Wencheng. The warm sun hung high in the sky, a gentle breeze brushing past light clouds.
In the living room, the afternoon sunlight spilled in like silk ribbons, draping across the framed family photo atop the TV cabinet. The television screen, large and imposing, flipped endlessly through channels—one dull drama after another.
It was an ordinary weekend. Chu Lan sat on the sofa, bored out of her mind. Catching her husband stealing glances at her, she snapped irritably, “What are you looking at? I’m going through menopause, so don’t mess with me!”
Shi Qin looked completely innocent, spreading his hands in confusion. “I’m just sitting here. I didn’t do anything to you.”
“Then what’s with those weird googly eyes?”
Their daughters had long since moved out. Now it was just the two of them. Without the kids around, Shi Qin had dropped his idol act, no longer bothering to maintain appearances. Instead, he slowly eased over to sit beside Chu Lan.
Seeing him squeeze in next to her, Chu Lan frowned in displeasure but didn’t move away. She let him lean against her.
Shi Qin sneakily pulled out his phone, head down, fiddling with something. Suddenly, he held it up in front of Chu Lan. Seeing she didn’t seem to react, he braced himself and waved it again, toeing the line of danger.
Chu Lan looked utterly confused. “What are you doing, scanning a bus QR code? Why are you waving that thing in my face?”
Shi Qin whispered, “Wanna take a look?”
“Look at what?”
“It’s from Youyou. A video of Xiuxiu’s competition.”
Chu Lan’s expression changed in an instant. She snapped, “Not watching! Don’t think I don’t know—you’re all in this together!”
“How can you say that? We’re all family.” Seeing her flare up, Shi Qin patted her leg gently, trying to calm her down. “Alright, alright. I’m on your side, I’m totally on your side!”
“Sweet-talker,” she muttered.
The couple bickered affectionately for quite a while before Chu Lan finally calmed down.
Seeing her expression lighten, Shi Qin handed over the phone and continued gently, “Come on, just take a look. She told me to show you—said Xiuxiu did a good job.”
“Why are you so obedient? She tells you to show me and you just do it?” Chu Lan rolled her eyes and didn’t take the phone. “What if she told you to fly to the moon—would you go board a spaceship?”
“You always say our daughter’s sharp-tongued,” Shi Qin muttered helplessly. “…No idea who she takes after.”
Seeing that his persuasion had failed, Shi Qin knew better than to push the issue. He got up and headed to the kitchen to busy himself.
A moment later, a WeChat notification chimed, and the phone screen lit up.
Chu Lan glanced over casually and saw it was a message in the family group chat. Chu Shuangyou had forwarded a video link.
The title read: “Brutal Battle! Rookie Phenom vs. Veteran Legend—Chu Duxiu’s Debut Flop! Cheng Junhua’s Midlife Crisis!”
Chu Lan stared at those words, frozen in place for a long while.
Moments later, she flipped the phone face-down. She glanced toward the kitchen, then lifted the phone again, her thumb hovering in the air, hesitant to press down.
“I’m going to my room for a nap. Don’t bother me!”
Hearing her voice, Shi Qin rushed out of the kitchen and looked around, surprised to find the living room empty. “She already went to sleep? Not even eating?”
Season two of The Stand-up King had just gone live. The premiere was a big hit, with a surge in views. The show’s official account not only posted a bold banner to celebrate but also clipped contestant highlights to push the online buzz even higher.
The intense competition, high-quality performances, and constant stream of fresh faces helped the show surpass the numbers from its first season. Even its approval ratings were steadily climbing.
[The show title: 100 points. The content: 1000 points. One plus one minus equals 900. Out of 1000. That missing 100? You need to reflect on that yourself.]
[Any behind-the-scenes clips? The interactions in the contestant zone are fun too. It’s all stand-up right now—I want to see someone do traditional comic dialogue!]
[Asking for traditional comic dialogue on a stand-up comedy show without a “dog head” emoji? Bury them with honor.]
[Chu Duxiu is so funny—and such a good daughter, too.]
[Am I the only one who got tricked? I was halfway through and thought—how is this a “loss”? Is the production team trying to troll us this year?]
[Come on, no truly defeated contestant would get title billing! Same level of coverage as Cheng Junhua? Think it through, people.]
[I’m a fan of Cheng’s, and I hope Chu makes it through civil service exam.]
[Also a Cheng fan—and I hope Chu doesn’t make it through, so it pushes him to write more new material.]
[There may be fewer full-lamp passes this season, but the contestants are stronger. Sadly, even among the strong, there are gods above.]
[Exactly. It’s not that Bei He and the others aren’t talented—it’s just that they pale in comparison. Hoping for better in the next rounds. The only thing I remember from the prelims is the clash of generations: the rookie king vs. the veteran leader.]
Compared to the more serious discussions on Weibo, the video’s danmu section was blunt and chaotic. The moment you opened it, the screen was flooded with question marks. Occasionally, a danmu would pop up with just “This title??” followed by yet another barrage of question marks.
As views continued to climb, the danmu scrolled faster and began overlapping. Many viewers rewound to the beginning and started flooding the screen with thick layers of comments, enthusiastically playing the role of online family mediators.
[Hello, Chu Duxiu’s mom. Her debut was a flop. The performance wasn’t good.]
[Rookie star can’t do it! Rookie star lost!]
[Why is everyone saying that? I thought she was great. She’s my favorite this year.]
[An honest person up ahead—remove them.]
[Don’t remove them—bring them back. That might be Chu’s mom.]
After the first episode aired, Chu Duxiu and Cheng Junhua were undoubtedly the most talked-about performers, driving the overall buzz for the second season of the show.
At Wenxiao Theatre, the familiar red-curtain stage and ring-shaped audience seating remained unchanged. Soft lighting illuminated the venue, and the screens on both sides of the stage lit up as well, displaying the logo of The Stand-up King Season Two.
As Chu Duxiu and the others entered, they immediately noticed cameras positioned all around and a flurry of crew members at work.
Today was the drawing day for the themed round. The 25 contestants who had advanced were here to receive their assigned topics for the next stage of the competition.
“I feel so nostalgic. Last time we were here was for the prelims—we even took a group photo at the entrance,” said Wang Nali. “Now it’s just us left.”
With only 25 contestants, they could barely fill the front rows of the audience seats—unlike the 100 participants in the prelims, whose sheer number had made the venue feel packed.
Scallion looked around and said, “There’s no Laughter Rep today, and no live audience either.”
Luo Qin, Su Xinyi, and the others hadn’t shown up, and no audience had been brought in—only the contestants and crew remained.
“The budget only stretches to the actual recording day, so for this unofficial session, everything’s been kept simple,” Chu Duxiu observed, spotting Shang Xiaomei and Xie Shenci by the side of the stage. The two seemed to be discussing work. Moments later, Shang Xiaomei quickly stepped onto the stage.
Music began to play, and everyone immediately perked up, sitting upright and turning their attention to the stage.
Under the lights, Shang Xiaomei stood and began hosting the session.
“Welcome back to Wenxiao Theatre. Now we’ll go over the rules for the Themed Round. This stage will narrow 25 contestants down to 16,” she announced. “There are five themes displayed on the screen. Each of you will draw lots to determine your topic. You’ll be divided into five groups to compete accordingly.”
The screens on both sides of the stage changed, revealing five lines of theme titles:
① The Internet Is Deep—Watch Out for the Waves
② Even a Hero Struggles Without a Penny
③ Work’s a Little Crazy Today
④ When Love Takes Over Your Brain
⑤ After Humans Lose Social Interaction
Holding the microphone, Shang Xiaomei continued, “Each theme group will first compete internally. The two contestants with the fewest votes in each group will enter the elimination zone. The ten contestants on the chopping block will then compete in a survival round to fight for the final spots in the Top 16.”
The contestants stared at the screen, quietly murmuring among themselves.
Bei He commented, “The themes cover a good range—it all comes down to personal luck.”
“Survival round?” Scallion scratched his head. “So if you lose within your group, you still get one more chance outside the group?”
Wang Nali replied, “But the competition outside the group is fierce—it’s still ten people competing for one spot.”
Shang Xiaomei said, “Please come up one by one to draw lots. The number on the slip corresponds exactly to a theme group—you’ll compete in that group.”
All the contestants lined up to draw lots, digging into the box and then grabbing their theme slips.
Chu Duxiu clutched her paper tightly as she returned to her seat. She carefully unfolded it and then gasped sharply.
The number on the slip was “4.”
She was doomed.
She looked up in disbelief and glanced at the screen again, feeling the challenge was even tougher.
Why did it have to be this group!?
④ When Love Takes Over Your Brain
Chu Duxiu felt utterly hopeless. She usually had a decent stash of jokes ready, but in this particular area, she had no achievements at all. Or rather, she had never experienced any inspiration from “being in love”—never thought about it, and naturally, had never written anything on the topic.
Wang Nali and Scallion didn’t notice Chu Duxiu’s stiffening. Instead, they leisurely gathered around, chatting about their assigned themes.
“I’m second—got the money theme,” Wang Nali said curiously. “What did you guys draw?”
“I got number four. I’ve got enough material saved up,” Scallion said, noticing Chu Duxiu’s silence. He tiptoed and glanced over. “What about you?”
Chu Duxiu sat like a wooden statue, motionless, not even folding the slip of paper in her hand.
“We’re actually in the same group!” Scallion spotted the number and exclaimed in surprise. “I thought we’d meet only at the finals, never expected to be rivals now. If this were a variety show, shouldn’t we be throwing fierce insults at each other by now?”
Chu Duxiu finally stirred and turned her head, puzzled. “Throwing fierce insults?”
Scallion gestured wildly with his hands, clearly enjoying himself. “You know, to show the intense conflicts on the show—like furiously pulling each other’s hair and fighting tooth and nail for the spots to advance in the group. Something like that!”
Wang Nali was bewildered. “You two are really something, making up your own drama.”
“Variety shows are only fun with extra drama—otherwise, what’s the point?” Scallion hopped around excitedly and shouted, “Come on, come on, throw those insults! Get them to film it, then we’ll get some screen time!”
Compared to Scallion’s excitement, Chu Duxiu felt conflicted, still unsure what jokes to write. She watched her energetic companion bouncing around, and when she heard him egging on the idea of throwing fierce insults, a sudden boldness welled up inside her. Without warning, she said coldly, “So… can I go after Tofu?”
Scallion froze, caught off guard. “What?”
Chu Duxiu repeated calmly, “Can I pursue your girlfriend?”
Scallion’s eyes went wide. “What!?”
She continued evenly, “That way, after you two break up, if Tofu and I get together, I can use your jokes directly in the themed round.”
After all, the two of them had basically heard each other’s material during the Typoon Transit open mic, so memorizing each other’s jokes wouldn’t be that hard.
“???”
Wang Nali burst out laughing. “That’s a pretty savage thing to say!”
Inside the hotel, a notice board by the entrance listed the open mic dates, allowing contestants to practice their material during the competition. These open mic sessions had fewer audience members, and everyone signed confidentiality agreements to ensure that jokes from the themed round wouldn’t be leaked outside.
Wang Nali wasn’t in Group Four, and Scallion had plenty of love-themed jokes, so both of them headed to Wenxiao Theatre to perform at the open mic sessions—leaving Chu Duxiu alone in the lobby, scratching her head in frustration.
There were quite a few passersby coming and going, making the noise a bit chaotic, but it was still better than being stuck inside her room. Sunlight streamed into the lobby overhead like soft, delicate veils. Occasionally, a gentle breeze stirred, immersing the senses in the peaceful afternoon.
Chu Duxiu was going crazy cooped up inside, and being out for some fresh air was slightly better—but she was still at a total loss with her script. She clutched her laptop, sinking into the sofa with a blank mind, unable to type a single word, running her hands through her tangled hair.
Her graduation thesis had never been this hard to write!
At least a thesis made sense—love was completely illogical!
Chu Duxiu tried to approach the task with an academic mindset. She even created an MBTI personality test, planning to imagine ideal personality pairings that matched her own to inspire the theme “When Love Takes Over Your Brain.”
She had no choice—lacking life experience, she had to rely on theory.
Her creative energy completely drained, Chu Duxiu lay helplessly on the sofa, staring at the busy staff by the hotel entrance, drifting into a daydream-like state.
Shang Xiaomei burst in with a rush of people, then hurriedly left again. Nie Feng and the others gripped their phones and dashed out of the hotel, heading toward Wenxiao Theatre, shouting, “We’re running late, we’re running late!” A girl from the publicity team, carrying a DSLR camera, stumbled as she hurried after her companions, just as busy and on the move.
A moment later, a familiar figure came into view. Holding his work badge, after exchanging words with the directors, he turned and lifted his long legs, seemingly heading back to his hotel room.
Chu Duxiu quietly stared at Xie Shenci, watching him walk straight toward the elevator. Unexpectedly, as if by telepathy, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
The next second, Xie Shenci turned his head and happened to catch sight of Chu Duxiu. She was half-lying, leaning against the sofa like a beached fish.
It was a strange experience—neither of them made a move to greet the other; they just stared at each other for a long while.
Chu Duxiu was simply mentally drained, and with so many people passing by the entrance, she didn’t have time to call out to anyone. But she had no idea what was going through Mr. Xie’s mind—he tilted his head and studied her for a long time, still saying nothing.
Just as she was about to raise her hand to call someone, Xie Shenci turned and walked over.
Feeling a little uncertain, Chu Duxiu immediately sat up straighter, adjusting her posture to look more composed, ready to face the sudden approach of Xie Shenci.
Don’t make eye contact with wild animals—they might mistake it for a call.
Just as expected, Xie Shenci walked over to the sofa. His gaze swept over the papers, pen, and laptop on the coffee table. Curious, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Writing a script.”
Xie Shenci looked up. He took two small steps forward but kept his expression calm, turning his body slightly as his eyes slowly scanned the laptop screen.
He wanted to see what she was writing but kept a poker face.
Chu Duxiu found it somewhat strange. Now that she wasn’t even talking to him, she could still guess what he was thinking. So she cut straight to the point, “Mr. Xie, have you ever been in love?”
Xie Shenci snapped back to reality, startled. “What?”
“Have you ever had a deeply unforgettable romance?” Chu Duxiu sat up straight, like a reporter conducting an interview, seriously saying, “During your student days, or your working years—if not, kindergarten will do. Let’s talk about it. Tell me everything.”
After a long silence, Xie Shenci looked thoughtful. “Am I being interrogated?”
“No, you’re just helping a stand-up comedian on the verge of a breakdown gather material. I drew a love-related theme for the competition.”
Chu Duxiu’s mind was all over the place. She folded her hands earnestly, throwing out whatever came to mind in search of joke ideas, pleading, “This is a great merit—erasing sins, eliminating evil, doing good deeds. Saving a life is worth more than building a seven-story pagoda. Good people will definitely be rewarded.”
Xie Shenci replied calmly, “Unfortunately, I can’t claim that merit.”
“Why not?” Chu Duxiu wailed. “Don’t be so stingy. Would you really watch me lose?”
He looked resigned. “You can ask me to revise your script, but I really can’t help you here—I’ve never been in love.”
“?”
“No way!” Chu Duxiu scanned him up and down, furrowing her brow. She said firmly, “That’s… just… impossible. You don’t consider me a friend!”
For a moment, she wondered if she had misread him—such a hypocritical, official-sounding answer, and he’s not even a popular celebrity.
“Why is that impossible?” Xie Shenci blinked and countered, “Have you ever been in love?”
Chu Duxiu’s voice suddenly dropped. “…No.”
If she had any experience in love, she wouldn’t be feeling like dying right now.
“Well, then that settles it,” Xie Shenci said gently, his dark eyes shining with reason as he took on a rational tone. “Neither of us has been in love—that’s pretty normal.”
