The three had all finished their performances, and the studio was in an uproar.
The audience was a sea of heads, with laughter, applause, and chatter all blending together, as if they might lift the roof off in the most raucous moment of the entire recording.
Staff members in black poured in from both sides, each wearing the program’s badge, working to contain the crowd’s mounting excitement.
It was difficult to judge Chu Duxiu’s performance that evening.
Even those uninterested in the subject matter couldn’t deny her impact: without flashy tricks or embellishment, she still managed to make everyone feel a sense of power.
The contestants’ area was just as lively, everyone caught up in discussions about the performances.
Cheng Junhua sighed from the heart. “I never expected to see real stand-up comedy on this show—not canned, standardized jokes, but material that could actually be expanded into a full-length set.”
Stand-up comedy is sometimes called “the art of offense.” Its purpose is to provoke and tease, and then, through that, bring the audience insight and reflection. Sensitive topics that are difficult to address in daily life finally find an appropriate outlet here—for example, foreign comedians speaking on issues like racial discrimination or religious belief.
By using humor to dissolve offense and give voice to the unspeakable, comedians strike a delicate balance, and in doing so, create art.
Of course, even within the stand-up community, not everyone agrees with this. Some firmly believe that making people laugh is all that matters, and that sharing perspectives or sparking dialogue is hardly worth mentioning—an argument that remains a long-standing point of debate.
Cheng Junhua, however, is not the type of performer who relies on resonance with the audience. He has always drawn on the realities of society to dig deeper into text and punchlines, often touching on sharp issues in his own solo shows. Naturally, he could appreciate Chu Duxiu’s semifinal performance.
After a moment of daze, Cheng Junhua shook his head repeatedly and gave a wry smile. “Now I’m starting to worry. At this pace of growth, it’s enough to make anyone despair.”
Back in the semi-themed round, Chu Duxiu had relied on emotional resonance. But at some point, she seemed to have a breakthrough—beginning to blend in social observation, her technique and substance growing steadily more refined. If she kept developing, she might well master Cheng Junhua’s style, and perhaps even evolve a new set of traits unique to herself.
It was like facing off against an AI: all of your skills would eventually be absorbed, added to her database, and then iterated into an even stronger version.
Bei He gloated, “Don’t worry—I’d guess it’s the director who’s fretting the most right now.”
He could already guess that when the women’s group announced their elimination later, the audience might just loudly call back “everyone advances,” openly backing Chu Duxiu’s suggestion as an expert.
In front of the monitor, Shang Xiaomei had just finished coordinating with the on-site director and calming the audience’s emotions. Only then did she have a moment to reflect.
She took a deep breath, her scalp tingling, and admitted, “Right now I’m both excited and terrified. Honestly, it’s a good thing the audience here is mostly women.”
Variety show recordings always needed shots of the crowd, and today the audience happened to be female-heavy, most of them seated in the front rows.
“Even if it were mostly men, it wouldn’t matter. We’ve got security staff, plus the crew—we definitely outnumber the audience.”
Xie Shenci, seeming to read her subtext, said calmly, “Most people only find their courage online. Put them in a weaker position, and they won’t say a word. So it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Fair’s fair—your occasional deadpan humor is oddly reassuring,” Shang Xiaomei clicked her tongue. “But courage online isn’t harmless either. Later we’d better discuss how to edit this, because if it airs as is, the controversy won’t be small.”
Shanle Culture had produced the first season of the show, so they knew well how frightening online opinion could be. Even people like Bei He and Lu Fan had suffered from undeserved backlash—let alone someone as outspoken as Chu Duxiu.
After a moment’s thought, Xie Shenci said, “Once recording wraps, let’s discuss it with her directly.”
Soon, the restless audience quieted down.
Su Xinyi and Luo Qin both stepped forward, taking charge of the scene and calming the excitement through casual banter.
Luo Xin laughed and said, “Looks like everyone’s pretty fired up after this group’s performance.”
Su Xinyi added, “They really do deserve for the whole group to advance—I almost couldn’t stop myself from standing up just now.”
“All right, with the three contestants’ performances complete, our voting channel is now closed,” Luo Qin announced. “Would the three of you please return to the stage together—we’re about to reveal the live voting results.”
Chu Duxiu, Wang Nali, and Lu Fan all stood up. Turning their heads toward one another, they exchanged a smile before walking back onto the stage together, waiting for the big screen to display the votes.
Su Xinyi looked over the three of them. From left to right stood Lu Fan, Wang Nali, and Chu Duxiu. She asked, “It’s a rare chance to perform on the same stage—do any of you have something you’d like to say?”
Lu Fan was the first to take the microphone, answering warmly, “No matter the result, for a teacher to see their students perform so excellently is the greatest comfort. The program’s rankings don’t mean much, but a student’s ability reflects my teaching. And when the student surpasses the teacher—that’s the true joy.”
Applause rose from the audience.
Hearing the praise, Chu Duxiu and Wang Nali both felt a little shy. They turned to look at Lu Fan, their eyes glistening with emotion.
Bei He let out a sigh. “Ms. Lu…”
Others might not have understood, but Bei He knew very well—an old veteran returning to the stage in Season Two was certainly not just for the sake of rankings.
After Lu Fan finished speaking, Wang Nali took the microphone. “To be honest, I originally really wanted to make it to the finals, to see the very last stage with my own eyes.”
She went on calmly, “But after this round, I have no regrets. It feels like I’ve already experienced the final.”
The audience applauded while voicing their agreement.
Scallion said, “True, this round might have been even more intense than the quarterfinals. No matter who gets eliminated, it’ll feel like a surprise.”
Nie Feng added, “For everyone in the same group to get three lights—that’s really rare.”
After the first two had shared their thoughts, the microphone was passed to Chu Duxiu.
Holding the mic, Chu Duxiu no longer carried the fervor she had on stage; instead, her demeanor softened. With a faint blush, she touched her face and stammered, “What I wanted to say, I already said earlier. I don’t really have anything left now.”
All of her forceful opinions were poured into her performances. Once she stepped offstage and the show was over, even offering a bit of comedy advice to friends would leave her nervous and hesitant, second-guessing herself as she cautiously studied their expressions.
Su Xinyi smiled. “Has the expert already finished giving advice?”
“Advance the whole group—!”
“The whole group advances!”
“Make it twelve to nine!”
Voices rang out from the audience, followed by a chorus of echoes, like shouts bouncing inside a cavern, rolling together into an overwhelming wave of sound.
Luo Qin hurriedly intervened, soothing the crowd. “Okay, okay, everyone, please calm down. The process needs to be followed step by step—we’ll first announce the votes for this group.”
At his words, the audience quieted, but the contestants began murmuring among themselves.
Someone asked, “What does that mean? What process? There’s another round?”
“Please don’t tell me it’s another knockout battle—I haven’t written a script for a revival round!”
Bei He also looked puzzled, shaking his head.
Soon after, the votes for the women’s group were announced. Chu Duxiu led by a wide margin, creating a clear gap. Wang Nali and Lu Fan’s votes were close, with Lu Fan narrowly edging out second place.
Wang Nali, though eliminated, clapped congratulatingly and appeared mentally prepared. Her farewell words were sincere, “I feel like having one performance that proves yourself is far more important than advancing. You can’t always be said to succeed just because you’re a woman.”
Laughter rose from the audience, followed by waves of sighs as they remembered her elimination.
“I have to say, the live audience really is something else…” Luo Qin looked at the sighing spectators, half amused and half exasperated. “You’re the ones voting, and you’re the ones feeling regret—you’ve stolen all our lines.”
Bei He commented, “Can’t help it. The early gaps were too big. Even if this show isn’t a points-based competition, the audience keeps track in their minds. It’s hard to turn things around with just one round.”
Lu Fan was a steady, reliable contestant. Her impression points accumulated gradually, leaving people with a sense of trustworthiness.
Wang Nali only earned her “tag” in the semifinals. She surprised the audience, but her impact needed time to settle before it could offset earlier rounds.
The finals were likewise a matter of multiple factors. Winning based on a single performance was impossible. By this stage, all contestants had already delivered their best material. One standout performance wasn’t enough—the key was consistent, stable delivery.
Before long, the performances of the top twelve contestants concluded, and the eight finalists advancing to the finals were revealed.
Scallion ranked second in his group, also securing a spot in the finals.
Although other groups were well-prepared, none matched the women’s group in terms of brilliance, and none reached the level of earning three lights in a row—stirring the live audience into excitement once again.
“Revival round—”
“The whole group advances!”
“Supporting the expert’s suggestion!”
Amid the audience’s eager anticipation, Luo Qin and Su Xinyi returned to the stage. Amid the enthusiastic cheers, they announced the final part of today’s recording.
Su Xinyi spoke softly, “Looks like everyone can’t wait. Too bad, there won’t be a revival round today.”
“Ahhh—” came a long, drawn-out groan from the audience, clearly disappointed.
“Today’s recording is coming to an end, but we still have an off-stage segment,” Luo Qin said, glancing at the teleprompter as he spoke smoothly. “After this episode airs, the finals of The Stand-Up King will take place, with the championship live-streamed online.”
“From today until the day of the finals, the official social media accounts will open a revival vote. Audiences across the internet can select one eliminated contestant outside the top eight to advance to the live finals. On the day of the grand finale, we will go from nine to four, then four to one, competing for this season’s The Stand-Up King.”
Su Xinyi added, “Now, the revival voting channel is open. Everyone can take out their phones and vote for the eliminated contestant you like. In the end, the eliminated contestant with the most votes will earn a second chance to compete.”
The audience grew lively, everyone taking out their phones to vote, and even the contestants registered and logged in.
“Can we really vote now?” Chu Duxiu looked at her screen, already seeing Wang Nali’s avatar, and reached out to cast a vote for her friend.
Wang Nali exclaimed, “Wow, is there a chance I could be rescued?”
“Depends on whether your revival votes place high enough,” Scallion said. “Once you make it into the circle, we’ll lift you up.”
Nie Feng offered a candid assessment, “Judging purely from the semifinals, any of the three female contestants who got eliminated should have a good chance to be voted back—far stronger than the other groups.”
Bei He, both amused and exasperated, said, “Mr. Shang really has a ruthless streak—he’s making us salvage another batch of overlooked money trees. Not a single promising seedling can be left behind.”
The advancement list was decided by the live audience, while the revival list was determined by online voters—successfully capturing traffic from both sides.
The semifinals concluded, leaving only the finals, signaling the approach of the show’s end.
At the hotel, everyone was busy preparing the venue. Because the finals would be broadcast live, the studio felt cramped and couldn’t accommodate more audience members, so they needed to move to a brand-new location.
The contestants periodically went to the new venue, adjusting to all the changes while preparing their final-round material.
Chu Duxiu, however, was summoned by the director to go alone to the editing room to discuss her recent performance.
At the door of the editing room, Chu Duxiu spotted Xie Shenci from a distance. He stood alone by the wall, broad-shouldered and long-legged, with a tall, upright posture. His dark top contrasted sharply against the white wall, casting a striking silhouette.
Chu Duxiu hurried along in small steps. Seeing him raise his hand in greeting, she stopped and asked softly, “Mr. Xie, was there any problem with my semifinals material?”
Earlier today, she had suddenly been notified to meet in the editing room to discuss the semifinals’ program edits.
Although she felt her content had been within bounds and contained no inappropriate language, variety shows always went through review, and it was hard to be sure of the limits.
“No major issues,” Xie Shenci said, noticing her tense expression. “Director Shang just had some concerns. I talked to her briefly, but she still wants to speak with you directly to make sure your perspective is clear.”
The Stand-Up King was entirely created by Shang Xiaomei, a labor of love since she moved from the TV station. As the executive director, she didn’t chase sensationalism recklessly; she always maintained certain boundaries to protect the contestants.
It was for this reason that Director Shang hesitated and wanted to communicate face-to-face.
“Okay.” Chu Duxiu was about to knock and enter when she noticed Xie Shenci hadn’t moved. Curious, she asked, “Aren’t you coming in?”
Xie Shenci shook his head, remaining by the wall.
“Even if I say I understand your predicament, any judgment I offer would feel hollow without complete empathy—it’s simply an objective limitation,” he said with a light chuckle. “After all, we’re not actual sis. Some topics are better discussed between you two, and the decisions left to you.”
Chu Duxiu and Shang Xiaomei were both women, but Xie Shenci was different from them. As a company leader, regardless of whether Director Shang considered his opinion, the conversation would feel strange and awkward if he joined.
A male-led discussion on feminist topics tends to feel somewhat incongruous, even comical.
Thus, Xie Shenci wisely stayed by the door, leaving it to them to decide how to handle the editing.
Chu Duxiu froze for a moment, then caught his meaning and teased, “Alright, our honorary sister, barred from discussing matters of state, now can only do some menial tasks.”
“Exactly. I can only follow the female star around, occasionally keeping order and making sure she doesn’t get hurt by an overzealous crowd.”
Xie Shenci’s tone was relaxed. Somehow, he produced a pen and paper, as if prepared in advance, and asked, “So, can the Rookie Queen give me your autograph?”
The paper he handed over was actually a photo of Chu Duxiu—an official promotional shot from the show, printed like a celebrity autograph card, complete with the professional look.
Chu Duxiu listened to the familiar words and stared at her official photo: “?”
Seeing her bewildered expression, Xie Shenci lifted his brows playfully and teased, “If you don’t sign, you’re just being a diva.”
“???”
