The winter air in Haicheng carried a damp chill, unlike Yancheng’s dry cold. The moist, sticky wind brushed against her face with a faint, knife-like sting.
The temperature inside the high-speed train had been comfortable, which made Chu Duxiu completely unprepared. The moment she stepped onto the platform, pushing her suitcase, a sudden sneeze seized her. Shivering, she hurriedly pulled on her padded coat, surprised to find Haicheng even colder than Yancheng.
How was that possible?
Yancheng was below zero, while Haicheng was above freezing.
The station bustled with a dense flow of people, the air filled with clamoring voices and the rhythmic clatter of suitcase wheels rolling over the platform’s shock-absorbing strips.
Inside the hall, Chu Duxiu waited at the exit for Wang Nali. They had taken the same train but sat in different carriages, agreeing to meet after arriving in Haicheng.
A moment later, Wang Nali appeared, dragging her suitcase behind her. The first thing she said upon seeing Chu Duxiu after so long was an exaggerated exclamation. “Holy shit, aren’t you freezing?”
“Freezing. I’m literally turning into an icicle,” Chu Duxiu muttered, her hands buried deep in her sleeves as she gripped the suitcase handle through her coat. “I thought you Northeasterners were immune to the cold.”
“What? Since when are Northeasterners immune to cold? Even penguins get cold!” Wang Nali gasped in mock outrage. “Magellanic penguins live in temperate zones, and they still shiver!”
“So… you’re a temperate-zone Northeasterner?”
“Nah, ‘temperate’ doesn’t apply anymore—I’m about to go full popsicle.”
After warming up briefly in the station hall, the two wasted no time and hailed a ride-hailing car to their hotel.
The hotel had been booked by the The Stand-Up King production team, with a hundred contestants from across the country gathering in Haicheng for the first round of the competition. Several floors were fully occupied by participants. The location was close to Shanle Stand-Up Comedy Club, with a dedicated theater next door for stand-up performances—the same venue where first-season contestants had tested their material.
The hotel rooms were assigned as doubles. After checking in at the front desk, Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali wheeled their suitcases toward the elevators, passing countless fellow contestants along the way. Among them were familiar faces from Yancheng—regulars at Typoon Transit—as well as complete strangers, some even speaking with thick Southern Min accents.
It seemed the production team had really pulled out all the stops this time, assembling a far larger and more diverse pool of competitors than in the first season.
“Are there really this many people?” Wang Nali murmured, dazed. “I’m getting kind of nervous.”
The lobby was filled with actors clustered in small groups. Since filming wouldn’t begin for another couple of days, the hotel had become a makeshift social hub, allowing comedy enthusiasts from all over the country to mingle.
“Did every comedian in China show up?” Chu Duxiu craned her neck, scanning the crowd. “If someone blew up this hotel right now, would our entire industry collapse?”
Wang Nali shot her a look. “That’s a concerning thought. You seem way more nihilistic than the last time I saw you.”
“Cut me some slack—I just took the civil service exam. My soul’s been crushed. All I want now is world annihilation.”
Before coming here, Chu Duxiu had taken a civil service exam – and it had been brutal. The results weren’t out yet, but she’d known the competition would be fierce and hadn’t gotten her hopes up too much. The real focus was the next round of exams in Wencheng and other cities next semester.
She’d texted her sister about it and received comforting words in return.
Chu Shuangyou, probably aware of how cutthroat the competition in Yancheng was with so many top candidates, advised her younger sister to treat this first attempt as practice and focus her energy on both the comedy show and the upcoming Wencheng exam.
Wang Nali gave her a strange look. “…So you’ve gone full villain mode wanting to destroy the world?”
Chu Duxiu said, “Then let me rephrase that in a more positive way – I want to open my arms and welcome an asteroid to Earth.”
“?”
The two swiped their key card to enter the room and immediately turned on the air conditioning before unpacking their luggage.
Having just arrived from Yancheng, Chu Duxiu couldn’t help but feel Haicheng’s humidity was overwhelming. Even the snow-white quilt seemed soaked with moisture, icy to the touch—enough to send shivers down one’s spine.
Before long, Wang Nali checked her phone and called out, “Let’s go eat. They’re asking us to come downstairs.”
The 100 contestants hailed from all corners of the country. While not everyone knew each other, they had loosely formed three main factions: Yancheng, Haicheng, and Nancheng.
The Yancheng group primarily consisted of training camp alumni and local comedians. Haicheng’s contingent was made up of Season 1 participants, while Nancheng—home to China’s first comedy club, where stand-up was known as “talk show”—boasted comedians whose skills were equally formidable.
Having both attended Shanle’s training camp, Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali naturally joined the Yancheng group for dinner with their former classmates and instructors.
Surprisingly, Lu Fan skipped the Haicheng gathering and instead chose to dine with the training camp students.
In the hotel lobby, the two waved at Lu Fan, who was standing with Nie Feng and chatting animatedly with the surrounding comedians.
“You’re completely frozen!” Lu Fan exclaimed when she saw Chu Duxiu huddled in on herself. She reached out and touched Chu Duxiu’s cheek. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”
Wang Nali nodded. “Seriously, she’s been totally out of it today.”
“I’m coooold—” Chu Duxiu whined pitifully.
“That’s just how Haicheng winters are. No central heating here—you’ll have to rely on the AC for warmth,” Lu Fan explained. “If you’re still cold during filming later, you should buy a space heater for your room. It’ll help.”
Always budget-conscious, Chu Duxiu pondered for a moment. “I’ll buy one if I advance to the next round. No point spending the money if I get eliminated right away.”
Lu Fan couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s no way you’ll get eliminated that quickly!”
Nearby, Scallion was waving his arms and calling out like a street vendor. “Hey classmates! All training camp folks—this way for grub!”
Having made his announcement, he hurried back to discuss transportation arrangements with Nie Feng.
Wang Nali asked curiously, “Is it just training camp people tonight?”
Lu Fan nodded. “Yeah, Director Shang said she’d drop by, but Mr. Xie seems tied up.”
That evening, multiple groups of comedians would be dining separately. Executives from Shanle planned to make the rounds between private rooms to welcome all the arriving performers.
Just then, a car pulled up in front of the hotel, and several people stepped out.
Leading the group were two tall men. One was Xie Shenci, dressed in formal attire and speaking with refined courtesy as he gestured directions to his companion. The other was a stranger in casual sportswear and white sneakers, his slightly rounded face suggesting he might be in his thirties or forties, a genial smile playing at his lips.
Chu Duxiu found the man oddly familiar. Before joining the Shanle training camp, she had scoured plenty of stand-up comedy material and had come across his performance videos online.
Sure enough, as Xie Shenci led the man into the lobby, murmurs of excitement rippled through the crowd nearby.
The other comedians collectively gasped—”Whoa!”—like a drop of water hitting sizzling oil. Their eyes locked onto the two arrivals, barely containing their exhilaration, yet none dared approach just yet.
Nie Feng froze. “Is that Cheng Junhua?”
“Holy shit, no wonder Mr. Xie was busy—he’s got dinner plans with a legend!” Scallion gasped. “Wait, is he back in China for good now?”
Wang Nali asked, “Wasn’t he an apprentice to some overseas comedian?”
“Yeah, he originally studied under Hong Liwen abroad,” Lu Fan explained. “But he wanted to do stand-up in Chinese, so he came back. Performed in Nancheng for years, though the scene here is still niche and stand-up hasn’t really blown up yet. I heard he switched to writing for comedy shows—didn’t expect him to join this competition.”
Cheng Junhua was a Nancheng-based comedian. During his early years studying abroad, he’d trained under Hong Liwen, a renowned Chinese-American stand-up comic.
After returning to China to pursue stand-up, he’d appeared on a few comedy shows and even held small solo specials in Nancheng. But with the limited market, his influence never grew beyond that.
Nie Feng mused, “The production team must’ve specially invited him.”
Scallion panicked. “Is he a contestant or a judge? Please don’t tell me we have to compete against him.”
As Xie Shenci led Cheng Junhua inside, he spotted Nie Feng, Chu Duxiu and the others, giving them a casual wave. Yet his demeanor differed from his usual vibe at Typoon Transit—where he typically lounged around as just another audience member, often chatting with performers by the entrance without any pretenses.
But here in the Haicheng hotel lobby, with an industry heavyweight by his side and staff trailing behind, Xie Shenci truly embodied the aura of “President Xie.” It drove home that he wasn’t just any ordinary club owner—he wielded real power and capital.
Chu Duxiu watched the two men leave, feeling oddly unsettled, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.
So Mr. Xie really was passionate about stand-up comedy, scouting for exceptional talent everywhere.
But would Xie Shenci spam Cheng Junhua with little black cat stickers to nag him for drafts?
Scallion, who frequently performed open mics at the bar and interacted with Xie Shenci often, clearly felt the same shift. He hesitated before muttering, “Seeing Mr. Xie today… I suddenly really felt like he’s President Xie.”
Chu Duxiu kept her hands stuffed deep in her pockets, refusing to expose them to the cold. She recited smoothly, “I seemed to feel a shiver run through me, and I knew we were now separated by a sad, thick barrier.”*
Xiao Cong nodded gravely. “Exactly.”
Chu Duxiu said, “Scallion, kowtow to Mr. Xie.”*
“？？？”
“Hey, who are you calling your son?” Scallion shot back, torn between irritation and amusement. “So you are Runtu and I’m Shuisheng. What kind of dad are you?”
The other Yancheng comedians burst into laughter, their attention snapping back from Xie Shenci and Cheng Junhua.
Before long, the group arrived at a spacious private dining room—also reserved by the production team. Having not seen each other for ages, everyone gathered in high spirits, chatting about recent updates and the upcoming show recording.
Shang Xiaomei, the program director, came to greet the performers. She was accompanied by a sharply dressed man in a suit and gold-rimmed glasses—the company’s CFO, Shang Liang, who exuded a shrewd, capable demeanor.
“Thank you all for coming from afar to support our show’s production. Tonight, eat well and drink well!”
After delivering this standard toast to the room, Mr. Shang moved on to the next private dining area without lingering.
Shang Xiaomei, more outgoing and personable with the performers, stayed behind to chat. Having attended open mics at the training camp, she remembered the top three contestants well—especially Chu Duxiu, the breakout newcomer.
“Duxiu,” Shang Xiaomei called out, “why do you look like a half-deflated balloon?”
Chu Duxiu blinked. Had her exhaustion been that obvious all evening? “Blame Haicheng’s winter,” she muttered, tugging her sleeves over her icy fingers. “It’s… aggressively damp.”
“Is your AC busted?” Shang Xiaomei frowned. “We’ll get maintenance up there. Or—” Her smirk returned. “Crash in my suite. Heated floors, king-sized bed.”
Chu Duxiu nearly choked on her tea. “With all due respect, Director Shang, a contestant sneaking into the chief director’s room sounds like the opening scene of a scandal.”
The table exploded with laughter.
Shang Xiaomei threw an arm around Chu Duxiu’s shoulders, her voice dripping with faux menace, “So what? I’m absolutely pulling strings for you!”
As the night wore on and the liquor flowed freely, the atmosphere grew increasingly raucous. Jokes flew across the table like shrapnel, each comedian trying to outdo the last with increasingly outrageous punchlines.
Chu Duxiu remained tucked in her corner, methodically working her way through the dishes like a survivalist rationing supplies. She offered the occasional quip when addressed, but her usual sharp wit had dulled to perfunctory banter.
“I’ll go say goodbye to Ms. Lu,” Wang Nali murmured, eyeing her friend’s pallor. “Let’s find a car back to the hotel. You’re basically a ghost at this point.” She nodded toward the exit. “Wait outside if it’s too much? The noise must be murder.”
Chu Duxiu nodded gratefully. Between the creeping fatigue and what she suspected were early PMS symptoms, maintaining her usual razor-edged humor felt like bench-pressing a boulder. But with the room buzzing at fever pitch, silence would’ve been its own transgression.
The moment the private dining room’s heavy door swung shut behind her, the corridor’s comparative silence felt like a balm. Waiters glided past with steaming platters while distant laughter seeped through adjacent doors—evidently, the production had booked the entire restaurant.
Then, like a glitch in the matrix, Xie Shenci materialized down the hallway.
He’d been striding purposefully between meetings when his trajectory abruptly fractured. There, haloed in the corridor’s amber lighting, stood Chu Duxiu.
Chu Duxiu spotted him and raised a hand in distant greeting.
Xie Shenci mirrored the gesture across the hallway before continuing on his way.
Two minutes later, his footsteps abruptly doubled back—this time heading straight toward her, something new clutched in his hand.
Assuming he meant to enter the private room, Chu Duxiu stepped aside to clear the doorway. When he remained rooted in place instead, she blinked. “Mr. Xie? Is something wrong?”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for the others.” Her confusion deepened. “Shouldn’t you be entertaining your performers?”
Surely he’d only stepped out briefly from his own dinner—probably with industry heavyweights.
Xie Shenci tilted his head. “I could entertain you for a while.”
“?”
The verb choice prickled her ears. “That’s not—” She backpedaled. “Don’t you need to network with the comedians?”
He should’ve been schmoozing with legends over abalone, not loitering in hallways.
Xie Shenci studied her pallor, then extended a packet of hand warmers.
“Networking,” he deadpanned, with a slow blink.
Translator’s Note:
*This is a reference to Lu Xun’s 1921 short story My Old Home (《故乡》), a foundational work of modern Chinese literature. In the story, the narrator returns to his childhood village and reunites with Runtu (闰土), a peasant boy he once played with. Their joyful childhood friendship is now strained by class divisions—Runtu respectfully addresses him as “Master” (老爷), highlighting the unbridgeable social gap between them. The original line describes the narrator’s heartbreaking realization of this estrangement.
*This phrase naturally makes Chu Duxiu Runtu from the novel, thus Scallion the son.
