Du Xiu Chapter 37

The studio walls were soundproof, so the noise inside couldn’t be heard from the hallway, which made the corridor especially quiet. Hiding in a corner, Chu Duxiu heard their conversation loud and clear, and a strange feeling welled up inside her.

So Shanle Culture really was a legitimate company.

She had to admit, the presence of Mr. Shang actually made the company feel more grounded in her eyes. Before, she had thought Shanle was too good to be true—now, after hearing Mr. Shang’s profit-driven reasoning, she felt that Shanle’s excellence actually made sense.

If Shanle were some kind of utopia, Chu Duxiu would’ve been a little unsettled, like something wasn’t quite right. But seeing two senior executives argue over content and profit showed that neither side had completely compromised—it meant the company still maintained a healthy internal structure.

Even though Shang Liang tried to undercut her rate, he wasn’t wrong to act in the company’s interest. After all, he was doing his job diligently, and it wasn’t reasonable to expect him to speak on her behalf.

From another angle, it also proved that if she were to sign with Shanle Culture, Mr. Shang’s shrewd personality meant he would fight just as hard to secure her interests—at the very least, she wouldn’t have to worry about being left in the lurch.

Emotionally, Chu Duxiu definitely leaned toward President Xie. But rationally speaking, Mr. Shang was an indispensable part of the team.

And with Director Shang’s production skills added to the mix, the team structure at Shanle Culture seemed quite sound.

At the doorway, Xie Shenci and Shang Liang had been chatting for so long that Chu Duxiu couldn’t find a chance to slip out. Holding her drink, she stood stiffly against the wall, her arms growing tired from holding the bottle, adjusting it from time to time.

Shang Liang suddenly turned to leave. “I’m done wasting words with you.”

His hurried footsteps echoed—clearly, Shang Liang had stormed off in frustration, and he was getting closer by the second.

Chu Duxiu froze. She was about to look for somewhere to hide, but Shang Liang moved faster. In just a few strides, he rounded the corner, nearly brushing past her. There was no way for either of them to dodge—it was a head-on encounter, and both looked startled.

Shang Liang hadn’t expected anyone to be at the corner. His face showed alarm, his pupils trembled slightly, and he instinctively sucked in a quick breath, even stepping back half a pace. It was like being suddenly tapped on the shoulder in the middle of a busy street—anyone would’ve reacted.

Chu Duxiu also felt guilty and had no idea what expression to make—she stood frozen like a wooden statue.

The two of them stared at each other, clearly recognizing who the other was, yet neither said a word. Chu Duxiu had met Shang Liang once at a dinner, and Shang Liang had probably seen the show and remembered the face of this “cash cow.”

Because of the angle, Xie Shenci couldn’t see Chu Duxiu. He only noticed Shang Liang suddenly stop and asked curiously, “What’s wrong?”

Hearing Xie Shenci’s voice, Chu Duxiu inexplicably felt a bit more at ease. As long as she wasn’t embarrassed, the embarrassment belonged to someone else.

So she steeled herself, handed over a bottle of water, and said with a stiff smile, “Mr. Shang, would you like some water?”

Shang Liang took it on reflex. “Ah, thank you.”

Chu Duxiu added sincerely, “A little bribe—I’m still a university student. When it comes time to negotiate, please go easy on my share.”

Compared to her composure, Shang Liang was visibly at a loss for words. His face flushed red in an instant, full of panic and embarrassment. He forced out a stiff smile and muttered, “…Haha, just kidding.”

“I’m heading back to the office. You two carry on.” He glanced back at Xie Shenci, then gave a slight nod to Chu Duxiu. Without staying a second longer, he turned and walked away at lightning speed.

His escape was so fast it was almost alarming—one might worry he’d trip over his own feet.

Chu Duxiu watched Shang Liang’s whirlwind-like retreat and asked in confusion, “Was that…?”

“You sank him,” Xie Shenci said lightly as he walked over. “Tonight, when he lies in bed replaying the day, he’ll think of how he was gossiping about you behind your back, only to be caught red-handed. He’ll be so mortified he won’t be able to sleep. Give it a couple of days—he might even regret not dragging me into a meeting room instead.”

Shang Liang, being one of the few “normal” people in the company, had a particularly strong sense of pride. Unlike stand-up comedians, he couldn’t tolerate embarrassing himself—especially not to the point of a full-blown social death.

Chu Duxiu asked, “…Does Mr. Shang suffer from frequent mental spirals?”

Xie Shenci nodded. “Wouldn’t be surprised if, come year-end, he writes an internal report in his mind and marks today as ‘The Most Embarrassing Moment of the Year.’ Might even carry it into next year.”

“…”

Well then—though she’d felt pretty embarrassed herself, it seemed Mr. Shang had taken on the emotional burden for both of them. Oddly enough, that made her feel better.

Seeing her holding drinks, Xie Shenci raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re being so polite to everyone else—don’t I get any water?”

Whether it was Bei He or Shang Liang, Chu Duxiu clearly lowered her stance when dealing with longtime Shanle employees, still maintaining the well-behaved manner of a student. But with him, she was noticeably more casual.

Chu Duxiu looked at him and generously pulled out two bottles, praising, “Mr. Xie, you’re really loyal. You didn’t sell me out—so here, you get two bottles.”

Only then did Xie Shenci look satisfied.

Chu Duxiu handed him two bottles of water, then suddenly seemed to remember something. She looked down at the drinks in her arms and shoved two more bottles at him.

Xie Shenci asked suspiciously, “More than two?”

Chu Duxiu, feeling a bit guilty, knew she was bullying the nice one. But she really did feel more at ease with Mr. Xie, so she said confidently, “It’s tiring carrying all this—help me out, will you?”

Xie Shenci: “?”

The two of them sorted through the drinks, then picked them up again and strolled back slowly, chatting casually along the way. Xie Shenci had bigger hands, so he carried more than Chu Duxiu.

“But Mr. Shang miscalculated,” Chu Duxiu said, chin slightly raised, sounding smug. “Even if he signs me now, it’s no use—what if I get super lucky and pass the civil service exam? I could still cancel the contract with a mutual agreement. Don’t think you can fool a uni student.”

Hearing that, Xie Shenci turned his head to look at her and asked hesitantly, “You’re still planning to take the civil service exam?”

“You overestimate me. Yancheng’s results haven’t come out yet, but I’m sure I didn’t make it to the interview round,” she admitted, suddenly deflated. “I do have some self-awareness.”

The Yancheng exam was notoriously difficult—she most likely just went along for the ride.

“But there’s still the Wencheng exam, right?” Xie Shenci asked. “After filming this show, are you still planning to study for that?”

Chu Duxiu paused. She didn’t have any classes in the second half of the term—just waiting for her thesis defense. Her classmates were either interning or prepping for other exams, and many probably wouldn’t even be on campus.

She’d been so focused on the show lately that she hadn’t really thought about whether she’d return to uni or go home once the competition ended.

Xie Shenci asked, “What did your mom say? You two must’ve talked over the Spring Festival, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought it up during the breakthrough round.”

He still remembered her routine from that round—it had subtly hinted at her Spring Festival situation.

“She didn’t say anything,” Chu Duxiu sighed, shifting the drinks into one arm and awkwardly pulling out her phone. “To be honest, we’ve got a time lag when we talk. I’ll send her a WeChat message at night, and she replies the next morning—and her replies are totally off-topic. Want to see?”

Just thinking about it made her speechless. It wasn’t like she hadn’t kept in touch with her mom—it was just that their conversations felt like they were in different dimensions. She genuinely couldn’t figure out where the generational gap lay.

Chu Duxiu opened her WeChat chat page, switched to her contacts, and tapped on Chu Lan’s name—pinned at the very top as a starred contact—then held the phone out toward Xie Shenci.

Xie Shenci watched her smooth navigation, and unintentionally caught a glimpse of a familiar profile picture. The contact name read “Mr. Xie 10.9,” also starred. He quietly pressed his lips together and, with the corner of his eye, stole a glance at the person beside him, confirming that she looked completely at ease—she genuinely wanted to share her chats with her mum and had no idea she was casually revealing these details.

Xie Shenci’s Adam’s apple moved slightly as he pulled his attention back together. He looked at the chat window and skimmed through the mother-daughter conversation.

At the very top was a message from Chu Duxiu, sent late one night. It read: “Do you want any Haicheng specialties? Is there anything you’d like?”

Chu Lan hadn’t replied that night—probably went to bed too late. The next day around noon, she finally sent a WeChat message. But instead of answering the question, she forwarded an article to Chu Duxiu titled “Li Yu’s 8 Most Classic Poems: So Beautiful It Hurts—A Must-Read in One’s Lifetime.”

Xie Shenci: “?”

He kept scrolling, and quickly grasped Chu Duxiu’s mother’s style of communication—she almost never replied with actual text, just forwarded articles.

“Six Poems That Defy Aging: If the Heart Stays Young, Why Fear the Passing Years?”
“The Love Lives of Baby Animals—Too Cute to Handle!”
“Dragon Raises Its Head on the Second Day of the Second Lunar Month! Wishing You a Sky-High Ascent and Great Fortune!”

This was basically cross-channel communication.

Seeing his silence, Chu Duxiu said helplessly, “You get what I mean now, right? We just can’t communicate.”

It wasn’t like they’d had a fight—on the contrary, they still stayed in touch now and then. It was just that the content made no sense; they were talking past each other entirely.

Xie Shenci thought for a moment, then suddenly said, “Has your mom watched your show?”

“No way, that’s impossible,” Chu Duxiu paused, then quickly rebutted, “My sister posts the link in the group, and she doesn’t say a word.”

Chu Shuangyou regularly posted the program link in their family group chat, as accurately as sending a work report, always timing it with the release of The Stand-Up King.

However, in the group, only Shi Qin praised the show, writing a lengthy comment with his thoughts. The opening was, “After watching Xiuxiu’s latest episode, I couldn’t help but feel how much you’ve grown. I remember you and Youyou as babies in swaddling clothes, and now you can stand on your own and shine in society. Your mom and I are both deeply proud.”

In Shi Qin’s long-winded message, he mentioned Chu Lan, but her mother didn’t comment at all in the group, which made Chu Duxiu suspect that it was her father’s decision to involve Chu Lan, who hadn’t even seen the show.

“Is this some kind of photo appreciation?” Xie Shenci, seeing her disbelief, pointed at the title and asked, “In this article about baby animals, is there a photo of a penguin?”

Chu Duxiu froze, absentmindedly opening the link. “…I think there is.”

In the next second, she gently swiped through the photos and, sure enough, saw an image of two penguins cuddling. It was as if a bell chimed in her mind—someone had suddenly awakened her. She quickly suppressed the surge of emotion, not daring to think further.

Just because she mentioned a baby penguin flying on a plane in her routine, and her mother sent her a photo of penguins, didn’t necessarily mean her mother had watched the show. That logic felt like a stretch.

She tugged at the corner of her mouth and hesitated. “No, isn’t that a bit far-fetched? My mom isn’t the telepathic type.”

Chu Lan wasn’t like Mr. Xie—she was straightforward and blunt, not the kind of person who played guessing games with images.

Xie Shenci calmly suggested, “Then wait for the next episode to air. See what article she forwards after that.”

“Actually…” Chu Duxiu began to speak, then faltered with a soft hiss and slowly swallowed her words. “Never mind, forget it.”

Xie Shenci said, “Say it.”

She looked a bit conflicted and suddenly grew evasive—mainly because Mr. Xie held a special position, and she was worried it might sound like a hint or signal, something inappropriate to bring up during the competition.

Xie Shenci repeated, “Say it.”

“Actually, before I came on the show, my mom said that if I got first place, she wouldn’t interfere with my decisions—she’d be fine with me doing stand-up comedy. But if…” Chu Duxiu trailed off, lowering her eyes slightly, then forced herself to say, “…then I’d still have to go back home to work.”

She hadn’t told anyone about this. Firstly, because the atmosphere at home wasn’t very pleasant at the time, and she didn’t want to spread negative energy. Secondly, other contestants were all giving their best, so bringing up her agreement with her mother would have felt awkward.

Among the contestants, there were many who were emotionally invested; people like Nie Feng had persisted for years. Her conflict with her mother was just a tiny drop in the ocean—too insignificant to mention.

But no matter how small the matter, it still carried weight for her. Even if others thought it was nothing, she couldn’t let it go in her heart. It’s easier to advise others than to comfort yourself.

She was sure Xie Shenci understood this. She trusted him deeply, which was why she confided in him at this moment—otherwise, she wouldn’t have even mentioned it.

“Then I think the same as your mom,” Xie Shenci blinked and sincerely said, “I also believe you can get first place.”

Chu Duxiu: “?”

She was momentarily stunned, then held up her hand to stop him. “Mr. Xie, excuse me, but I don’t think we can take things out of context? You’re only hearing what you want to hear. My mom clearly didn’t mean that!”

How could he think Chu Lan was hoping she’d get first place?

That was obviously more like telling her to know her limits and give up!

“Don’t think so badly of Mom. Normal people don’t even dare to aim for first place. Do you really think she’d make a deal with you to become the world’s richest person? That would be a joke.”

Xie Shenci analyzed, “But the fact she promised first place shows she still believes in you, and maybe she’s even afraid you’re too strong to say just top three.”

Chu Duxiu widened her eyes and joked, “Isn’t that just self-delusion? Purely a mental victory.”

“Think less about things—happiness comes to yourself,” Xie Shenci said seriously. “Just take it as Mom encouraging you to get first place. She’s just stubborn and didn’t say it outright.”

“…”

Chu Duxiu was struck by Mr. Xie’s way of thinking and couldn’t respond for a long moment. Hearing him repeatedly say “mom” made her feel a strange flutter inside.

Her tone hesitant, Chu Duxiu said, “Mr. Xie, you…”

Was that form of address a bit off?

Xie Shenci asked doubtfully, “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, then thought maybe she was overthinking it. He had originally said “your mom,” probably just to make the conversation easier—nothing more.

“Never mind, it’s nothing.” She changed the subject and asked, “Does your family not oppose you doing this?”

Chu Duxiu recalled that during their interview, Xie Shenci had mentioned his family’s disapproval; it seemed things hadn’t been smooth for him either.

“My parents are okay with it, but my grandfather was very angry at first—thought I was just messing about,” Xie Shenci said casually. “But he’s much better these past couple of years, stopped worrying about my work and started worrying about other things instead. I’m not sure if he’s accepted it or just given up, but lately we talk about other stuff.”

Chu Duxiu gained a new understanding of Mr. Xie. His mindset was remarkably strong, following the idea that “if you leave a problem alone long enough, maybe it’ll disappear without being solved,” basically operating under the principle of “if I can outlast the hype, I’ll survive.”

She quietly speculated, “…Does he talk about personal issues?”

Xie Shenci looked surprised. “How do you know?”

“Some of the biggest challenges every Chinese person faces in life,” she said vaguely. “There’s also something I’m not sure if I should say.”

“Say it.”

“Maybe your grandfather thinks the main account is ruined, so there’s no point trying to fix it anymore. Maybe he’s considering creating a secondary account that’s not involved with comedy.”

“…”