1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

The tallow lamp in the attic was always on.

Michelle barely slept all night, but he was more excited than ever before.

William's notebook lay open on his desk, its simple yet powerful verses seemingly still carrying the last warmth of a young life.

Michel's thoughts flowed across the manuscript paper; he was not writing a poem, but a story.

A story that can visualize this "invisible murder," making even the most aloof gentlemen and ladies feel the pain and break out in a cold sweat.

The story of "Sleepy" flowed through Michel's mind, and the young nanny Valika, who was long oppressed and severely lacked sleep, gradually resonated with this era.

The story he chose was based on Chekhov's "Sleepyhead".

The original story tells of a thirteen-year-old nanny named Valika, who is deprived of all sleep because she cares for a crying baby day and night. Ultimately, in a state of extreme exhaustion and mental derangement, she kills the baby she is caring for in order to get some sleep.

This is an extreme tragedy, and also the most naked indictment of inhuman oppression.

Although Britain no longer has slaves, aren't those workers who work fifteen or sixteen hours a day in factories also "slaves" in the new era?

What Michelle did was to transplant the story's setting from Tsarist Russia, a society based on serfdom, to a factory in Victorian London.

The protagonist of his story is a twelve-year-old girl named Natasha. She is not a nanny, but a worker in a match factory. Her job is simple but monotonous: to soak wooden sticks in a white phosphorus solution.

She worked eighteen hours a day, endlessly repeating the same actions in a workshop filled with a pungent odor. Her salary was only six shillings a week, and after deducting living expenses, there was almost nothing left.

Her biggest wish is to get a good night's sleep.

But the roar of the machines, the foreman's shouts, and the groans of her coworkers suffering from ulcerated gums and constant pain due to phosphorus poisoning kept her awake.

Sleep has become the most luxurious thing in the world.

At the end of the story, in a state of extreme exhaustion and mental confusion, Natasha threw a burning match into the raw material barrel, thinking that this would stop the factory and allow her to fall asleep.

In fact, she did indeed "fall asleep." In a fire, she turned to ashes along with the demons that had devoured her youth and health.

Michel did not use flowery language; he simply used the calmest and most restrained strokes to record Natasha's entire journey from a longing for sleep to a mental breakdown, almost like a plain sketch.

He wanted to convey that deep-seated exhaustion, that almost pathological thirst for sleep, to every reader through the pages!

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Two days later, Michelle completed her heavily modified version of "Sleepyhead".

But where should it be published? The best person he could think of was Michael.

Just in time, I submitted the manuscript of the second short story, as stipulated in the contract.

By the way, didn't he tell me last time that his royalties had increased?

That would be perfect.

When Michel arrived at the London Express editorial office, he was told that Michael had gone to Dickens' house.

"How come these two are together again?"

Michelle arrived at 48 Dowdy Street with practiced ease and rang the Dickens' doorbell.

Catherine opened the door and, upon seeing Michelle, smiled gently before giving a look of sudden realization.

"You're here to see Michael and Charles, right? They're talking in the living room."

After exchanging pleasantries, Michelle went to the living room.

Sure enough, Michael and Dickens were sitting on the sofa talking.

"Michelle, you're here! Michael and I were just talking about you."

Upon seeing Michelle, Dickens showed a look of surprise.

"Your promotional method is absolutely brilliant. You definitely have the mind of a top publisher."

Michael chimed in, but it was clear that his praise was genuine.

When Dickens told him that the idea came from Michel, he was completely dumbfounded.

Dude, how come you can do everything?

Michelle then realized that Dickens and Michael were talking about GG (Grossing) of "A Study in Scarlet".

Dickens acted quite quickly; he had just spoken to him the day before yesterday and immediately began to take action.

"This is?"

Michael became interested when he saw the brown paper bag in Michelle's hand.

"A new work already? Let me see."

At Dickens's house, Michel didn't stand on ceremony and immediately picked up a pastry and started eating. He'd been eating black bread for the past few days, and he was getting really bored.

He ate his snacks while giving a mumbled reply:

"Yes, I just finished writing it today. It's a short story. But you'd better be prepared, this story is quite different from the previous ones."

Hearing this, Michael became even more curious.

What new tricks will Michelle come up with in her short stories this time?

He sat back on the sofa, pulled out a manuscript, and his eyes fell on the title.

Thirst for Sleep

Michael's expression turned serious at just the title.

He could sense that this must be a realistic work.

Michael usually read very quickly, but this time, he read unusually slowly. As he read on, his brow furrowed more and more deeply.

The relaxed and comfortable atmosphere in the living room gradually became heavy.

Sitting opposite him, Dickens keenly sensed the change in atmosphere. He didn't make a sound to disturb them, but simply refilled the teacups of the people on the table with black tea, while his gaze remained fixed on Michael's face.

A look of curiosity crossed his face, as if he wanted to read what kind of work it was from Michael's expression.

Finally, Michael finished reading the last page.

He didn't speak, but let out a long, heavy breath, as if to expel all the pent-up emotions in his chest.

Then he handed the stack of manuscripts to Dickens.

"Charles, you should take a look too."

Dickens put down his teacup and solemnly accepted the manuscript.

Like Michael, his reading speed slowed down, and a heavy expression gradually appeared on his face.

A deathly silence fell over the study.

Dickens's once bright and luminous eyes were now clouded with sorrow. The great writer, renowned for his depictions of society and critiques of reality, finally revealed a profound and unfathomable grief and anger on his face.

After a long while, he slowly put down the manuscript, closed his eyes, leaned back on the sofa, and remained silent.

Michael looked at the silent Dickens and finally couldn't help but speak up, breaking the silence.

"I never imagined that sleep could be written about in such a...heartbreaking way."

Dickens slowly opened his eyes, his gaze not falling on Michel, but instead fixed on the gray London sky outside the window.

A moment later, his voice came faintly:

"I wrote about visible hunger and poverty. Michel, what you wrote was an invisible murder!"

Many thanks to readers "White Food Trash", "88hehe King 88", and "0513miku" for their recommendation votes!