[{"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-90":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},2317265,4531,"Chapter 90: A New Literary Prize (Combined)","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-90",90,"\u003Cp>Although this time Mikhail’s separation from his mother and sister wouldn’t be as prolonged as before, when the actual day of parting came, the three embraced tightly; even after Pulcheria and Du Niya boarded the carriage, they continued gazing at each other from afar until each other’s figures vanished completely, only then did they turn away their eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In this era on the cusp of awakening, both reunions and farewells are so drawn out that, with even slightly bad luck, a parting might mean not seeing each other again for three to five years, seven or eight years, or even forever—nothing uncommon at all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From this perspective, it’s not entirely unreasonable to say literature is, in some sense, regressing; after all, modern people likely find it hard to deeply experience the profound sincerity of lines like “A cup of wine beneath spring wind and peach blossoms, ten years of river rain and lamp light” or “The face is gone, no one knows where—peach blossoms still smile in spring breeze.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the development and change of eras, many complex emotional experiences inevitably descend into banality, reduced to a few flashy phrases, a few musical fragments, and scattered bits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, this isn’t necessarily bad—at least people have the right to choose, and modern people have their own modern experiences.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And just as Dickens had not yet written in *A Tale of Two Cities* that immortal opening:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After seeing off his mother and sister, Mikhail quickly sent a sum of money home via the post office—he had given them money when leaving, but carrying too much cash while traveling was never a good idea.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After that, Mikhail continued meeting all kinds of people in his office, boasting over tea, and after several more days passed, he finally had some free time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now that he was free, one day Mikhail sat on his sofa and thought for a while, then cheerfully put on his coat and headed straight for Panayev’s house.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because he’d been so busy lately, he’d attended fewer gatherings at Panayev’s; upon reflection, this was truly inappropriate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Moreover, though he wasn’t there, he’d heard bits and pieces about the gatherings, especially concerning the young Dostoevsky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In short, while Mikhail was absent, the young Dostoevsky had gained considerable fame in St. Petersburg’s cultural circles; due to his youth and easily agitated nature, he constantly felt compelled to refute others to prove his superiority.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once or twice was fine, but over time, it grew unbearable for others.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortunately, Turgenev had been sent by Belinsky to the countryside to reflect, otherwise with his mouth, the young Dostoevsky would surely have been driven to despair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first major rift between them arose when Turgenev, in front of Dostoevsky, told everyone he’d met a man in the provinces who fancied himself a genius, and skillfully described the man’s absurdities.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young Dostoevsky turned pale and trembled all over; he left before Turgenev finished speaking. Dostoevsky departed, but Turgenev remained immersed in his anecdote, even writing a poem to mock Dostoevsky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the surface, it seemed a matter of personality—Dostoevsky was sensitive, excitable, and prone to pretension; Turgenev was boastful and sharp-tongued—but the deeper cause was ideological difference.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turgenev was a returned overseas student, a firm atheist; Dostoevsky held strong Christian beliefs. When they first met, though Turgenev acknowledged Dostoevsky’s talent, he couldn’t help privately mocking the Christian themes in his works.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Later, the root of their conflict remained much the same: Dostoevsky championed patriotism and Christ; Turgenev, living abroad, believed only Western European thought and paths could save Russia.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This led to their meeting in Germany—even after a brief honeymoon period—their words and ideas remained utterly incompatible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dostoevsky kept insisting: “Hey! Our Russia, the real deal! Third Rome, orthodox Christianity—this world will eventually need Russia to save it! France and Germany? Just stray dogs on the roadside!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turgenev retorted without mercy: “Are you bluffing? Look at what Russia has become and you’re still boasting? Open your eyes and see the world! The source of thought is old Germany, the cradle of revolution is Paris! Russia? A rotting corpse!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Naturally, they erupted into furious exchanges.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dostoevsky called him a fake foreigner and a traitor; Turgenev called him a decaying old conservative.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then they parted in anger.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, even then, when Dostoevsky went mad gambling in Germany, he still remembered to write asking the wealthy Turgenev for a loan—100 silver marks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turgenev lent it, but insisted on using the opportunity to annoy Dostoevsky—he lent only half, and made Dostoevsky sign an IOU.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though a gambler, Dostoevsky had a thin skin and a hot temper; after angrily signing the IOU, he mocked Turgenev again, and thus they broke off relations once more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ideological differences, one could say, are the root cause of intellectuals’ ruptures and mutual attacks in this era.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if we’re honest, both sides had their points—even in terms of outcomes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On one hand, Russia inherited certain ideas from Western Europe; on the other, a powerful messianic sentiment rooted in religion has always clung to Russia.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Simply put, messianism manifests as intense national pride and a savior complex; when this sentiment meets the lofty ideal of “liberating all humanity,” it produces profound resonance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet at the same time, it naturally gives rise to...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, more than this we’ll leave aside for now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Walking toward Panayev’s house, Mikhail thought of these things and, thinking of the young Dostoevsky, felt a pang of headache.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And as Mikhail was troubled, on the other side, at Panayev’s home, because it was once again the weekly gathering, Belinsky, Nekrasov, and several others were all present.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because that devil Mikhail hadn’t been coming lately, the card-loving Belinsky, amid his enthusiastic work, had enjoyed a splendid run of gambling—and this gathering was no different.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the first issue of the new magazine approaching, Belinsky had nearly finished his work and even done extra; excited and elated, he came again to Panayev’s to relax with cards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As always, without Mikhail, Belinsky played cards happily; but occasionally snapping back to reality, he glanced at Dostoevsky, who was boasting and arguing with others, and muttered to Nekrasov:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What’s wrong with Dostoevsky? He keeps repeating the same things, and so passionately.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He’s been like this lately—just like many arrogant writers I’ve met.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looking at the passionate Dostoevsky, Nekrasov shook his head and sighed: “You know, not every genius is Mikhail. Though I think this is normal, he’s been too agitated lately.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sigh.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belinsky couldn’t help sighing again; though he understood, he still worried: “Dostoevsky’s talent is unquestionable, but if he doesn’t improve it, if he thinks himself a genius, he won’t progress. Why can’t he be like Mikhail?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Perhaps it’s just a difference in character,” Nekrasov shrugged. “But if Dostoevsky gets too worked up, you can mention Mikhail’s name—he often calms down after hearing it. Though if you mention it too often, he grows irritated, yelling that everyone only talks about Mikhail and never their own ideas.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come to think of it, Mikhail hasn’t been around for a while.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belinsky shook his head and mused: “Besides work, he’s been spending time with his mother and sister. But counting the days, they should have left by now—has he gained more free time?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What’s wrong, dear Belinsky?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Belinsky’s expectant face, Nekrasov couldn’t help smiling: “You want him to come?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of course not! No! Don’t let him come today! You know, I’ve finally managed to relax—Mikhail showing up will ruin this wonderful evening!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though Belinsky shook his head vigorously, as if fate mocked him, just as Nekrasov was about to say more, a small cheer erupted at the door:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mikhail’s here!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s been a while, dear Mikhail! How have you been? I heard you’ve made a splash in publishing!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“We’ve been waiting for you! Only God knows how happy I am to see you!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing this, Belinsky’s face lit up with joy—but before he could rise to greet Mikhail, he remembered something and sat back down, hastily telling his card partners:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Quick! One more hand! God! If he can keep Mikhail from playing cards today, I’ll have to rebuild my faith!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belinsky’s voice was too low for Mikhail to hear; he simply greeted everyone present, and in response to their praise and jokes, he remained humble, never mentioning his seemingly glorious achievements, only speaking of amusing incidents along the way and sharing harmless little jokes with those around him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young Dostoevsky observed all of this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though Mikhail had always been like this, seeing it again now, the young man—who had just been so agitated—stepped back involuntarily, unsure how to speak.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Mikhail clearly hadn’t ignored him; after greeting those nearby, he walked straight to Dostoevsky and smiled: “Dear Fyodor, how have you been? Any new writing plans? I’m eagerly awaiting your next work!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To be fair, though Dostoevsky had stunned the literary world with *Poor Folk*, perhaps the fame and success had blinded him for a while; after *Poor Folk*, he entered a prolonged slump, and some works drew criticism from Belinsky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The more he tried to prove himself, the harder it became to produce truly astonishing work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If possible, Mikhail still hoped Dostoevsky would settle down and write seriously soon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At these words, the young Dostoevsky’s face flushed crimson; he nodded frantically, uttered two syllables, then fell silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail paid it no mind, merely patted his shoulder to signal him to relax, then walked toward Belinsky under the eyes of others.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Belinsky felt Mikhail’s approach, though inwardly delighted, his hand holding the cards trembled, his heart grew increasingly unsettled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Finally, when Mikhail arrived, Belinsky raised his hands in surrender, sighing heavily:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sigh! Sigh! Looks like I’ll remain an atheist. Mikhail, you win! What will you do next? Sit down and play cards? Then I’ll quickly give you my seat! Come! Come like a storm!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail: “???”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Do I really love cards that much?!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Slander! All slander!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Dear Belinsky, look what you’ve made me out to be.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail’s mouth twitched slightly, then he said: “I came today to discuss something major about the magazine—it could greatly affect our publication.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hearing Mikhail mention the magazine, Belinsky instantly snapped out of his sighing and asked urgently: “What is it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A literary prize. Funded by the magazine or by me personally.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After choosing his words carefully, Mikhail continued: “Let’s establish a prize—specifically to reward writers who publish outstanding works in our magazine!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1786,"2026-06-20T14:41:53.633Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","2e27a2f6f60a91ef99a024cd15e44b4bb1e2ea6a5f6560a68d1872d1f53f5f20","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-91","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-89",105,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-cover.jpg"]