1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

If Michel had gone on to have a successful career, future historians and literature enthusiasts would likely have considered his first meeting with Dickens a historic moment, and even longed to witness such a moment in person.

Perhaps it will be given a somewhat cheesy name like "The Collision of Two Stars in the Victorian Era".

In reality, it was just a large-scale commercial mutual flattery event.

After Dickens asked, Michael put his arm around Michel's shoulder and said, "Charles, let me introduce you to a genius! This is Mr. Michel, the author of 'The Last Leaf,' which is all the rage in London these days."

"The Last Leaf?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Dickens's blue eyes, and his expression instantly brightened. His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth opened into a large "O".

He looked Michelle up and down as if she were some rare animal.

"Oh! So you're the author! My goodness, I was just telling Catherine yesterday that the person who wrote this story must be an old man to have such insight into life. I never expected this..."

"I never imagined he was so young! My apologies! I absolutely love this novel; the ending is brilliant, a stroke of genius!"

Dickens laughed and extended his hand warmly.

Have you forgotten that you're young yourself...?

While Michelle mentally complained, she shook hands firmly with Dickens.

"You flatter me, Mr. Dickens."

Before Michelle could offer any more modesty, the other person continued, "A good story speaks for itself. My wife and her sister Mary both cried buckets after reading it. In my opinion, a story that can make ladies cry is definitely a good story."

Dickens's entire face moved as he spoke, clearly showing his genuine praise. After all, as Britain's most popular author at the time, there was absolutely no need for him to be polite to a newcomer like Dickens.

Catherine, standing nearby, chimed in with a smile: "Yes, Charles said that even if he were to write it, he probably couldn't come up with such a clever twist."

The affirmation from a great writer is more exhilarating than any other praise! Michelle felt like she was floating on air...

After exchanging pleasantries, the three of them sat down again on the sofa by the fireplace.

Michael cut to the chase and stated his purpose directly: "Charles, I brought Michel here today not just to let him see you."

"Oh?" Dickens picked up his teacup, his large eyes filled with curiosity as he looked at him, expecting an answer.

“Michelle has a novel in her hands right now, which I find very special.” Michael carefully chose his words. “I think it might be a good fit for the magazine you’re currently editing.”

Dickens was immediately intrigued upon hearing this.

He has just been hired by publisher Richard Bentley at a high salary to serve as the editor-in-chief of the newly launched monthly magazine, *Bentley's Journal*. The magazine's inaugural issue will be released next month.

He had high ambitions for this magazine, hoping to achieve instant fame. Therefore, in addition to serializing his new work, *Oliver Twist*, he urgently needed other substantial works to form a solid foundation. He was open to any good story.

"A novel with a unique subject matter?"

Dickens put down his teacup, leaned forward slightly, and asked with childlike curiosity, "How special is it? Is it an adventure satire like *The Pickwick Papers*? Or a historical legend like *The Hunchback of Notre Dame*?"

"Neither."

Michelle shook her head and carefully took the manuscript out of the brown paper bag.

"Mr. Dickens, my novel is different from all those others. It's about a murder case and how logic and reasoning uncover the real killer. I call it a 'detective novel.'"

He handed over the manuscript.

Detective? Are they the "thief catchers" who collude with criminals for profit? Or are they the "privacy snoopers" who help people track down intelligence?

The profession of detective was still in its infancy in England at that time, far less mature than in France. Public perception of detectives remained stuck in outdated stereotypes... Dickens knew a thing or two about it, but he couldn't imagine how Michel would write a 'detective novel'.

When Dickens received the manuscript, his eyebrows furrowed almost into a knot, his curiosity reaching its peak.

Popular novels of this era were either satirical and depicting of human nature, like his own works, or historical legends like "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

A "detective" story, especially one about a "detective," sounds quite novel. I just don't know if Michelle can write it well.

"A Study in Scarlet," he read the title aloud to himself.

Dickens initially flipped through the book casually, his expression showing a mixture of scrutiny and curiosity.

The living room was quiet, with only the occasional crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.

Michael and Michelle held their breath, watching his reaction with bated breath.

They were all curious about how Charles Dickens, currently Britain's most popular novelist, would view this "special" novel.

Time ticked by, Dickens's expression shifted constantly, and he turned the pages faster and faster.

It's clear he was completely absorbed in the story!

That was amazing!

This absolute intellectual dominance and this entirely new narrative style gave Dickens an unprecedented shock.

It was as if he wasn't reading a novel, but personally experiencing the process of solving a mystery.

Catherine came out of the kitchen with tea and snacks. Seeing her husband's dazed look, she wanted to say something, but Michael stopped her with a look.

Michael even gave her a smug nod, as if to say, "See? I knew this would happen."

Finally, Dickens turned to the last page of the manuscript.

The story ends abruptly when he sees Holmes gathering everyone at 221B Baker Street and announcing that he has caught the murderer.

"That's it? That's all?"

Dickens abruptly looked up, his expression filled with astonishment and a sense of being interrupted.

"What happened next? Who was the killer? What does 'RACHE' mean? Tell me quickly!"

He asked loudly, as if he had been provoked.

Michelle was startled by Dickens's appearance and instinctively took a step back, quickly explaining.

"I've already conceived the rest of the plot, Mr. Dickens. It's just that due to time constraints, it hasn't been fully written down yet."

At this moment, Michael, who was watching the show from the sidelines, burst out laughing.

"Charles, you look just like those readers who keep asking about the next issue of Pickwick."

"Let me think, this work is indeed very... very special."

Dickens ignored Michael's teasing and continued to think for a few more minutes.

Then, he looked up at Michelle, his lively expression turning serious and sincere.

"Mr. Michel, you know I used to be a journalist for a long time and read a lot of crime reports. I've even been to courthouses myself, you know, those things are often full of blood, filth, and chaos. But this piece of yours..."

"Completely different..."

"Sherlock Holmes. This detective, he sliced ​​through the thick fog of London with surgical logic. Michelle, you're right, what you write is different from everyone else's; it's something entirely new!"

"Yes... rationality! This is a kind of rational romance!"

Dickens paused, finally finding a suitable adjective to describe it, and his face instantly lit up with a brilliant light. He slapped his thigh: "This thing will usher in a completely new era! The novel will enter the era of 'reason'!"

As expected of a man standing at the pinnacle of literary history, Dickens, with his genius-like intuition, found the core of the "detective novel" after only reading it once.

He suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the living room, waving his arms excitedly. His expressive face was exaggerated to the extreme, making it more like a speech than an evaluation.

"After *A Study in Scarlet*, all detective stories could only follow in your footsteps, imitate you, and chase after you!"

"Logic! Deduction! This is truly a game for intelligent people! Good heavens, how come I never thought of writing it this way!"

"Michael, you've brought us a treasure! A treasure that can change the British literary world!"

Michael, who was watching the drama unfold, smiled smugly, enjoying his old friend's praise as he observed Dickens's excited reaction.

Michelle, on the other hand, was stunned by the sudden praise, half enjoying it and half feeling shy, after all, this was originally the glory that belonged to the founders of the sect, Edgar Allan Poe and Arthur Conan Doyle.

However, given their talent, they are likely capable of creating even better works.

Dickens stopped in his tracks, his burning gaze fixed on Michelle.

"Mr. Michel, I am willing to pay the highest rate of payment from Bentley Monthly."

"I want this novel!"

Then, Dickens went to the window and drew back the heavy red velvet curtains.

Outside the window, a gray fog shrouded the streets of London, and the dim yellow glow of the gas lamps flickered in the fog.

Dickens pointed to the city shrouded in thick fog outside the window.

"Look there, Michelle."

"This city is filled with fog, crime, and secrets, and people are searching for order amidst the chaos."

Dickens turned his head and looked at Michel.

"And you, you just lit that lamp!"