1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

Michelle's mind was still buzzing even after she left Dickens's house.

Dickens's line, "You lit the lamp," made him feel a little dizzy.

Fortunately, when Michel woke up hungry again in bed, the grim reality quickly brought him back to his senses.

Beyond spiritual fulfillment, there are more practical problems that need to be addressed.

For example, satisfy his hunger first.

After all, he's different from "Victoria's Selected White Feather Man"; he can't possibly do a full day's hard work on just one dark bread loaf. Even for mental labor like writing, he needs at least two dark bread loaves, or even more.

This made matters worse for Michel's already meager shillings.

As for what "Victoria's Selected White Feathers" means, it refers to lower-class white people who have been selected by capitalism, just like "white feather chickens".

White-feathered chickens have an extremely short growth cycle, reaching marketable size in just 40 days. They can grow plump even when fed leftovers, and they can thrive in dirty or poor environments.

The "White Feathered Man" is the same; after two or three hundred years of targeted domestication by capitalism, it has been optimized into a human version of the White Feathered Chicken.

Their childhoods are pitifully short; they mature rapidly in their teens, appearing much older than their actual age. Many either marry or have children early, then age quickly, ultimately being discarded by society like trash. They are hardworking, tireless, capable of working three jobs a day, indiscriminate in their food, and willing to sleep under bridges or in cardboard boxes. They endure illnesses head-on, developing remarkable drug resistance. They can quickly complete a life journey that would normally take decades or even centuries.

All of this selection process began in the Victorian era. After the Enclosure Movement, large numbers of farmers were driven from their land, and laws were passed to prohibit vagrancy and begging. Destitute and helpless, they were forced to move to the city and become workers for capitalists, working fifteen or sixteen hours a day, their own lives and their children's lives were exploited to the point of exhaustion.

In the Victorian era, chimney sweeps started working at two or three years old and could "retire" at five or six. There were also child laborers who started working on assembly lines at five and went down into mines at eight. Marx also mentioned in "Capital" that there were even two-and-a-half-year-old children in England who were forced to work.

Capital never treats people as human beings, but rather as consumables.

(A humorous meme about "Victoria's Choice" - image sourced from the internet)

The payment for "The Last Leaf" had already been made in advance, but "A Study in Scarlet" had not yet been officially published, so naturally there was no payment for it. After all, not all editors are as generous as Michael.

As Michel pulled the last piece of black bread from the paper bag, a brilliant idea flashed into his mind.

He has already compiled the subsequent plot of "A Study in Scarlet".

As a collaborator, he had the obligation and the necessity to personally deliver the manuscript to the editor-in-chief for review.

Yes, that makes perfect sense.

And by the way... I can also get a free meal.

With this "pure" working purpose in mind, Michelle knocked on the door of 48 Dowdy Street once again, carrying her freshly completed manuscript.

Catherine opened the door as always. When she saw that the visitor was Michelle, a warm smile immediately appeared on her face, much more friendly and familiar than when they last met.

"Mr. Michel! Please come in. Charles has been talking about you these past few days."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Catherine."

Michelle politely removed her hat: "I'm here to deliver the follow-up manuscript."

"You've come at just the right time; we were just getting ready for afternoon tea." Catherine warmly led him to the living room, treating him like family.

In the living room, Dickens was talking to a young girl when he saw Michelle enter. His big eyes lit up instantly, and his expression turned into one of surprise and delight.

The girl had delicate features, with a youthful innocence, and long flaxen hair. Her face bore an 80% resemblance to Catherine.

As Dickens greeted them, he introduced Michelle: "This is Catherine's sister, Mary, who is 17 years old."

"Oh, it's her!" Michelle realized, smiling outwardly while her mind raced with gossip.

What one cannot obtain in youth will ultimately haunt one's entire life; the gossip surrounding Dickens and his sister-in-law is legendary. Indeed, in a sense, Dickens was a very devoted man. It is said that Catherine's appearance was remarkably similar to Maria, his "first love" who had toyed with his feelings. And after conflicts arose with his wife Catherine, Dickens projected his affections onto his second sister Mary and third sister Georgina, who also resembled Catherine…

If I remember correctly, in May of 1837, after Dickens took her to see a play, his sister-in-law Mary suddenly fell seriously ill and died. This was a huge blow to Dickens, and he was devastated. For several weeks, he couldn't muster the energy to resume his work, and the publication of *The Pickwick Papers* had to be postponed. He even planned to be buried next to Mary.

Catherine: ? ? ?

For Dickens's family life, Mary's death was more dangerous than her life. Through her, Dickens depicted some of his most compelling characters, such as Little Nell. He missed her constantly, always imagining her as a perfect person. After all, a dead person is invincible; compared to her, all living women always pale in comparison.

Thinking of this, Michelle's eyes lit up, glancing discreetly among the group with a gossipy look.

What could he possibly do? He pondered to himself.

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

Dickens didn't notice anything amiss. He practically jumped up from the sofa, rushed over to Michel, and stared intently at the brown paper bag in Michel's hand, like a cat that had spotted a dried fish.

Come on, where's your airs as a great writer?

Michelle felt a pang in her heart.

"Where's the manuscript? Did you bring it?"

Michelle was both amused and exasperated by his enthusiasm and could only hand over the manuscript.

"Mr. Dickens, all the answers are in here."

Dickens snatched the manuscript and couldn't wait to open it.

"Charles, please have Mr. Michel sit down and have some tea." Catherine came over with tea and a plate of delicate scones, looking at her husband with a hint of helplessness.

"Yes, yes, look at me, I'm so excited." Dickens laughed heartily, then pulled Michelle to sit down on the sofa. "Michelle, you are truly a torturous genius! I've been dreaming about how Sherlock Holmes will unravel the mystery these past few days."

Mary, who was standing nearby, also came over, her eyes, as bright as Dickens's, filled with curiosity: "Mr. Michel, can we see it now? Or... could you tell us about it?"

Although Catherine and Mary were also curious about the story, Dickens, out of professional ethics, did not tell them. This only made them more curious about this 'detective story'.

Looking into the three pairs of expectant eyes, Michelle cleared her throat and picked up her tea with feigned seriousness.

"Of course, no problem, but..."

"Stories are most effective when presented by the best storytellers."

His gaze drifted almost imperceptibly toward Dickens.

He wasn't trying to be lazy; Dickens truly had an exceptional talent for acting and recitation. He was even nearly chosen to be an actor, and his recitations were remarkably lifelike. Twenty years later, Dickens even turned "recitations" into his main profession, earning thousands of pounds a week, which accounted for a full half of his income.

"The capable should do the work first, but then again, this kind of poetry reading could totally be co-organized with Dickens, and I could get involved too," Michelle thought to herself.

However, it's more important to take this opportunity to eat as much as possible.

Dickens immediately understood what he meant, and he was clearly very happy about it, his face showing the excited expression of a theatrical actor about to take the stage.

"Catherine, Mary, sit down! We're about to witness the most exciting deduction show ever!"

He cleared his throat, picked up the manuscript, and his entire demeanor changed.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, and Dickens's voice echoed in the warm living room. He wasn't just reading; he was performing!

When reading Holmes' explanation of how to determine the type of carriage and the weight of the driver by the width and depth of the wheel tracks, he would stand up, imitate Holmes' gesture, and gesture with his fingers in the air.

When he read Holmes' explanation that "RACHE" was not the unfinished "RACHEL," but rather the German word for "revenge," he lowered his voice, each word carrying a chilling sharpness.

Catherine and Mary listened intently, sometimes gasping in surprise, sometimes frowning, completely drawn into the mysterious London crime scene.

Michelle leaned back on the sofa, enjoying delicious scones while listening to the great writer's "live-dubbed" audiobook.

This treatment is unique in the world.

I declare that Himalaya, Microcosm, and all those podcasts from later generations are utterly inferior...

Dickens was truly wasted not being an actor; his expressions and movements were no less impressive than those of professional actors.

Michelle enjoyed her afternoon tea while inwardly complaining.

"Once all the impossibilities are eliminated, whatever remains, however unbelievable, is the truth."

When Dickens read Holmes' classic line in a remarkably penetrating voice, the entire living room fell silent.

Catherine and Mary's faces were filled with shock and admiration.

"Oh my God!"

Mary murmured to herself, "So that's how it is... I never imagined that so many clues could be hidden in those inconspicuous details."

"That was amazing!"

Catherine also exclaimed sincerely, "Charles, this story is more captivating than any you've ever read before."

Dickens put down his manuscript and let out a long sigh of relief, as if he had just finished a thoroughly enjoyable performance. His gaze towards Michelle held admiration and a hint of...jealousy?

"Michelle, I must admit, this intellectual pleasure is unlike anything I've ever experienced in my previous work. Sherlock Holmes, this man is so charismatic! He's not just solving cases, he's an artist!"

Being praised so highly by the great writer made Michelle feel her cheeks burning, so she could only humbly stuff another scone into her mouth.

Mmm, the ratio of butter to jam is just right, it smells delicious.

After reading the story for so long, everyone was tired, so dinner was naturally put on the agenda.

Catherine's cooking skills are amazing. The roasted lamb chops are crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, with rich juices. Served with pepper sauce, they are simply a delicacy.

British food isn't just fish and chips.

The atmosphere at the dinner table became more relaxed. Dickens was no longer the aloof literary giant, but more like a big boy who had found a new toy.

He discussed with Michel the character of Sherlock Holmes, the role of Watson, and even where to end a chapter during the serialization to keep readers on the edge of their seats.

"The next issue will end here when Holmes reveals the truth! Yes, right here! I want all the readers in London to taste the agony I've been going through these past few days!" Dickens announced excitedly, waving his knife and fork.

"Aren't you afraid of getting death threats from readers for doing this?"

Michelle nodded as she quickly finished the last piece of lamb chop on her plate.

He discovered that as long as he brought a new chapter of Sherlock Holmes, the Dickens household would always be open to him, and Catherine's kitchen was always overflowing with delicious food.

So, in the following weeks, Michelle became a regular visitor to the Dickens household.

He always managed to appear right around mealtimes, bringing a few pages of "freshly made" manuscripts.

He took the term "mooching a meal" to its extreme.

Their friendship also grew rapidly through this strange exchange of "one manuscript for one meal".

P.S.: Thank you to reader "Little God" for the monthly ticket and recommendation vote!