“Oh my, why do I never get to experience things like this?” Scallion exclaimed upon hearing the story, clicking his tongue. “Someone come and scam me already! I don’t need expensive gifts—small favors will do!”
Chu Duxiu raised an eyebrow and teased, “I’m totally telling Tofu about this.”
Tofu was Scallion’s girlfriend, a petite and delicate girl who occasionally came to the bar for open mic nights. Scallion’s stage name was derived from their couple nickname,* and the two often walked back to campus together after shows, crossing paths with Chu Duxiu along the way.
“Go ahead, she won’t care,” Scallion said, lifting his chin. “She’s confident no one would ever scam me. Just yesterday, she seriously explained that there aren’t many people like her who are passionate about ‘recycling garbage,’ so I should cherish her.”
Chu Duxiu laughed. “How did you respond?”
“‘You’re absolutely right, Your Highness, you’re the most eco-conscious of all!’” Scallion struck a pose like a palace concubine performing a curtsy, pitching his voice higher as he bowed. “‘This little piece of trash pays his respects.’”
Chen Jing, standing behind the bar, chuckled at the commotion. “Look at him, showing off that he has a girlfriend again.”
Nie Feng returned with an adapter and took one look at Scallion’s antics. “Whoa, the open mic hasn’t even started, and he’s already putting on a performance?”
Chu Duxiu smirked. “You should count yourself blessed—she even comes to pick you up regularly. Nali and I have seen you two together multiple times.”
Scallion and Tofu were that couple—the kind who traded barbs like volleys in a tennis match, their banter endless yet their bond unshakable. Long before Chu Duxiu ever took the mic for stand-up, she had noticed Tofu. The girl had been a steadfast supporter of Scallion’s comedy dreams, back when open mics paid in free drinks at best and “exposure” at worst.
A pang of something wistful tugged at her then. Scallion, Nie Feng—they had people who not only tolerated their quirks but adored them for it. Tofu and Chen Jing didn’t just endure the jokes; they found them charming.
“Blessed? Oh, I’m devout,” Scallion chirped, bobbing his head like a woodpecker on espresso. “Three kneelings and nine prostrations a day, minimum.”
Xie Shenci had been observing the exchange in silence, his expression unreadable as ever—until his eyes locked onto Chu Duxiu with sudden intensity.
“Today’s your birthday,” he stated, more declaration than question.
Chu Duxiu blinked in surprise. “Yeah.”
“Happy birthday!” Chen Jing was the first to react. She moved toward the freezer, scanning its contents. “Let’s all share a cake later!”
Chu Duxiu quickly waved her off, flushing slightly. “No, no, it’s really not necessary…”
Scallion ran a hand through his hair, putting on an earnest face. “I don’t have anything to give you, but there’s an open mic tonight—how about the gift of humor?”
“…Pretty sure I’ve got you beat in that department.”
“Augh—!” Scallion clutched his chest, feigning a mortal wound. “Right through the heart! Is this the legendary wit of the Rookie King?!”
Nie Feng, ever the peacemaker, asked gently, “No plans for your birthday today?”
“Just the open mic.” Chu Duxiu scratched her head. “My sister’s coming to Yancheng next week, so we’ve got weekend plans. I’ll probably skip the next open mic…”
“You could bring her along,” Xie Shenci suggested. “There are some decent spots around here too.”
Typoon Transit was tucked away in an alley, yet its location couldn’t be more prime—sandwiched between university campuses and a waterfront pedestrian street, the kind of place where every square inch came with a premium price tag.
For some reason, Chu Duxiu felt a pang of guilt. “We’ll see if it’s convenient,” she hedged, avoiding direct eye contact.
She’d never mentioned her stand-up gigs to Chu Shuangyou. The thought alone made her uneasy—especially now, during such a delicate time.
Scallion crossed his arms dramatically. “Oh? Are we some kind of embarrassment? Worried we’ll start calling her ‘sis’ the moment we see her?”
Chu Duxiu matched his theatrics with a grave nod. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“???”
Half an hour later, Chen Jing emerged from the kitchen balancing a honey-glazed chicken rice bowl, a petite cake, and a single rose with a “Happy Birthday” tag. The group launched into an off-key rendition of the birthday song, their impromptu celebration squeezed in before the open mic.
Chu Duxiu stood frozen, equal parts touched and mortified. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t wanted this. If not for that accidental equipment test earlier, they would never have spotted the calendar alert flashing on her phone…
Chen Jing, ever the stickler for ceremony, even snapped a Polaroid group photo for Chu Duxiu to keep as a memento.
Touched beyond words, Chu Duxiu could only repay their kindness by delivering an exceptionally sharp performance that night.
By the time the open mic concluded, the night had deepened outside. Against the black velvet sky, stars twinkled like rare, laughing eyes. The neon sign of “Typoon Transit” flickered to life—its outermost ring a twist of purple and gold, studded with multicolored lights that blazed defiantly against the gloom.
The warm glow spilling from the bar’s entrance painted the pavement in hazy light, where motes of dust occasionally waltzed into visibility. Most of the audience had already dispersed, leaving only a handful of comedians chatting in corners.
After bidding farewell to Chen Jing and the others, Chu Duxiu pushed open the door and was immediately met by a gust of cool wind that swept away the post-performance adrenaline. She’d grown accustomed to these open mics lately, using them to refine her material for upcoming competitions.
The bar was just a short walk from campus. As Chu Duxiu turned to leave, her gaze caught on a figure silhouetted under the streetlamp. He stood with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, listening attentively to someone beside him, a paper bag dangling from his wrist—his posture at once upright and effortless.
Noticing her exit, Xie Shenci exchanged quick goodbyes with the other performers and strode toward the entrance.
Chu Duxiu waved at him. “Mr. Xie, I’m heading back to campus now. Bye!”
She always left promptly, unlike Nie Feng or Xie Shenci, who often stayed to network with the local comedians.
“Alright, bye.” Xie Shenci handed her the paper bag in one smooth motion, his tone casual. “Happy birthday.”
His action was so effortless—like passing over a document during a meeting—that it left no room for hesitation.
Chu Duxiu took it reflexively, blinking in surprise. “…Thanks.”
She debated whether to politely refuse or at least express proper gratitude, but Xie Shenci had already turned away, rejoining the conversation without a second glance. Now, with his back to her, chasing after him to thank him felt awkward.
The actors in the corner chatted and laughed, their camaraderie warm and effortless.
Not wanting to interrupt, Chu Duxiu quietly slipped away, one hand clutching the birthday flower, the other holding the mysterious paper bag.
Oh my god… No wonder he kept checking his phone earlier and suddenly left in the middle of the show. Did he arrange a last-minute delivery or something?
Chu Duxiu was certain—Xie Shenci hadn’t brought that paper bag earlier. At least not before the open mic, when they had been sitting at the same table. Back then, all he’d had was his laptop.
Since when are guys this attentive?
Compared to Scallion’s “Here’s the gift of humor” and Mr. Nie’s “A birthday song, Northeastern-style”, Xie Shenci’s neatly packaged present—complete with an elegant paper bag—had completely blindsided her. It was unexpectedly thoughtful, on par with Chen Jing’s considerate gestures.
The bag had a slight heft to it. She couldn’t resist peeking inside, but whatever was in there remained hidden, only deepening her unease. The bigger issue was—she had no idea when Xie Shenci’s birthday was. If this gift turned out to be expensive, figuring out how to reciprocate would be a whole new problem.
Scrolling through Xie Shenci’s Moments as she walked back to her dorm, she found no trace of his birthday. Thankfully, the gift itself was reassuringly practical. Back in her room, she unwrapped it to find a pair of wireless earbuds and a book.
The earbuds were from a brand she’d been eyeing. Lately, her wired headphones had been tangling into impossible knots, and though she’d vaguely considered replacing them, her chronic procrastination had kept her from actually doing it. Somehow, Xie Shenci had noticed.
The price range was perfectly appropriate for a friend—returning the favor wouldn’t be awkward at all.
The other item was a book without any plastic wrapping. Its cover, adorned entirely in English, read “The New Comedy Bible.” Flipping it open casually, she noticed a handwritten “Xie” on the title page. The contents were all in English too, primarily teaching stand-up comedians how to craft their material.
The book’s original owner was undoubtedly Xie Shenci. Though the cover remained smooth and pristine, occasional lines of tiny notes dotted the margins—likely jotted down during his repeated readings.
Chu Duxiu did a quick online search and found the book scarcely available for sale, with the few listings pricing it at nearly two hundred yuan!
So books really do house golden treasures! This one deserved to be worn out from use!
Of course, an imported English book couldn’t compare to the earbuds in monetary value. But considering Xie Shenci had carried it back from abroad and pored over it multiple times, its significance took on a different weight.
Chu Duxiu stared at the book, lost in thought, struggling to articulate the emotions swirling inside her. Fragmented memories surfaced—him picking up her resume to track her down, his persistent invitations to join the world of stand-up. Pieces of the past flashed by, reminding her how much of her journey so far had been propelled by his influence.
She had never quite understood his determination, sometimes even finding it excessive. But now, she was beginning to grasp the sentiment behind it.
For a fleeting moment, she wished Xie Shenci were a woman. Then, they could communicate more freely, unburdened by the unspoken rules and reservations that often existed between men and women. They could be as uninhibited as she was with Wang Nali and the others—no need to mind boundaries or distance.
But alas, he wasn’t—so an invisible wall stood between them by default.
With a quiet sigh, Chu Duxiu flipped open the book and began to read.
If there’s one person in this world who genuinely appreciates my humor, it’s definitely Mr. Xie.
As one of the most prosperous cities in the country, Yancheng naturally boasted no shortage of upscale venues—especially five-star hotels clustered in its commercial districts.
The hotel lobby exuded opulence, its elegant décor punctuated by artistic landscaping. Just past the entrance, lush pines and cypresses framed a murmuring stream that wound around smooth pebbles, its gentle burble a constant whisper.
Chu Duxiu stood waiting at the front desk, her unease growing as she watched businesspeople in tailored suits stride past. She regretted not wearing her interview attire—her brightly colored hoodie made her stick out like a sore thumb in the refined atmosphere, blatantly marking her as someone who didn’t belong at a professional gathering.
Everyone around her looked like they’d stepped out of a Hong Kong corporate drama, all sharp sophistication, while she might as well have been a cartoon character—a lost child waiting for their parent.
Fortunately, her “guardian” arrived soon enough.
From the end of the corridor emerged Chu Shuangyou’s figure. Dressed in a sharply tailored women’s suit and trousers, she strode toward the front desk with a bag slung over her arm and documents in hand. Her facial features resembled Chu Duxiu’s, but her brows carried a heroic vigor, her back ramrod straight as she walked with impeccable posture—her commanding presence alone was enough to inspire awe and admiration.
Though they were twins, they didn’t look identical.
Their mother, Chu Lan, often lamented that the elder sister had been “food aggressive” in the womb, always hogging nutrients from her younger sister, resulting in a higher birth weight and, naturally, greater intelligence. Of course the younger one would be weaker—if she couldn’t even fight for resources before birth, how could she ever turn things around in this life?
Having grown up hearing such remarks, Chu Duxiu had developed a remarkably healthy mindset about it. She once earnestly analyzed the situation with her mother: “Isn’t it possible that I simply never fought at all and was just born as an accessory?”
What was there to compete over with her illustrious sister?
She was here to play the supporting role to a superstar—but even the leaves of a rare flower are rare leaves!
Hermès’ ancillary purchases are still Hermès—never mind if they’re useful, their value is in the name!
The moment she spotted her sister, Chu Duxiu practically fluttered over like a baby bird returning to its nest. “Sis—!”
“Why didn’t you go wait in the room first?” Chu Shuangyou pulled her sister into a half-hug, glancing at her phone with an apologetic frown. “I didn’t expect the meeting to run so long.”
Though she’d spent the entire day in meetings, not a trace of fatigue showed on her face—if anything, she looked radiantly energized.
“It’s fine, I haven’t been waiting long. Do you still have work left?” Clutching her paper bag obediently, Chu Duxiu trailed after her sister toward the elevators like an eager duckling.
“Nothing left now—this is officially rest time.” Chu Shuangyou gave her a once-over. “Stay here with me tonight instead of going back to campus.”
“But I didn’t bring anything…”
“The room has everything.” A flicker of realization crossed her face. “Wait—does this interfere with your civil service exam prep?”
Chu Duxiu’s heart skipped. “A day or two shouldn’t matter,” she hedged.
“True. Take a short break, then focus fully on studying.” Chu Shuangyou nodded. “Mom asked me the other day if the exam dates were announced yet—don’t forget to register on time.”
Chu Duxiu’s face twisted in discomfort. “Why doesn’t she just tell me directly?”
“Probably thinks she already did.”
“Not once,” Chu Duxiu declared flatly. “Never.”
“What do you want for dinner?” Chu Shuangyou swiftly changed the subject, her voice softening as she gestured around them. “The buffet here is quite good—how about it?”
“…I’m fine with anything.”
Even before entering the workforce, Chu Duxiu had already learned the harsh truth: the competent are doomed to endless labor. This principle played out in their household with brutal clarity.
Why do bosses ruthlessly overwork their most capable employees? Because elites never fail. Assign them a task, and not only will they complete it step by step—they’ll exceed expectations, achieving what even the boss couldn’t. But delegate to an average person, or someone slightly less capable, and the boss must micromanage every detail, only to face unexpected blunders from angles they never saw coming. Eventually, any sane boss would grow frustrated and default to the elites.
Their mother, Chu Lan, operated on exactly this logic. She distrusted Chu Duxiu’s competence so thoroughly that every matter had to pass through Chu Shuangyou’s hands first—only then could she relax, assured of success.
Chu Duxiu found it exasperating. She felt like a burdensome afterthought, constantly inconveniencing her sister. But no amount of protest changed anything—she had zero say at home, and their mother kept deferring to Chu Shuangyou regardless.
The one saving grace was her sister’s unfailing kindness. Never once had Chu Shuangyou complained, always keeping Chu Duxiu in her thoughts.
Like now—guiding her through a 700-per-head buffet, teaching her to savor caviar and rare delicacies, even praising the meal’s “surprisingly good value for the price.”
After dinner, the two strolled around the five-star hotel before returning to their room overlooking Yancheng’s nightscape. The vast, bustling city transformed into a shimmering tapestry of lights beneath their feet, flickering like fleeting fame and fortune. Few ever witnessed Yancheng’s postcard-perfect vista—yet for Chu Shuangyou, this was merely a passing backdrop on a business trip.
Chu Duxiu often felt pangs of anxiety scrolling through social media, comparing herself to talented peers. Strangely, though, she’d never measured herself against her sister. Perhaps, like their mother, she’d subconsciously accepted Chu Shuangyou as omnipotent.
Fresh from a shower, Chu Duxiu sank into the plush hotel bedding, drowsy in the perfectly tempered air. Five-star luxury had a sorcerous way of dissolving resolve—even the ambient lighting seemed to whisper, Sleep now.
In this moment, civil service exams and stand-up comedy felt galaxies away. Who needed independence?
A delightfully degenerate thought bubbled up. “Sis,” she announced abruptly, “I want to get married.”
Chu Shuangyou, mid-way through blow-drying her hair, switched off the roaring dryer and turned in disbelief. “What?”
“This life is too comfortable.” Chu Xiuxiu sighed blissfully, eyes still closed. “I want to marry you. Stay on the same household register forever.”
All her lofty ambitions crumbled before such pampered decadence.
Immediately recognizing her sister’s nonsense mode, Chu Shuangyou deadpanned, “We’re already on the same register.”
“What a coincidence! What fate!” Chu Duxiu’s eyes flew open in faux astonishment. “Meant to be, sharing a register—we must already be married.”
Chu Shuangyou: “……”
Fine. Twins are a match made in heaven—can’t argue with that logic.
Translator’s Note:
*There is this well known dish in China literally called “tofu with scallions”.
