On the set, Chu Duxiu and Xie Shenci returned with drinks, distributing them to the contestants and crew on site.
A group of people gathered around, chatting and laughing during the filming break.
Wang Nali held her bottle, taking small sips of lemon juice, her furrowed brows finally relaxing. Bei He glanced around but didn’t see a certain someone, looking puzzled.
Bei He asked, “Why isn’t Mr. Shang here?”
“He went back to the company first,” Xie Shenci replied. “Told us to carry on.”
Chu Duxiu guiltily lowered her head.
“That’s good,” Bei He sighed in relief, muttering, “I was afraid he’d stick around for dinner too.”
If Mr. Shang had stayed for the meal, Bei He wouldn’t have been able to joke around—some teasing remarks might have been taken seriously by the boss.
Lu Fan scoffed, “Just look at yourself.”
Before long, the contestants finished filming and gathered in the private dining room.
With the exception of Cheng Junhua, all sixteen finalists were present, clinking glasses and laughing boisterously around the table. Jokes and witty banter flew back and forth, filling the air with unrestrained cheer as bursts of laughter erupted now and then.
Bei He and Scallion were undoubtedly the life of the party. With arms slung over each other’s shoulders, they roamed around the room, constantly steering conversations and keeping the energy high as they exchanged their stand-up comedy dreams.
“Let’s be real, I was the one who crowned this year’s breakout star,” Scallion declared loudly. “Admit it, Honey Glazed Chicken Rice—wasn’t it me who called on you that day?”
If they were talking about stand-up dreams, they had to revisit how it all began. During an open mic session, Scallion had randomly picked out the future breakout star from the audience, and from then on, there was no turning back.
Chu Duxiu, currently nibbling on a large shrimp, shot a glance at the hyped-up Scallion before resuming her meal, too preoccupied to respond.
“Way to take all the credit,” Nie Feng laughed. “That venue was mine.”
Lu Fan chimed in, “And I was the one who taught her.”
Scallion declared, “I don’t care! Even if my own results are mediocre, at least I’ll go down in history as the talent scout who discovered the Breakout Star!”
The real talent scout, however, had yet to speak up.
Chu Duxiu kept her head down, busy peeling shrimp with her teeth. She had to finish chewing before she could respond. When she finally glanced up, her eyes inadvertently met Xie Shenci’s—he had actually been watching her eat shrimp the whole time.
He blinked slowly. Though his expression remained neutral and he hadn’t joined the conversation, his face might as well have been stamped with the words: “I’m the real talent scout.”
Their telepathic communication had begun again.
Chu Duxiu nearly choked. She quickly turned away, covering her mouth as she coughed. “Ahem—”
Wang Nali handed her a cup of tea, laughing. “You’ve all bullied the Breakout Star into speechlessness!”
Before the themed competition episode aired, the editors worked around the clock to finalize the ad placements.
Thanks to the buzz generated by the first two elimination rounds, numerous brands had taken an interest in The Stand-Up King, leading to a surge in last-minute advertising investments. This kept Mr. Shang and Director Shang swamped with work. Public engagement was the ultimate currency—as long as people were paying attention, everything else fell into place much more easily.
The latest episode, themed around assigned topics, sparked massive online discussions. The two hottest performances were undoubtedly “Even a Hero Struggles Without a Penny“ and “When Love Takes Over Your Brain“. Money and romance are inherently viral topics, making these segments naturally primed for widespread sharing as clipped videos.
Cheng Junhua’s victory over Bei He stirred up a storm. Online debates erupted between two camps—one arguing Cheng’s material had more depth, the other insisting Bei He was funnier. The clash over the final vote count grew so intense that it even escalated into critiques of the live audience’s judgment.
[I get why Cheng hesitated to join at first. He’s not a crowd-pleasing performer—he prioritizes ideas, but netizens don’t always grasp them.]
[Shouldn’t comedy be about who’s funnier? Bei He clearly delivered.]
[As a long-time stand-up fan, I’m conflicted. If we’re just chasing laughs, why not listen to crosstalk instead?]
Of course, while a vocal minority bickered breathlessly, most viewers treated it as entertainment—even cheering loudly during the “Even a Hero Struggles Without a Penny“ showdown.
[Nice, this season’s pacing is so tight. We’re not even in semifinals yet, but the Bei He vs. Lu Fan drama from last year is already brewing.]
[“The Stand-Up King,” you’ve truly made it… (rest of meme forgotten)]
[Has our dying stand-up comedy scene finally entered its fandom war era!?]
[This single-AI dog doesn’t get the fuss—I preferred the romance group, way more wholesome.]
[Team Scallion-Ginger-Garlic forever!]
[But Scallion’s score should’ve been first place.]
[Seriously?]
[The dark humor here? Those praising Bei over Cheng genuinely believe it, but anyone claiming Scallion > Xiu? Secretly just Xiu stans (dogemoji).]
[Facts. Brutal—like calling Scallion “Yancheng’s top rookie pre-Chu Duxiu.” Savage.]
[Why?]
[Replace “Chu Duxiu” in Scallion’s bit with “Meng Dehua”—still funny? Nope, because that’s my real name.]
[Let’s be real: casual viewers who don’t know Xiu won’t get Scallion’s jokes. Premise too obscure—pure insider humor.]
[Exactly! I just caught up with the episode today and didn’t get the male comedian’s second-half punchline at first – only realized upon rewatching that it was referencing his female teammate!]
[Crafty Xiu fans lmao, praising with one breath while shading with the other.]
[Think bigger picture – if Chu Duxiu becomes nationally famous, who’s to say Scallion’s inside jokes won’t become mainstream again (dogemoji).]
[I see you understand the dialectical principle of opposites transforming under certain conditions???]
At the Wenxiao Theater, the top 16 contestants, after some rest and filming, were about to face another round of recording. They had to generate high-quality material at an intense pace to keep up with The Stand-Up King‘s broadcasting schedule.
As Chu Duxiu and others entered the theater and took their seats in the audience section, they immediately noticed how empty it felt.
Wang Nali looked around, contemplating her own precarious position, and murmured: “It’s getting quieter and quieter.”
As one of the lowest-ranked among the top 16, she was under tremendous pressure.
During the preliminary rounds, the theater had been packed with 100 contestants. Now, only two rows remained in the audience section – the thinning ranks becoming ever more apparent.
After a moment, Shang Xiaomei and Xie Shenci appeared, instructing staff to distribute paper and pens.
Scallion looked bewildered. “Are we drawing lots again?”
Chu Duxiu frowned with worry. “Please no, my luck is terrible.”
If she got another topic she wasn’t good at, she’d have to rack her brains just to scrape something together.
Holding a microphone, Shang Xiaomei explained, “This round is a semi-themed competition. Before announcing the topics, we’d like everyone to vote—write down the name of the contestant you’d least want to face.”
“This round narrows the field from 16 to 12. Each topic group will have 8 performers, and the bottom two in each group will be eliminated. The contestant with the most votes gets first pick of the topics, while those with fewer votes can choose remaining spots in the groups based on the earlier selections.”
Bei He pondered, “Not bad—high votes mean priority, low votes let you dodge strong opponents.”
Lu Fan added, “But if you’re last, you won’t have much choice left.”
The contestants quickly completed their votes, and the staff tallied the results to finalize the peer evaluation segment. Before long, the rankings appeared on the big screen—clearly listing positions 1 through 16. The top three remained similar to the preliminary round, though with some subtle shifts.
- Chu Xiu
- Bei He
- Cheng Junhua
The crowd erupted in murmurs as they took in the rankings.
“You’re number one!” Wang Nali exclaimed with delight. Then, spotting her own name, she sighed with resigned amusement. “And I’m dead last. Well, I suppose that counts as fate too.”
Scallion gasped, “…But the big shots fell hard, huh?”
“Probably just not suited for competition style,” Nie Feng remarked. “Five minutes is way too short—they shine in full-length specials. But the show can’t accommodate that.”
This peer-voted ranking reflects the contestants’ own assessments of each other’s strengths, not necessarily audience preferences. Cheng Junhua, who topped the preliminary round, has now slipped to third place in this internal vote—clearly impacted by the previous round’s challenges, as the rigid format of themed competitions doesn’t play to his strengths.
Seated in the front row, Cheng Junhua quietly studied the rankings, his expression unreadable, giving no hint of his thoughts.
After announcing the results, Shang Xiaomei continued: “Next, we’ll reveal the themes for this semi-themed round. Each of you will select a character to fill in the blank, forming your creative keyword to build material around.”
Two theme templates appeared on screen, each with a blank space:
() Love – such as maternal love, passionate love, romantic love, etc. Fill in your own keyword.
() Thought – such as ideals, philosophies, fantasies, etc. Fill in your own keyword. [1]
Lu Fan blinked in surprise. “These topics…”
Bei He voiced his suspicion, “Did our show get too popular and now the company’s being… advised?”
Scallion quipped, “This has that college entrance exam essay vibe.”
Wang Nali added, “Especially the word structures, it’s totally…”
Chu Duxiu suddenly recited in a flat tone, “Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony, freedom, equality, justice, rule of law, patriotism, dedication, integrity, friendliness.” [2]
The group immediately chorused: “Yeah yeah, exactly!”
Though the themes appeared rigidly official, the contestants actually had considerable creative freedom once they filled in their own keywords. The “love” category, for instance, could cover family, hobbies, romance and more. Since they only needed to build material around their chosen keyword rather than write strict thematic essays, the possibilities were broad.
“Now we invite our top-ranked contestant to select their semi-themed group,” announced Shang Xiaomei. “You can decide your specific keyword later—today we’re just choosing the category. Come up, Duxiu.”
Amid applause, Chu Duxiu hurried onstage and stared blankly at the two options. Though she could finalize her keyword afterward, she at least needed to pick a direction.
The other contestants didn’t rush her. Instead, they began discussing among themselves as she hesitated.
Lu Fan chuckled, “Turns out being first isn’t all good—she didn’t get any time to think.”
Scallion suggested, “The ‘Love’ group might be better, more word options there.”
Wang Nali countered, “But she’s already done two on that theme before.”
Indeed, Chu Xiu had covered maternal love in the elimination round and romantic love in the themed competition, exhausting some of her best material. After long deliberation, she finally placed her name under the “Thought” category before darting back to her seat like a shot.
Bei He moved with lightning speed when his turn came, decisively choosing the “Love” group without hesitation.
With the top two contestants now in different groups, the third-place choice would prove crucial in determining which category would have more heavy hitters.
Scallion perked up as Cheng Junhua rose. “Here we go, here we go.”
“Once the top three are set, the rest can strategize to avoid the tougher group.”
Cheng Junhua ultimately selected the “Thought” category, placing his name after Chu Duxiu’s with a meaningful smile. “I’d like to reclaim those two votes I lost.”
The moment these words were spoken, the entire venue erupted with electrifying excitement.
During the preliminary round, Cheng Junhua had beaten Chu Duxiu by two votes. Then in the elimination round, Chu Duxiu had surpassed Cheng Junhua by—again—exactly two votes.
Now, having chosen the same group, they would face off once more on the same stage.
“Wow—a rematch! This is a direct showdown!”
“What kind of two-vote destiny is this?”
“Now this is what I call grand narrative! Talk about creating explosive moments for the show!”
Shang Xiaomei’s eyes sparkled as she tightly covered her mouth, barely containing her visible delight.
Watching the buzzing scene, Bei He said with a wry laugh, “So losing to the master in the themed round was actually lucky—otherwise I’d be the one under siege now.”
Chu Duxiu froze, unprepared for Cheng Junhua’s direct challenge. As she watched his straight-backed figure return to his seat, she found herself momentarily speechless.
Excitement surged through her veins—whether it was more fear or combativeness, she couldn’t tell. Her pulse quickened with adrenaline, body tensing even as her mind sparked to life. This was the telltale sign of creative inspiration, that exhilarating rush only true challenge could provoke.
Even if variety shows were ultimately games, perhaps higher difficulty made them more thrilling?
Back in her hotel room, Chu Duxiu opened her laptop and began brainstorming words with “thought,” trying to structure material for the semi-themed competition.
She did have some standby material about her comedy dreams, but against Cheng Junhua, those bits suddenly seemed flimsy. The tricky part of this format was that while contestants could choose their own keywords, themes might still overlap.
Take “ideals” and “dreams”—no one could outmatch Cheng Junhua on this subject. The man had voluntarily abandoned his successful English stand-up career abroad to pioneer Chinese stand-up, his dramatic life story alone dwarfing ordinary contestants’ experiences. His legend preceded him.
Chu Xiu’s family conflicts were trivial in comparison—while they might get her through the rounds, they’d never measure up to the master’s material.
To win, she needed differentiation—topics Cheng Junhua couldn’t touch.
Frustrated, she tugged at her hair, racking her brain for any advantage. A wild thought struck her: in sheer absurdity, she could outshine him. Cheng Junhua was, after all, still sane.
Crazy fantasies? （狂想）Scare him unconscious.
Delusional ideas? （臆想）Infuriate him to collapse.
Meditation musings? （冥想）Bore him to death.
Chu Duxiu spiraled into increasingly ridiculous concepts, realizing her thinking had grown warped—likely from prolonged exposure to Xie Shenci’s twisted logic.
Then, a memory surfaced. Staring at the character “想” (thought), she paused, contemplative.
Moments later, her screen displayed a new phrase:
“Dare to Think.”（敢想）
Translator’s Note:
[1] The Chinese character “想” (thought) appears as a component in words like 梦想 (dream) and 理想 (ideal), though its meaning shifts slightly in each compound. While “thought” doesn’t perfectly capture this morphological role in English, it serves as the closest conceptual umbrella term.
[2] Reference to China’s Core Socialist Values, often memorized by students.
