Xie Shenci wasn’t annoyed even after his call was hung up. He simply dialed a second time—thankfully, he hadn’t been blocked yet. This time, he wised up and got straight to the point, explaining who he was and arranging to meet at “Typhoon Transit.”
Inside the bar, Chu Duxiu sat on a soft sofa, still feeling slightly unreal. That morning, she had received a call from an unknown number. The person on the other end said they wanted to discuss a job opportunity. He’d found her résumé in a bin, thought she was a good fit for a project, and set the meeting location here.
If it had been any other place, she would’ve dismissed it as a scam and never shown up.
But “Typhoon Transit” was different. Apart from her university campus, it was the place she knew best.
Chu Duxiu saw the bar owner bring over a glass of lemon water and quickly said, “Thank you.”
“Were you scared when you got the call?” Chen Jing smiled. “They even asked me to speak with you.”
Xie Shenci had been afraid Chu Duxiu wouldn’t believe him, so he’d specially asked Chen Jing to vouch for him and explain everything from the beginning.
“I wasn’t exactly scared,” Chu Duxiu said quietly. “Just thought it was a scam. Someone claiming they found my résumé in the trash…” She hesitated. “Is this a job for the club?”
Nie Feng was the manager of Typhoon Transit’s club and often performed with stand-up comedians like Scallion, but Chu Duxiu remembered Chen Jing once saying that stand-up shows at the bar didn’t really make money.
“It’s not Nie Feng hiring—it seems to be his friend,” Chen Jing reassured her. “They’ll be here soon. Just wait a little longer.”
Before long, a crisp jingle sounded from the front as the bar’s door was pushed open. It wasn’t mealtime yet, so there were only a few customers inside. Two men entered one after the other, immediately drawing Chu Duxiu’s attention.
The man in front was tall and solidly built. He headed straight for the bar and started chatting with Chen Jing. Dressed in trendy casual wear and sneakers, he was none other than the bar owner, Nie Feng.
The man behind him was unfamiliar—someone she hadn’t seen around the bar before. The weather outside was pleasant, and warm sunlight streamed through the windows, casting light over the stranger’s pale shirt and the backs of his hands. The scene looked like a high-contrast ink painting in black and white.
If this were a romance novel, now would be the time for a poetic character sketch—invoking imagery of cedarwood, ebony, and resilient green bamboo, woven into finely crafted prose to capture his striking appearance and cool, aloof aura.
But novels are novels, and real life is real life. As Chu Duxiu got a clear look at the man behind Nie Feng, and recalled the pleasant male voice on the phone, an ominous feeling rose in her chest.
Could it be that the man who’d picked up her résumé from the trash and been hung up on by her… was the interviewer?
If so, today might already be doomed. She had maxed out the hostility before even meeting him, and she had no idea how things had ended up so convoluted.
Sure enough, Chen Jing led the two men over and introduced them to Chu Duxiu. She already knew who Nie Feng was—so that just left the other one.
“Hello, I’m Xie Shenci from Shanle Culture. Our company is currently preparing for the second season of The Stand-Up King. I saw your performance yesterday and thought you’d be a great fit for the show. Would you be interested?”
Xie Shenci had jet-black hair and dark eyes. His manner was calm and courteous, and his voice was exactly the same as over the phone—like a steady low note from a string instrument. Fortunately, he didn’t mention the phone call fiasco at all, sparing her from having to deliver the apology she had prepared in her head. That alone saved quite a bit of time.
Chu Duxiu breathed a small sigh of relief and blurted out, “My performance?”
Nie Feng asked curiously, “Yeah, how long did it take you to write that set last night? Have you performed it before?”
“…Sorry, but I honestly don’t even remember what I said yesterday.”
She wasn’t lying. The night before, she’d taken the stage purely under the influence of alcohol, rambling without any real thought to coherence or structure. The bar often hosted open mics, and having been around it enough, she had picked up a bit by osmosis. So she just rattled off whatever came to mind—no preparation, and definitely not something she had taken seriously.
The fact that someone had noticed her because of that, then tracked her down through a résumé pulled from the trash—that was the truly shocking part.
“Not only was that your first time on stage, but you improvised the whole thing?” Nie Feng looked genuinely surprised. He glanced at Xie Shenci and exclaimed, “That’s real talent!”
“Have you heard of the show The Stand-Up King?” Xie Shenci asked. “We bring together stand-up comedians from across the country to compete on the show. The format is similar to what you did last night. If you’re not very familiar with stand-up, you can start with our offline training camp—it’s a more structured way to learn the basics before participating in the actual show.”
Chu Duxiu asked, “Is the show filmed in Yancheng?”
“The training camp is in Yancheng—it’s starting very soon. The show itself is recorded in Haicheng, likely during the winter break. Travel expenses can be reimbursed.”
The Stand-Up King was an online variety show produced by Shanle Culture. It brought together stand-up comedians from all over the country to compete around different themes for the title of “King of Stand-Up.” Chu Duxiu hadn’t watched the show herself, but her roommate had mentioned it before. It wasn’t a big-budget, prime-time program, but it had a solid reputation online and was considered a go-to comfort show for many viewers.
Given that there was already a finished season, the company seemed legitimate. However, she was studying in Yancheng and the bar she worked at was also there—traveling all the way to Haicheng just to participate in the show would take a lot of time and effort. It didn’t seem like a worthwhile trade-off.
Chu Duxiu thought for a few seconds, then asked timidly, “Can I ask… how much does it pay? Is there a general range?”
“There’s a competition format for the show,” Xie Shenci replied. “Payment depends on how far you advance, so it’s hard to give an exact number.”
“What about social insurance and housing fund?”
“If you sign a management contract with the company, all five types of insurance and the housing fund are covered,” Xie Shenci explained. He glanced at Nie Feng. “But some people are already affiliated with other clubs or under existing performance contracts, so in those cases it’s a different kind of collaboration.”
Hearing all that was like… hearing all that.
She’d been job hunting recently and had picked up some experience. If something already felt unreliable before joining, then things could only get worse after joining.
Chu Duxiu made up her mind on the spot and lowered her head slightly in apology. “I’m sorry—I don’t think I’m the right fit for this.”
“If you’re not a fit, then what does that make me?” Nie Feng exclaimed. “You were way better than I was on my first time. If you’re not suited for stand-up, then I must be actively making people uncomfortable with my stand-up!”
“That’s not what I meant.” Chu Duxiu waved her hands quickly. “I just… never really considered this as a career path…”
Xie Shenci asked, “Have you already secured a job?”
“No.”
“Then is there something else you want to pursue?”
“No.”
“In that case, why not give it a try?” Xie Shenci encouraged her patiently. “Although stand-up comedy isn’t widely known in China yet, there’s real potential for growth. You have a talent for it—exploring something new could be quite meaningful for your life.”
“But in high school politics class, they taught us that a person can’t gain both the exchange value and the use value of a commodity at the same time. Life’s kind of the same.” Chu Duxiu replied dryly, “So isn’t it possible that I can’t afford to care about value right now—I have to survive first, and only then think about meaning?”
Nie Feng was stunned for a few seconds, then burst out laughing and teased, “Mr. Xie, she’s questioning your financial backing!”
“You’re worried about income?” Xie Shenci asked, following up. “What’s your ideal salary range? That’s all negotiable.”
“It’s not just about the money. To be blunt—and I mean no offense—the bar for entry in this industry is way too low.” Chu Duxiu gave up all pretense, half-joking at her own expense. “I’m a shallow, mediocre person, and if someone like me—this much of a newbie—can get recruited, then honestly, I don’t have much confidence in the future of the field!”
Chu Duxiu racked her brains but still couldn’t figure out what exactly she had done so well to warrant all this effort just to recruit her for the show. She was a clear-headed person—good fortune doesn’t just fall from the sky unless it’s poisoned. Otherwise, a “lucky break” like this would never land on her.
“No offense taken,” Xie Shenci replied calmly. “But I think you’re being too modest. It’s not that the industry has a low bar—it’s that it hasn’t become a proper industry yet. If we want stand-up comedy to have a future, we need people to keep working at it.”
“…”
That felt just a bit too familiar—like he didn’t see her as an outsider at all.
Xie Shenci remained composed, while Chu Duxiu was momentarily at a loss for words.
After a beat, she sighed. “I appreciate your honesty, but you don’t always have to be so genuine and down-to-earth. It’s okay to serve the occasional half-baked promise. It’s not like the FDA is gonna come knocking.”
Xie Shenci suddenly asked, “Was that line improvised too?”
“Huh?”
She looked up to see him curve his lips slightly, a glimmer of light catching in his dark eyes. That smile was like ice melting at the turn of spring, a thin layer of frost breaking on the surface of a lake—there for a moment, then gone. So faint it felt like an illusion.
Xie Shenci said, “I get your logic, but the more you talk like this, the more I feel that not doing stand-up would be a waste of your natural humor.”
“?”
Bro, I think you’re the one with the natural deadpan!
Chu Duxiu was sincerely grateful for Xie Shenci’s appreciation—and then flatly rejected his offer. She had originally planned to enjoy a meal of honey-glazed chicken cutlet rice, but sitting between Xie Shenci and Nie Feng was way too stressful. So instead, she hurriedly said goodbye to Chen Jing and darted off in the direction of campus.
The bar’s door gave a soft jingle as it closed, gradually cutting off the girl’s retreating figure. Inside, Xie Shenci and Nie Feng watched through the glass as she disappeared around the sunlit corner of the street without once looking back.
“Looks like it’s a no-go,” Nie Feng said. “From what Jingjing told me, she comes to open mics here pretty often. If she were interested, she would’ve signed up already. No need to wait until now.”
Typhoon Transit’s club had been recruiting performers for a while. Chu Duxiu was a regular—she definitely knew about it. The fact that she hadn’t applied made her answer obvious.
“Not necessarily,” Xie Shenci replied, drawing his gaze back in. “Sometimes people don’t even know what they want themselves. But the state someone enters on stage while doing stand-up—that doesn’t lie. It’s a form of self-exposure.”
“She really is a good fit for this. And besides,” he added calmly, “we’re not just trying to build a show—we’re trying to build an industry.”
“What’s that got to do with her?” Nie Feng asked.
“If it’s just performers doing their thing for fun, that’s a hobby—not an industry. An industry is what pushes people onto the stage.”
Xie Shenci understood perfectly well that most of the current stand-up clubs had grown out of shared interests—like-minded performers gathering together, figuring things out as they went. But if the goal was to train truly outstanding comedians, the old ways were starting to feel too slow.
Sometimes people need a few tries before they know if something suits them.
And he was genuinely curious—how would she perform on a bigger stage?
After a moment of thought, Xie Shenci asked, “Is there still room to add someone to the weekend lineup?”
“You’re not seriously thinking of…” Nie Feng seemed to catch on and pulled out his phone. “I’ll check for you.”
The next day, at the university library, every long solid wood desk was completely occupied. The soft rustling of turning pages filled the air, occasionally interrupted by the quiet scrape of chair legs dragging across the marble floor.
It was still only the first half of the semester, yet the place was already packed—students buried in their books, studying intently.
Chu Duxiu had arrived early to save a seat and had spent the whole morning studying diligently. Her back was starting to feel stiff. She set aside her civil service exam materials and slowly stretched her shoulders before glancing down at the schedule in her notebook. It was filled with dates: the national exam, the provincial exam, and recruitment tests for public institutions.
She didn’t really believe she could pass any of them, but if she didn’t at least try this path, there didn’t seem to be another option. The job offers she had so far weren’t good enough. If she didn’t start preparing now, her mother would only be more disappointed in her.
Chu Duxiu was born in Wencheng and had a twin sister—but she was always the one who caused concern in the family. Unlike her academically gifted and well-behaved sister, she had always hovered in the middle—never top of the class, never bottom—just enough to keep her parents worried.
During the college entrance exam, she had insisted on going to Yancheng to study journalism, against her mother Chu Lan’s wishes, claiming it would improve her job prospects. Her mother scoffed at that, saying, “If you’re truly capable, you can find a job anywhere.” But in the end, after persuasion from her sister and father, they reluctantly let her go.
Turns out, her mother had seen through her from the start. Like all seasoned parents, she had known exactly what would happen.
Even in Yancheng, Chu Duxiu still couldn’t find a job.
Chu Duxiu let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair to rest. Suddenly, she caught sight of the iPad screen beside her, belonging to a girl nearby. Perhaps from study fatigue, the girl was watching a variety show to relax—and, by coincidence, it happened to be The Stand-Up King.
The girl wore headphones while watching, but the show came with subtitles, making the jokes’ texts fully visible.
Chu Duxiu glanced casually, and the words below automatically played in her mind. She even found herself unknowingly comparing it to her own performance that night. She had only ever watched live open mics in person before and hadn’t seen much of the online shows—it did feel a little different.
Maybe it was her intense gaze, but the girl seemed to notice. She took off one of her Bluetooth earphones and quietly offered it to Chu Duxiu beside her. “Want to watch?”
Chu Duxiu hurriedly waved her hand. “Thanks, no, I’m fine.”
Caught red-handed, she quickly straightened up, lowered her head, and flipped through her book, no longer daring to look at the iPad. A secret thought kindled like a flame, only to be instantly doused by a storm, extinguished in the heavy mist.
When Xie Shenci had invited her yesterday, she had thought about it—but if Chu Lan found out, it would surely tear her apart.
She could already imagine how much her mother would sneer at such an unstable, project-based job. Her sharp tongue and critical nature would probably make short work of countless stand-up comedians.
Whether for her own future or for the future of stand-up comedy, provoking Chu Lan was definitely not a wise move.
Still, the risky idea was pushed aside only to resurface again soon after.
In the evening, after a full day of studying, Chu Duxiu packed up her materials and left. Just as she stepped out of the library doors, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. The number looked very familiar.
When she answered, the voice on the other end was as calm as ever: “Hello, this is Xie Shenci from Shanle Culture.”
