1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

The fog in London hadn't lifted yet, but a day had already begun on Fleet Street.

For Michael, the editor-in-chief of the London Express, these past few days have felt like a dream.

At this time of day, he would usually be worrying about the dismal sales figures, wondering if he should add more eye-catching headlines like "The Duchess's Secret Lover" or "The Two-Headed Monster Fish in the Thames".

But these past two days have been completely different. He's not worried about too few sales, but rather too many! In the past, the print run of the London Express was never enough to meet market demand.

"Michael, the last batch of newspapers sold out again! Should we print a third batch?"

Robert jogged into the office, panting and sweating.

"Add more! Of course we need to add more! Tell Old Tom at the printing plant to keep the machines running, print as much as we can!"

Michael suddenly stood up and said.

"Okay, I'll go tell old Tom right away!" With that, Robert ran off again.

Michael looked at the busy editorial office of the London Express and a smug smile appeared on his face.

All of this is thanks to the wonderful story of that young man named Michel and the comments of Professor Joseph.

Of course, there's also his exceptional eye for people.

Just a few days ago, a literary review by Professor Joseph of the University of London was published in a highly influential literary journal in London.

This commentary, written with a calm and collected style, dissects the profound meaning of "The Last Leaf" layer by layer. It explores the social context of Southwark, the plight of artists, the coldness of contemporary London, and the glimmer of humanity Behrman left behind in his final moments.

"We often praise those epic works that depict grand wars and heroic tales, but we often overlook those ordinary glimmers that pierce the fabric of our times. Michel Leblanc's novel is a mirror reflecting our era," Professor Joseph wrote at the end of his review.

The publication of this commentary was like a drop of water falling into boiling oil, creating ripples. It instantly elevated this heartwarming story, which had originally circulated only among the urban population, to the level of "serious literature."

Countless gentlemen who disdained the "lowbrow" tabloid, the London Express, sent people to buy it, just to see the novel in person.

In today's London social circles, if you haven't read "The Last Leaf" and haven't shed a couple of tears for the sacrifice of the old painter Behrman, you'd be embarrassed to even strike up a conversation with someone.

"Michelle is really something," Michael even started to wonder if he had paid Michelle too little for her writing.

Thirty shillings? At the time, that was an astronomical sum for a newcomer, but now, considering the revenue this novel brought to the London Express, even thirty pounds wouldn't be an exaggeration.

But he quickly dismissed the idea; the novella "The Last Leaf" was a thing of the past. The key now was to keep Michel engaged and ensure he continued contributing to the *London Dispatch*...

……

Meanwhile, in the dark, damp attic of the apartment, Michelle was writing furiously.

Michel was unaware that he had become the talk of London's social and literary circles. He steadied the wobbly table with one hand while writing rapidly on the paper with the other.

The room was filled with a strange smell, a mixture of cheap ink and rotting wood.

He barely left the house this week, except to go downstairs to buy a few dark breads to fill his stomach. He spent the rest of his time on this stack of manuscript papers.

There were two reasons: first, to save money, since he only had five shillings left, and a black bread often cost between one and two pence; second, to finish writing "A Study in Scarlet" as soon as possible and earn new royalties.

Although it was his first time writing a full-length novel, Michel wrote with exceptional ease. His inexplicably enhanced memory and learning abilities after transmigrating, coupled with the vast amount of reading he had accumulated in his previous life, meant that he hardly needed to formulate anything; the ingenious reasoning and plot flowed naturally from his pen.

The detective, with his deerstalker hat, pipe, eccentric personality, and exceptional intelligence, is gradually coming to life on paper, walking through the thick fog of London into this era.

Finally, as the last period fell, Michel let out a long sigh of relief. He rubbed his aching wrists, feeling as if all the bones in his body were about to fall apart. But looking at the thick stack of manuscripts in front of him, an unprecedented sense of satisfaction welled up in his heart.

While "The Last Leaf" was undeniably stunning, this was the real game-changer. He was confident that, after his revisions, the even more tightly paced and exciting "A Study in Scarlet" would shine even brighter than in the original timeline.

Michelle carefully put the manuscript into a brown paper bag, tidied her clothes briefly in front of the mirror, and then walked out of the room.

It's time to meet with that editor, Michael.

-----------------

In a coffee shop near Fleet Street.

Michael deliberately chose a window seat and waited early, ordering a pot of Ceylon tea that he himself usually wouldn't drink. He kept glancing at his pocket watch and at the entrance of the café, appearing somewhat restless.

When Michelle walked in, Michael almost immediately stood up, a warm smile on his face, and went to greet her.

"Michelle! My dear friend! You've finally arrived!"

He gripped Michelle's hand tightly, so warmly that Michelle almost thought she had mistaken him for someone else.

Sorry, I won't change my mind.

"Editor Michael." Michelle calmly withdrew her hand.

"Forget about calling me editor, just call me Michael!" Michael laughed and said, "Have a seat, I haven't been able to sleep these past two days because I've been thinking about you so much."

"Mr. Michael, you look well. It seems the newspaper sales are good?"

Michelle smiled and sat down in her seat.

"It's more than just good! It's absolutely insane!" Michael lowered his voice, but he couldn't hide the smugness in his eyes. "You know what? Yesterday's sales alone are equivalent to half a month's sales. Especially after Professor Joseph's commentary came out, our newspaper office was practically worn down by the crowds."

Professor Joseph's comments? Michel looked puzzled. He only learned about the events of the past few days from Michael's explanation.

So, does that mean I'm somewhat well-known in London's literary circles?

But this name sounds so much like the teacher who gave the original owner the recommendation letter.

No, I didn't, I didn't do anything.

Looking at Michael, who seemed to understand her perfectly, Michelle realized she couldn't explain herself anymore.

But is this what they mean by "having connections in high places makes things easier"? I really need to pay this teacher a proper visit afterwards...

"Here, have some tea," Michael poured a cup of tea and eagerly pushed it towards him.

"It's all thanks to you, Michelle. How's it going? Any new ideas lately? If you come up with another story like 'The Last Leaf,' the pay is negotiable! I'll raise it from the contract to... three pounds a thousand words! Oh no, five pounds!"

Michael held up five fingers, looking as if he were about to cut off a piece of his own flesh.

Five pounds, so three thousand words would be fifteen pounds?

Michelle admitted that he was tempted; if he had known you could offer this price, he wouldn't have bothered writing a novel.

Michelle took a sip of tea, placed the brown paper bag on the table, and gently pushed it towards him.

"Of course, that's possible, but as for short stories, I haven't written any recently. We agreed on one story per month, didn't we?"

Michael's smile froze for a moment, but then Michelle's words made his eyes light up.

"But I wrote a big one."

"A big one?" Michael stared at the brown paper bag and swallowed hard.

Just how big is the "big guy" that Michelle is talking about?