I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 160 I want to live with you in a small town, sharing endless sunsets.

As the deep night once again enveloped St. Petersburg, the residence of Madame Rostopchina on Morskaya Street was unusually lively. At exactly seven o'clock in the evening, the crystal chandelier and candlesticks in the living room intertwined to cast a soft light, illuminating the semi-circular conversation area formed by French sofas, as well as the poetry books and musical scores placed next to the piano, and giving the European artworks displayed on the fireplace a rustic luster.

Before that, carriages, some luxurious and some simple, had already flowed into the vicinity of Lady Rostopchina's residence, and then guests dressed in very particular attire stepped down from their carriages and walked straight toward Lady Rostopchina's residence.

Soon, servants took their cloaks and canes, and Madame Rostopchina, dressed in a silk gown, greeted the guests in the foyer. Normally, this process wouldn't have taken much of her time, but today, before the salon even started, Madame Rostopchina was already feeling slightly tired.

After entering, the guests did not immediately find seats. Instead, they looked around the living room and, seeing that there were no particularly noteworthy people, began to look for acquaintances and chat briefly about topics of interest.

However, today, the topics they were concerned about were surprisingly consistent:
"I heard that the poet who has already made a name for himself in French literary circles will be coming today?"

“I’ve heard about it too. Apparently, there’s a good chance he’ll be reciting his new work.”

"That's wonderful! Have you heard his recent poem, 'The Only Day'? A day is longer than a hundred years, and the embrace is endless—what a romantic expression! Hearing such a poem in winter is truly delightful."

"Anyone with even a slight interest in literature and art should have heard of this poem, right? It's definitely the most widely circulated poem in St. Petersburg this winter. But I actually prefer the previous ones."

"I don't know what kind of person this poet is. I have heard about his works and his deeds many times, but I have never seen him. It is said that he only likes to stay in his own small circle and he is indifferent to the attention and opinions of many people."

Normally, in a literary salon held in Russia today, men are usually the main participants, while women are more like listeners and people who help to lighten the mood. In such cases, there are bound to be not many female participants. But at today's salon, at first glance, you would really think that there were more female participants than men. And because they were talking quite loudly when they gathered together, the men not far away could hear it all clearly.

Some people share the same curiosity, wanting to see what this legendary poet is like and whether he will recite new works. At the same time, some people are still arrogant and inevitably feel jealous and resentful about the attention and discussion that the young man receives.

As they gathered together, they naturally couldn't help but discuss their plans. Among them, one young man seemed particularly ambitious. Hearing the surrounding conversations, he couldn't help but speak to an acquaintance:
"Yakov, is this your first time attending Mrs. Rostopchina's banquet? How are your preparations going?"

"very good!"

As a poet who had recently gained fame in St. Petersburg, Yakov was quite self-assured. His recent works had just received much praise, which boosted his confidence considerably. Even though a supposedly very talented young poet was expected to appear at this literary salon, he felt he could certainly compete, and so he continued in response:
"Believe me, after tonight, these noble ladies and young women will know who is more worthy of discussion. I admit that the commoner poet has some decent poems, but after hearing them so many times, they seem to lose their appeal."

When he used the word "commoner," he clearly emphasized it, and his face couldn't hide his pride and modesty regarding his identity.

"you're right."

The young man who asked the question nodded in agreement, then said with equal confidence, "But compared to you, I think I'll be the subject of much more discussion! Just you wait and see, there will definitely be noble ladies and young misses surrounding me and asking me all sorts of questions!"

When faced with a large number of women, some people may appear surprised and afraid, seemingly wanting to make a show of themselves, but in the end they often choose to back down. Others, on the other hand, become increasingly excited and eager in such situations, wishing they could make a good impression and gain everyone's attention.

These two young men clearly belonged to the latter group, and facing his equally confident companion, Yakov chose to be slightly modest: "Then let's have a showdown between the two of us! Let's see who wins in the end!"

"it is good!"

Because Mikhail's circle of friends in St. Petersburg's literary circles was becoming increasingly wide, a man standing not far from them, who had been trying to maintain appearances for a long time, could no longer restrain himself as the two young men got more and more carried away. He walked straight up to them and said, with a hint of anger:
"Believe me, Mr. Mikhail only needs to exhale slightly to easily defeat you!"

Frankly, if Mikhail had heard this, he would have wondered if he hadn't brushed his teeth that day, otherwise where would he get such a big mouth? But these two young men felt their blood rushing to their heads, and their whole bodies flushed instantly. So they opened their mouths and retorted, "Who are you?! What is your relationship with him? How dare you say such a thing!"

“I would like to have some connection with Mr. Mikhail, but unfortunately, I have only met him once.”

As someone who witnessed Mikhail casually scribbling down the poem "I Will Take You Back from All the Earth, From All the Heavens" at the general's house, although he seemed to see a reflection of his past self in these two young men, he couldn't help but continue, remembering what they had just said:

"Just you wait and see, you'll soon realize just how wrong you were!"

Before the two young men could continue to refute, a commotion suddenly arose at the doorway. Once the people in the living room realized what was happening, the scene became noisy. However, seeing that no one was coming in for a long time, the living room quickly quieted down again.

As the living room grew quieter, many people naturally heard a conversation coming from the doorway. Some were taken aback when they heard Mrs. Rostopchina seemingly greeting the guests in French.

The reason for this is that many people know of one of Rostopchina's habits: when important guests arrive, she often greets them in French. Rostopchina once greeted poets such as Pushkin and Vyazemsky in her elegant and beautiful French, and now she seems to be greeting a poet of the new era in French as well.

In response to her greeting, the other party seemed to respond quickly and unhurriedly in his highly recognizable voice and in his equally pure and elegant French. After his voice stopped, the sound of boots hitting the carpet followed, also unhurried, entering the living room at a rather soothing pace.

When the sound stopped again, the guests in the living room, who had quieted down, looked up one by one. When all eyes were drawn to one place, the figure that seemed to be made of all sorts of wonderful musical notes politely bowed to all the gazes.

Just as the noise resumed, the young man's next choice surprised everyone once again. Generally speaking, important guests of the salon should be guided directly to the core area, while newly arrived writers or poets would be led to the tea table to ease the tension.

There was neither fear nor excitement on the young man's face, but rather a calmness like that of the St. Petersburg night. For some reason, he eventually walked to the tea table amidst the surprised gazes of the crowd.

However, after the initial surprise, people naturally noticed his flustered, slightly trembling companion beside him, and their opinion of the young man unconsciously rose a few points. Did he really choose to do this to take care of his friend?
Since the young man was heading towards the tea table, he naturally ran into the three young men who had seemed to be having a conflict earlier. Upon seeing him, the man who had been arguing with the other two seemed to tremble slightly, and then unconsciously asked:
“Mr. Mikhail, I’ve met you before. I wonder if you remember me?”

“Of course, Mr. Boris Fedorovich Godunov.”

The young man smiled slightly and continued, "It's an honor to see you again. How have you been?"

"very good!"

The two exchanged pleasantries for a while. After the pleasantries ended, the young man looked at the two young men who had just been preparing to determine who was better. For some unknown reason, the two young men, who had been full of confidence, suddenly felt inferior. Just as they gritted their teeth and prepared to deal with the young man's arrogance and questioning, the young man smiled and introduced himself, and then asked for their names.

In the end, he simply sat down next to the two young men with his companion. After calming his companion down, the young man finally began to eat the tea and snacks in front of him calmly. Because they were sitting so close, the two young men seemed to have clearly heard the sounds of the tea and snacks breaking and shattering.
Just as the two originally confident young people were completely stunned, seeing that the guests had almost all arrived, Rostopchina, a noblewoman who looked like an ancient Greek sculpture, glanced at the tea and snacks several more times before officially starting today's literary salon.

To help guests quickly immerse themselves in the literary salon atmosphere, a soothing small string quartet soon began playing in the otherwise artistic living room. During these times, guests could often converse quietly, interspersed with anecdotes from the St. Petersburg literary scene or the literary challenges faced by a particular poet or writer.

But today, the whispered conversations and glances all seemed to be directed at the same person. As Nadya listened to these voices and saw these diverse gazes, her heart pounded with excitement, yet she also felt a slight pang of sadness, or perhaps a host of other complex emotions welled up within her.

After the warm-up session, Rostopchina, the hostess of the literary salon, once again chose to begin by reciting her own new poem. Her voice was as soft as a nightingale's whisper, yet every word was clear, and the poem focused on themes of love and freedom.

After she finished reciting, she was quickly greeted with applause and a few sighs of emotion. After her recitation, it is generally the turn of the newcomers to recite their works and receive comments from the audience. If there are many newcomers, there is often a subtle competitive relationship among them. Therefore, the order of performance is something that needs to be carefully considered.

But when the young man at the tea station looked at the two young men beside him with an inquiring gaze, the two men did not make any move. So after waiting for a while, the young man quickly wiped the corner of his mouth with a barely perceptible movement, and then walked to the center of the living room amidst expectant gazes.

After bowing to everyone at a leisurely pace, the young man seemed to search among the noble ladies and young women. When he met those familiar blue eyes again, he finally stopped and unconsciously smiled.

But perhaps because he had passed by so many eyes during his search, many people present felt as if they were staring into those deep, dark eyes. Before they could even consider whether to look away, Mikhail, who was actually only looking at one person, began to recite:
I want to live with you.
In a certain small town,
Sharing endless sunsets,
And the continuous sound of bells.

In the hotel of this small town—

The sound of an old clock striking
faint sound
Like time gently dripping away.

At this point, the expressions on many people's faces seemed to have completely changed, but the young man's voice continued:

Sometimes, at dusk,
The sound of a flute came from a room on the top floor.
The piper leaned against the window.

Large tulips bloom in the window.

If you don't love me right now, I won't care.

In the center of the room, there was a stove made of ceramic tiles.

Each tile is painted with a picture:

A heart, a sailboat, a rose.

And outside our only window

Snow, snow, snow.

You will lie in my favorite position: