On campus, the sun was shining brightly, and flowers were blooming everywhere. Wild ducks flapped their wings on the lake, sending ripples across the surface and disturbing the quiet of the afternoon.
In front of the teaching building, the crowd was buzzing with noise. Carrying a backpack, Chu Duxiu finally squeezed her way out and was ready to head to the library to prepare for her exams. Lately, her life had been busy yet fulfilling—attending classes and writing papers during the day, studying for the civil service exam at night, and occasionally going to stand-up comedy training sessions. She was so occupied that she barely had time to go out for job interviews.
On her way to the library, Chu Duxiu received a phone call from Chu Shuangyou. She was quite surprised when she saw the caller ID—her sister never called unless it was something important. A phone call from her definitely carried more weight than a WeChat message.
A familiar voice came through the phone—calm, clear, unmistakably her sister’s.
“Did Mom call you after that?”
“Nope,” Chu Duxiu replied, adjusting her grip on the phone. “Just that day you sent me the documents. She rang me up and gave me a whole speech.”
She let out a sigh. “Actually, ‘speech’ isn’t even the right word. It wasn’t education—it was an order. She told me I had to take the civil service exam. You know how she is. Education implies patience. What she gave me was a command.”
On the other end of the line, Chu Shuangyou laughed, warm and amused. “I might be in Yancheng for a business trip in a couple of months. If I am, I’ll come see you.”
“That’d be great!” Duxiu perked up instantly. “We can go out, walk around a bit.” Then a thought struck her. “Wait—don’t you have graduation coming up? Why are you still going on business trips?”
“Things at uni are basically done,” her sister replied easily. “And I’ve been with the company for almost three years now. It’s normal for them to send me.”
Duxiu fell silent for a beat, then said with genuine awe, “Sis… you really pulled off the impossible. A fresh graduate with three years of work experience.”
She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around it—how could they be twins and yet so different? While she had stumbled wide-eyed into university life, Shuangyou had already locked down an internship, earned generous bonuses, and stacked up project experience like it was nothing.
Now, with graduation looming, Duxiu was still stressing over job applications, while her sister had long since figured things out.
But she had never once felt jealous. That would’ve been absurd. Jealousy only takes root when the gap is small. When the difference is this vast, all you can really feel is admiration.
“I’m just a little tired,” Chu Shuangyou said. “When I go to Yancheng to see you, I might actually get a bit of rest.”
“Perfect. We can go explore the suburbs,” Chu Duxiu replied eagerly, knowing full well how tightly wound her sister usually was. Shuangyou rarely allowed herself a proper break.
With graduation approaching, Duxiu had also been wanting to take one last good look around Yancheng. Now, with her sister’s visit on the horizon, she had something to look forward to.
By evening, the stand-up comedy training camp was in full swing, just like usual. After a few sessions, most of the class had grown familiar with one another. Classes weren’t held every night—mostly on weekends to accommodate those with full-time jobs.
Lu Fan entered the room, teaching materials tucked under her arm. As she stepped inside, she caught sight of String Bean heading out and frowned.
“Where are you going?”
String Bean, wearing a painter’s cap, didn’t bother turning around. He simply waved a hand over his shoulder. “Having a smoke!”
Lu Fan pressed her lips together, but said nothing more. She made his way straight to the podium.
Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali were sitting together, as they did every class. Their seats were close to the door, giving them a clear view of the brief exchange.
Wang Nali frowned. “Has he even attended more than a couple of classes?”
String Bean was hard to miss—tall and lanky like a bamboo pole, always dressed the same way. Since the course had started, he’d barely stayed in the classroom for long. Every now and then, he’d find some excuse to slip out. Lu Fan didn’t seem keen on scolding him, either—just turned a blind eye.
Before Chu Duxiu could respond, a voice behind them chimed in, hushed and mysterious.
“Rumor has it String Bean was demoted here,” said Scallion.
He was sitting in the row behind them. Duxiu turned around, raising a brow. “Demoted?”
“Yeah. This training camp’s meant to groom talent for the show,” Scallion explained, lowering his voice like he was telling a state secret. “The senior performers usually skip the open auditions. But someone cut String Bean and his group, said their material wasn’t fit for TV. So they got sent down here—to start over.”
He covered his mouth theatrically. “Honestly, he’s probably still pissed about it.”
Wang Nali blinked. “Wow. I didn’t know that kind of thing happened.”
Chu Duxiu tilted her head. “Then what about you? Why are you here?”
She’d seen them perform at a bar before. String Bean getting cut made sense, but Scallion had more presence—he was clearly the stronger of the two. Why had he ended up here too?
“You think I’d give them a chance to embarrass me?” Scallion grinned slyly. “I skipped the audition altogether and signed up straight for the training camp. Took the initiative—no way they could ‘assign’ me here if I came on my own.”
Chu Duxiu gave him a side-eye. “…That actually sounds kind of smart.”
“Of course it is,” Scallion said proudly.
As expected, by the time Lu Fan finished the first part of the class, there was still no sign of String Bean.
Each training session typically began with a theory segment, followed by hands-on practice. But tonight, there was a slight twist.
Lu Fan turned to the blackboard and drew three columns of desks and chairs. Then he faced the class and announced, “Everyone, we’ve now wrapped up the theory portion. From here on out, it’s all practical work. You’ll be writing sets under the guidance of mentors and continuously revising your material.”
“Since we have three mentors,” she continued, tapping the diagram, “we’ll be dividing into three groups. In a moment, please rearrange your seats to match this setup.”
“Once your sets are polished, we’ll organize an open mic performance. At the end, we’ll be naming the strongest newcomer of the training camp.”
The room buzzed with surprise at the announcement. During the break, students started moving chairs and tables around to prepare.
“Three mentors?” Wang Nali muttered as she dragged a desk into place. “Where’d that come from?”
“Probably bringing in two more veterans,” Chu Duxiu replied.
“Could be.” Wang Nali blinked, thinking. “So, who are you going to pick? Any favorites?”
“I think I’ll stick with Ms. Lu,” Chu Duxiu said.
Although Chu Duxiu had watched the first season of the show, she wasn’t particularly obsessed with any of the performers. The only one she was truly familiar with was Lu Fan.
What surprised her, however, was that the two new mentors weren’t from the first season at all—and both were people she already knew well.
At the front of the classroom, the two men stood side by side next to Lu Fan. One wore trendy streetwear and had a strong, muscular build, with a flashy flame graphic emblazoned across the chest of his hoodie. The other was sharply dressed, with refined features and a calm demeanor. His shirt was dyed in soft shades of blue, reminiscent of mist and rain—subtle and elegant.
“Hey everyone, I’m Nie Feng,” the man in the hoodie said with an easy smile. “I’m a stand-up comedian and also run the club Typhoon Transit. You can probably guess where I’m from just by my accent. Looking forward to working on material with you all—and feel free to come perform at our bar.”
“Hello, I’m Xie Shenci,” the second man said politely. “I’m with Shanle Culture, currently producing the second season of The Stand-Up King.”
“Great, thanks to both of our guest mentors,” Lu Fan said, smiling at the class. “And I’ll be the third mentor, of course. If anyone has material they’ve already written, feel free to come talk to us now.”
The classroom had already been divided into three sections, with each mentor seated at the front of their group, waiting for students to line up and seek guidance.
Voices buzzed around the room, a cacophony of chatter and movement. Chu Duxiu lingered in the line for Lu Fan’s group, sneaking a glance toward the upper left corner of the room where Xie Shenci sat. She couldn’t help but marvel—Mr. Xie really did lead by example. Humble and hands-on, he had come all this way just to help workshop the students’ material. The tragic part? Almost no one seemed to care.
The division of space among the three mentors was perfectly even, which made the imbalance of attention painfully obvious. The crowd sizes—or lack thereof—were on full display.
Lu Fan, having both appeared on the show and taught classes, naturally attracted plenty of students. Nie Feng, with his solid reputation in Yancheng and his club Typhoon Transit being a hotspot for open mic nights, was a sort of big brother figure to many veteran performers—he drew a decent crowd too.
In comparison, Xie Shenci—neither a comedian nor familiar with the students—had barely anyone in his group. He soon found himself sitting idle, bored, fingers drumming rhythmically on the table. Every now and then, a student too impatient to queue elsewhere would wander over for a bit of advice.
It was pitiful. Truly pitiful.
Mr. Xie was just the backup plan.
Chu Duxiu almost felt sorry for him, tempted to go over and show some support. But she held back, telling herself she shouldn’t be so shallow. For all she knew, he might be someone with deep aspirations and no interest in fame, completely unbothered by the lack of attention. Maybe she was the one assigning him a tragic backstory he didn’t need.
But Xie Shenci quickly proved he wasn’t quite so noble and detached.
Chu Duxiu watched as he casually raised a hand and waved—right at her.
She blinked and pointed at herself, unsure if he meant someone else.
He nodded. Yes, you.
Left with no choice, Chu Duxiu darted over and sat obediently in the seat across from him.
It had been a while since they last saw each other, but Xie Shenci was just as expressionless as ever. The fringe over his forehead had grown a little longer, and he got straight to the point.
“You’re a loyal person.”
Chu Duxiu shook her head without hesitation. “I’m really not.”
“Then who was it that thanked me last time?”
“I did thank you… already…” She had a feeling she knew exactly where this was going. “Mr. Xie, you’re a man of status—you can’t guilt-trip people with morality!”
“I don’t use morality,” Xie Shenci replied dryly. “This is plain old emotional blackmail. Like you said—hostage-style stand-up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, it’s not like you had anyone else in mind.”
He hadn’t forgotten how firmly she’d rejected him before, clearly uninterested in stand-up comedy. In his mind, whichever group she joined was all the same to her.
“I do have someone,” Duxiu said.
“You do?” he repeated, the slightest shift in his tone suggesting surprise.
She thought his voice might’ve gone up a notch, but his expression remained unreadable—calm and cool as ever. It was impossible to tell whether he was genuinely reacting or if she was imagining it. Just to be safe, she replied carefully.
“I want to choose… Ms. Lu Fan.”
“Why’d you choose Lu Fan?” Xie Shenci asked.
Chu Duxiu answered honestly, “She said she liked me, so I picked her.”
Lu Fan had praised her often in class, always encouraging her with positive feedback. It was only natural that Chu Duxiu would choose her as her preferred mentor.
Xie Shenci blinked, clearly not expecting that response. Reflexively, he blurted out, “So… she says she likes you, and you pick her. Then what if—”
He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Chu Duxiu’s wide, startled eyes, suddenly aware of what he was about to say.
“…”
Silence fell between them.
They stared at each other, caught in a bizarre standoff of awkwardness—confused, tense, and slightly absurd.
Fortunately, Xie Shenci was the first to recover. He cleared his throat twice and quickly changed the subject. “Wait a second. Didn’t you say not long ago that you weren’t even interested in stand-up comedy?”
Back then, she hadn’t even been paying attention to Lu Fan’s performances.
Chu Duxiu said, “But the way Lu Fan teaches, her personality really inspired me. So it became a mutual thing—like a two-way effort.”
“Two-way effort?” Xie Shenci chuckled softly. “Why aren’t you sticking to your usual ‘boss romance’ clichés?”
“…”
Help! He’s doing it again!?
Chu Duxiu had been flustered by his careless remark earlier, but now she was practically on pins and needles, her hands firmly planted on her knees, too nervous to move. She might joke about “two-way effort” with Lu Fan, but she definitely didn’t have the guts to mess around with Mr. Xie—felt like it would just shorten her lifespan.
“Mr. Xie, I’m sorry,” she bowed apologetically. “Boss romance is out of date now. It’s all about ‘red-eyed waist-grabbing for survival’ literature these days.”
“?”
Xie Shenci pondered for a few seconds, then suddenly relaxed. In a slow, deliberate tone, he said, “Actually, I cut some performers recently—I didn’t let them skip the auditions but sent them straight to the training camp. Maybe because of that, they think I don’t understand humor, so they don’t really want to choose me.”
Chu Duxiu paused, surprised. “You’re the one who sent them here for classes?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Plus, since we’re all in the same group, they often talk behind my back. Maybe that’s why they’re biased against me.”
Xie Shenci rested one arm on the desk, lowering his eyes as if reflecting on himself. His expression was calm but suddenly tinged with a hint of loneliness. Especially when the other groups were buzzing with energy, his side of the room felt deserted.
Trying to ease the mood, Chu Duxiu said kindly, “Prejudice doesn’t always come from gossip—it could be about appearances. After all, this is stand-up comedy, and people tend to judge by looks. They assume professionalism is inversely proportional to how you look.”
Although String Bean held a grudge against Xie Shenci, others like Scallion were fair enough. The fact that they didn’t pick Xie Shenci probably just meant they didn’t know him well.
Xie Shenci smirked slightly. “You’re saying I’m not funny-looking?”
“Mr. Xie, don’t try to play the sympathy card. It doesn’t suit you. With that cold face of yours, who would believe you’re being bullied?” Chu Duxiu sighed deeply. “Besides, you’re the company boss in charge of production. Who in their right mind would want to offend you? They’d be risking their careers.”
There was no way she didn’t understand why he was playing the victim—it was just a tactic to get her on his team. But the strong rarely know how to fake weakness. Some people were obvious from the first glance: some looked like workers, others like capitalists, impossible to hide.
Seeing she wasn’t buying it, Xie Shenci said calmly, “I think you’re always trying to offend me.”
Chu Duxiu shrank back, trying to disappear right where she stood.
Xie Shenci reached out a hand. “I just want to see what you’ve written. Let me take a look.”
He was genuinely curious about her recent work.
Chu Duxiu remained silent, refusing to move.
Seeing her stubbornness, he switched tactics. “Let me have a peek.”
His tone was playfully cute, but paired with his deadpan face, it was ridiculously absurd.
“No—don’t do that, we’re on the same side!” Chu Duxiu immediately buried her face in her hands, her fingers curling nervously. “Please, no SpongeBob-level humor!”
Clearly, there was a reason he couldn’t do stand-up.
Xie Shenci’s expression stayed neutral as he pressed on, “So, do you want to join my group?”
