As soon as Chu Duxiu said this, everyone burst into laughter.
“Right, you don’t even need to enter the draw—I’ll just rig it for you. You can have dinner with Mr. Xie…” Shang Xiaomei glanced at Chu Duxiu, then at Wang Nali, roaring with laughter. “Wait, no—let Mr. Xie treat both of you to dinner.”
Hearing that she was included, Wang Nali quickly protested, “No, no.”
Even though Mr. Xie was a decent guy, having dinner with the boss before the competition would put a lot of psychological pressure on the contestants.
Wang Nali had never performed at Typoon Transit and wasn’t particularly close to Xie Shenci, so naturally, she felt uneasy.
For a brief moment, a bizarre image flashed through Chu Duxiu’s mind: on one side, Shang Xiaomei was saying, “Adopt, don’t shop,” while on the other, Wang Nali was muttering, “Cat allergies are such a hassle.” Truly, she was caught between a rock and a hard place.
Chu Duxiu stole a glance at the person in question and, seeing his impassive expression, ventured, “Shouldn’t we ask Mr. Xie for his opinion?”
You couldn’t just treat the boss like a pushover—actually arranging his schedule like this.
When Xie Shenci was brought into the conversation, he finally spoke up, turning to Shang Xiaomei and asking, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Come on, you sit here every day—do you know how much pressure that puts on us?” Shang Xiaomei sighed helplessly. “The PR team can’t even chat freely because of it.”
Shang Xiaomei and Bei He had joined the company early and were on good terms with Xie Shenci, so of course, they could joke around with him. But as long as that cold, elite CEO facade of his remained intact, he still carried an air of intimidation for other employees.
No one wanted to work side by side with the boss, constantly having to watch their words and actions around him.
Xie Shenci said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“With the boss sitting right beside us, who would dare let loose? Why don’t you go find Shang Liang instead? Or I can find you a kind-hearted comedian to chat with about stand-up. You’ll just get distracted here reading documents, and since you don’t really use Weibo much, you probably wouldn’t be interested in what we’re discussing anyway.”
Shang Xiaomei turned to the other two with enthusiasm, saying, “Let me see—we have two performers right here…”
Wang Nali panicked, “No, no.”
“I’ll go discuss the budget with Mr. Shang. You all carry on,” Xie Shenci said unhurriedly as he stood up. True to Director Shang’s suggestion, he gave the PR team their space instead of keeping watch from the sidelines.
Witnessing this scene, Chu Duxiu found it inexplicably amusing.
There was nothing inherently wrong with Xie Shenci, but his demeanor and position naturally carried an air of authority that could feel intimidating to those who didn’t know him well.
Always quick with improvised humor, she lowered her head and muttered under her breath, “Recycling old bosses—idle bosses, unused bosses, unwanted bosses—don’t just throw them away! Trade them in for stainless steel bowls.”
As Xie Shenci passed by Chu Duxiu, he happened to catch her gloating remark.
He paused, shot her a glance, and whispered, “Keep talking like that, and you’ll really win the company’s annual grand prize.”
“…”
With that, Xie Shenci walked off with his documents, disappearing into a hotel room to find Shang Liang, the finance director.
Chu Duxiu’s eyes widened in shock—she hadn’t expected him to drop such a line as he passed by, his tone so light it went completely unnoticed by everyone else.
The second season of the show was in full swing, and finally, the day of official recording arrived, with all crew members and contestants gathered in the studio.
Backstage, the makeup room was packed with contestants, and the makeup artists were working non-stop, rushing to get everyone styled on time.
Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali, already in costume, were taking selfies together in a corner while waiting for the contestants to enter as a group.
“I saw the audience when I arrived this morning,” Wang Nali said. “So many people—we’ll probably be recording late into the night.”
Scallion passed by them, poking his head in to join the conversation. “I heard last season’s breakout round went on until midnight.”
Chu Duxiu frowned. “Then isn’t it unfair for the performers who go first—or those stuck performing in the early hours?”
Laughter is a cumulative emotion—it’s hard for comedians to land punchlines right off the bat. The audience needs time to warm up, to immerse themselves in the performances before they can easily be amused.
Because of this, opening acts essentially set the tone for the whole show, making their job inherently harder than those who perform later. And by midnight, the audience would be exhausted, their attention spans shot—another disadvantage for the contestants trying to score points.
“Can’t be helped. It all comes down to the luck of the draw,” Scallion sighed. “Someone’s always gotta go first.”
Before long, the production team announced it was time for the contestants to enter. Fifty comedians filed into the studio, finally laying eyes on the dazzling stage with its neatly divided sections.
The venue was clearly segmented: three red lounge chairs on one side of the stage for celebrity guests, a contestant waiting area to the left, an advancement zone to the right, and the audience section directly facing the stage.
The live audience, who had entered earlier, erupted into cheers and enthusiastic applause as soon as the contestants appeared.
Chu Duxiu took her seat among her peers, gazing at the massive show logo onstage and the brilliant lights surrounding them. The tense, electrifying atmosphere was contagious, and she exchanged encouraging words with her friends.
Back in the control room, Shang Xiaomei held a walkie-talkie and sat behind the monitors, calling out, “All teams, final check—we’re starting recording imminently.”
“Camera team, copy that.”
“Talent management, roger.”
…
“Countdown—three, two, one.”
The next moment, the stage lights blazed to life. Amid upbeat music and roaring cheers from the audience, the host from the first season made his entrance.
A handsome man strode confidently onto the stage, waving cheerfully before he even reached the standing microphone. Unable to contain his excitement, he called out, “Hello everyone, I’m Qiu Mingche—I’ve missed you all so much!”
Thunderous applause filled the venue.
Qiu Mingche, a variety show host and the first season’s “Laughter Representative,” was a familiar face on the program. Gripping the mic, he scanned the audience with ease and smoothly moved the proceedings along:
“Not long ago, the show’s director invited me back, saying The Stand-Up King was returning for a second season. I was shocked—our scrappy little show hasn’t been canceled yet!”
A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd.
Qiu Mingche continued, “The director boasted to me that this year’s contestants are stronger than ever. Did you all watch the preview episode?”
A chorus of “Yes—” rose from the audience.
“Good, then you know exactly how I felt watching it,” he quipped. “So as your Laughter Representative, I took it upon myself to text Bei He and mercilessly roast his preliminary round video.”
The audience burst into laughter, clearly catching his drift.
“Hold on, which one of our company writers drafted Mr. Qiu’s script?” Bei He glanced around, both exasperated and amused. “This is slander! He never even added me on WeChat—at least add me first before roasting me!”
Bei He and the others weren’t just contestants—they were also writers for Shanle Culture, helping celebrities craft their material. These jabs definitely weren’t Qiu Mingche’s own words but playful teasing from his colleagues.
“And it’s not just the contestants who’ve leveled up—our ‘Laughter Representatives’ have too. This season, we’ll have two permanent representatives hosting the show.”
Qiu Mingche continued smoothly, “On top of that, each episode will feature a guest representative. For today’s breakout round, that’s me. But once this round wraps up, I’ll be stepping aside—our permanent hosts will take over from the next round onward.”
A disappointed “Aww…” rose from the crowd.
“Don’t want me to leave, huh? Don’t worry—once you meet the new representatives for Season 2, you’ll forget all about me!” Qiu Mingche raised his voice dramatically. “Let’s give a warm welcome to Luo Qin and Su Xinyi—”
Energetic music swelled once more as the stage lights blazed, illuminating the glamorous pair stepping into the spotlight.
Dressed to impress, the two newcomers introduced themselves under Qiu Mingche’s guidance: one a renowned male singer, Luo Qin, the other a popular actress, Su Xinyi.
The tall man, his short hair slightly curled with deliberate style, spoke in a rich, resonant voice, “Hello everyone, I’m Luo Qin. I’ve actually always been fascinated by stand-up comedy—I’ve watched many specials abroad and even visited some clubs in Nancheng, where I caught Cheng Junhua’s performance.”
In the contestants’ area, Cheng Junhua froze for a moment upon hearing this, then pressed his palms together modestly. “I’m flattered, truly flattered.”
Luo Qin continued, “Seeing more and more performers getting involved in stand-up comedy these days genuinely excites me—I can’t help but laugh already just thinking about it.”
Then it was the other guest’s turn to introduce herself. Dressed in a sleek dark gown that accentuated her figure, she was a stunning beauty who radiance lit up the stage.
Su Xinyi bowed deeply and said gently, “Hello everyone, I’m Su Xinyi. I’ve been a longtime fan of The Stand-Up King—I binge-watched the entire first season at home. It’s an honor to serve as a Laughter Representative for the second season.”
The audience responded with warm applause.
Qiu Mingche announced, “Let’s welcome our two Laughter Representatives to take their seats. To your right, you’ll find a button—longtime viewers will recognize this as the ‘light switch’. Each representative’s light is worth 50 votes.”
Luo Qin and Su Xinyi curiously tested the buttons with tentative touches.
“Additionally, our 200 live audience members will vote after each performance. The top twenty-five contestants will advance to the next round.”
“The breakout round begins now—let’s welcome our first contestant!”
The audience erupted in excitement, eagerly anticipating the performances.
Back in the waiting area, the contestants clapped along while watching their peers’ sets, their nerves mounting as they awaited their own turns.
The studio environment was completely different from venues like Wenxiao Theater. Some performers faltered under the pressure of the live audience, losing the effortless confidence they’d shown in preliminaries. Others thrived in the electric atmosphere, delivering cathartic sets that redeemed past failures with triumphant flair.
The first high-scoring contestant inside the venue was Bei He, who swept all three judge’s lights and received overwhelming audience votes. His workplace-themed punchlines completely overturned his lackluster preliminary performance.
“For others, this is a competition—but for me? This is just company life. Who doesn’t know how to slack off at work?”
“I don’t want to be the Stand-Up King—my dream is to be the King of Slacking!” Bei He declared passionately. “Slacking through the apocalypse! Slacking my way into magical realism!”
Su Xinyi burst into uncontrollable laughter and slammed her button, lighting up the final lamp.
The contestant area erupted with awed “Wow”s, with performers from Haicheng sighing in admiration. “What a dog!”
“How does he always do this? Messes around casually but pulls through at critical moments,” Lu Fan muttered. “Was his preliminary round just setting up for this comeback?”
Rather than avoiding his preliminary round flop, Bei He spun it into commentary on corporate slacker culture, striking a chord with every modern office worker.
His performance wildly exceeded expectations—night-and-day different from his preliminary round. In fact, the stark contrast made it even more hilariously brilliant.
“Bei He is absolutely killing it. He’s crafted this stage persona—the ultimate corporate slacker, always finding ways to skate by,” Scallion remarked with admiration. “With that established image, these topics flow naturally for him. It’s not like us newcomers who have no defined identity yet and have to introduce ourselves through our material.”
Contestants like Bei He and Lu Fan entered the competition with clear “labels”—personas shaped by their appearances in the previous season. Bei He was the office slacker; Lu Fan, the teacher. As veterans, certain topics landed perfectly for them without needing much setup—the foundation was already laid.
But the audience knew nothing about newcomers. Getting to know them took time, and the informational load of their jokes was different by necessity.
Chu Duxiu’s eyes flickered with unspoken thoughts. “…Is it possible that’s not just a persona? What if he really is the Emperor of Office Workers?”
Her mind drifted back to that group dinner—Bei He seamlessly alternating between buttering up superiors and teasing Mr. Xie about being “genderless.” Most regular employees didn’t have that level of social finesse. She suspected he’d thrive no matter which company he worked for.
