Du Xiu Chapter 51

With the grand finale approaching, the staff had entered their busiest period—not only did they need to edit and package the latest episode, but they also had to set up the stage for the live broadcast.

The contestants were just as occupied. Besides cooperating with the filming of various finale videos, they also squeezed in time at the theater to polish their competition scripts, bracing themselves for the final sprint of The Stand-Up King, Season Two.

During this time, Chu Duxiu didn’t even need Xie Shenci breathing down her neck—she was already forced to work overtime every day on her scripts. After all, if she didn’t make the effort now, there would be no time to properly prepare for the competition; she’d long been overwhelmed by endless business commitments.

In the hotel room, Wang Nali lay sprawled on the bed, anxiously scrolling through her phone. “Have you booked your return ticket?” she asked.

“Yeah, as soon as Director Shang announced the finale date, I rushed to grab a ticket,” Chu Duxiu replied. “I’ll go back to Wencheng first, then head to Yancheng. I can’t delay the college matters any longer.”

She sent her return schedule to the family group chat and only got a reply from her father, though her mother must have seen it too—they’d probably both come to pick her up.

The show’s recording had drained a lot of her energy. Even though graduates had virtually no classes, the college had piled up plenty of miscellaneous tasks that she had to return to Yancheng to handle.

“So awkward… which day should I book my ticket for now?” Wang Nali stared intently at her phone screen, groaning in frustration. “They still haven’t announced the result of the revival vote.”

She had thought she was definitely out of the competition, but unexpectedly, the production team dangled a glimmer of hope—there was actually an online voting round. Now she checked the page at fixed intervals to monitor the current vote count, caught in a torturous wait.

“Maybe once the episode airs, your votes will soar,” Chu Duxiu said, trying to comfort her distracted friend. “Just book a ticket for after the finals. Whether you make it back or not, you can at least stay to watch the whole thing.”

“True,” Wang Nali muttered after glancing at the time. “Aren’t you supposed to be heading out? What time did you all agree to meet?”

The Top Eight contestants were having a dinner gathering that evening, reportedly arranged by Mr. Shang himself. Naturally, Chu Duxiu had to attend—but Wang Nali wasn’t on the guest list.

“There’s still a little time,” Chu Duxiu said after a brief pause, then hesitated. “…Maybe I just won’t go tonight.”

Leaving Wang Nali alone in the hotel room while she went off to dine with the others didn’t feel quite right. Besides, the Top Eight saw each other every day—skipping one dinner wouldn’t really make a difference.

“Huh? Really?” Wang Nali looked embarrassed at the words. “I just ordered takeout and forgot to include yours.”

Chu Duxiu: “?”

“You should still go. You haven’t even won the championship yet—don’t start acting like a diva.” Wang Nali waved her toward the door, urging her to leave. “I’m fine staying in the room. I’ll work on my set later. If I really make a comeback, I’ll have some fresh material ready.”

Chu Duxiu: “…So while we’re out eating, you’re secretly grinding away, huh?”

“Heh heh, you got it.”

Seeing Wang Nali so carefree and cheerful, Chu Duxiu was reassured that her friend was in good spirits. Only then did she say goodbye and head off to the dinner.

At the hotel entrance, the Top Eight contestants gathered, ready to head to the restaurant.

Chu Duxiu had thought it was just an ordinary dinner. She was walking outside with Lu Fan when they suddenly ran into Mr. Shang, dressed in a suit.

“Chu Duxiu, you take the car on the left,” Shang Liang said after spotting them. “Lu Fan, you take the others in Xiao Li’s car. He hasn’t arrived yet, so wait a bit.”

Lu Fan nodded. “Alright.”

Chu Duxiu actually wanted to ride with Lu Fan, but arguing with the boss over seating arrangements would seem childish. Luckily, Bei He was already sitting in the front passenger seat of the designated car, waving at her—at least it was someone she knew.

Lowering the window as Chu Duxiu opened the door, Bei He rested an arm on the frame and waved lazily. With a mischievous grin, he drawled, “Sorry, folks! This is the champion’s ride—ordinary people can’t get in!”

Lu Fan raised an eyebrow. “Big talk. Hope you don’t end up with a flat tire.”

Listening to the seniors banter, Chu Duxiu was still puzzling over Bei He’s “champion’s ride” remark—when she opened the car door and saw Cheng Junhua sitting inside, she froze for a moment.

Cheng Junhua sat quietly in the back seat. He hadn’t spoken to anyone, but when he saw her get in, he gave a polite nod and a faint smile.

Oh my god, the big boss himself showed up tonight. If she had skipped this, it really would have looked like she was putting on airs.

After greeting Cheng Junhua, Chu Duxiu carefully slid into her seat, feeling a sudden wave of awkward restraint. She rarely encountered such big names at dinners, and had no idea what breeze had blown them in tonight—clearly, this gathering was anything but ordinary.

Inside the car, the two in the back were like mutes, while Bei He in the front kept the atmosphere alive. Turning to the driver, he said cheerfully, “Sir, let’s hit the road!”

Moments later, the car pulled up in front of an upscale restaurant, and the group was ushered into the banquet hall.

The grand hall gleamed brightly under layers of cascading crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling like diamonds scattered across the sky, shimmering with brilliant light.

Several long tables, draped in pristine white cloths, were lined with warming containers already filled with exquisite delicacies, ready for guests to help themselves. Tonight’s dinner was a buffet. Champagne glasses brimmed with pale gold liquid, stacked high into a magnificent display—a delicate little pyramid of sparkling luxury.

This wasn’t just a casual dinner for the contestants—investors were present as well, including executives from the title sponsor.

Xie Shenci and Shang Liang were in charge of hosting, leaving them little time to attend to the competitors. Occasionally, they would bring people over to exchange greetings with the performers and make introductions on both sides.

Even the seating arrangements for the Top Eight were carefully considered. Cheng Junhua and Chu Duxiu, having the highest commercial value, were placed at the front row of the round table, where they frequently had to stand and engage in polite conversation.

“Mr. Cheng, I’ve always admired your comedic style!”

Lu Yi, holding a champagne glass, appeared by the table, causing a small stir. As a well-known actor who had recently transitioned to directing, his name carried significant weight in the domestic entertainment scene—hardly anyone didn’t recognize him.

Guests like Qi Yunhan and Su Xinyi were nowhere to be seen, making Lu Yi’s special appearance at the dinner—and his decision to personally greet the contestants—all the more surprising.

Cheng Junhua hurriedly stood up, clinking glasses with a look of flattered surprise. “You’re too kind.”

Although Cheng Junhua was well-known within the industry, in terms of mainstream popularity he couldn’t compare to an actor like Lu Yi—not even to some third- or fourth-tier celebrities. After all, the stand-up comedy circle was far too niche, hardly a household name.

“It’s really fascinating. I think we could work together—I’ve actually got a project in hand…”

As Lu Yi spoke with enthusiasm, he casually draped an arm over Cheng Junhua’s shoulder, chatting away like an old friend. In his younger days, Lu Yi had strikingly handsome features; now, with age, fine lines crept at the corners of his eyes. His former boyish charm had transformed into an air of worldly authority, like a seasoned big brother who commanded respect.

Cheng Junhua, ever affable, listened attentively, responding with the occasional “Mm, mm,” patient and deferential, without the slightest hint of interrupting him.

Watching the scene unfold, Chu Duxiu saw one speaking and the other listening. The atmosphere appeared harmonious, yet it reminded her of the dinner after the preliminary round shoot.

Back then, she was a complete rookie, seated at the same table as Bei He, Cheng Junhua, and Xie Shenci. She couldn’t get a word in—the gap in experience was too vast, leaving her awkward and powerless.

Now, Cheng Junhua’s silent nods in response to Lu Yi’s chatter were almost identical to how she had been back then.

So, even industry heavyweights could find themselves awkward and on the weaker side when faced with a wide gap in status.

After The Stand-Up King aired and became a sensation, the contestants gained a certain degree of fame, seemingly able to converse with real celebrities as equals. Yet, at its core, there remained an invisible, profound gulf that was nearly impossible to bridge.

They were ordinary people and, at the same time, half-entertainers—a fractured existence that was hard to put into words. Even top contestants like Chu Duxiu and Cheng Junhua were no exception.

Before long, Cheng Junhua’s expression grew weary. He seemed unable to endure the relentless chatter and even shot Chu Duxiu a pleading glance, hoping she could say something to stop Lu Yi from going on and on.

Chu Duxiu was completely stunned by his desperate look.

What could she possibly say?

She didn’t understand drinking-table etiquette either—she could only think: the big shot picked the wrong person!

Glancing around, Chu Duxiu tried to spot Bei He, hoping he would come to the rescue, but not even a shadow of him appeared.

Seeing the big shot’s eyes filled with silent distress, she had no choice but to grit her teeth and seize an opening. Hesitantly, she asked, “Um…Mr. Lu, do you have a new drama coming out?”

Chu Duxiu didn’t know much about Lu Yi’s work, having only watched one or two series occasionally with Chu Lan. Her mother, however, had said that while Lu Yi’s earlier works were decent, his recent projects had been declining one after another—so bad that even she herself couldn’t bear to watch.

Lu Yi was momentarily taken aback, then turned to see her and exclaimed cheerfully, “Yes, yes! There’s a drama coming up—you actually know about it?”

Chu Duxiu forced a stiff smile. “My mom’s a fan of yours.”

Though she was quickly turning into an anti-fan at this point.

Lu Yi’s face lit up instantly. He stopped engaging with Cheng Junhua and instead chatted a few words with Chu Duxiu, briefly talking about his new project. Before leaving, he even waved his hand dramatically and left a signed photo, saying it was a gift for Chu Lan.

After Lu Yi departed, the two of them exhaled in relief and sat back down.

The next moment, Chu Duxiu and Cheng Junhua exchanged glances. They both caught the sly smiles on each other’s faces, as if shy introverts had finally found a chance to steal a breather from a social butterfly, secretly delighted by the small reprieve.

Although they weren’t very familiar with each other—having barely interacted outside of the recordings—they were, by circumstance and status, forced to stand together amidst the glitz, clamor, and superficiality of the event.

“I really can’t stand these kinds of gatherings,” Cheng Junhua said, scratching his head in frustration, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing demeanor. “Why don’t you call Mr. Xie over?”

He normally avoided socializing with other actors, and being forced to attend an investor dinner tonight felt almost like a punishment.

Hearing this, Chu Duxiu’s heart skipped a beat—she didn’t understand what he meant. “?”

Although Chu Duxiu was on good terms with Xie Shenci, she usually restrained herself around others. She had no idea why Cheng Junhua would say this.

Trying to remain calm, she asked curiously, “Why don’t you go call him yourself?”

Cheng Junhua admitted frankly, “I’m not familiar with him either. At least you’ve exchanged a few words—you call him over and he can help block Lu Yi.”

“Hasn’t he already come to Nancheng to see you two or three times?”

“That didn’t really lead to any conversation,” Cheng Junhua sighed. “If you don’t want to call him, you can try to block the attention yourself later—but I doubt socializing is your strong suit either.”

Both of them were clearly averse to fuss and chatter: polite on the surface, resistant in their hearts, ill-suited for a business banquet.

“Let’s play it by ear. Don’t call him for now; we’ll see if we need him later,” Chu Duxiu said, glancing at Xie Shenci. He was calm and composed, chatting with others. “If we call him over now, it might just attract more people and make things feel even more suffocating.”

Cheng Junhua heard this and suddenly understood. He nodded. “You’re right.”

Surrounded by social butterflies exchanging pleasantries, the two of them, unwilling to mingle, simply talked about stand-up comedy.

They didn’t have many common topics—their only connection was this.

Cheng Junhua said thoughtfully, “Your performance in the semifinals was excellent. It completely changed my impression of the show. If you ever do a solo show, I’ll make sure to watch the first performance.”

Chu Duxiu, flattered by the praise, replied shyly, “Oh, it’s nothing…”

“No, really. It’s not just pure comedy—it’s self-expression. To achieve that in just five minutes is impressive,” he said earnestly. “You have a lot of potential. Keep refining your craft after the show. Don’t just follow their path of telling five-minute jokes. If you keep developing, you’ll go much further in the future.”

Chu Duxiu asked, “…You seem to have some thoughts about Shanle?”

She remembered that Bei He had once said Cheng Junhua misunderstood Shanle—and hearing him now, that seemed true.

“I don’t have an issue with the company itself. I’m just skeptical about the commercialization of stand-up comedy,” Cheng Junhua said. “Of course, I know that’s my problem. It’s perfectly fine for talented performers to make money—I’m just a bit pessimistic, always sensing a hint of danger.”

Chu Duxiu nodded in understanding. “So you still don’t like competitions?”

“I’ve gotten much better recently. I’ve realized that a little push really can help improve performance,” Cheng Junhua glanced at her, his tone casual and light. “How’s the script for the finals coming along?”

Chu Duxiu immediately lowered her head, replying vaguely, “Not great… no time, didn’t write well.”

Cheng Junhua joked, “Sneaking updates behind our backs, leveling up secretly, huh?”

“Not at all. You already have solo shows and plenty of material. I can’t compare in the finals.”

The two of them exchanged mutual praise, each unwilling to reveal too much, neither daring to disparage their own scripts. Smiling on the surface, they were quietly holding back their competitive edge.

“Alright then—do our best and leave the rest to fate,” Cheng Junhua said with a relaxed tone. “If I lose, I’ll start over, hand you the title of ‘big shot,’ and join the third season to be the newcomer king.”

Chu Duxiu looked surprised. “You can actually swap that title?”

“Why not? Reality shows can recycle old content—why not stand-up? ‘Big shot’ makes me feel old anyway. ‘Rookie King’ sounds better,” he said with conviction.

“…”

There was no denying that Cheng Junhua’s words, calm and sincere, were infectious. Chu Duxiu no longer fretted over rankings, feeling light and cheerful instead.

Perhaps, a variety competition was just a game—they came to play each year. Win or lose, the next year would come, like an annual assessment of their own skills, without the interference of messy thoughts.

She hadn’t realized at the time that neither her younger self nor the experienced Cheng Junhua had truly accounted for the influence of the outside world. Even if they personally didn’t care, others could elevate them to a dangerous peak, where one misstep could lead to irreparable consequences.

This was the night they communicated the most, and also, in the many years that followed, the most relaxed day of conversation between them.