[{"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-75":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},2317250,4531,"Chapter 75: Anthology Publication (Requesting Monthly Votes!)","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-75",75,"\u003Cp>With all the manuscripts for the anthology now in place and Mikhail having injected even more funding into the project, the publication of the anthology had officially entered its final countdown.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Notably, at the outset, Mikhail and Nekrasov had agreed on a 15 percent share for Mikhail, but now, given Mikhail’s immense contribution to the endeavor—especially in financial terms—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nekrasov had once suggested a 60-40 split: six for Mikhail, four for himself. Mikhail, of course, replied with a silent “good brother” in his heart: it must be fifty-fifty! No more talk!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, as previously stated, Nekrasov was nearly irreplaceable in this project, and his financial contribution was only slightly less than Mikhail’s. Thus, while Nekrasov might excitedly propose a 60-40 split, Mikhail could never truly accept it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We’re brothers!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If Nekrasov ever strikes it rich, Mikhail will definitely visit his home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before Mikhail could even suggest any promotional ideas for the anthology, Nekrasov came rushing over to share his own plan:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mikhail, I plan to run announcements about the upcoming publication of the Petersburg Anthology in every newspaper in Saint Petersburg, perhaps even in Moscow. I intend to launch a massive advertising campaign, but Panayev thinks the cost is too high, and many in our circle believe such a move is undignified—it disgraces literature.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Still, I stand by this idea. But before I proceed, I want to hear your opinion.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From these words alone, it was clear why Nekrasov had become a top-tier publisher: his instinct and ability in this area far surpassed those of his aristocratic friends who had never known hardship.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for Belinsky, he simply lacked any business acumen and had never truly struggled at the bottom rungs of society.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still, even as he voiced his plan, Nekrasov felt uneasy inside—when everyone around you disagrees, how many can truly hold onto their confidence?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And this truly was a massive expense—one that could sharply increase their debt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Given that, how could Nekrasov possibly feel confident even if he had decided to go through with it?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So Nekrasov turned to Mikhail, who replied: “There’s no more brilliant idea than this, Nikolai. I couldn’t agree more. There’s an old saying: even the finest wine fears a deep alley. If we don’t advertise, how will anyone know how excellent our anthology is—or where to buy it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As always, Mikhail’s calm smile and firm tone shone like divine light into the deepest corners of Nekrasov’s heart, instantly bolstering his confidence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That old saying Mikhail quoted, however, was slightly odd—did any legal tavern in our Russia ever lack customers?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even illegal ones were still packed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In short, Mikhail not only solidified Nekrasov’s confidence but also offered him numerous promotional suggestions to refine his plan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nekrasov was left speechless by these suggestions, only coming to his senses after a long silence, then exclaiming repeatedly: “Good Lord, Mikhail, you’re a genius in advertising! Some of the methods you’ve described sound like they were invented by devils—but still, genius, I must say.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail: “.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Why are you praising and insulting me at the same time? I’m just repeating what others have already done.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, after hearing Mikhail’s opinions and suggestions, Nekrasov eagerly set to work implementing them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It must be said: though Mikhail had theories down pat, actual execution still fell to Nekrasov.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And as Nekrasov gradually turned viable ideas into reality, more and more people in Saint Petersburg—and even farther away in Moscow—began to take notice of the anthology:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Igor, look! A new Petersburg Anthology is about to be published!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Huh? What’s so special? New books pop up daily in Saint Petersburg—I’ve read two recently, both terrible.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mikhail’s new novel and new poems will appear in this anthology!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What?! When will it be released? I haven’t seen his work in the latest issue of The Fatherland Chronicle—I’ve only seen endless dull articles. Ugh! After reading his pieces, I feel so many authors write terribly—even some already famous ones!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s coming in just a few days. We should get there early—who knows if it’ll sell out like The Fatherland Chronicle?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It will. If we’ve seen it, our classmates will have seen it too.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, Mikhail, I know him—he writes interesting novels, but proper gentlemen and ladies would never voluntarily read them. His poetry, however, is quite good; though he idealizes his lover a bit too much, it works beautifully when read aloud to ladies and young women.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“For his poetry alone, I’d buy a copy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I agree. His novels often deal with unsettling subjects. If he could focus on more appropriate people and themes, I believe he’d have an extraordinary future.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Not just Mikhail—also the great translator Kroonenberg, the renowned Count Sollogub and Prince Odoevsky, and many other familiar names. The price seems high, but the content truly justifies it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“So many famous authors? It does look impressive—but how can they advertise in newspapers? It’s like merchants shouting in the street to sell their wares—so undignified.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not only Mikhail, but also the great translator Krotenberg, the renowned Count Sologub and Duke Odoevsky, and many other names we know well. Although the price seems a bit high, its content truly justifies it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Similar scenes were unfolding again and again across Saint Petersburg as time passed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the streets, in universities, in cafés, in bookshops, in lavish studies and parlors, in apartments—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This widespread attention stemmed partly from Nekrasov’s overwhelming advertising campaign, and partly from pure celebrity effect: beyond Mikhail, the rising star recently on everyone’s lips, the names of numerous respected writers and artists lent the anthology further prestige, convincing even more readers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Meanwhile, Belinsky, upon seeing the finished anthology, was ecstatic. Beyond writing the preface and reviews, he enthusiastically promoted the anthology to his circle and friends, adding further fuel to its growing popularity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, while some were curious and eager, others felt disdain or even hostility toward the anthology for various reasons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Krayevsky, publisher of The Fatherland Chronicle, was one such person.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Strictly speaking, this matter had little to do with Krayevsky—even benefited him: he’d been studying the anthology’s promotional tactics, and each time he thought he understood them, he’d discover something new.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This opened his eyes and made him ponder how to apply these methods to his own magazine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet as the anthology’s momentum grew, Krayevsky slowly began to feel uneasy and resentful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because if not for this anthology, every work appearing in it should have been published in The Fatherland Chronicle!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not just the works of giants like Count Sollogub and Prince Odoevsky—but Mikhail especially could not be exempt!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, Mikhail had devoted nearly all his energy to this anthology and had stopped submitting anything to The Fatherland Chronicle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This led many subscribers to write letters complaining, causing the magazine’s subscription numbers to fluctuate noticeably over the past two issues.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though Krayevsky still refused to admit a single writer could significantly impact his magazine, the ideal scenario was still for Mikhail to resume contributing—his fee wouldn’t be cut, and if he wrote a few more pieces, his rate might even rise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, for a newcomer, this was already exceptional treatment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Saint Petersburg had countless young authors eager to submit to The Fatherland Chronicle—even willing to give their work away for free.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under these circumstances, how could one say he wasn’t receiving the best possible treatment?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And among those young men willing to work for free, one was present at this gathering Krayevsky was attending.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Overall, Saint Petersburg’s literary circles were fragmented; no one truly dominated. Belinsky, for instance, was viewed by many outside his circle as a leper—some refused to even greet him on the street, let alone spend time with him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in a way, this was perhaps a good thing: many writers were not decent people. Just as there were progressive writers like Belinsky who opposed serfdom, there were also those who fawned over the Tsarist regime, craving wealth and luxury.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Take Bulgarin, a well-known writer in Saint Petersburg: the term “Natural School” was originally his derogatory label for a group of young authors inspired by Gogol—only later, through Belinsky’s repeated elaborations, did it become the accepted name for Russia’s early realism movement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More abstractly, this man had become an actual agent for the secret police’s “Third Section.” Any radical literary opinion might be reported by him as evidence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One can only say: some people truly beg to be dogs—and the Third Section was more than happy to accept them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet perhaps Bulgarin and others genuinely believed they were defending Russia’s noble traditions and social order.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, if they could secure a little personal gain in the process of defending the motherland, they’d be delighted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for the gathering Krayevsky was currently attending, it was essentially his comfort zone: though he outwardly acted friendly toward Belinsky’s circle, he had no desire to associate with them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These gentlemen here, however, suited Krayevsky’s taste far better.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They all shared the same view of the Petersburg Anthology: that advertising a fine anthology across so many newspapers was deeply undignified, even saying:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Those two Mao Touxiaozi are like clerks from the Apraksin Market, shamelessly dragging every passerby into their shop to hype their wares. Where is their dignity as writers? The literary culture of Saint Petersburg has been ruined by their conduct!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though Krayevsky planned to adopt some of these promotional tactics for his own magazine, that didn’t prevent him from sharing their opinion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As they discussed this, a young man who had desperately squeezed into their circle seized the moment to recite his own work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Saint Petersburg was full of such youths—clutching literary dreams, trying every possible route, desperate to present their work before influential cultural figures.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Krayevsky had seen countless such youths. After listening, he looked up—and the young man, visibly excited, upon seeing Krayevsky’s stern, somber face, despite his reluctance, instinctively offered a slightly fawning smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Well-written, no demand for payment, proper respect toward authority.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the kind of young writer Krayevsky frequently encountered—and deeply favored.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for Mikhail, he seemed to lack understanding of the importance of platform and authority recognition, and showed little devotion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Krayevsky recalled the young man who had faced him with calm indifference, though only mildly annoyed, he sincerely hoped the two Mao Touxiaozi’s anthology would fail—only after hitting walls would they realize how precious the fees they now received truly were.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Krayevsky thought this, the young man Andrei, who had listened to much of the conversation, felt his face burn and couldn’t help sighing deeply inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Good Lord, must every young writer endure this just to get published? Had Mikhail himself once endured this?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though many here had mocked and dismissed the Petersburg Anthology, Andrei himself would definitely buy a copy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And honestly, he felt many of these gentlemen would buy one too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Moreover, although many at this gathering spoke disparagingly of the Petersburg Collection, Andrei himself would definitely buy a copy to read.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I hope it’s not another “The Chameleon.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Last time, after reading “The Chameleon,” I laughed at first—then, once I realized its meaning, I refused to read it again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After reading that piece \"The Chameleon,\" he laughed loudly at first, but once he realized its meaning, he refused to read it a second time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1875,"2026-06-20T14:41:53.633Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","a722db249e58c40b4d72d57ba94834e035429a56f3e39cca9a3dac69c8b78b6c","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-76","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-74",105,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-cover.jpg"]