Chapter 67: Lacking Nothing Anymore

After hearing the name Dostoevsky, Mikhail immediately felt a surge of excitement.

Although he remembered from his memory that it was indeed Nekrasov's friend named Grigoryevich who recommended Dostoevsky's debut work to him, only after truly confirming this news did the heavy stone in Mikhail's heart finally settle.

I've finally waited for you, my most proud Old Dostoevsky!

Now our "Petersburg Anthology" lacks nothing!

After being slightly excited, Mikhail immediately nodded with a smile and said, "I think there's no problem; once he submits it, we'll take a good look. Actually, I've always felt our anthology lacks a heavyweight newcomer."

"Yes, Mikhail, but besides you, where would so many talented new writers come from?"

Hearing Mikhail's words, Nekrasov shook his head with emotion, then turned to Grigoryevich and said, "You see, since Mikhail has said so, I certainly cannot refuse you. Look, when exactly will he finalize the manuscript? Once it's finished, he can come find us, and then we'll read it together. Mikhail, do you have time?"

"Of course."

After hearing Mikhail's answer, the young man whose mood had just calmed down became excited again. Although this Mikhail was not reading his manuscript, the fact that his friend had encountered such good fortune was enough to make him feel happy for him from the bottom of his heart.

And from the fragments he had heard earlier, Grigoryevich felt that what his friend had written would not be bad.

So, after accompanying Nekrasov and Mikhail for a while with an excited heart, he could no longer wait and prepared to go deliver the good news to his friend.

When only Nekrasov and Mikhail were left, the two continued to chat about the anthology, and when talking about the anthology, they inadvertently spoke of the debts each carried.

"Mikhail, I suddenly realized I seem to have taken on a few hundred rubles of debt recently."

"Oh?" Hearing this, Mikhail blinked and said, "What about today?"

"Not yet for today."

Nekrasov was slightly surprised and couldn't help but ask, "What about you?"

"Just took on five hundred rubles."

"That really is..."

He thought he was already somewhat miserable, but listening to Mikhail's words, Nekrasov couldn't help but laugh.

In short, whenever Nekrasov became so anxious from this bold gamble that he couldn't sleep, he always liked to chat with Mikhail. Seeing the other's confident and carefree demeanor, Nekrasov would immediately regain hope for the future.

Of course, if one had to say it, Mikhail was also somewhat nervous to some extent, but since things had come to this, just do it.

And just as Nekrasov and Mikhail were walking towards Panayev's house, on the other side, Grigoryevich had also hurriedly arrived at his own home.

His thin and small roommate was currently sitting on the sofa, his brows furrowed, seemingly worried about something.

Seeing this, Grigoryevich did not beat around the bush but went directly to his side and spoke excitedly, "Alright, Fyodor, I've asked for you. My publisher friend is willing to accept your submission. And do you know who else I met? Mikhail!

The Mr. you often mention to me! He also said he will read your manuscript carefully. If your manuscript is truly not bad, then you will definitely have a chance to make a name for yourself in the Cultural Circle of St. Petersburg!"

"Hmm?"

Actually, Dostoevsky, who was originally worried about today's lunch, was stunned upon hearing this. Immediately, a flush of excitement appeared on his somewhat pale face, and even his lips trembled slightly:

"You aren't joking with me, are you, Grigoryevich? I can't withstand such stimulation."

"How could that be?" Grigoryevich shook his head: "I swear to God, what I say is absolutely true. In my opinion, you are not far from entering the cultural circle of Petersburg. Should I take your manuscript over now?"

"No! Wait a bit longer, wait a bit longer."

Dostoevsky stood up directly in excitement. While pacing back and forth in the not-so-large living room, he also repeated some words incoherently again and again:

"Since there is such a good opportunity, how could I not check it over several times again? Not to hide it from you, I have great confidence in my manuscript, but since the manuscript will go directly into the hands of that genius, how could I not be more cautious?

Grigoryevich, tell me, what is your impression of that Mr.? I heard people say he has a beautiful face, one that clearly shows he received a good education, full of nobility! He has a carefree demeanor that never worries about life!"

"Oh?" Recalling the impression from their meeting just now, although he seemed not to have paid much attention due to being too excited, at this very moment Grigoryevich still nodded with certainty and said, "That's right, exactly so! He will leave a Beautiful impression on everyone who sees him!"

"I can't wait to meet him and chat, but for now, let me check my manuscript again."

Hearing such good news, Dostoevsky, who was originally worried about lunch, was no longer hungry. After greeting Grigoryevich, he hurriedly sat down at his desk.

Although at this very moment he very much wanted to write a letter to boast to his brother and talk about this matter in front of those who looked down on him, considering that the earlier he checked, the sooner the other party would see it, Dostoevsky could only suppress those restless thoughts in his heart and focus on organizing his manuscript.

Since he had entered a very serious state, the progress of this work was quite fast. Plus, the manuscript was already almost finished, so there was no need to wait until the next day. By the afternoon, the starving Dostoevsky began urging Grigoryevich to deliver the manuscript.

Watching his friend leave, the young man who had recently been overwhelmed by financial difficulties and his future began pacing back and forth in the living room. On one hand, he was worried about his future; if this didn't work out, perhaps he would have to waste another few years.

On the other hand, he truly did not want to receive a negative evaluation from that young writer he liked so much.

(End of Chapter)