Inside the studio, the applause drowned out the laughter, and the response was still enthusiastic.
The top nine contestants clapped while watching Cheng Junhua step down, discussing the brilliant performance just now.
“That ending was an elevation.”
“Not explosive, but lingering in meaning. It’ll be hard to surpass that depth…”
The contestants on-site whispered to each other, and the comment section was just as lively.
[As always, such sophisticated jokes!]
[Feels a bit unsuitable for a final, kind of heavy and over-expressive.]
[Classic Cheng Junhua—humor with hidden barbs.]
[The core of comedy is tragedy. He performed so well, I loved it.]
[Isn’t this more thoughtful than just flashy punchlines? This is true mastery!]
[Sorry, but even Cheng praised the rookie queen endlessly.]
The remaining contestants finished their performances one after another, and before anyone realized, there weren’t many left—Chu Duxiu was scheduled toward the end.
Because of this, the discussion about her in the comment section grew more and more intense. Everyone was waiting for her first-round set, wondering whether she would continue with the semi-final topic or tone it down because of the harsh online criticism.
Wang Nali and Scallion had already taken seats across the stage, waiting for their friend, who was left alone backstage, to go on.
Scallion whispered, “Feels like if she does another opinion-driven set, it’ll clash with the big names’ style—not the best move for the finals.”
Wang Nali replied, “Better to go with something that connects with the live audience…”
The grand finale was live-streamed, so the atmosphere was different, with a stronger emphasis on audience engagement.
Earlier shows had editing and packaging, polished carefully by Director Shang and the team, allowing viewers to watch with focus. But the finals were packed with information—comment streams, reaction shots—making things feel a bit chaotic compared to the refined cuts. In this setting, slow-paced, reflective jokes had no advantage; explosive, high-energy bits would get the best response.
A moment later, the announcement rang out on stage:
“Please welcome the next contestant—Chu Duxiu!”
As soon as the words landed, the whole venue erupted, the audience surging with excitement like a crashing tsunami.
In the audience seats, a senior executive from Lingguo Video was startled. Staring at the ecstatic crowd, he blurted out, “Mr. Xie, this contestant’s popularity…”
Wasn’t it a little terrifying?
Xie Shenci replied calmly, “A small scene.”
In the contestant area, the others were just as shocked by the spectacle and joked, “She’s really blown up! A superstar now!”
Lu Fan voiced concern, “It’s because of that semi-final set, but I’m worried she’s been put on a pedestal. These people might not want to hear anything else…”
Nie Feng agreed, “Yeah. Expectations are sky-high—she might be forced to stick with that style.”
Chu Duxiu’s semi-final performance had stirred massive controversy, earning a tidal wave of attention—but also an avalanche of criticism.
That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She could easily become trapped by public opinion, forced to keep doing the same kind of material. Otherwise, her current supporters might turn on her. Terrified of backlash, she might not dare to speak out again.
To avoid being devoured by the noise outside was like walking on thin ice—one wrong step, and she could fall hard.
On stage, Chu Duxiu’s long hair was tied back, and as usual, she wore bright, casual clothes—looking pretty much like a vibrant college student.
Her expression hadn’t changed at all—no sharp sarcasm, no bitterness, and certainly no trace of depression from the wave of online hate. She was just like when she first joined the show, full of youthful innocence and energy, as she introduced herself, “Hello everyone, I’m Chu Duxiu.”
In the audience, many people started shaking their banners the moment they heard her voice—clearly they had been waiting for this for a long time—and some even shouted loudly:
“Rise, Great Chu! Rookie Queen! Xiu’er, Xiu’er, you’re the strongest!”
“Support the expert’s advice!”
“Everyone advances! Hiring male accountants—”
“Thank you, thank you, you’re all too enthusiastic.” Chu Duxiu looked at the commotion and quickly bowed repeatedly in thanks before calming things down. “These days, I come in two shades of black. The first is the kind of black you get when you laugh at my jokes—dark humor. The second is the black from people who hear my jokes and then blacklist me online.”
She looked helpless and said timidly, “I know a lot of you were hoping I’d keep talking about the semi-final topic, but I’m really sorry—I’m a coward. I don’t dare talk about men anymore.”
Someone in the audience dragged out a loud, disappointed “Aww—”
Chu Duxiu calmly raised her hand. “I’m afraid of being misunderstood, like I can’t write jokes without mentioning them. If you’ve read enough CEO romance novels, you’ll get my worry—I’m terrified they’ll give me that wicked smile and say, ‘Woman, you’ve successfully caught my attention.’”
“Then they’ll wave a hand and sign a check: ‘Here’s five million trending searches. Get out of my world.’”
“I’m just an ordinary girl—I don’t dare roast them anymore. I’m scared they’ll fall in love with me, and it’ll turn into one of those novels.”
The moment she finished, the room burst into laughter.
The playful tone, the unexpected twist—it had the whole audience roaring, and at that instant, a spotlight flared on the stage!
Su Xinyi covered her mouth with a laugh and explained, “Sorry, I know that was a bit quick, but I just couldn’t help it.”
The other contestants, seeing this, were full of admiration.
At first, everyone had gasped, worried that Chu Duxiu might upset the audience—but now, with their hearts finally at ease, they praised her, “Nicely done, total control of the room!”
Wang Nali said with delight, “The atmosphere’s harmonious again. The opening was too chaotic—the audience was way too hyped.”
Scallion added, “She’s always been good at improv.”
Chu Duxiu said, “Let’s talk about the finals. It’s a competition, so no more talking about men. Back in the prelims, I said, ‘Friendship first, competition second,’ because you can’t really compare humor.”
“During recording, I made so many good friends and met amazing seniors that by the time I reached the finals, I started wondering… did I gain too much friendship?”
She hesitated slightly, pacing the stage as if deep in thought.
“Too much friendship can lead to hardship. Then I won’t dare take leadership… and might lose the championship.”
Holding the mic, she sighed theatrically. “So now I regret it. I’m thinking of selling the first two ‘ships’ to buy the last two. Otherwise, maybe I should just change it to ‘Competition first, friendship second.’”
The audience burst into laughter, and the other contestants were laughing so hard they jokingly threw up their hands in protest.
Chu Duxiu put on a conflicted look. “I really want to win—but I’m embarrassed to say it. Especially when all the seniors are so noble—either talking about stepping down from the peak or revealing their weaknesses to shed labels. Makes me look shallow and clueless.”
“This whole scene feels like New Year’s visits during Spring Festival—fighting for the championship is like trying to grab red envelopes. I’ve already got my pocket wide open, while my mouth is still pretending to be polite: ‘Oh no, Bei He, you really shouldn’t!’”
As she said this, she tilted her head away, tugged her hoodie pocket wide open, and twisted her body in exaggerated resistance, nearly contorting herself into a pretzel—drawing laughs with the ridiculous physical comedy.
“Mr. Cheng, you’re too kind. You’re an overseas returnee—you don’t have to go through the motions.”
The next second, she jumped in place, clenching her fists in anxious excitement. “But inside I’m thinking, ‘Hurry it up already! Take your time with jokes, sure—but don’t drag your feet now!’”
“Some of you might wonder: ‘You’re all contestants. Why are you paying them New Year’s visits? Does stand-up comedy still care about seniority?’”
She suddenly froze in place, her face going blank as she deadpanned. “Of course it does. Like a weasel wishing a chicken Happy New Year—there’s always an ulterior motive.”
Laughter exploded across the room.
The second spotlight lit up on stage as the audience, carried by her lively performance, shook off the fatigue of a long recording session and became energized and exhilarated.
The other contestants started to make a ruckus, joking around one after another.
Cheng Junhua, who had just been called out, now covered his face with a fist, trying to look serious—but his eyes curved like crescent moons, a mix of embarrassment and barely hidden amusement.
“Damn… not much technique, but insanely funny…” Lu Fan muttered under her breath, struggling to keep a straight face. “The content feels so real—that’s what makes it hit.”
Wang Nali gloated, “Like the kind of fun you get from watching a good fight.”
“Who’s she calling slow and sloppy?” Bei He laughed instead of getting angry. “So much for the friendship boat—it’s capsized!”
Chu Duxiu spoke in a mock-collapsed tone, “I really want to win—but I’m embarrassed to say it. I’ve always thought one thing was ridiculous. Back in school, we were constantly told, ‘No one remembers second place.’ But when you actually get first place, they still teach you, ‘Don’t get cocky.’ So in the end, third place is the happy one—you get remembered and get to be arrogant!”
“I remember one elective class. The teacher asked a classic question to prove that ‘no one remembers second place.’ He said, ‘Let’s see—what’s the world’s tallest mountain? Mount Everest. And the second tallest? Does anyone know?’”
“I said, ‘K2.’”
“He looked at me and said, ‘Tsk tsk, arts student. Okay, let’s try another. Who’s the world sprint champion, and who’s the runner-up?’”
“I said, ‘Gay, Blake, Gatlin.’”
“He froze. ‘Tsk tsk, sports enthusiast.’”
“Then I said, ‘Teacher, let me ask you—what’s the world’s lowest mountain?’”
“Don’t know.”
“Then who’s last in our class’s 800-meter fitness test?” Chu Duxiu said magnanimously. “Hint: far away, yet right in front of your eyes.”
“Hmm… what’s your name again, it’s right on the tip of my tongue…” The teacher trailed off as Chu Duxiu fumbled around, flipping through pages noisily, hesitating, “…I guess I’ll check the roster.”
When her performance ended, Chu Duxiu suddenly jumped, her voice rising with excitement, speaking with righteous indignation, “See, ‘no one remembers second place’ is a lie! The truth is, no one remembers someone like me!”
“People say champions and big shots claim it doesn’t matter as modesty, but I haven’t won anything, haven’t been anyone important. Saying that would be pretentious and nervous at the same time—let’s call it ‘pretensious.’ It’s like a local-dialect version of humility: clumsy and silly!”
Her quirky dialect and exaggerated style perfectly matched the theme of her jokes, sending the audience into uncontrollable laughter—some nearly in tears from laughing so hard.
Qi Yunhan laughed heartily and hit the third spotlight!
Chu Duxiu composed herself, returning to a calm tone, “Of course, I realize my mistake. I’ve reflected on my own opportunistic thinking. You can’t just feel proud for not winning a championship—you should learn from your seniors. Don’t let yourself get too carried away.”
“So… I hope everyone can give me a chance to correct myself.” She lowered her head shyly, twisting her body as she spoke. “Give me the championship or something—let me be humble for once, speak proper Mandarin on a stand-up show, and prove that I’m reflecting on myself.”
Scallion laughed so hard he slapped his thigh. “Full of tricks! Full of tricks!”
“I really want to win—but I’m embarrassed to say it. You only get choices if you win, but winning might hurt others. The seniors advised me not to overcompete, said the show’s ranking doesn’t matter, don’t be too attached to gain or loss. Life is like taking a ride—there’s the express, the premium, and the private car. Express or private… not much difference.”
“But maybe I can’t afford a ride at all, so I’m on a shared bike. Maybe it even broke down.” She sighed. “No gain, only loss. A walking poet—romantic, but poor.”
Waves of laughter rippled through the audience, never letting up for a moment.
“My situation is like an intern at work. People ask, ‘Why are you working so hard?’ Is it even my choice to work this hard?” Chu Duxiu said indignantly. “You’ve all been promoted, and I haven’t even signed a contract yet. At least give me the chance not to try so hard!”
“It’s like a phone system upgrade—you choose ‘Update Tonight’ or ‘Remind Me Later.’ Sounds similar, but the truth is, if I don’t upgrade to champion tonight, who knows how many years later it might happen? The reminder won’t help.”
“Of course, winning or losing isn’t important. As long as life’s comfortable, I can accept losing.” She said calmly. “Give me 51% of Shanle Corp., and I won’t want to win anymore. Being the company’s lazy ruler is way cooler than being a champion.”
Xie Shenci: “?”
The audience erupted, cheering loudly together. “Wooo—!”
Chu Duxiu said, “I can still buy back the ‘ships.’ After turning them into a ‘partnership,’ I can have ‘friendship’ with anyone—and maybe even gain more friends. Looks like I’m controlling a comedy company, but in reality, I’m controlling a fleet of ships.”
Her voice rang out melodiously as she waved her hand in rhythm. “So, seniors, don’t advise me—go advise the boss to hand over the shares. Tell him life’s like taking a ride: express or private car, same difference. Maybe he prefers walking?”
“Let him leave the rides to us. Winning or losing won’t matter. Once I get the shares, everyone can be a champion, everyone will be sensible… a rotating chairman, you know!”
Her wildly imaginative ideas sent the audience into peals of laughter.
The stage suddenly dazzled—the fourth spotlight finally lit up!
In the audience, the senior executives of Lingguo were also entertained, teasing with interest, “Mr. Xie, can you still host the show next year? Are there enough shares left?”
Xie Shenci replied, “…I’ll try.”
The other contestants, hearing this, also laughed and joked together—truly the liveliest moment of the finals.
Scallion shouted, “Power grab! Revolution! Everyone gets titles and ranks, everyone’s a champion and a board member!”
Bei He added, “Rise, Great Chu! Rookie Queen! Overthrew the boss’s rule—”
“Such a relaxed performance,” Nie Feng said. “Bei He and the bigshot pretend not to care about rankings, but they’re holding back a little. She’s truly letting herself fly.”
The most genuine emotions often move people the most. Even though Chu Duxiu talked about wanting to win, her uninhibited, free-spirited performance released energy more powerfully than any punchline could.
It was a sense of openness and joy that spread naturally to everyone.
On stage, Chu Duxiu remained lively, brimming with youthful vigor—like a young eagle, wings strengthening, poised to soar.
“The finals are just a game. I really want to win, and I can say it proudly.”
“Because I truly believe friendship doesn’t end when the game does. Once it’s over—after the match, the chaos, the laughter—our friendship remains. Outside the show, we still sail together, riding the wind and waves!”
“Thank you all, I’m Chu Duxiu!”
Amid the cheers of the audience, she bowed and stepped off the stage.
