Chapter 54: Recommendation (Requesting Monthly Votes!)

Normally, at gatherings of the so-called upper class, it is customary for noblemen to court a noble lady; and if that lady’s family is particularly powerful or wealthy, even more suitors will appear.

There’s no helping it—even in this age, there are simply too many people who don’t want to work.

Cough, cough.

Mikhail didn’t want to work either, but self-awareness was precious; with his current status, marrying a noble lady was far from easy. In this era, only truly impoverished nobles, desperate for money, would marry commoners with substantial dowries—otherwise, it was virtually impossible.

Generally, nobles who married commoners were looked down upon by their circle, and their weddings were always held in secrecy.

Only as time progressed and more noble families fell into ruin while merchants grew richer would this phenomenon gradually become common.

But now, nobles still preferred internal marriages; thus, Mikhail had no interest in joining the crowd, and he certainly didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to himself.

Of course, there was another important reason: Mikhail had little romantic experience—he was, as they said, a “xiao chu nan,” and he didn’t know how to court anyone. Hovering around a lady like a fly seemed foolish.

Lastly, the identity of the general’s daughter gave Mikhail pause—she served as a lady-in-waiting at court, placing her, in some sense, near the center of Russian power.

Though in autocratic Russia, ladies-in-waiting held less influence than in France or England, as the saying goes, even a servant of the chancellor ranks as a third-rank official; she could still speak directly to the imperial court.

What if she actually made contact and recommended my novel to someone in the court?

So when Mikhail turned and saw the girl’s face, full of curiosity, his heart skipped a beat—though not because he was smitten.

But running away would be impolite, so Mikhail stood at attention and offered her a slight smile, as if to a girl his sister’s age.

Since they had already greeted each other upon entering, there was no need for further pleasantries; after a brief exchange of greetings, under the watchful eyes of others, the girl named Nadya turned to Mikhail and spoke up:

“Mr. Mikhail Romanovich, the poem you just recited was truly exquisite. May I ask—who was it written for? She would surely be deeply moved upon hearing it.”

“It has no specific subject.”

Mikhail’s mind raced, but he could think of no woman’s name—other than his mother, his sister, or Panayev’s wife—to use as a cover. So he replied: “I simply had this thought and some other emotions, and I recorded them.”

“I see.”

The girl’s eyes brightened slightly, then she shifted the conversation to other topics.

Though she appeared quiet, once she began speaking, Mikhail realized she was like a chattering bird—saying whatever came to mind. Compared to his own dull routine, her life was far richer.

For instance, she studied multiple languages, music, and dance; she learned etiquette and read European classics; she spoke of afternoon tea, salons, and the events and people she encountered at the theater.

Notably, her French was even more fluent than her Russian—luckily, Mikhail’s proficiency was sufficient to keep up.

Though Mikhail had no intention of courting the girl, listening to these things—things he rarely encountered in daily life—was intriguing and helped him better understand this era, accumulating knowledge for future endeavors.

Thus, the boy and girl chatted for a long while about trivial matters; the girl, who likely had few chances to speak of these things, grew increasingly cheerful—until suddenly she realized something and asked:

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’m sure many things have happened to you.”

Poets and writers often had excessive self-awareness, and noble young men who courted young ladies always spoke of themselves, even when pretending to admire her. This was the first time she met someone so reluctant to talk about himself.

“I prefer to listen to others rather than speak of myself,” Mikhail replied with a smile.

“Only I know my own affairs. Many things I hold precious lose their value when spoken aloud—especially to the wrong people. Why not keep them for myself?”

“And if everyone speaks only of themselves, who will listen to others?”

“You’re right,” the girl replied involuntarily. “May I ask you one more question?”

“Go ahead,” Mikhail nodded, feeling he had finally found his rhythm.

“You kept glancing this way earlier—is there something special here? Something so captivating that you ignored those respectable gentlemen and ladies? Look, so many are gathered around them. Are you afraid? But I see no such fear in you.”

Mikhail: “...”

She observes carefully—but she still can’t tell I was staring at the tea treats?

Clearly, you don’t understand poverty enough. Cough, cough.

For the sake of his dignity, Mikhail chose to ignore the question and answered only the latter part of her remark.

“Those gentlemen and ladies deserve respect—but what do they have to do with me? Borrowed glory is no glory at all.”

Mikhail shook his head. “Besides, I’m simply not good at socializing. Perhaps next time, if the chance arises, I’ll speak more with those gentlemen.”

No, you still won’t. Observing Mikhail’s expression for a moment, before the girl could say more, a voice called them to dinner; she sighed and said:

“Hey, look—we’ve talked so much, and I completely forgot to mention your novel. I happened upon it by chance. Though my family tries to keep me from Russian literary magazines, I’ve still heard your name from many people.”

“I’ve read all your novels—they moved me deeply. I hope I can talk with you about them again. I’m even thinking of recommending them to people I know; I believe they’ll be moved too.”

“No, please don’t do that,” Mikhail twitched his lips. “I still have many shortcomings.”

In short, please, anything—anything at all—just let me go further (fly rubbing hands).





(End of Chapter)