Typoon Transit was always packed. Once the open mic venue filled up, latecomers could only stand in the corners. That’s why many performers preferred to rehearse their lines and warm up outside—there’s more space, and it’s quieter.
After finishing her set, Chu Duxiu slipped out of the bar. The jingle of the door was drowned out by laughter inside, and a breath of cool air greeted her, soothing her flushed cheeks and calming the adrenaline rush.
The stage was like a key that unlocked the beast inside her, but once she put down the mic, she returned to her usual self.
Under the dim streetlamp stood a dark silhouette. The area in front of the door was split in two by a thick rose bush. Its dense branches divided two groups: one side was Xie Shenci and the stand-up comedians; the other, Chu Shuangyou, standing alone under the light.
Chu Duxiu was taken aback by the scene—not just because she hadn’t expected her sister to come to the bar, but also because of the strange atmosphere between the two sides.
Why did it look like a “demarcation line” drawn in school?
Chu Shuangyou and Xie Shenci stood at opposite corners, inexplicably locked in a standoff.
Chu Duxiu glanced at Xie Shenci, then quickly ran over to her sister and asked, “Why didn’t you message me?”
The last WeChat message from her sister had only reminded her to eat—there wasn’t a single word about coming to Typoon Transit.
Chu Shuangyou replied gently, “I had some free time after I finished work, so I came over on a whim.”
Chu Duxiu said, “…That’s so tiring for you.”
Chu Shuangyou looked through the bar’s floor-to-ceiling window. It was still packed inside. She asked, “You’ve finished your set? You’re done for the night?”
“Ah, yeah…” Chu Duxiu froze for a second, then blurted nervously, “I was just about to head back.”
She hadn’t expected her sister to know about her performance. Remembering how disapproving she’d been, her heart suddenly jumped into her throat.
Chu Shuangyou nodded. “Alright then, let’s go.”
Chu Duxiu said a quick goodbye to Xie Shenci and the others, then hurried off with her backpack, following Chu Shuangyou out. They strolled through the streets at night, passing shops that were gradually closing, the foot traffic thinning.
They walked along the road toward the university campus, neither of them speaking at first.
The moon hung high, soft and bright. Now and then a leaf would fall to the ground; Chu Duxiu stepped on one, hearing the crisp crunch beneath her foot. As she listened to the sound, she wondered how to break the silence and start a conversation with her sister, who had appeared so suddenly.
She had originally planned to persuade her sister this afternoon—yet here she was, caught in the act of performing at an open mic. She had no idea how her sister felt about it.
Chu Duxiu knew full well that Chu Shuangyou had no interest in comedy. She only cared about things with tangible results—textbooks, documentaries, and the like. Even during her breaks, she studied. Or maybe, for a top student like her, studying was her idea of rest.
If this were a xianxia (cultivation) novel, Chu Shuangyou would definitely cultivate the path of emotionlessness—or be a peerless sword cultivator, her heart untouched by worldly distractions.
Then what about stand-up comedians? What path would they cultivate?
The Path of Joy? The Sect of Pleasure?
Her thoughts wandered more and more, and she stayed silent for so long that it was finally Chu Shuangyou who spoke first.
Chu Shuangyou suddenly said, “Why not give it a try?”
“What?”
There hadn’t been any discussion beforehand, so when Chu Duxiu heard this out-of-the-blue comment, she didn’t immediately react.
“You wanted to be on the show, didn’t you? Then why not try it?” Chu Shuangyou looked at her younger sister and said calmly, “Since it’s being filmed during the winter break, there’ll still be several months left afterward. You might even make it back in time for a few exams.”
Hearing this, Chu Duxiu’s eyes widened instantly, as if a pie had fallen from the sky and hit her on the head—she was overjoyed.
“Really!?”
“Mm. The first season of the show already got some attention. The second season will determine whether there’s real growth potential. So the timing is actually good for you to join.” Chu Shuangyou analysed the situation coolly. “If it goes well, you might catch the wave. If it doesn’t, then this whole industry might fade out anyway, and you can just come back and prepare for the civil service exams.”
This was the result of her careful consideration. If the show performed as expected, her sister might shine during the competition. But if it flopped, then there’d be no need to intervene—the path would naturally come to an end.
“Do you have to say it so harshly?” Chu Duxiu said softly. “It sounds like if the show fails, stand-up comedy is doomed.”
“Isn’t that the case?” Chu Shuangyou countered. “How many full-time comedians were there tonight?”
Chu Duxiu had no comeback. Before shows like this gained traction, stand-up was definitely niche. Even performers like Nie Feng weren’t full-time—they had to run the bar to make a living.
Still, the fact that Chu Shuangyou had suddenly changed her stance brought a sense of relief.
A light sparked in Chu Duxiu’s eyes, but then she thought of something else and asked cautiously, “But what if Mom doesn’t agree?”
Chu Shuangyou sighed. “Then we’ll have to go with your plan.”
Chu Duxiu looked puzzled.
Chu Shuangyou let out a quiet laugh. “I’ll just give her a calm look and ask, ‘Why haven’t you booked your health check-up?’”
Under the moonlight, the two of them looked at each other—and saw the smile on each other’s face.
If Chu Duxiu had still been puzzled earlier about why her sister had suddenly changed her stance, now she felt a quiet, thrilling joy—like the feeling she got on stage when the audience burst into laughter, or when she ran into strangers afterward quoting her jokes.
People connect through stand-up comedy, sharing emotions through punchlines and stories told on stage.
At least in that moment, it felt like a tacit understanding—as if they were on the same team.
“Yes! You said it—you can’t take it back!”
Chu Duxiu burst with excitement. She practically wanted to leap into the air, grabbing hold of Chu Shuangyou’s arm like she’d finally found a solid support, letting go of the weight that had been pressing on her for days.
“But I really didn’t expect it—Mom’s actually afraid of me?” Chu Shuangyou let her sister cling to her, sensing her joy. Thoughtfully, she said, “If you hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t have noticed. And those topics about investors and the company—I just thought she wasn’t interested, so I didn’t keep the conversation going like I usually do.”
Her sister’s stand-up performance was witty and humorous—and it also offered a new perspective on how to observe the world.
Chu Duxiu teased, “She clearly didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t you see how flustered she was? She looked like she was about to panic.”
Chu Shuangyou suddenly understood.
The two sisters began joking about small family matters, arms linked affectionately as they strolled through the night, leisurely walking the streets. They passed by the glittering nightscape of Yancheng, practically joined at the hip like conjoined twins.
Their crisp laughter drifted on the night breeze, breaking through the wall of distance that had formed between them in recent days—loud enough, it seemed, to startle the stars in the sky.
“Honestly, I’m not that exceptional, and I’m not all that strong,” Chu Shuangyou said with a sigh. “If I were a bit more capable, maybe I would’ve agreed the first time you brought it up. But the truth is, I was unsure—I was afraid of unpredictable risks.”
For a brief moment, she felt like she wasn’t as impressive as her sister believed. If she were more outstanding, maybe she could have shielded her completely—so there’d be nothing left to fear.
“You wouldn’t be…” Chu Duxiu’s face showed a mix of fear and something almost absurd, as she cautiously asked, “Anxious?”
That word seemed the furthest from her sister’s nature—after all, she was practically perfect.
Chu Shuangyou admitted, “Yeah, if I were completely financially independent, maybe I wouldn’t have so many worries. I could do whatever I wanted.”
“Don’t be anxious! If you were truly financially free, I’d never be able to lift my head ever again!” Chu Duxiu exclaimed. “Save me a little dignity and space to survive at home!”
What had she done? What right did she have? Stand-up comedy had even made the top scholar anxious!
Seeing her sister’s strong reaction, Chu Shuangyou blinked and asked, “So you think it’s pretty good now? Being not financially free is okay?”
“…”
That question—if it were a daydream, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to think about it.
“Not exactly,” Chu Duxiu pondered. “If I could be financially free, I’d be willing to sacrifice dignity… but I’d have one small request…”
Chu Shuangyou asked curiously, “What request?”
“Could you give stand-up comedy some room to survive?” Chu Duxiu rubbed her hands nervously, sneaking a glance at her sister’s expression and whispered, “Invest in our industry.”
She began to daydream—if she really were financially free, wouldn’t it be just like in novels, controlling the world’s economy? Promoting stand-up comedy would be a breeze!
But Chu Shuangyou’s face changed instantly when she heard this. She flatly refused, “No way. I’m not going to support someone else’s livelihood. They’re really planning to rely on you!”
She always knew people running comedy companies were unreliable!
Chu Duxiu was left speechless.
The next day, Chu Shuangyou flew back to Nancheng. Before leaving, she discussed the plan with Chu Duxiu.
The show’s filming schedule was set: the first round of competition would be two days before winter break. Chu Duxiu would go to Haicheng first to participate. If she advanced successfully, she would confess everything to their mother when she got home and continue to the second and third rounds. If she didn’t advance, then there was no need to bring it up again—no point in arguing over it.
This matched Chu Duxiu’s own thinking pretty closely. She wasn’t so confident as to assume she’d definitely make it, especially since she had only seen open mics in Yancheng and wasn’t sure about performers elsewhere.
Of course, she was no longer fighting alone. Her sister had personally promised to speak up for her. Now, after finishing asking about her daily civil service exam revision, Chu Shuangyou occasionally asked about how the show preparations were going.
Inside Typoon Transit, Chu Duxiu was casually jotting down her script while sneaking glances at the person across from her. Quietly, she asked, “Mr. Xie, were you the one who told my sister to come watch the performance?”
That day, she had been surprised by her sister’s arrival—after all, her sister didn’t know about the open mic schedule. Who would have thought someone had passed on the message?
Xie Shenci was typing rapidly at his computer, replying to the company CFO. He looked up and said, “I just told her you had a performance tonight, and that if she was free, she could come.”
Chu Duxiu instantly perked up, straightened her back, and eagerly asked, “What was her reaction?”
Her sister refused to comment on her performance and wouldn’t say even after being pressed repeatedly. Now, she was anxious to know how her sister truly felt, so she had to turn to others for help.
Xie Shenci stopped typing and seemed to fall into thought.
Chu Duxiu pressed on, “Did she laugh? Did she find it funny?”
“She probably did…” Xie Shenci admitted, “I didn’t really pay much attention.”
She felt deeply disappointed. “You were watching together and didn’t notice at all?”
“Because I was watching too. I hadn’t even seen yesterday’s script,” Xie Shenci explained calmly. Then suddenly remembering something, he raised an eyebrow and said, “You were secretly hiding your script from me.”
“…”
At that moment, Chu Duxiu looked at his expression and suddenly imagined [a little black cat glaring.jpg].
She quickly waved her hand and mumbled, “Oh no, that’s not true. It’s just newly written—what’s hiding or not hiding!”
Xie Shenci said nothing.
Thinking it over, Chu Duxiu wasn’t ready to give up. She asked again, “No memory at all? Did you at least hear laughter?”
“I don’t remember.”
Chu Duxiu pouted and said nothing more, but her eyes were full of sorrow.
Xie Shenci commented, “Your eyes are saying, ‘You’re useless.’”
Chu Duxiu realized how sharp he was and quickly wiped the expression off her face, gently soothing him, “No, you’re reading too much into it.”
“That’s right.”
Feeling a little guilty, she gave up and said, “If that’s how you want to think, I can’t help it.”
Xie Shenci stared at her for a moment, lost in thought, then surprisingly said, “You’re being mean to me—”
He even dragged the last word out.
Chu Duxiu felt the situation was absurd and blurted out, “No way, am I mean?”
She didn’t have a threatening look and had never been accused of being mean before!
Especially considering their appearances and social statuses, she didn’t have any right to scold Mr. Xie. There was no way she should be blamed for that.
He repeated, “You were mean to me—”
“???“
She really wanted to tell Mr. Xie that any reaction meme he used would only make things worse for him.
Even though his face was expressionless now, in her mind she saw [a little black cat looking wronged.jpg].
Chu Duxiu had no choice but to stand up and bow seriously. “Sorry, sorry, すみません (sumimasen), 미안해요 (mianhaeyo).”
On [month] [day], at Typoon Transit, during the preparation period for the show The Stand-Up King, university student Chu Duxiu issued an apology in four languages for her inappropriate remarks that caused emotional distress to Xie Shenci of Shanle Culture.
