Turgenev had said, she was exceedingly beautiful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Nastya, Nastya,” the general called to his daughter, “Guess who I’ve brought? The very author of those articles you’ve been nagging me about.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At her father’s call, the girl leapt up from her chair and walked over to Mikhail and Turgenev, casting a curious glance at Mikhail.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Let me introduce you—this is my daughter. She’s been deeply interested in your writings and has mentioned your novels to me often. Perhaps you two can talk.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the general finished speaking, the lively-faced girl bowed politely to Mikhail, and Mikhail smiled and gave a slight bow in return.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once introductions were done, the general excused himself to attend other guests; Turgenev, it seemed, had acquaintances here too, so after a word to Mikhail, he went off to greet them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail, meanwhile, sat down, listened to the writers and critics discussing art with solemn airs, exchanged a few words with the general’s daughter, and indulged in a bit of idle boasting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the conversation flowed, someone inevitably turned to Mikhail—the recent sensation in St. Petersburg’s literary scene—and shook his head thoughtfully:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mr. Mikhail Romanovich, may I address you thus? May I speak plainly? I find certain elements in your novels painfully unrealistic, especially—”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To such men, Mikhail merely smiled, nodding occasionally in polite distraction, barely listening to their words—his eyes, instead, kept drifting involuntarily toward the dining area.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail hadn’t eaten much for lunch, all for this evening.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now, it wasn’t easy to act—those art-commenting gentlemen were one thing, yet for some reason, Mikhail felt the general’s daughter kept glancing his way, making him hesitate to do anything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hmm, though I, Mikhail, am no nobleman, I am still a man of dignity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sat there for a long while, occasionally approached by a few well-dressed gentlemen or ladies, curious and eager to chat with him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though they often slipped into fluent French, Mikhail was no longer unskilled—he responded in kind with a few phrases, exchanging hollow pleasantries.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though slightly nervous, Mikhail appeared calm on the surface, conversing easily with anyone who approached; in everyone’s eyes, his social grace was unquestionably adequate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some others, though watching Mikhail closely, didn’t approach—only observed from afar, occasionally chuckling, as if puzzled by something.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Throughout this, Mikhail still felt the general’s daughter’s gaze lingering around him, preventing him from doing what he truly wanted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As time dragged on, Mikhail noticed Turgenev had naturally begun to show off, reciting his poetry with deep emotion before a crowd.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To be fair, Turgenev wrote good poetry—he first rose to fame in St. Petersburg’s cultural circles through verse. Take, for example, one love poem he wrote to win a lady’s favor: “To N. H.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Above the sleeping earth,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pale clouds drift with the moon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That wondrous moon,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Swings the sea from high above.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My soul’s sea,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Also holds you as its moon—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—It, too, in joy and pain,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Swings for you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turgenev’s skill was undeniable; and in this age, even Pushkin’s famous love poem sounded like this: “I loved you once,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Love, perhaps\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Has not yet wholly vanished from my soul,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>May it never trouble you again;\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I wish no longer to sadden you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Turgenev finished his melancholy poem, applause broke out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By the way, poems on nature and love were most common in this era—and easiest to pass censorship; otherwise, they’d never survive review.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After his performance, Turgenev didn’t forget his good friend Mikhail—he seized the moment, pulled Mikhail forward, and gave him a formal introduction, officially introducing him to these so-called upper-class figures.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the end, Turgenev chose to believe in Mikhail’s genius, and half-seriously, half-jokingly said:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This remarkable author recently told me he’s studied poetry too—I’d truly like to hear what he’s got. Of course, if he’s willing to recite his fiction, I’d be even happier.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I only know a little, okay? Just a little.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since the atmosphere had been built up, Mikhail could only modestly demur, then, under many eyes, began to recite in a tone both light, romantic, and faintly bitter:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I love you more than nature,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For you are nature itself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I love you more than freedom—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Without you, freedom is merely prison.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I love you so carelessly,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As one loves the abyss, not the rut.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So direct?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turgenev beside him blinked in surprise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Mikhail continued:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I love you more than possibility,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And more than impossibility.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I love you tirelessly, endlessly,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even drunk, even broken.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More than self—indeed,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even more than pure you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps because such light, romantic, and unusual poetry was rare in Russia today, more people turned to listen, their attention sharpening:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I love you more than Shakespeare,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More than all earthly beauty,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even more than the world’s music,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For you— are book and music.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I love you more than honor,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More than the radiance of the entire planet.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Throughout the recitation, Mikhail still felt a gaze circling him; though he avoided it, he couldn’t shift his eyes during the poem. When emotion peaked and some guests shifted positions, his gaze inevitably met those clear blue eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He delivered the final stanza:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I love you as I love Russia,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For homeland—you are.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Are you suffering? Do you beg for pity?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Do not provoke God with begging.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I love you more than happiness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I love you more than love itself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These two chapters turned out longer than expected—I’d planned to split them, but for completeness, I’ll leave them as is.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Honestly, poetry suffers the most in translation—without its original language, much of its life fades; truly feeling the beauty of foreign poetry is never easy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So poetry should be quoted sparingly—only when perfectly suited; otherwise, less is better. After all, if you can’t feel the work’s true charm, no amount of praise will convince anyone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I personally love this one—it has no barriers. Read it a few times and you’ll feel your heart soften.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Also, to boost the new book’s ranking, Monday’s chapter will likely drop at midnight—please, dear patrons, follow and read on Monday, and consider casting a batch of monthly votes; if you’re willing to tip, please do.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There are too many top-tier authors above me, and this book’s niche subject feels like it’s being crushed under their weight (sob).\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I still want to go further—dear patrons with monthly votes, please cast them for this book on Monday. Thank you so much.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Please also follow closely—next week is crucial. Whether we go further depends entirely on next week.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thank you all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1370,"2026-06-20T14:41:53.633Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","abc004c13062a86fbbdb47a2a12f554b8f60269ccb6b701255396a451cd0d738","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-53","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-51",105,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-cover.jpg"]