Chapter 62: The Resignation of Dostoevsky

In terms of finances, aside from taking a gamble when first launching "The Fatherland Chronicles," Krayevsky had always been cautious, doing his best to prevent any financial mishaps, so the print run for each issue was steadily increased, adding just a little more on top of the existing base.

But now, Krayevsky realized he had become something of an radical.

He was moving forward in big strides, yet still felt confident nothing would go wrong.

Krayevsky could only say it was thanks to his own efforts that the magazine had thrived so much.

Well, it also had something to do with that young man.

As the latest issue of "The Fatherland Chronicles" was being printed nonstop, on the streets of Shengbidebao, a thin, blond young man was also feeling both hope and anxiety about his future.

As he wrote in his letter:

"Brother, I have submitted my resignation. I swear to you—I can no longer continue in this position. Though life was hard, I thought I could endure it a while longer. But ever since reading that gentleman’s brilliant stories in the magazine, I could no longer suppress my passion for writing.

My current job severely hinders my progress and constantly makes me feel I am wasting my time.

Though I don’t know what to do, I don’t even have money for new clothes, but don’t worry about my living situation—I’ll find a loaf of bread soon. I will work desperately.

Fortunately, my novel is progressing well; lately I’ve been making final revisions. Once completed, I plan to read it first to my friend Grigoryevich—he seems to have some connections in Shengbidebao’s cultural circles. Perhaps after hearing my story, he might help me in some way.

But who knows if it will work? I considered sending it directly to "The Fatherland Chronicles," but I heard they’re backed up with manuscripts; by the time they get to mine, it’ll be half a year later, and newcomers don’t get paid for publication."

His situation was roughly like this—how could he not be anxious?

In truth, his salary and his share of the inheritance were enough to live comfortably, but likely due to certain bad habits, Dostoevsky now had no money and even carried a substantial debt.

Yet even so, our old Dostoevsky chose to bravely pursue his dream, striving to achieve something in writing.

And once writing was mentioned, Dostoevsky inevitably thought of Mikhail, whose reputation had been growing steadily lately.

His works truly deserved his fame.

And such a gentleman, surely he must be very wealthy by now?

Probably eating white bread every day, drinking the finest tea, attending every gathering, surrounded by young ladies, the center of every social scene.

Merely imagining the life of this increasingly famous gentleman made the young Dostoevsky drool with envy.

When will I ever live like him?

Carrying this intense desire, the young Dostoevsky walked alone down the street.

At this point, he was actually quite satisfied with the novel he was about to finish—but he struggled with how to submit it.

At the same time as feeling satisfied, Dostoevsky occasionally thought of Mikhail’s works; whenever he did, his confidence wavered slightly.

Of course, if possible, the current Dostoevsky longed to meet the man, speak with him, seek his advice, and perhaps even enjoy his luxurious lifestyle.

But he had no connections at all—he could only hope for luck and see if any opportunity arose.

Though Dostoevsky’s life was indeed difficult now, when the latest issue of "The Fatherland Chronicles" was released, the thin young man still left home early, walking along streets not yet fully lit, calculating whether the money in his pocket would suffice.

If all else failed, he’d have to write his brother again and ask for more.

And whether it was his imagination or not, Dostoevsky felt more people were buying "The Fatherland Chronicles" than before; even though he left early, by the time he reached the bookstore, it was already crowded.

Few asked loudly—everyone pushed hard toward a certain magazine. Whoever got it would swing their fist like a victorious general, then quickly squeeze out to find a quiet spot to read.

In such a situation, the thin Dostoevsky had no advantage. His mood was already bad in the morning, and after being jostled so much, his already fragile spirits grew irritable, so much so that even after securing the magazine, he felt no great excitement.

He even thought: God, I can barely afford food—why did I come buy this? Why not just hear about it from some other gentleman?

Still, he bought it.

As he sighed inwardly, he prepared to find a place to skim through it, to see if the story could stir his numb nerves.

Yet what struck him as odd was that, at this hour, the streets and cafés were usually silent; only after deep silence did people voice opinions or release suppressed emotions.

But today, for some reason, laughter kept appearing, echoing from one place to another, as if everyone had seen something hilariously funny.

These laughs unsettled the sensitive young man, as if some of them were mocking his plight.

With this heightened irritation, Dostoevsky finally found a suitable spot and flipped to a page in the magazine amid the annoying noise.

"Officer Ochumelov, in his brand-new military overcoat, clutching a small bag, was walking across the marketplace square."

At first, Dostoevsky remained agitated; after reading a bit, his mood calmed slightly. When the first twist came, he gradually forgot the surrounding noise; when the next twist arrived, he couldn’t help laughing aloud while shaking his head.

After finishing the entire story, he became one of those spreading laughter.

Amid this laughter, he began reflecting—on himself, on those around him, on larger things.

When he came back to himself, he let out a long sigh, murmuring half in envy, half in awe: "One of the best satirical stories I’ve ever read! How could it not make you laugh? And within that laughter lies so much more."

Because of this story, Dostoevsky once again felt envy toward the unseen gentleman—envy for his talent, and unconsciously, for his likely luxurious life.

And as he thought of this, on the other side, Mikhail suddenly woke from his dream, feeling the hardness of his sofa, looking up at the gray ceiling that hit his head if he sat up too fast, and smelling the stale, uncleaned odor in the air.

Mikhail couldn’t help laughing.

At least there’s still a chance to live better—if I woke up like this every day, Mikhail truly felt his life was over.

A bit regretful—I didn’t get the top recommendation for the new issue.

Bad timing; too many big names released at the same time.

Still, I got other recommendations. For a newcomer, getting this far is already hard—thank you all again (heart emoji).

This is almost enough to launch, but I thought the free chapters might still be too few—launching too early isn’t good—so I’ve temporarily held off.

I’m still stockpiling drafts and want to reorganize the direction and plot, so I’ll delay the launch a few more days—just a few.

Then my stockpiled drafts will finally be useful.

In short, thank you all for your support. More words later.

Lastly, thank you to “Zhanzhuan Honglian,” “Wo Shi Huixing Gu Jiu Zhi,” and “Xukong Shenming” for your generous tips! Thank you so much.

I’ve kept records—I’ll add extra chapters when I hit certain numbers. Thank you for your support.

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(End of Chapter)