For a moment, Chu Duxiu felt like she’d shot herself in the foot. She had meant to deliberately make things difficult for Xie Shenci—teasing him into a loss for words—yet somehow she had trapped herself instead.
What was that supposed to mean?
What does he mean by “anything else”?
Instinctively, she wanted to read between the lines, to tune into him the way she usually could, as if their brainwaves could sync. But this time her head felt stuffed with paste, and for some reason her ears grew hot. The more she noticed that he wasn’t meeting her eyes, the more flustered she became.
Don’t overthink it. Don’t mistranslate it. Maybe the mind-link just… failed this time!
Just because Mr. Xie is a decent person doesn’t mean you should start having all kinds of bizarre ideas!
Chu Duxiu froze in place. Xie Shenci turned his head to the side.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The air between them seemed to come to a halt.
After Xie Shenci finished speaking, his gaze drifted to a small stall nearby. When he still didn’t hear her reply after a long wait, his expression stayed the same, but his fingers curled tightly, faint blue veins surfacing on the back of his hand.
A moment later, Chu Duxiu was the first to break the silence. Her heart was pounding like a drum as she said, stiffly, “Right. You’re right. Just… naturally… uh, I’ll sign the contract…”
The words tumbled out incoherently, nothing like a stand-up comedian. Her usual verbal logic felt as if it had been run over flat.
Xie Shenci, however, didn’t seem to mind. He exhaled lightly himself, fingers slowly uncurling, and gave a barely audible “Mm.”
A subtle, ambiguous mood hung in the air—like the scent of candied hawthorn, conjuring up the taste of lingering sweetness.
Chu Duxiu patted her cheeks, rallying herself. She changed the subject, “We could get some sweets too.”
“Alright.” Xie Shenci returned to normal as well. He glanced down at his phone. “Once we’ve bought them, let’s head back. That way you can rest early.”
Chu Duxiu had been busy filming all day, and she might still have to write at night. If they stayed out too long, she’d be left with almost no time to sleep.
After that, neither of them brought up the contract again—nor that “anything else” matter.
They kept chatting as naturally as before, with most of the talking done by Chu Duxiu and Xie Shenci listening quietly. Every now and then, he would drop in a line or two of dry humor, chiming in just enough to keep the exchange light and pleasant.
Before long, they had finished packing up snacks from the food street and parted briefly in the hotel lobby.
Xie Shenci took some of the food to Nie Feng and the others, while Chu Duxiu went to fulfill Wang Nali’s order.
On the coffee table, a white takeaway box lay inside a plastic bag. When she reached out, it was still faintly warm—but she had no idea what was inside.
Staring at the array of boxes, Chu Duxiu felt momentarily dizzy. “What’s this? I don’t remember.”
Xie Shenci glanced at it. “Teppan shrimp.”
Chu Duxiu slid the box toward him. “You bought this?”
She’d followed him around the whole time and hadn’t seen any shrimp—when had he bought it?
She hadn’t expected him to like shrimp too; his tastes seemed oddly similar to hers.
Xie Shenci nodded. “Mm. You take it. You seem to really like shrimp.”
Chu Duxiu blinked in surprise. “How do you know? How do you know everything?”
What “shared wavelength”? What “mind-to-mind connection”?
He must have planted a bug somewhere—listening in on her thoughts!
Xie Shenci said, “At group dinners, you always reach for this.”
Chu Duxiu quickly declined. “But you’re the one who bought it…”
He shook his head. “I’m already full.”
If he couldn’t eat any more, then why buy it?
To her, that sounded like an excuse. She could have pressed him further, but her cheeks were already a little warm. Not wanting to push until the pot broke, she gratefully accepted the teppan shrimp—afraid that if the conversation wandered any further, she’d end up flustered all over again.
On the way back, they had both left the night market behind and slipped into their usual, easy small talk. But now, somehow, the mood had turned strange again.
It was like sipping green plum wine—at first, it tasted only like a sweet-and-sour fruit drink. Without realizing it, you kept lifting the cup. Then, only after the fact, did the wine’s warmth rise up, pink clouds blooming across your cheeks, and you realized you were tipsy—your very blood running just a little hot.
Chu Duxiu walked all the way back to her room feeling as if her steps were floating. Carrying the takeaway bag, she pushed the door open—only to hear Wang Nali’s cheer, clearly having waited for a long time.
Inside, Wang Nali happily opened the boxes, searching out her own order before tucking in with gusto.
Chu Duxiu, meanwhile, changed into a fresh set of clothes and collapsed straight onto her bed, eyes shut, motionless. Her heart was beating a little fast—probably just the excitement after such a busy day.
“Is this shrimp yours?” Wang Nali lifted the lid, then set it back down. “I don’t eat shrimp, so I’ll leave it for now. Come on, get up before it gets cold.”
“…Alright.”
Chu Duxiu answered aloud, but her mind was still running wild, unable to tamp down the jumble of thoughts.
Was it… a little special?
He did seem to look out for her—but she shouldn’t overthink it. He was nice to Bei He and the others too.
That said, the way he spoke with Bei He or Shang Liang in private was definitely different from how he was with her. In front of others, he kept himself much more restrained—and the other contestants didn’t seem to notice at all.
One moment she felt she was reading too much into it; the next, that Xie Shenci’s words carried hidden meaning; the next, that she had no reason to think so highly of herself. The contradictions tangled together until she simply gave up and tossed all the thoughts aside.
No falling into the trap of ambiguous daydreams—an AI single dog must maintain rational processing!
Some problems, if left alone for a while, might just solve themselves.
Chu Duxiu crawled up from the bed and sat beside Wang Nali, polishing off a box of teppan shrimp. Her mood naturally settled, and she couldn’t help but admit to herself that the flavor really was amazing.
After the semi-themed round, The Stand-up King exploded in online discussion. Phrases like “Two Kings of Stand-up Face Off” and “Cheng Junhua vs. Chu Duxiu” even shot onto the trending list, with three or four program-related keywords going viral in a single day.
Clips of their performances were cut out and spread like wildfire across every major social media platform, sparking a storm of heated arguments. Just as Bei He had said, even with the results already decided, the internet was still boiling over.
Most viewers agreed that both performances were excellent—far above the standard of the show’s first season. But there were still those who doubted the fairness of the outcome, determined to argue it down to the last detail.
[This round was clearly funnier for the girl. I don’t know the guy—why is everyone hyping him up?]
[How can someone watch stand-up and not know Cheng Junhua? He’s an industry veteran. That’s just ignorant.]
[You’re so aggressive. Don’t turn this into a fan war. The show’s gaining new viewers, it’s normal they don’t know the old pros.]
[He crushed Bei He last round, crushed Chu Duxiu this round. Is the show just pushing Cheng through?]
[No way, Cheng was actually pretty funny this time.]
[Chu lacks depth. Cheng’s material has more meaning.]
[I like both performances, but don’t accept that Chu has no depth. Relating to ordinary people is depth. Is it only ‘global village’ and ‘all humanity’ that count as deep?]
[The show is definitely favoring Chu. Half the contestants praise her on camera and never mention Cheng. It’s obvious editing bias.]
[But Cheng praises her too. They wouldn’t be able to fake it without footage.]
[Don’t be ridiculous. Cheng barely speaks, probably because he’s not close with others. It’s normal nobody talks about him.]
[Exactly. Bei He talks to him, and Cheng’s replies are brief.]
[Stop arguing. I’ve followed Mr. Cheng for years. Offstage, he hates socializing, hides in corners, and only gives honest feedback. If he praises Chu, it means he genuinely admires her! No conspiracy theories or mudslinging.]
[Looks like the show should release the next episode ASAP. By then, the netizens will stop fighting, keyboard warriors will chill, and everyone will shout: “Cease all wars! Come watch the show! Duxiu’s on stage!” (doge face)]
[OMG, calling back here—so Chu was already playing the prophet, calling for light and peace early on!]
[If you still don’t get it, here’s a quick clapboard explanation for you (doge face)]
The online discussions exploded everywhere—but Chu Duxiu remained unaffected.
Unlike others, she was too busy writing articles and handling business affairs to scroll through online reviews. She wasn’t like Wang Nali or Scallion, who surfed the web every day, waiting eagerly for feedback after each episode.
They sometimes caught sight of harsh comments and felt down for a while, needing some time to recover.
Still, just because Chu Duxiu didn’t have time to read the live comments didn’t mean no one else would watch and fill her in later.
Inside the room, Chu Duxiu was typing rapidly on her laptop, working on an article, when a WeChat notification popped up in the lower right corner. Curious, she clicked it open and saw a message from Chu Lan—once again sharing a public account article.
“Imperialism’s Hatred for Us Never Dies: Revisiting the Great Leader’s ‘Fearless Ghost Stories’!”
Chu Duxiu opened the article and read that it talked about tense China-US relations, Western politicians smearing China, and a call to uphold the spirit of fearlessness. Don’t fear ghosts, don’t believe in superstitions, fight ghosts, wipe them out completely, and keep moving forward with unstoppable momentum to overcome risks and challenges.
“…” Chu Duxiu finished reading, feeling mixed emotions.
The good news: her mom really was watching the show and quietly keeping tabs on the situation, using various articles to offer encouragement.
The bad news: she was taking it a bit too seriously—turning it into a class struggle.
Chu Duxiu quickly typed a reply, earnestly clarifying the facts to ease her mother’s worries.
[Mom, the show is deliberately exaggerated. Mr. Cheng and I don’t even have any conflicts among the people, let alone any us-versus-them stuff. Don’t get so worked up watching it.]
Competitive reality shows naturally bring tension, and with Chu Lan’s fiery personality, she probably gets just as anxious watching the Olympics—so it was no surprise she’d be like this about The Stand-up King.
Chu Lan didn’t reply right away.
Chu Duxiu saw the “typing…” status linger for a long time, but the chat window didn’t change. She immediately guessed what her mom was thinking and mischievously sent another message.
[You didn’t watch the show, did you?]
This time, the “typing…” indicator disappeared completely.
Chu Duxiu covered her mouth to hide a laugh. She could already picture her mom’s expression—caught red-handed and annoyed. If she were at home, she’d probably go off on a tangent, trying every trick to dodge the topic before finding an excuse to escape the room.
Sure enough, Chu Lan finally replied—very simply: [Which day’s ticket?]
After all that time, just a few words. It was clear she felt awkward.
Chu Duxiu honestly answered, “I don’t know,” then explained she needed to wait for the finals’ schedule before booking tickets in advance.
Her mother responded: [If you come back on the weekend, your dad will pick you up.]
After that, Chu Lan didn’t reply again.
Holding her phone, Chu Duxiu muttered, “Said it like Dad’s coming means you won’t…”
Even though she often couldn’t help but tag along herself.
At Wenxiao Theater, the twelve finalists took their seats one after another, as usual preparing to complete the group voting. On stage, staff were setting up three cardboard panels to make it easier for the contestants to post their names and choose the groups they wanted to join.
Chu Duxiu, Wang Nali, and Scallion sat in the audience, watching the staff’s movements as they waited for the segment to officially begin.
Scallion asked, puzzled, “Are we still grouping? Wasn’t the semi-final supposed to be a freestyle theme?”
Chu Duxiu analyzed, “It’s probably to decide the performance order. People in the same group perform back-to-back, then get voted on together—just like the semi-finals last year.”
Each cardboard had four rows, with three empty slots per row. It looked like they would be divided into four groups of three actors each, with one ultimately eliminated.
Wang Nali stared silently at the cardboard.
After a moment, Shang Xiaomei took the microphone and appeared on stage. She began, “Friends, next up is the semi-finals. We will have a freestyle performance, and I’ll briefly explain the rules.”
The contestants immediately snapped back to attention, stopping their casual chatting to listen to the semi-final procedures.
“The semi-finals are from twelve down to eight. The final eight contestants will advance to the live finale. We will be divided into four groups, three people per group. Each group performs, and the live audience votes to eliminate the contestant with the lowest votes in each group.”
“The top three contestants from the internal vote will get to choose their groups first. The remaining contestants will select their groups in order, based on a random draw.”
Shang Xiaomei gestured. “Here are the top three from this round’s internal vote.”
With sound effects, the screen lit up and the rankings were revealed.
- Chu Duxiu
- Cheng Junhua
- Bei He
Everyone whispered among themselves.
Bei He said, “The big shot moved up a rank. Looks like their last performance went well—everyone’s recognizing them.”
Scallion looked at Chu Duxiu and teased, “Rookie queen, but you’re as still as a mountain!”
Chu Duxiu replied, “…But being the first to pick a group doesn’t seem to help much.”
“True. It’s all the same—just picking loneliness.”
Hearing Director Shang call her name, Chu Duxiu hurriedly took small steps up to the stage and casually stuck her name in the front spot.
Right now, the board had no one else—only her lonely name.
Next up was Cheng Junhua’s turn to choose a group. As soon as he stood up, the others started teasing him.
“Chu Duxiu! Pick Chu Duxiu!”
“I think the first group is a lucky spot—perfect for you to join!”
“We have to have another showdown for the show to really heat up—”
Cheng Junhua smiled helplessly and waved them off. “No, no.”
He placed his name at the front of the second group, right below Chu Duxiu’s name. Since they weren’t in the same group, they wouldn’t be voted on at the same time.
Seeing there was no exciting matchup this round, the crowd visibly deflated, disappointed that there’d be no epic clash this time.
Chu Duxiu watched the scene, unsure whether she felt relieved or a little disappointed. But since they’d meet again sooner or later, it didn’t seem to matter much.
Nie Feng said, “Then the final is where it’ll happen.”
Lu Fan added, “Everyone wants to play it safe now—just get into the finals first, then worry about the rest.”
Bei He chose to go first in the third group. With the top three avoiding each other, only the remaining contestants who drew lots were left to pick groups.
No one wanted to join a group stacked with strong competitors—they might get pushed into the elimination spot.
Lu Fan placed his name right behind Chu Duxiu’s, which left the first group unchosen. Its main lineup was just too powerful.
After a long pause, Wang Nali went up to place her name. Her turn happened to be in the middle. There were still some spots left, but she didn’t pick a group with fewer people.
She stared at the first group for a long time before slowly sticking her name on, finally filling all the slots.
From front to back, the lineup was: Chu Duxiu, Lu Fan, Wang Nali.
The crowd erupted in murmurs and gasps, a ripple of surprise and disbelief spreading through the room.
“Why?” Scallion exclaimed in shock. “If she chooses this group, then she basically…”
Was sure to lose.
Chu Duxiu was the rookie queen, Lu Fan the last season’s runner-up, and Wang Nali was like a stone thrown against an egg—no chance to turn the tide.
Chu Duxiu was stunned, equally confused, her eyes fixed tightly on her friend on stage.
“A girls’ group? Wouldn’t that be better?”
Wang Nali glanced back, pulling a small smile. “If I have to go out, I want to lose to the two strongest performers this season. I hope they respect me enough to give it their all and treat me as a worthy opponent.”
