On stage, Chu Duxiu wore a yellow sweater that looked soft and fluffy under the lights, as if draped in a layer of glow. After introducing herself, she didn’t start her talk right away. Instead, she scanned the audience, her tone shifting from lively to despondent, and let out a long sigh. “Ah—”
The audience looked puzzled, unsure why her mood had suddenly shifted, but their attention was instantly captured. Then they heard her sigh again.
“Ah—friends, I’m so anxious. Aside from the work I have to finish every day, my life seems to consist of only three things: anxiety, scrolling on my phone…” Chu Duxiu added, “And scrolling on my phone while being anxious.”
A few people in the audience chuckled.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with young people these days. In my class of thirty-five students, when I asked around, thirty-four of them were anxious—only one classmate wasn’t.” She sighed helplessly. “Because she was genuinely depressed—clinically.”
“How anxious am I, you ask? My phone’s algorithm has started recommending me articles on ‘how to relieve anxiety.’ At that moment, I suddenly felt—human technology is truly amazing. Big data gets me.” Chu Duxiu held the mic in one hand while mimicking scrolling on a phone with the other. “So I eagerly clicked open the first article, titled: ‘How I Saved 200,000 from Side Jobs in College and Finally Overcame Anxiety.’”
“The second article was called: ‘Self-Discipline Changed My Life—After Passing the Civil Service Exam, I Stopped Being Anxious.’”
Chu Duxiu furrowed her brows, shaking her head at the audience with an incredulous expression. “Technology might be advancing a little too fast. Big data gets me… and also takes the chance to mock me.”
In a quiet corner, Chu Shuangyou watched the performance calmly, hearing soft laughter from those around her.
“Friends, is this supposed to relieve anxiety? What’s the message here? I naively thought it was telling me to lighten up.” Chu Duxiu gasped dramatically. “But now I understand—it wants me dead.”
“Looking at these recommendations, I just want to say one thing.” She clasped her hands together, bowing her head like a little girl making a wish. “Dear Big Data, promise me one thing—never, ever gain sentience, okay? You’re just an algorithm, not some evil AI plotting humanity’s doom.”
“Or maybe I should be more aggressive and just say…”
Suddenly, Chu Duxiu switched to a thick Northeastern accent: “Dear Big Data—Di’er bei ge dai ta, what’re ya lookin’ at? What nonsense you cookin’ up in that digital brain of yours? Keep pushin’ me this crap, and I swear I’ll smack ya silly!”
“And then Big Data fires back: ‘So what if I’m lookin’? Whatcha gonna do about it?!’”
The seamless back-and-forth, paired with her sudden dialect shift, sent the audience into roaring laughter.
“‘Dear Big Data!’—Di’er bei ge dai ta!” Scallion couldn’t help but crack up, mimicking her. “Damn, that’s genius! What kind of high-level comedic skill is this?!”
Nie Feng nodded in admiration. “She’s stolen all the comedic talent from Northeastern performers.”
Chu Shuangyou blinked, watching as the entire crowd fixated on the stage, their faces alight with laughter, their eyes locked on her little sister.
Every emotion in the room was being pulled along by Chu Duxiu—rising, falling, and surging into waves of pure delight.
“My life is already a total mess, and pushing me these articles is just rubbing salt in the wound. Or is the platform’s recommendation algorithm somehow related to medical science?” Chu Duxiu shrugged. “Oh right, saltwater helps wounds heal – so clearly what I need is to drown in the ocean before getting my life together! Because apparently, once you ‘make it,’ anxiety just magically disappears!”
She paused for effect. “Sounds ridiculous, right? But that’s literally my mom’s logic. According to her, my anxiety would vanish if I just: 1) landed a government job, and 2) stopped doomscrolling at 3 AM.” She sighed dramatically. “Okay, maybe she’s got a point. Thanks for nothing, Big Data.”
The callback to her earlier bit reignited the audience’s laughter.
“And don’t laugh at my English – I inherited it from my mom. Picture this: back in the 90s, this tiny Chinese woman barging into business meetings with foreign clients…” Chu Duxiu suddenly puffed out her chest and switched to a loud, broken accent: “‘HEY! YOU! GIVE FACE! GIVE FACE! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!'” She mimed slamming a nonexistent table. “That’s her entire English vocabulary – just demanding respect like she’s in a gangster movie!”
Laughter rippled through the bar. Chu Shuangyou’s lips twitched upward—but she caught herself almost immediately, schooling her expression. Out of the corner of her eye, she stole a glance at Xie Shenci, terrified someone might catch her smiling and use it against her.
Luckily, Xie Shenci was also engrossed in the performance, his gaze fixed on Chu Duxiu with unexpected softness.
“My mom is very strong-willed. In our family, minor decisions are hers to make—but for major ones, we operate like the ancient Athenian Assembly, practicing direct democracy through voting. There are four of us: me, my sister, my mom, and my dad…” Chu Duxiu counted on her fingers methodically. “Three women and one man. Majority rules, so my dad’s opinion is basically irrelevant.”
She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Not because he gets outvoted, though. It’s more like… he’s the equivalent of women in ancient Athens. Not a citizen. No voting rights.”
The audience roared with laughter.
Chu Shuangyou laughed too, her voice drowned in the wave of amusement, unnoticed by anyone. She deliberately pulled her scarf higher, using it to mask her expression.
“Of course, major family decisions are rare. Most of the time, we just default to whatever Mom says. The second I step through the door, she’s already interrogating me: ‘Why haven’t you taken the civil service exam yet?!’”
“What can I even say to that?” Chu Duxiu threw up her hands, then dropped her eyes and mumbled evasively, “Uh… well… I mean… is that really necessary?”
The next instant, her head snapped up, fist clenched in defiance. “But there’s this wild, untamed voice screaming inside me – to hell with expectations! This is my life, my dreams. I will do stand-up comedy!”
A murmur of recognition rippled through the crowd.
“I know so many of us feel trapped at this age,” she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Our parents don’t understand. They fence us in with their expectations. God, it’s suffocating.” She mimed gripping invisible prison bars. “We keep waiting for perfect parents who’ll never come.”
A lone voice shouted agreement from the darkness. “Preach!”
Chu Duxiu’s eyes found the heckler instantly. When she spoke again, her delivery was slower, more deliberate – the comic expertly setting up her punchline. “But here’s what I’ve realized…” A dramatic pause. “That frustration? That’s the growing pain of not being powerful enough yet.” Another beat. “Because when you’re truly strong?” She leaned into the mic. “You’re not the one who runs. They are.”
The audience’s curiosity was piqued, listening with rapt attention throughout.
“I have an older sister—exceptionally brilliant. Though we’re twins, we couldn’t be more different.”
Chu Shuangyou stiffened slightly in her seat.
“Thanks to her, I learned that if your college entrance exam scores are high enough, the system literally hides them. No numbers, just a ranking—officially to ‘protect top scorers’ privacy’ and ‘spare the underachievers’ fragile egos.'”
Chu Duxiu paused, then added dryly, “Of course, this only protects the underachievers out there. Not the one stuck at home with the genius. Not like I can go rogue and write some clickbait article: ‘How the Entrance Exam Changed My Life: After My Sister Aced It, My Anxiety Vanished!'”
“I mean, we came from the same factory, same materials. She’s the luxury flagship product—I’m just the off-brand surplus. No label, but still technically a top-scorer batch.”
The front rows erupted in cascading giggles, laughter feeding on itself.
Behind the bar, Chen Jing snorted into her glass. “‘Off-brand surplus’… God.”
Scallion slapped his knee in delight. “Then I’m the off-brand ‘Rookie of the Year’!”
On stage, Chu Duxiu held the microphone with practiced ease. “After graduation, my sister became even more impressive – so impressive that one day I realized something shocking: my mother was actually afraid of her.”
“My mom’s health check showed some issues. The doctor suggested medication to control her blood pressure and sugar levels,” she continued, pacing the stage. “But you know how stubborn she is. Convinced she’s perfectly healthy, she declared doctors incompetent and swore off check-ups altogether.”
“Then one day at dinner,” Chu Duxiu’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, “my sister casually asked, ‘Why aren’t you getting check-ups?'”
She paused for effect. “Now, my sister said this completely calmly – just this level, professional gaze. But maybe it’s her corporate training, because the sheer authority in that question…” Chu Duxiu mimed an invisible force pressing down.
“What shocked me most was my mother’s reaction. She actually fumbled! Started making excuses like ‘Oh, well, it’s not really necessary…'”
Her eyes widened in mock astonishment. “Can you imagine? My iron-willed mother, the family dictator, actually reading the room for once!”
Chu Duxiu’s voice softened. “She was anxious too. Terrified of facing her own aging body. Out of her depth when my sister discussed financial investments. Lost when corporate structures came up. Her little business suddenly insignificant against listed companies.”
A hush fell over the audience as she delivered the revelation. “She’s getting old. Her children have slipped her control. Become powerful enough to challenge her.”
Then, with perfect comedic timing, she punched the air. “And in that moment, I saw it – there’s a rebellious spirit screaming inside her too! Screw your expectations! My life, my rules, I won’t take your damn blood pressure meds!”
The crowd sat transfixed, caught in the raw honesty of the performance. Only the spotlight moved, tracing the comedian’s cathartic delivery across the stage.
Chu Duxiu’s expression softened with melancholy as she spoke quietly, “Suddenly, I found myself empathizing with my mother—she seemed so vulnerable, so pitiful. I felt compelled to do something for her, just as she’d always done for me.”
“Right then, I slammed the table and declared with righteous indignation—”
Just as the audience was sinking into this tender moment, Chu Duxiu’s demeanor abruptly shifted.
In a split second, her tone turned sharp and scolding as she fired off rapid rebukes. “Exactly! Mom, how could you be so irresponsible? Have you ever considered your health? At your age, still making my sister and me worry—all those health problems? I bet it’s from scrolling on your phone too much!”
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
The previously hushed venue exploded with laughter. The pent-up emotions burst forth like a geyser, transforming into a whirlwind of hilarity that swept through the crowd.
People roared—some stifling giggles, others clapping excitedly, a few doubling over in laughter. No one had seen that twist coming. The uproar lasted for ages, peppered with gasps and cheers.
Even Chu Shuangyou couldn’t hold back anymore, her shoulders shaking with laughter, her composure completely shattered.
Chu Duxiu tilted her chin up, her face brimming with smug satisfaction as she continued her performance. “This, my friends, is what you call karma coming full circle. Who would’ve thought—my sister made it big, and now—”
“Even my mom was stunned at first. But then she instantly regained her composure and hit me with that classic English line, just like in her glory days—”
“‘Give you face! Who do you think you are!'”
The room erupted in seismic laughter, waves of mirth crashing through the audience like an avalanche. The aftershocks kept coming, rocking people back and forth until they were doubled over in unrestrained joy, all decorum forgotten.
Every face in the crowd broke into smiles, completely disarmed by the comedy.
Caught in the electric atmosphere, Chu Duxiu found herself unexpectedly lighthearted. It was as if a weight had lifted—her troubles momentarily forgotten, leaving only pure, buoyant delight in their wake.
“Life is so strange. When you think you’re fine, everyone insists something’s wrong with you—that you can’t go on living this way. But the moment you admit you’re anxious, they scoff: ‘Why stress over such trivial things? You’re totally fine!'”
“Every day, I ask myself: Do I really need these blood pressure meds? Is taking the civil service exam truly mandatory?”
“My mom says she feels no pressure. I tell her I never wanted stability anyway.”
“Maybe anxiety doesn’t discriminate by age. Maybe it just means we’re seeing our imperfect selves clearly—and that’s nothing to fear.”
“Thank you, everyone. I’m Chu Duxiu.”
With a deep bow, she exited the stage.
The applause thundered on relentlessly.
Perhaps it was for her brilliant performance. Perhaps for her razor-sharp wit. Or perhaps simply because, in that moment, every heart in the room beat in recognition. Whatever the reason, the crowd roared as one—their clapping hands and cheering voices weaving into the purest, most universal language of appreciation.
Chu Shuangyou watched as the crowd cheered for her sister, gathering around Chu Duxiu like stars encircling the moon, and felt an indescribable emotion well up inside her.
She had seen her sister’s quick wit and playful antics at home countless times—but never like this, never affecting so many people at once.
It was as if they had all formed some invisible connection with her, freely sharing in this unfiltered joy.
Only after the entire performance did Xie Shenci finally turn to Chu Shuangyou and ask, “So, what do you think of open mic night?”
Chu Shuangyou wanted to respond with silence, just as she had before the show—a classic negotiation tactic. Say less, leave no openings, give the opponent nothing to exploit.
But she had to admit, the performance had moved her.
“It was… interesting.”
Then, remembering that Xie Shenci was the owner of a comedy company, she refused to let him gain the upper hand and meticulously added, “But that’s just because my sister is exceptional. It doesn’t mean stand-up comedy itself is anything special.”
Xie Shenci didn’t seem bothered at all. He simply nodded, unfazed. “Fair enough. Then I guess she’ll just have to single-handedly save the entire industry.”
Chu Shuangyou: “?”
