Du Xiu Chapter 17

The café was nearly empty, with only the staff busy behind the counter, making Chu Duxiu’s voice stand out all the more clearly.

Chu Shuangyou stopped stirring her coffee, slowly straightened her posture, and studied the other person with a measured gaze. This was her battle-ready stance—whenever she encountered an insurmountable challenge, her body would first gather strength, and only then would her thoughts follow suit.

In the past, Chu Duxiu would have felt a sense of awe, reluctant to argue with her elder sister.

But Ms. Lu had said in class: Stay true to yourself. Don’t worry about whether others see it as positive or negative.

It’s okay if it’s not funny—just say what you think first.

“I know what you’re worried about. You think ideals are beautiful, but reality is harsh. You’re afraid I’ll waste my effort and end up with nothing.” Chu Duxiu lowered her eyes. “But everything carries the risk of failure. Even if I give it my all to prepare for the civil service exam, there’s no guarantee I’ll pass right away, right?”

“Nothing in life is certain to go as planned—so why can’t I choose the path I want?”

Chu Shuangyou fell silent for a few seconds before asking, “Is this the path you truly choose, or just the one that feels easier?”

“What?”

Chu Shuangyou’s gaze was piercing, as if she could see right through people. She enunciated every word, “Do you genuinely love this, or are you just using it to escape—like avoiding the civil service exam?”

Silence filled the air.

Chu Duxiu took a deep breath. Instead of immediately arguing back, she pulled out her phone, opened an app, and turned the screen toward her sister. “These are the practice questions I do every day. The study hours are all logged. When I was working on my thesis, I did fewer problems, but I’ve been back on track the past couple of days.”

Chu Shuangyou glanced down at the exam prep app—the records were indeed there.

Meeting her sister’s eyes, Chu Duxiu said firmly, “I’m not running from the exam. I have been balancing my time.”

She had anticipated this day. Before achieving any tangible results, words were just empty bubbles—she had to prove herself through action.

Chu Shuangyou took a sip of coffee and nodded. “Alright, I believe you genuinely love it. But have you ever considered that you can’t change the environment? The world has seen too many boom industries—even if stand-up comedy takes off someday, it might collapse completely in a couple of years.”

“This isn’t something you can control. Not you, not Xie Shenci, not anyone. We’re just drops of water in the ocean. When the tide of capital comes crashing in, who knows where we’ll be thrown?” Chu Shuangyou said. “And when that happens, you’ll be hurt—especially the more you love it, the deeper the pain will cut.”

“It won’t be your fault. You’ll have given it your all, and still gotten nothing in return.”

Even if Shanle Culture thrives and stand-up comedy truly captures public attention—haven’t we seen countless glorious industries collapse overnight? Even once-mighty conglomerates can go bankrupt. How long can something as small as stand-up comedy last?

When that day comes, the ones suffering won’t be opportunistic speculators, but those who poured their hearts into the industry.

Chu Shuangyou knew the world had its brave adventurers—but her sister shouldn’t be one of them.

Her younger sister was someone who felt things deeply. She might grow disheartened on the journey, suffer setbacks just as things were looking up, break ties with friends over conflicts of interest at the peak of success, or witness the rise and fall of an entire industry.

She couldn’t bear to imagine such a scenario. Just envisioning the twists and turns of the future left her struggling for breath.

Chu Shuangyou’s voice trembled slightly as she said, “Sometimes, it’s those who give their heart who end up feeling the deepest betrayal. I don’t want to see you like that.”

This was the first time Chu Duxiu had ever seen her sister lose composure.

Chu Shuangyou’s eyes were slightly red, her usual steady tone gone. She was the kind of superhuman who could pull all-nighters without flagging, yet now, a rare vulnerability flickered through.

Maybe it was like how she would never use that expensive scarf but gladly gave it to her sister—or how her sister could endure any hardship but couldn’t stand to see her suffer.

The words caught in Chu Duxiu’s throat.

“Mom would never agree to this either,” Chu Shuangyou shook her head. “I don’t even understand stand-up comedy—she has even less chance of getting it. You can guess how she’d react.”

Chu Duxiu fell silent. There was no arguing with that. At least her sister was willing to reason—their mother would be an even tougher hurdle.

Life wasn’t a TV drama with clear-cut villains, but when reality’s pressures hit, even plain truths could cut like knives.

Chu Shuangyou glanced at the time, picked up her bag, and stood. “I have work this afternoon. If I can wrap it up, I’ll come find you—we’ll have dinner together before I leave tomorrow.”

A moment later, Chu Shuangyou was gone, leaving Chu Duxiu alone at the table.

Beside the coffee cup, the folder lay untouched, forgotten in the rush of departure.

Staring at it, a sudden wave of doubt washed over her.

Why do people who love each other end up hurting one another?

In that fleeting moment, she felt loneliness—and a crushing helplessness.

They had entered this world together as the closest of souls, yet from the very first breath, they’d been pulled apart, their beliefs cleanly severed.

The afternoon crowd at Typoon Transit was sparse—a few students scattered with textbooks, a far cry from the boisterous nighttime energy. Quiet serenity filled the space.

By the floor-to-ceiling window, Chu Duxiu had rallied herself. She sat furiously plowing through a set of practice questions before attempting new comedy material. Channeling frustration into productivity, she’d powered through tasks until her focus began to drift, her pen tapping absently against the page.

When Xie Shenci arrived, he found her lost in thought, staring blankly out the window.

He walked straight over. “What’s on your mind?”

Chu Duxiu gripped her pen and answered solemnly, “How to unite all forces that can be united.”

Her sister was flying out tomorrow. If she couldn’t win her over, the pressure back home would only intensify.

“?”

Beside her laptop lay a folder, its pages faintly revealing a familiar logo—a standing microphone and a sunflower.

“Is this our company’s material?” Xie Shenci asked. “Mind if I take a look?”

Chu Duxiu had been typing but paused to gesture permission. “Go ahead.”

Xie Shenci flipped through casually, skimming a couple of pages with quiet interest. Then, pulling out his phone, he began photographing the documents as he turned them.

Chu Xiurong asked suspiciously, “Why are you taking photos?”

Xie Shenci continued sending the pictures as he explained, “To interrogate our company’s Business Director—make him brainstorm solutions for our current predicament and dispel investors’ doubts about the company’s future prospects.”

“???”

He could even scam a business plan out of this—Mr. Xie really was something else!

Putting away his phone, Xie Shenci added, “Is your sister coming today?”

Chu Duxiu’s lashes flickered. After a brief pause, she replied softly, “I’m not sure. She said she had things to do this afternoon—if she finishes in time, she’ll message me to have dinner together.”

This was her last chance—maybe she could still persuade her over dinner.

But unfortunately, when dinnertime arrived, the message Chu Duxiu received from her sister wasn’t the one she’d hoped for.

Chu Shuangyou told her to go ahead and have dinner, saying she wasn’t sure how long her work would take—she might head straight to the airport tomorrow.

Chu Duxiu stared at the pinned emoji heart at the top of their chat, then slowly set down her phone. She was, admittedly, feeling a little emo.

Outside the conference room window, the neon lights of Yancheng intertwined, countless highways winding like ribbons of color—or perhaps rivers reflecting the moon and stars.

Inside, staff members were gradually packing up their things and getting ready to leave.

Chu Shuangyou stretched her stiff arms, her back numb from sitting too long. She picked up the light coffee-colored scarf draped over her chair and checked her phone—7 p.m. It was too late to arrange dinner with her sister now, but with her flight leaving tomorrow, wasting this time felt like a shame.

She hesitated over whether to message Chu Duxiu when she noticed multiple unread WeChat notifications.

One was a reply from her sister, complete with a sticker—a little penguin serving tea, captioned “You’ve worked hard!”

The other was from a less familiar contact.

At night, the alleyways were quieter than the main street, bathed in the hazy glow of dim streetlights—nowhere near as dazzling as the neon signs.

Chu Shuangyou, wrapped in her coat and scarf, found herself once again outside the Typoon Transit bar, face-to-face with the man she’d briefly met the day before.

Dressed in a deep black casual jacket, the man stood tall and straight by the roadside, as rigid as the lamppost beside him. His expression was unreadable—until he noticed Chu Shuangyou. Then he stepped forward and greeted her.

Chu Shuangyou cut straight to the point, “Why did you ask me to come, Mr. Xie?”

She had been surprised to receive his message earlier, suggesting she visit the bar again if she had time—to catch tonight’s performance.

“Yesterday was too rushed. You didn’t even get to see the open mic.” Xie Shenci raised a hand toward the illuminated bar, his tone earnest. “Especially since you’re Duxiu’s sister—it’d be a real shame if you missed seeing her onstage.”

“You might be mistaken,” Chu Shuangyou said, staying put. “I know nothing about stand-up comedy. I might not even get it—and I don’t particularly like comedy to begin with.”

It was the truth. Whenever her family watched Lunar New Year comedies, she never found them funny—just loud.

“Yet you still came,” Xie Shenci said calmly. “You may not like comedy, but you like your sister.”

Chu Shuangyou froze for a moment, then let out a wry laugh. “You don’t actually think I’m one of those hopeless parents who’d cheer ‘Baby, you’re amazing!’ no matter what she does and support her unconditionally, do you?”

“Of course she’s no baby—she’s already a mature and talented stand-up comedian,” Xie Shenci replied matter-of-factly. “Even though she’s still new to the industry, her observational skills and emotional intelligence are extraordinary. I’ve watched countless stand-up acts, both domestic and international, and very few have this kind of innate talent.”

It was unusually high praise—the kind that might sound like empty flattery from others, but Xie Shenci’s demeanor carried no hint of exaggeration.

Chu Shuangyou arched an eyebrow, half-skeptical.

“Perhaps you’ve misunderstood,” Xie Shenci continued. “I don’t just encourage anyone to pursue stand-up. In fact, once domestic comedians hit their peak, many stagnate technically and get quickly left behind. That’s just how the world works—there’s a stark difference between chaotic growth and true professionalization.”

“Some performers think making people laugh is enough—that as long as the audience is entertained, the method doesn’t matter,” he said steadily. “But others can go further. They dissolve the shared pains of being human. Sometimes, when there’s a wound in your heart, laughter squeezes out the poison—and the healing comes faster.”

Chu Shuangyou listened in silence.

“Not everyone has this ability. Some comedians push too hard and end up hurting the audience. Those who strike the right balance are rare.”

Xie Shenci’s dark eyes shimmered faintly, as if recalling something. “She excels at this—perhaps because she cares deeply about every relationship she encounters and values every emotional connection. Even if this talent couldn’t be monetized in other industries, it’s perfectly suited for stand-up comedy.”

Chu Shuangyou had no retort.

She couldn’t deny the truth in his words, yet refused to openly agree with Xie Shenci. Instead, she buried her face slightly deeper into her scarf. The cashmere fabric was luxuriously soft against her skin, like brushing against a gentle cloud.

Every birthday gift her sister chose shared this same quality.

“The sun is always dazzling, making people forget the moon still exists during daylight,” Xie Shenci observed her hesitation and grasped the door handle first. “But now it’s night—time to appreciate the moon.”

Inside, the open mic atmosphere buzzed as usual. The weekend audience was more relaxed, their sporadic laughter rippling through the room.

Chu Duxiu was warming up in the shadows backstage, preparing to test out the new material she’d written that day. Even if her sister didn’t support her path, life had to go on—the sun would rise tomorrow as usual, and her plans had to keep moving forward.

Onstage, Nie Feng, the regular host, announced loudly, “Let’s welcome our next performer—Chu Duxiu!”

Chu Duxiu hurried out under the spotlight.

Scattered cheers rose from the audience, with a few girls in the front row even waving enthusiastically. The energy was already buzzing—even before her set had begun.

Nie Feng remarked admiringly, “Not bad, you’ve got fans now.”

Scallion sighed dramatically. “Why, fate, dost thou gift us both Scallion and Duxiu?“

Chu Duxiu had been relentlessly honing her craft at open mics, with countless explosive sets at this very bar. Though Yancheng’s stand-up scene was small, it had its dedicated followers—some pure spectators, others who’d watched so many shows they eventually took the stage themselves.

Of course, these regulars could rattle off the names of frequent performers like old friends.

Just like veterans such as Nie Feng, Chu Duxiu—as an emerging new talent—was gradually making a name for herself in Yancheng’s comedy scene.

The door chimed as it swung open. The moment Chu Shuangyou stepped inside, a wave of lively warmth washed over her.

The crowd around her was buzzing with excitement, clapping and cheering a familiar name with infectious enthusiasm, though she couldn’t yet tell who they were welcoming.

Then, from the direction of the stage, she heard a voice she knew well—bright and spirited as ever:

“Hi everyone, I’m Chu Duxiu, a college student about to graduate.”