Du Xiu Chapter 45

Below the stage, Chu Duxiu listened to Wang Nali’s lighthearted tone but knew full well the hidden courage and resolve behind her choice to join the first group.

Perhaps she had long understood just how brave her deskmate and friend was—venturing alone to the training camp in Yancheng, boldly carving out a path toward her dreams.

As Wang Nali finished selecting her group and slowly walked off the stage, the murmurs of the crowd lingered behind her.

Scallion, a member of the trio, hesitated and said, “This group… this group…”

This group consisted entirely of people he knew, and no matter who got eliminated, it would be a pity.

Bei He joked with a smile, “Mainly because they don’t think much of us male actors—they believe the first group is the strongest!”

Nie Feng added, “She probably figured since she’s about to leave anyway, she might as well go all out.”

“If she chooses the first group, then Lu Fan and the others are safe—it’s actually a win-win.”

The semifinals would narrow twelve contestants down to eight. At this stage, relying on luck was no longer an option. Each of those eight spots was fiercely contested. Even though Wang Nali had repeatedly scraped through by the skin of her teeth, this time it would be hard for her to cling on. Even Scallion’s advancement to the top eight was uncertain.

With one contestant eliminated from each group, Wang Nali—the weakest among the remaining competitors—had effectively secured Lu Fan and Chu Duxiu’s spots by voluntarily choosing them.

Wang Nali returned to the audience seats and sat back down with the other two, without any of the cutthroat tension one might expect before a competition. They were among the few remaining female contestants in the stand-up comedy scene—where the gender ratio was skewed 4:1—yet they had fought their way step by step into the top twelve.

Lu Fan gently tugged Wang Nali’s braid and smiled warmly. “If my disciple comes to challenge me, as her mentor, of course I have to accept.”

Wang Nali pumped her fist in encouragement. “There are so few of us girls left—let’s put on an amazing set and crush the other groups!”

Chu Duxiu was the only one not laughing. She let out a long sigh, covering her face in distress. “Great. Now the pressure’s all on me.”

Seeing Chu Duxiu’s dejected expression, Wang Nali faltered, thinking her friend was reluctant to face her in the competition.

“If my set isn’t as explosive as last time, you’ll think I respect the big shots but look down on you,” Chu Duxiu groaned, clutching her head. “This is bad. Really bad. I’m even more nervous than last round.”

Wang Nali froze for a few seconds—then burst into laughter and pulled Chu Duxiu into a hug. “You’re right! I deserve the same treatment as the big shots. Let’s make this semifinal a showdown of friendship!”

With the group selections complete, the contestants threw themselves into intense preparation, refining their material at the Wenxiao Theater.

Chu Duxiu had missed some time earlier due to commercial commitments, but recently, she had been fully immersed in the theater, polishing her final sets.

The audience members had all signed non-disclosure agreements to prevent leaks, but few contestants came to test their material. Some feared it would affect their mindset, while others—now approaching the finals—were running low on strong jokes, having already burned through most of their best material in earlier rounds. Everyone was scrambling to write fresh sets.

Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali, however, kept showing up. They spent their days writing together, performed test runs in the evening, and stayed up late revising—day after day.

Backstage at the theater, Wang Nali finished her performance and met up with Chu Duxiu, shaking her head ruefully. “Still not quite working, I think.”

Despite racking her brains to improve, relying on last-minute cramming made it hard to land new jokes effectively.

The downside of barely scraping through each round was that she had already exhausted her best material long ago.

Chu Duxiu stole a glance at her, noticing her frustration again. After a long pause, she hesitantly ventured, “Um… if I may ask something presumptuous…”

Wang Nali looked up. “What is it?”

“…Can I share some thoughts?”

Chu Duxiu spoke cautiously, afraid of upsetting her friend. After whispering the question, she quickly added, “No criticism, nitpicking, or unsolicited advice—just my perspective as an audience member! You can ignore it if you don’t want to hear it!”

Wang Nali blinked at her overly defensive tone. “But we’re competing in the same group—is this really okay?”

The two were set to face off onstage, and if Chu Duxiu helped improve Wang Nali’s material, it would only add pressure to her own performance.

“So it really is inappropriate? Does it come off as me looking down on you?” Chu Duxiu immediately lowered her head, admitting her mistake. “Alright, I won’t say anything then.”

At the Typoon Transit club, she could freely exchange jokes with Scallion—even bluntly pointing out if something wasn’t funny—but with Wang Nali, she was more cautious.

She knew how seriously her friend took stand-up comedy. Though Wang Nali always laughed cheerfully, she deeply cared about her own skill level and might take constructive criticism to heart.

“……” Wang Nali hesitated, conflicted, before finally muttering, “Forget it. Go ahead and say it.”

Chu Duxiu’s eyes flickered uncertainly as she tentatively asked, “Really?”

“Ugh, you and Ms. Lu are just too good. Even if I hear your advice, I probably still won’t catch up,” Wang Nali sighed. “But fine, let’s talk. Did you think it was funny? If not, just say so—I’ll go back and rewrite it.”

Wang Nali had already braced herself. Even if Chu Duxiu didn’t speak honestly, the audience’s lukewarm laughter today had been telling enough.

Chu Duxiu carefully chose her words and said calmly, “Personally, I feel like you’re focusing too much on trying to be funny right now—forcing the performance to make the audience laugh—and as a result, you’ve lost your natural flow.”

Wang Nali replied, “But I rely on physical comedy to get laughs. I’m not a text-based performer.”

“Emphasizing performance is a valid style—there’s nothing wrong with sticking to your strengths,” Chu Duxiu said. “But you’re paying too much attention to the audience’s reaction, desperately wanting to see them laugh immediately. It’s making your pacing too rushed—you’re already moving to the next bit before fully delivering the current one.”

Struck by the blunt observation, Wang Nali lowered her head dejectedly. “Because I want to prove I can do it. A lot of people say they don’t get my jokes, so I try even harder to prove myself.”

Compared to strong competitors like Chu Duxiu, Wang Nali faced far more criticism online, which naturally frustrated her and made her eager to change.

“You can still perform, but is there nothing you truly want to express?” Chu Duxiu said. “Some of your performances are fictionalized, and that’s fine. But I think while the shell of the performance can be fabricated, the core of what you’re expressing should still be real.”

Wang Nali looked thoughtful but not entirely convinced.

“The situations you act out don’t have to be things that actually happened, but the emotions you convey through those made-up scenarios should come from something you genuinely feel.”

This was what puzzled Chu Duxiu the most. Wang Nali was naturally hilarious in everyday life, yet onstage, her focus on performance seemed to bury her authentic self.

Wang Nali scratched her head and began pacing, mulling it over. “I think I’m starting to get it. Give me a second to figure this out.”

Chu Duxiu stayed silent, careful not to disrupt her friend’s train of thought.

After a moment, Wang Nali sucked in a breath, her eyes lighting up as she exclaimed with realization, “Now that you mention it, I just thought of a new idea—but I’ll need to flesh it out. Not sure if it’ll work yet.”

Chu Duxiu replied, “Take your time refining it tonight. Jot down the inspiration first.”

Having finished their run-throughs at the theater, it was time to head back for dinner before revising their drafts later that evening.

Wang Nali nodded and hastily pulled out her phone to record the idea, making sure the creative spark wouldn’t slip away. Once done, she gave Chu Duxiu a once-over, then suddenly reached out and poked her arm.

Chu Duxiu looked puzzled. “What are you doing?”

“Checking if you’re actually an AI,” Wang Nali said mischievously, reaching out to pat her head while studying her intently. “How does that brain of yours even work? Why are you good at every kind of performance?”

“What? No way,” Chu Duxiu muttered as Wang Nali scrutinized her. “You’re acting like someone at a market thumping a watermelon to test if it’s ripe.”

“Oh, it’s true. I’ve kept track—from training camp till now, you’ve tried so many styles, from text-based to physical comedy, and lately you’ve even started blending them.” Wang Nali gasped. “Even the top veterans can’t do that!”

No wonder Cheng Junhua called her an “AI in constant iteration.” She was practically a database, silently absorbing new material and evolving without anyone noticing.

Chu Duxiu started out relying purely on her writing skills—her journalism background made her a sharp wordsmith. But during the semi-themed competition, she also wowed the crowd with an emotionally charged performance. The fact that she could now offer Wang Nali constructive advice showed how much stage experience she’d gained, gradually developing her own insights into performance. She was practically an all-rounder.

Others might not have noticed the transformation, but Wang Nali, having known her from the beginning, was floored.

In her memories, Chu Duxiu used to stumble nervously when called on in class, hesitating before telling a bit about the “Two-dimensional Foil of Stand-up Comedy.” Now, she was like a stand-up comedy version of a Trisolaran—ready to conquer Earth.

Chu Duxiu tilted her head sheepishly. “You’re exaggerating so much.”

“Not even a little.” Wang Nali pressed further, “Where are you planning to go after the competition? Yancheng or Haicheng?”

“Why the sudden question?”

“I’m following you wherever you go,” Wang Nali declared indignantly. “Scallion’s skills have surpassed mine now, and it’s definitely because he got to exchange ideas with you at the club. I never had that geographic advantage!”

After the training camp, Wang Nali had returned to her hometown to practice, missing out on countless face-to-face discussions by not staying at Typoon Transit.

“…Environment does matter, but his performance skills probably have nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t care. I’m sticking to you anyway.”

Laughing and chatting, the two slipped out from backstage, ready to head back for dinner.

The theater corridor they took was the performers’ passage, usually quiet with hardly any audience members—just the occasional staff. But today felt different.

A faint commotion echoed in the distance, some kind of stir. Before long, a dense crowd came into view.

Downstairs, staff hurriedly escorted two masked men toward the theater, shielding them from the excited onlookers behind. Once the theater doors closed, cutting off the outside frenzy, the group finally relaxed with a sigh of relief.

Then, voices rang out from beyond the doors:

“Qi Yunhan! Qi Yunhan!”

“Yunhan, get some rest! Don’t overwork yourself!”

One of the masked men turned at the sound, waving briefly to the fans outside—which instantly sparked another wave of cheers.

Upstairs, Chu Duxiu stood by the railing, staring down at the scene on the first floor, and murmured, “So the finals really are bringing in big names.”

Mr. Shang had mentioned adding celebrities to the finals, but she hadn’t expected actual A-listers.

Squinting, Chu Duxiu recognized the two men entering—Qi Yunhan, a rising star with a massive fanbase, and Lu Yi, a veteran actor who’d recently transitioned into directing.

The show had clearly blown up. Neither of these guests was a small deal.

“Wait, that’s really Qi Yunhan?” Wang Nali leaned over for a better look, eyes bright. “I loved his last drama—think I can sprint down there for an autograph?”

Luo Qin and Su Xinyi, the show’s regular judges, had been thoughtful enough to prepare signed photos and small gifts for the The Stand-Up King’s top 16 contestants.

Now, with Qi Yunhan here too, it was hard not to get hopeful.

“Come on, let’s swing by—even if we don’t get autographs, we can at least check out the eye candy.” Wang Nali grinned. “They say actors look even better in person than on screen. Su Xinyi definitely does—wonder if Qi Yunhan lives up to the hype too.”

Chu Duxiu didn’t mind. To leave the theater, they’d have to pass through the performers’ corridor anyway—right into the path of the incoming entourage.

Sure enough, the hallway grew busier by the second. Staff and security wove through the crowd like a stream of ants, their hurried footsteps echoing.

Wenxiao Theater was designed for open mics, not massive audiences. Its space was modest, with just a few training rooms at most.

Now, with the sudden influx of people, the performers’ passage felt claustrophobic.

In the chaos, Chu Duxiu lost sight of Wang Nali. She glanced around, disoriented, then pulled out her phone to message her—they’d just meet at the entrance.

The noise around her grew louder, signaling an approaching crowd.

Chu Duxiu quickened her pace, trying to avoid the surging flow of people, but instead bumped into another familiar face.

At the corner, Xie Shenci stood in a crisp suit—a far cry from his usual casual style—clearly there to greet someone important. He stepped out just as Chu Duxiu was heading downstairs and paused in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The contestants’ open mic had ended long ago, but Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali had lingered backstage chatting, leaving later than usual.

Stunned by the rare sight of Mr. Xie in formal wear, Chu Duxiu blurted out without thinking, “Uh… checking out handsome guys…”

“…”

Only after the words left her mouth did she realize how absurd that sounded—Wang Nali’s nonsense had literally infected her brain!

Since when did she dare joke around with the boss like this?!

Xie Shenci fell silent for a few seconds, studying her for a long moment before saying, “Qi Yunhan is in the lounge.”

His tone was… odd.

Not exactly cold, but not warm either—just off.

After their stroll through the food street, both had been busy preparing for the finals, leaving little room for casual chats lately.

Yet that strange telepathy between them still lingered. Chu Duxiu could feel it—a faint, indistinct trace of resentment simmering beneath his words.

But she was sure she hadn’t done anything to provoke him.

Chu Duxiu suddenly remembered something and asked, “By the way, Mr. Xie, could you do me a favor?”

“What favor?”

She eyed his unusually formal attire. “Since you’re going to meet the guests, could you get Qi Yunhan’s autograph for me?”

Wang Nali wanted the signature but clearly had no chance.

Xie Shenci, as the host, would have a much easier time—in fact, Qi Yunhan and the others might even be flattered, seeing it as implicit recognition of their status in the industry.

But the moment the words left her mouth, Xie Shenci’s minor sulk visibly escalated into full-blown pettiness. He didn’t outright refuse but crossed his arms and bargained, “What’s in it for me?”