Chapter 62: The Resigned Dostoevsky

In financial matters, apart from taking a gamble when first founding "Notes of the Fatherland," Krayevsky had otherwise been exceedingly cautious, striving to ensure the magazine's finances never went awry; thus, for each issue's print run, Krayevsky typically advanced steadily, printing only slightly more than the existing base.

But now, Krayevsky found himself seeming like a radical.

He was striding forward in great leaps, yet he still felt that even so, nothing would go wrong.

Regarding this, Krayevsky could only say that thanks to his efforts, how else could the magazine be thriving?

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

And just as the latest issue of "Notes of the Fatherland" was being continuously printed, on the streets of Saint Petersburg, a slender young man with blond hair was, at this very moment, feeling both hope and worry about his own future.

As for the reason, it was just as he had written in his letter:

"Brother, I have submitted my resignation; I swear to you, I can no longer continue in this post. Originally, even though such a life was hard, I still believed I could endure it a while longer, but ever since reading that Mr.'s brilliant novels one by one in the magazine, I could no longer suppress my passion for creation.

My current work greatly hinders my progress and often makes me feel I am wasting my time.

Though I am somewhat at a loss what to do, and right now I lack even the money to buy clothes, please do not worry about my livelihood; I will soon find a piece of bread. I shall work desperately.

Fortunately, my novel's progress is good; lately I am making final revisions to it, and once the draft is truly complete, I plan to read it first to my friend Grigoryevich. He seems to have some friends in Saint Petersburg's Cultural Circle, and perhaps after hearing my novel, he can help me to some extent.

But who knows if it will actually work? I considered sending it directly to "Notes of the Fatherland," but I heard they have accumulated many manuscripts there; by the time it would be my turn, it would probably be half a year later, and moreover, new authors receive no payment upon publication."

His situation was roughly thus; given this, how could he not be worried?

Actually, if one must insist, his salary plus the portion of inheritance he received should have been enough for him to live comfortably, but largely due to having picked up some bad habits, Dostoevsky currently not only had no money but even carried a considerable debt.

Yet even so, our old Dostoevsky chose to bravely chase his dream, attempting to achieve something through writing.

And since speaking of writing, Dostoevsky inevitably thought of that Mikhail, whose reputation had been growing ever greater lately.

The other's works truly deserved his fame, that much was certain.

And a Mr. like him must surely be very wealthy by now?

He probably eats white bread every day, drinks the finest tea, attends various gatherings, is surrounded by various Young Ladies, and stands as the center of social occasions.

Merely imagining the circumstances of this increasingly famous Mr. made the young Dostoevsky drool with envy.

When will I ever be able to live a life like his?

Clinging to this intense wish, the young Dostoevsky walked alone through the streets.

By now, he was actually quite satisfied with the novel he was about to complete, but how to submit it had become a dilemma for him.

Yet alongside this satisfaction, Dostoevsky occasionally thought of the works of that author named Mikhail; whenever he did, his confidence wavered slightly.

Of course, if possible, the Dostoevsky of today would prefer even more to meet the other face-to-face, speak with him, and then seek his advice; perhaps he might even come to enjoy that other's affluent life.

But he truly had no connections now; he could only try his luck as best he could, seeing whether any opportunity might arise.

Although Dostoevsky's life was indeed somewhat difficult nowadays, when the time came for the release of the New issue of "Notes of the Fatherland," this slender youth still went out early; while hurrying along streets not yet fully brightened by dawn, he was also calculating whether the money in his pocket would be enough.

If things truly became impossible, he would have no choice but to write again to his brother and ask for a little more.

And whether it was his imagination or not, Dostoevsky always felt that more people came to buy "Notes of the Fatherland" than before; even though he had gone out very early, by the time he reached the bookstore, the scene was already somewhat crowded.

Not many people asked aloud; everyone was forcefully pushing toward a certain magazine, and whoever managed to grab it would pump a fist like a general who had won a battle, then quickly squeeze out, preparing to find a place to read it properly.

In such circumstances, the slender Dostoevsky held no advantage; already in a poor mood early in the morning, and after being jostled like this, his mental state, which was not very good to begin with, became somewhat irritable, so that even after obtaining the magazine, his mood was not particularly excited.

He even thought: Oh God, I am nearly without money for food; why must I insist on buying such a magazine? Would it not be better to hear about it from other Mr. s?

Think as he might, he had bought the magazine after all.

While lamenting in his heart, he also prepared to find a place to take a brief look, to see whether the other's novel could truly stimulate his nerves, which had begun to grow somewhat numb.

It was only strange that, at this time of day usually, from the streets and places like those coffeehouses, basically no sound could be heard; only after silence had reached a certain degree would many people express their views on certain matters and vent those suppressed emotions.

But today, for some reason, he always felt laughter continually arising, constantly coming from one place after another, as if everyone had seen something very amusing.

These laughs, to some extent, unsettled this sensitive young man, as if within them there must be voices mocking his own situation.

With this even more irritable mood, Dostoevsky finally found a suitable place, and amidst those annoying sounds, turned to a certain page of this issue's magazine.

"Police Officer Ochumelov, wearing a brand-new military overcoat and carrying a small bundle under his arm, was marching across the marketplace square..."

At first, Dostoevsky remained unsettled, but after reading a little, his mood calmed slightly; when the first twist arrived, he gradually forgot the surrounding sounds, and when yet another sudden turn came, he could not help but shake his head and laugh aloud.

By the time he finished reading the entire short story, he had become the very person sending out those laughs.

And amidst such laughter, he inevitably began to reflect upon himself, upon those people around him, and even upon certain greater things.

After coming slightly to his senses, he could not help but let out a long sigh and mutter to himself, half envious and half amazed: "One of the finest satirical novels I have ever read! How could it not make people laugh? And within that laughter, many things are hidden..."

Because of this short story, Dostoevsky once again felt envy toward that Mr. whom he had not yet met, envying both this talent and, involuntarily, envying the other's presumably very affluent life.

And while he was thinking these thoughts, on the other side, for some reason, Mikhail suddenly jolted awake from his dream, feeling his hard sofa, then looking at the gray ceiling that would bump his head if he rose too abruptly, and smelling that rotting odor in the air which no amount of cleaning could remove.

Mikhail could not help but laugh.

Fortunately, there was still a chance to live somewhere better; otherwise, if he woke up like this every day, Mikhail truly felt his life was finished.

A bit regrettable that I didn't get the best recommendation slot for the new book period.

Didn't catch the right timing; there were simply too many big shots releasing at the same time.

Fortunately, there are still other recommendation slots available; for a newcomer to reach this point is not easy, so here I express my thanks once again to everyone (heart gesture).

At this point, I could basically go premium, but I feel the number of free chapters might still be a bit low, and going premium too early isn't ideal, so I've temporarily put it on hold.

Also, I'm still building up my manuscript reserve and want to take this opportunity to sort out the direction and plot a bit more, so I'll delay going premium by a few more days, though it will only be a matter of days now.

By then, my stored manuscripts will finally have their use.

In short, thank you all for your support; I'll say more when the time comes.

Finally, another thank you to the big shots "Wandering Red Lotus," "I Am a Comet Throwing Alone for Long," and "Void Deity" for their tips! Many thanks.

I keep records on my end too; once certain numbers are reached, I will do my best to add extra chapters; thank you for the support.

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(End of Chapter)