There were five groups in the themed competition. The performance order of each group was determined by drawing lots. Three contestants from each group would advance, while the remaining two would be placed in the elimination pending zone.
After When Love Takes Over Your Brain ended, Chu Duxiu and Scallion were able to relax and focus on watching the rest of the competition, waiting for Wang Nali’s performance. Wang Nali was a bit unlucky—she drew the theme Even a Hero Struggles Without a Penny, and ended up in the same group as Cheng Junhua, Nie Feng, and Lu Fan.
Scallion blurted out, “This group is brutal. The pressure is the highest.”
Chu Duxiu said nothing, but inwardly felt nervous for Wang Nali, unsure if his friend would be able to advance.
Aside from Cheng Junhua, both Nie Feng and Lu Fan had also been part of the training camp alongside Wang Nali. Unfortunately, the first two were mentors while Wang Nali was a trainee, making the gap between them quite significant.
“Isn’t there still the survival round?” Chu Duxiu suddenly remembered and said, “A last chance to fight for a spot.”
Scallion replied, “That’s going to be tough. If even one veteran actor ends up in there, she might not make it into the top sixteen.”
Wang Nali had barely scraped through the breakout round, so winning in a one-out-of-ten scenario would undoubtedly be extremely difficult.
Although the show included a survival round, everyone knew very well that it mainly served to rescue veteran actors. The themed competition involved an element of chance—good actors could get stuck in unsuitable groups, which could negatively affect their performance, like Chu Duxiu’s love-themed piece, for example.
If a seeded contestant unexpectedly landed in the elimination pending zone, they could still try to advance in the next round through the free-theme challenge.
Not long after, the rankings of the remaining groups were announced. The contestants were split into two camps—some stayed in the advancement zone, while others ended up in the elimination pending zone.
Unfortunately, the top three in the Even a Hero Struggles Without a Penny group were Cheng Junhua, Lu Fan, and Nie Feng, forcing Wang Nali into the elimination pending zone.
The good news: there were no veteran actors in the elimination pending zone.
The bad news: Wang Nali was still under a lot of pressure to advance.
In front of the screen, Shang Xiaomei finished watching the themed round and commented, “Once this episode airs, the groups about money and romance will probably stir up the most discussion. The others were a bit underwhelming—maybe not even as good as the breakout round.”
Xie Shenci added, “Themed prompts limit the standard. Only all-rounders can handle this format—those who can write steadily across any topic. It’s not very friendly for contestants who specialize in one type of material.”
Actors draw from real-life experiences for their work, so it’s perfectly normal for some topics not to resonate with them. But if they happen to draw such a theme during a competition, it’s just plain unlucky.
Before filming began, the signed actors at Shanle had actually suggested changing the format, but the production team couldn’t come up with a better plan, so the current rules remained.
Shang Xiaomei said, “Do you think I want to be the bad guy? It’s the audience who wants to be the bad guy. They want to see eliminations and fierce competition. Only when the themes are the same can performances be compared fairly. Don’t listen to all that talk about how the format is flawed or how the process doesn’t work—if people really cared about fairness, we wouldn’t be competing in stand-up comedy at all.”
“It’s all just for entertainment value. The more intense the show, the more people watch, and that’s how we promote stand-up comedy.” She sighed. “Do you know how hard it is for me to survive in the company these days? Every year the show puts them through the wringer, and yet I still have to work with them afterward. I don’t even dare let them pick up the bill when we go out to eat anymore.”
That was why Shang Xiaomei couldn’t bring herself to call out Bei He for coasting through.
There are already very few stand-up comedians to begin with, and even the most talented ones eventually run out of inspiration. The fact that well-known performers are willing to endure a high-pressure competition like this says a lot about their relationship with Shanle Culture and the directing team. Even Cheng Junhua only agreed to join after agonizing over it, and he didn’t make his final decision until after the preliminary round.
Just then, the camera swept across the contestant advancement zone and happened to capture Chu Duxiu and Scallion. On screen, both of them looked tense, brows slightly furrowed, waiting for the results of Wang Nali’s survival round—looking even more anxious than when their own rankings were announced.
“As expected, I still like pure, innocent, and naive college students. Always trying hard, full of passion, and now so full of youthful energy,” Shang Xiaomei cupped her face in her hands, beaming at Chu Duxiu on the screen. “Not like the old pros—he actually takes the initiative to write out his bits properly.”
Xie Shenci: “?”
Xie Shenci paused for a few seconds, then gently reminded her, “You’re a senior executive at the company—you should watch your wording sometimes.”
Shang Xiaomei looked puzzled. “What wording?”
“Certain phrases are best avoided. Saying things like ‘naive college student’ or ‘pure and innocent’… the implications don’t sound great,” he said seriously. “It doesn’t reflect well on our company culture.”
“???”
In the studio, Chu Duxiu held her breath, staring at the big screen, silently awaiting the results of the survival round vote. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her jawline tense. Only when the rankings of the ten pending contestants were revealed—and she saw Wang Nali’s name at the very top—did her tightly furrowed brows blossom into a smile. She immediately clapped with joy, eyes lighting up with excitement.
Scallion was equally thrilled. He suddenly leapt from his seat, shouting in disbelief, “One vote! She won by one vote!”
Wang Nali had performed beyond expectations in the survival round, but the gap between her and the other contestants had made the outcome uncertain. Now that the votes were revealed, the tension in both of them finally eased, and they marveled at their friend’s incredible luck.
Winning one out of ten—she only beat the second-place contestant by a single vote!
On stage, Wang Nali was completely dazed by the pie that had fallen from the sky. She was so stunned she couldn’t even string together a sentence about how it felt to advance. It wasn’t until she joined her teammates in the contestant zone that she finally snapped out of it, as if waking from a dream.
The three of them linked arms and formed a circle in the corner, laughing joyfully together. They spun, jumped, cheered—so happy they were practically dizzy with it.
Watching the scene from the sidelines, Bei He sighed, “Ah, youth is a wonderful thing. If it were me getting eliminated, I’d be even happier—getting off work early.”
“You can drop out if you want,” Lu Fan said coolly. “I heard the eliminated actors are currently working under Mr. Shang. The ones who made it through the recording are with Director Shang and Mr. Xie.”
“Never mind, then.” Bei He patted his chest and instantly perked up. “I have to protect the dignity of last season’s champion! I must fight to the bitter end!”
Inside the hotel, the noise of the competition had faded, and the lobby had quieted down.
Some of the eliminated contestants were gradually buying tickets to head home. Staff members had either gone into the editing rooms or returned to Shanle’s office in the city. The hallways had emptied out, and with no one passing through, the place felt noticeably more desolate.
Not long after, Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali came down by elevator and sat on the sofas in the lobby, waiting to depart. Today was the filming day for the top sixteen contestants—they were scheduled to head to the studio to shoot commercials and work with the directors on interviews to support the show’s post-production.
Nie Feng and the others soon appeared as well, standing at the hotel entrance, chatting together.
“Never thought stand-up comedians would end up shooting commercials,” Nie Feng said with a sigh as he looked at the others. “And there are so many of us now. A couple of years ago, this would’ve been unimaginable.”
“Wow, I still remember our club’s very first commercial,” Scallion recalled. “I only got 300 for it. But I was already really touched—it was 100 more than what I usually got for corporate gigs.”
Before The Stand-Up King, the development of comedy clubs across the country was pretty bleak. Forget about regular paid gigs or media appearances—sometimes even finding a venue to perform in was a challenge.
If it hadn’t been for Nie Feng running his own bar and personally handling all the licensing and permits, comedians in Yancheng would’ve had one less place to do open mics.
In a way, early-stage comedians were running entirely on passion. Chasing pay was out of the question—it was all just for the love of it.
“Getting commercial gigs is already a big deal. Back in my hometown, we don’t even have comedy clubs,” said Wang Nali. “My mom still thinks I’m performing traditional crosstalk—she has no idea what stand-up comedy is.”
Chu Duxiu, overhearing the conversation, asked curiously, “Is it 200 for a commercial gig?”
She knew that open mics paid very little—sometimes, if the venue was small, there might be no pay at all due to low ticket prices. But commercial gigs usually had organizers involved, so they were supposed to pay more.
“If you’re lucky, you might get 200. If you’re not, then nothing at all,” Scallion shrugged. “I’ve done a few sets at Hongyan Theater where I only got 50.”
Chu Duxiu was taken aback. “Not 500?”
She remembered getting paid 500 for performing at an MCN gala.
“Where would you find 500? That’s way too ideal,” Scallion scratched his head. “Now that we’ve been on a show, we might get that much. Otherwise, for a small local gig, 500 for ten minutes is already considered high.”
She hesitated. “But I did get 500 last time…”
“Huh?” Scallion froze at those words. He turned to Nie Feng and started protesting loudly, “Brother Nie, I’m going to make a scene! Back when neither of us had been on the show, we were both newbies at the club—how come she was getting paid more than me even back then?!”
Nie Feng looked dazed. “No way, I don’t remember that. She didn’t do any commercial gigs, right? Only open mics.”
Chu Duxiu replied, “I did! It was when I first started doing stand-up.”
Scallion groaned, “That hurts even more! She was getting that rate right when she started? That’s totally unfair!”
Nie Feng racked his brain for a while, then suddenly clapped his hands as if he’d had a revelation. “Ah—now I remember! Wasn’t there an awards ceremony once, and they asked you to perform a set in the middle? There were a few other stand-up comedians too.”
Chu Duxiu nodded. She had even run into String Bean at that event—but no one really mentioned him anymore.
“Your situation was special—you didn’t go through the club system,” Nie Feng waved a hand dismissively, then turned to reassure Scallion. “Our club operates openly and transparently. She never did any commercial gigs through me—you just remembered it wrong.”
“Brother Nie, don’t try to fool me. I trust you so much,” Scallion said, pretending to wipe away tears. “You can’t just celebrate the new star while ignoring the tears of an old newbie like me.”
“I swear, I’m not fooling anyone.”
Chu Duxiu’s heart skipped a beat. But as she listened to Nie Feng speak so firmly, a vague realization began to dawn—like trying to see something through a sheer curtain. Once the veil was lifted, the truth would be plain as day.
A figure emerged in her mind. If it wasn’t Nie Feng, then it could only be him.
The very next second, Xie Shenci appeared around the corner—dressed casually, tall and upright, holding a document folder that contained staff badges. He looked just like a member of the production crew. Except for his naturally striking presence, he had none of the boss-like aura he carried when suited up. In fact, he looked quite a bit like he did on the day of the MCN awards gala.
When Chu Duxiu saw Xie Shenci, her emotions became a little complicated—it was a feeling that was hard to put into words.
That day, she had been fooled by Mr. Xie’s outfit, mistakenly thinking he was part of the MCN awards staff. But thinking back on it now, Shanle Culture didn’t really have any ties to that event, so his presence there didn’t quite make sense.
Xie Shenci glanced around at the top sixteen contestants, greeted everyone, and said calmly, “Everyone can get ready now. The company car is waiting at the entrance—we’ll head to the studio together shortly.”
“Mr. Xie’s riding with us?” Bei He looked around and asked, “Where’s the big shot?”
Xie Shenci replied, “Mr. Cheng has other matters. He’ll record tomorrow instead.”
“Tsk tsk, classic big shot move.”
Everyone stood up under the staff’s guidance and slowly made their way to the hotel entrance, lining up to board the shuttle bus.
On the bus, Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali sat next to each other. Chu Duxiu took the aisle seat, leaving the window seat for Wang Nali, who got carsick, so she could open the window for fresh air if needed.
Once the vehicle started moving, Wang Nali closed her eyes for a nap, while Chu Duxiu pulled out her phone to check the personal income tax system—she wanted to confirm the truth.
A moment later, the payment breakdown appeared on screen. The payer listed for the MCN awards performance fee was none other than Shanle Culture.
No wonder he’d asked her to confirm the payment that day—it really hadn’t gone through the event organizers.
Oh my god! Could it be that he had personally invited her?
If Scallion and the others hadn’t exposed it, she still wouldn’t have known the truth—silly enough to think the event was just short on performers. Who would’ve thought she was the one specifically slotted in, and all because Xie Shenci wanted to coax her into doing another set?
At first, Chu Duxiu had been shocked—but now, it somehow felt… natural.
Could Mr. Xie actually be a fan of her work?
She snuck a glance at Xie Shenci sitting a few rows ahead. He was seated diagonally to her upper right, also by the aisle, with no one sitting next to him. From her angle, she could only see his side profile and the back of his left hand. A beam of sunlight fell across his pale earlobe, sharply contrasting with his short, jet-black hair.
He was looking straight ahead, not turning around.
Laughter and chatter filled the bus, but Xie Shenci remained quietly composed, lost in thought.
Aside from Chu Duxiu and the veteran performers, most of the others had never shot a commercial before. They couldn’t hide their excitement—once on the bus, they were all chattering away, laughing, joking around in their seats. The joyful energy spread everywhere, the atmosphere lively beyond measure.
Wang Nali leaned against the window, letting the breeze blow on her face. Her complexion had improved, and infected by the mood, she opened her eyes and said, “This feels just like a school spring outing.”
Lu Fan agreed, “The weather’s great today. We really should all go out and have fun.”
Nie Feng added, “Mr. Xie, can you arrange something for us?”
Before Xie Shenci could respond, Bei He jumped in first, raising his voice, “Hey now, why are you all so quick to expect our boss to foot the bill? I can’t just sit here and watch this—shouldn’t you all be signing with our company first? Shouldn’t you be working as writers for Shanle before anything else!?”
“If you all join us, we’ve got spring outings, annual parties—you can even eat on Mr. Xie’s tab anytime you want!” Bei He finished, then winked playfully at Xie Shenci, looking smug as he said, “Mr. Xie, I’m right, aren’t I? See how quick I am to read the room?”
Lu Fan was both amused and exasperated. “Wow, you’ve got some nerve—bet you wouldn’t say that in front of Mr. Shang.”
Xie Shenci, however, didn’t seem the least bit annoyed. He let Bei He stir up the mood without any reprimand.
Laughter erupted on the bus, and everyone was in high spirits as the conversation shifted to the themed competition.
Someone asked, “When does the episode air?”
“Probably still a bit of a wait.”
“I’m really curious to see how the audience reacts—especially to the money and romance groups.”
“As a returning contestant, I can already guess what the internet will say—especially about the love-brained group,” Bei He said with great enthusiasm. “If Scallion breaks up in the future, people will definitely say he’s ‘collapsed his image.’”
Scallion let out a dramatic wail, panicked. “Bei He, can you wish me some good luck? I’m not that kind of guy!”
Everyone burst into laughter.
“And if Duxiu falls in love, that’s a total collapse too,” Bei He teased. “The AI single-dog suddenly develops human feelings—love-brain image shattered.”
Chu Duxiu: “?”
Chu Duxiu declared solemnly, “Then I’ll just keep dog-levelling it all the way to the finals. Let AI rule the world.”
Bei He said, “Truly a cold and heartless artificial intelligence!”
“Well, I wouldn’t call that a collapse,” Xie Shenci, who had been quietly listening, suddenly turned his head and chimed in—rarely speaking during such chats. “Some people fall in love like normal human beings.”
