pertwk Chapter 83 My Wife Is Like That Too
Chapter 83 My Wife Is Like That Too
Chapter 83 My Wife Is Like That Too
Xiao Hei pondered for a moment: "Pushkin, he was an excellent poet."
"Very good, you're right. Pushkin's poems are very beautiful; everyone loves them." Sergei nodded in satisfaction. "And the other students? Who is your favorite Russian writer?"
The Israeli girl blinked her big eyes and replied, "Pushkin was great, but I also really like Leo Tolstoy; I've read his 'War and Peace'."
"Really? That's wonderful! Oh, 'War and Peace,' a great masterpiece by a literary giant, a gem in the history of Russian literature." Sergei cast an admiring glance at the Israeli girl, then looked at Uga sitting next to her: "And you? Which author do you like?"
Uga frowned and pondered for a long time. Perhaps because he knew very little about literature, he could only pretend to answer, "I—I also like Pushkin—".
Before he could finish speaking, Hu Yi, who was sitting on the other side, suddenly burst out laughing. He had been lost in thought about the basketball court for a long time and hadn't paid any attention to Sergei's interaction with his classmates. He had only been thinking about the scene when Masha from the Maji women's basketball team knocked Li Baoqing to the ground with her butt, which was why he couldn't help but laugh.
Sergei, however, assumed he had some unique insight and said with a smile, "Oh, is this the gentleman who likes miracles? Please tell me your opinion?"
"Huh?" Hu Yi was taken aback, then stared blankly at Sergei. Uga whispered from the side, "Ask him your favorite author."
"Authors? Hmm." Hu Yi scratched his head and thought for a moment before answering loudly, "My favorite author is—"
"Yes—it's Jin Yong."
"Jin Yong?" Sergei frowned slightly. "Is this the Chinese writer you're referring to?"
"Yes," Hu Yi said fluently. "Jin Yong is very famous in China. He is good at depicting the wonderful and romantic experiences of young people in ancient China—young martial artists. My favorite book is called—The Legend of the Condor Heroes, which tells the story of Genghis Khan's son-in-law who shot and killed a giant eagle with a bow and arrow, helping Genghis Khan conquer Mongolia, and later—learning and living in society, falling in love with other women, and growing up together with them in the struggle."
"Genghis Khan's son-in-law? Fell in love with another woman?" Sergei asked, looking puzzled.
"That's right, of course it's fictional." Hu Yi explained with a smile, "Oh, right, there's another book where the protagonist is an ancient rogue. In the book, he's a good friend of the Chinese emperor, and he once led an army to fight against Tsarist Russia—well, he also had a love affair with Peter the Great's sister, Princess Sophia—you know—."
"Hmm, that sounds like a very interesting novel. The gentleman you mentioned must be an excellent novelist." Sergei was very patient. "But we're discussing your favorite Russian writer."
"Russian writers? Oh!" Hu Yi then realized that he had been making things up and had completely missed the point. He scratched his ear sheepishly: "My favorite Russian writers—um—."
""
"Pushkin!" Uga thought he wouldn't be able to answer either, and whispered a reminder: "Just say you like Pushkin!"
'
"No, I don't like Pushkin," Hu Yi replied seriously. "My favorite Russian writer is... Chekhov."
"Chekhov? Excellent." Sergei smiled. "Could you explain your reasoning?"
"His books—are quite interesting." Hu Yi remembered that there were excerpts from Chekhov's "The Chameleon" and "The Man in a Case" in his middle school Chinese textbook, but he didn't remember the content very clearly and didn't know the Russian names of the two novels, so he casually said, "In addition, his name is Anton, and my Russian name is also Anton."
"Haha, that reason...it makes sense, though." Sergei looked at him, half-laughing and half-crying. "You just said you don't like Pushkin? Can you tell me why?"
"There's no particular reason, maybe it's because I don't like poetry." Hu Yi shrugged and made a face. "Also, I heard that Pushkin's wife had an affair with another man, and that it led to his death."
A murmur rippled through the classroom. Sergei's expression turned slightly grave, and he shook his head solemnly: "Please don't say that. His personal gains and losses should not affect our recognition of his literary achievements."
Hu Yi raised an eyebrow and smiled: "Alright. I think he's a great writer, but not a successful man."
"No, no, you shouldn't judge his success based on his family life. You're being too harsh." Sergei sighed sadly. "To be honest, my wife is the same way, and it makes me very uncomfortable."
"You—your wife is like that too?!" Hu Yiwan never expected the old professor to have the courage to expose his family scandal in front of his students, and he was speechless for a moment: "Oh! I—I'm so sorry!"
Sergei smiled slightly: "We were just discussing the issue; there's absolutely no need for you to apologize."
"But—but—" Hu Yi was extremely embarrassed, looking at the old professor with sympathy: "Your wife—she—I didn't expect..."
"What's wrong with that? We sometimes discuss these kinds of issues at home, and everyone expresses their own opinions. We should be more tolerant of each other; even married couples shouldn't force each other to accept their own ideas."
"Tolerance?!" Hu Yi glanced at the other students. The Russians seemed very calm, while some of the foreigners frowned slightly, and others looked confused. It was clear that their thoughts were not much different from his own.
"Is that really the case?" he continued. "If I may be so bold as to say this, shouldn't you—shouldn't you divorce her?"
The Russian students were in an uproar, and Sergei was extremely surprised: "What? Divorce?! Why are we getting a divorce?"
"Because—because none of you are happy," Hu Yi muttered in confusion. "After all, she fell in love with another man."
The old professor was shocked: "What?! My God! What nonsense are you talking about! My wife loves me very much! And I love her very much too! There's no other man here!"
Hu Yi stared in disbelief: "Didn't you say she was like Pushkin's wife?"
"No! That's not it!" Sergei waved his hands vigorously. "I mean, she's just like you, using the failure of her marriage to negate Pushkin! Just as harsh as you!"
"Uh—oh—" Hu Yi realized he had made a fool of himself, awkwardly sticking out his tongue and falling silent. Sergei's voice trembled slightly: "Perhaps you have simply misunderstood me, but in any case, your words were very careless and unpleasant."
"That's enough of that topic. Let's get back to what we were doing." The old professor rested his hands on the podium, took a deep breath, glanced at his watch, and sighed dejectedly, "Oh dear! Look, look! It's time for get out of class to end again! What have I even talked about with you all today? See you next class!"
Sergei shook his head and strode out of the classroom. All the students looked at Hu Yi; although no one laughed out loud, they all wore expressions of glee. Uga, with his hoarse voice, gloated, "Anton, you're really finished now. Sergei's definitely going to fail the exam."
"Hey, how can you blame me? He just didn't explain it clearly." Hu Yi blushed deeply, picked up his schoolbag, hurriedly left the classroom and the main building, heading straight for the basketball court next door.