Chu Duxiu was utterly defeated by Xie Shenci’s impeccable logic.
She stared at him in a daze for a long while, still finding it hard to believe. Something about it just didn’t add up. Cautiously, she probed, “Mr. Xie, if I may ask—do we share the same definition of ‘romantic relationship’?”
“Or perhaps you consider certain interactions between men and women as falling outside that scope, like dating in foreign countries…”
Though Chu Duxiu felt a little guilty for doubting him, she couldn’t help but wonder if their different backgrounds—like Xie’s overseas education—had led to a misunderstanding.
How could he have never been in a relationship?
Xie Shenci shot her a glance. “I’m Chinese.”
Alright, the key terms of the discussion had been clearly defined. It seemed their fundamental concepts were aligned.
Xie Shenci raised an eyebrow and said unhurriedly, “Are you suggesting I lied?”
“Not at all, absolutely not!” Chu Duxiu waved her hands, then hissed through her teeth. “It’s just… this is beyond my comprehension. I’m kind of shocked and need some time to process it.”
“Why would you be shocked?” Xie Shenci questioned. “You’re exactly the same as me.”
“You can’t compare yourself to me.”
“?”
Admittedly, Chu Duxiu’s insatiable curiosity had been piqued. At this moment, she had completely forgotten about the comedy competition topics, studying Xie Shenci as if he were some rare specimen. An inexplicable urge to gossip surged within her, and she blurted out in astonishment, “This doesn’t make sense. Where’s the problem? Let’s break it down.”
Xie Shenci said, “…There doesn’t seem to be any issue here.”
Chu Duxiu said earnestly, “Mr. Xie, to gather material for my creative work, may I invite you to cooperate with me for a personal interview?”
“Is this part of your journalism coursework?” Xie Shenci remarked, noticing her sudden broadcast-style tone and her unusually proper posture. He bargained, “But what’s in it for me if I cooperate? Even if you turn it into a comedy bit, the credit would still be yours.”
“You’ll receive sincere gratitude from the Rookie King.”
Xie Shenci was speechless at her ability to spin grand promises. He added, “I want to review the draft in advance.”
“No problem.” Chu Duxiu stood up, adopting a businesslike demeanor as she bowed slightly and extended her hand for a handshake. “Congratulations! You now have the privilege of early access!”
Xie Shenci looked at her outstretched hand. As if recalling something, he reached out and lightly returned the handshake, murmuring almost inaudibly, “You dare to shake hands now?”
The brief, formal handshake and his whisper, soft as a breeze, went unnoticed by Chu Duxiu—and thus, sparked no further associations in her mind.
“Please have a seat, right this way.” Chu Duxiu gestured to the nearby sofa politely. “Thank you for agreeing to this interview. I just have a few simple questions for you.”
Xie Shenci sat down, appearing rather magnanimous. “Go ahead.”
“How old are you this year?”
He paused briefly, thinking. “Twenty-eight, I believe?”
“You believe?” Chu Xiuxiu pressed with journalistic rigor. “What’s your exact date of birth?”
Xie Shenci answered dutifully—not just the year, month, and day, but down to the exact minute.
Chu Duxiu nodded, committing it to memory. The birthday gift she had been worrying about for so long finally had a resolution today.
If other people played at make-believe interviews, theirs was an ultra-realistic personal profile—so methodically following procedure that it was hard to tell whether to call it serious or absurd.
The two sat rigidly upright on the sofa. Had there been a camera, it could have passed for a genuine talk show.
Chu Duxiu asked, “May I ask the reason why you’ve never been in a relationship?”
Xie Shenci lowered his gaze in thought, then looked up and countered, “What’s your reason for not being in a relationship?”
Chu Duxiu reminded him seriously, “Please don’t answer a question with another question.”
“There isn’t really a reason?” Xie Shenci tilted his head, appearing slightly troubled, then admitted frankly, “I don’t know. Why don’t you share yours, and I’ll borrow some inspiration?”
“Too busy with studies, then job hunting—never had time for it.”
“Same here.” Xie Shenci nodded. “Too busy with studies, then job hunting—never had time for it.”
Chu Duxiu frowned skeptically. “Hold on, if you’re copying my answer, at least tweak it a little. Did you even need to job hunt?”
Taking her feedback to heart, Xie Shenci obediently amended, “Too busy with studies, then running the company—never had time for it.”
“…”
Chu Duxiu was now itching with frustration. The explanation felt flimsy, and she briefly wondered if Mr. Xie might actually be a “sis”—though she quickly reminded herself that orientation had no direct bearing on relationship history.
Besides, Xie Shenci’s demeanor alone threw her off. He carried an air of cool detachment that never tripped her radar. That subtle aloofness did resemble the kind of barrier long-term singles often put up—distinctly different from those actively in relationships.
Chu Duxiu decided to dig deeper into her subject’s past, hoping to piece together the truth from his history. She asked patiently, “What about during your student years? No campus romances?”
“My middle and high schools were quite strict. If a boy and girl were seen talking in the hallway for too long, there was a risk of being called in by the grade dean—along with their parents. I wasn’t afraid of that, but having to explain myself every time was just too much hassle,” Xie Shenci replied calmly. “It’s like content censorship—it’s not that I object to the discussions, but the communication cost is too high.”
The school’s atmosphere was nothing if not quintessentially Chinese.
Chu Duxiu nodded in understanding. “So, absolutely nothing during your secondary school years?”
Xie Shenci hesitated for a few seconds at her repeated probing, then ventured, “Does walking home with a girl from my kindergarten class count? My mom and her parents used to chat, so we often went back together. But she got married a couple of years ago.”
“Mr. Xie, uh…” Chu Duxiu was momentarily stunned before she couldn’t help but press her lips together in amusement. “If you don’t have the experience, you don’t need to force it. Why does this sound like a college student padding their resume?”
He was even claiming parental socializing as his own experience—like a fresh graduate with no work history, desperately grasping at straws to fill the blanks.
Xie Shenci caught her teasing and fixed her with a deadpan glare.
Chu Duxiu cleared her throat lightly, regaining her professional demeanor as she asked softly, “Alright, what about your university years? I recall you studied abroad.”
Xie Shenci paused. “University…”
“Judging by your expression, there’s a story there.” Chu Duxiu leaned in with interest. “Is it something inconvenient to mention?”
Up until now, he had answered every question with unflinching composure, without the slightest hesitation.
Yet at this moment, Xie Shenci’s gaze flickered slightly, his eyes drifting upward as if carefully arranging his words—clearly polishing the edges of his past memories.
Spotting this opening, Chu Duxiu naturally wouldn’t let him gloss over the details. She pressed the question without delay.
Rarely showing hesitation, Xie Shenci ultimately chose honesty. “During university, I developed an interest in stand-up comedy. At the time, I was so absorbed in watching performances by renowned international comedians—traveling frequently to catch their shows—that my academics suffered.”
His voice grew quieter. “I’d applied to a U.S. college straight out of high school. Early on, I didn’t realize the stakes, but eventually, it became clear that if I kept prioritizing shows, graduating on time would be… challenging. So those two years were spent pulling my grades back up.”
“Your undergraduate school was…?”
Xie Shenci named an elite university.
Chu Duxiu blinked in surprise. “That’s an Ivy League, isn’t it?”
“But my classmates were also Ivy League.” Xie Shenci studied her expression, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he asked, “Does that disappoint you?”
Chu Duxiu was baffled. “Disappoint me how?”
“Thinking I didn’t work hard enough in undergrad.” He pursed his lips. “It’s… kind of embarrassing.”
“…”
He actually worried about balancing hobbies and academics!
He actually felt ashamed that his GPA wasn’t as impressive as his peers’!
Chu Duxiu knew how rigorous foreign universities could be—if Xie Shenci had attended a top-tier school, his classmates were undoubtedly hyper-competitive. Coupled with the time he devoted to stand-up comedy, it made sense that he’d had little bandwidth for anything else.
Admittedly, Mr. Xie had never seemed more vivid than in this moment. No longer the aloof, untouchable elite, he was like a high-resolution photo stripped of retouching—every texture and flaw laid bare, yet radiating a kind of raw, real beauty, free from the illusion of perfection.
Why fuss over a kitten’s GPA?
As long as the kitty graduates, that’s enough!
“Not at all,” Chu Duxiu said warmly. “You worked very hard—just in a different field. That comedy book you gave me was filled with notes and clearly well-worn from multiple reads.”
Xie Shenci seemed to realize something. “You read the book I gave you?”
“Yes, wasn’t it meant for me?”
During her birthday at Typoon Transit, Chu Duxiu had received Bluetooth headphones and a book from Xie Shenci. The book was about stand-up comedy writing, which she had finished piecemeal—along with discovering the marginalia in different colored inks, evidence of it being revisited many times.
“I just didn’t expect you’d notice the notes,” Xie Shenci explained. “Since I didn’t have a new copy, I gave you mine. I can swap it for another one later.”
Chu Duxiu clapped her hands together cheerfully. “No need, it’s perfect. The handwriting is lovely too—proof of your diligence.”
“…”
Xie Shenci couldn’t shake the feeling that her tone was vaguely patronizing, as if humoring a child. His lips parted slightly, but he chose not to call her out, simply asking, “Anything else?”
“After graduation…”
He answered smoothly, “I worked abroad for two years first. Once I understood the industry, I returned to contact Director Shang and others to co-found Shanle Culture. These past few years have been nonstop busy.”
“Mr. Xie, let me ask something unrelated to romance.” Chu Duxiu raised her hand like a student. “How does one become as exceptional as you—founding a company so young?”
True to form, she was more interested in wealth-building than lovey-dovey talk!
“Having family wealth helps,” Xie Shenci replied. “Though they weren’t supportive initially, the angel-round investment came from an uncle I knew—someone connected through my family, ultimately.”
Chu Duxiu blinked. “…That’s an unusually candid answer.”
“Nothing to deny here. I may understand stand-up comedy better than most, but familial resources and connections played a key role. Many people are more talented than me yet stuck providing for families or lacking opportunities to pursue ideals. We have to acknowledge the inequities that exist.”
He met her gaze steadily, his tone even. “So the fact that you’ve achieved this much on your own merit already proves your excellence. No need for comparisons.”
Chu Duxiu froze.
His words instantly transported her back to that twilight bathed in sunset hues, when they’d walked together from the theater to the subway station. The world had slowly settled into the embrace of shifting light and shadow, until street lamps flickered awake with a warm glow, marking the transition from day to night in the evening breeze.
Back then, he’d said: “It’s normal to feel like you’ve accomplished nothing in those first two years after graduation. But look back later, and you’ll see it wasn’t so bleak after all.”
Then handed her the application form for Shanle’s training camp.
That day, Chu Duxiu had been moved but not deeply affected, assuming it was just encouragement from someone exceptional—someone who couldn’t truly understand her circumstances, having never faced similar setbacks. After all, he seemed so formidable, like an artificial intelligence incapable of grasping why human processing power was so sluggish.
But now it seemed he wasn’t artificial intelligence after all—he had experienced it.
His emotions were nuanced and tender, concealed beneath glacial depths, a quiet undercurrent running profound and still.
Noticing her silence, Xie Shenci asked, “Anything else you’d like to know?”
Chu Duxiu snapped back to attention and bowed slightly in gratitude. “No, that’s all! Thank you so much for your answers—I’ll organize the interview material carefully!”
“Though I didn’t expect you to dig so deep,” Xie Shenci remarked. “So, you also had no romantic experiences during your student years?”
“Does watching boys play basketball count?” Chu Duxiu mused. “The teachers said spectating ball sports could prevent nearsightedness, so I’d go watch during lunch breaks.”
Xie Shenci studied her for a long moment before suddenly chuckling. “If you don’t have the experience, you don’t need to force it. Why does this sound like a college student padding their resume?”
“???”
Back in her hotel room, after her long conversation with Xie Shenci, Chu Duxiu suddenly felt a surge of inspiration and began typing furiously to draft her comedy material for the competition.
Unfortunately, Mr. Xie’s personal experiences offered no creative spark—utterly mismatched with the theme of love-struck mentality. Yet the silver lining was their freewheeling chat, which had unwound her nerves so thoroughly that ideas now flowed like a spring.
Once she finished the first draft of her performance script, she honored her promise and sent it to Xie Shenci. After all, as a premium VIP user, he was entitled to a four-episode early access pass.
Xie Shenci was likely busy with work—no instant reply.
Staring at the chat interface, Chu Duxiu suddenly remembered his birthday and tapped open the contact details to input the date.
Absentmindedly, she added a crab and cat emoji—then immediately sensed something amiss. She hastily deleted the colorful icons, first typing “CEO Xie” as the note. After a pause, she revised it to “Mr. Xie” and tacked on October 9th at the end.
Close call—almost gave the company’s top brass a bizarre contact label.
Staring at the numbers, Chu Duxiu suddenly felt an itch of curiosity. She looked up Xie Shenci’s zodiac sign and impulsively searched for “October 9th birthday personality analysis.”
Libra?
Just checking the sun sign probably isn’t thorough enough—shouldn’t I analyze his rising sign through a full birth chart?
She opened a zodiac app and began inputting his details, ready to dive deep into astrological study—when a WeChat notification abruptly popped up.
From the man himself: Xie Shenci.
Chu Duxiu startled, as if caught under surveillance, an inexplicable guilt creeping in.
His reply, however, was perfectly normal—even carrying a hint of dissatisfaction:
[The script doesn’t include any of today’s interview topics. Or me.]
Ah, he was protesting the exclusion of his own material.
Chu Duxiu replied diplomatically:
[Creative work is an artistic refinement of reality, not a direct copy-paste of raw. You must grasp the essence, Mr. Xie.]
She added another message:
[[Little black cat sending hearts.jpg]]
Mr. Xie 10.9: [You stole my sticker.]
Far from ashamed, Chu Duxiu wore it as a badge of pride:
[Yep, so now you can’t use it.]
Mr. Xie 10.9: [?]
Mr. Xie 10.9: [[Little black cat glaring.jpg]]
On the day of the themed competition, the comedians returned to the studio with their polished sets after open mic rehearsals. As soon as they entered the backstage area, they were met with cameras—even the makeup room buzzed with cameramen capturing footage from every angle.
Everyone knew Chu Duxiu, Wang Nali, and Scallion were close friends. Yet today’s theme—When Love Takes Over Your Brain—pitted two of them against each other, inevitably drawing teasing from others.
“Aren’t you and Scallion pretty tight? Now it’s swords drawn, love-hate combat?” someone joked.
Chu Duxiu frowned. “Don’t say that. Scallion has a girlfriend—some phrasing isn’t appropriate.”
Noticing her displeasure, the speaker quickly backtracked. “Right, right, no forced shipping.”
“Respect his girlfriend’s feelings. You guys constantly shipping me with him is kinda rude.”
The person apologized. “Fair point, my bad. Didn’t think about that.”
Chu Duxiu declared with mock solemnity, “If you really want to be considerate, you should ship me with Scallion’s girlfriend instead. We must respect his girlfriend’s feelings—but Scallion’s? Not necessarily!”
The tense atmosphere shattered instantly as everyone burst into laughter.
“Chu. Du. Xiu—” Scallion glared, torn between irritation and amusement. “Just you wait!”
