The atmosphere on set was one of jubilation, with joy confined within the studio, making the audience’s faces flush with excitement as they immersed themselves in the grand finale.
As Chu Duxiu’s performance came to an end, the crowd’s exhilaration gradually subsided, and a hint of something unusual began to emerge.
At first, only one or two voices cried out, but they were drowned by waves of laughter. Soon, however, more and more commotion arose, like a swarm of buzzing bees, their sharp stings piercing through the harmony and delight.
“The light—”
“Press the light!”
“She’s already left the stage.”
Someone in the audience shouted a reminder.
Yet, as Chu Duxiu descended the steps, the lights above her remained unlit, still frozen in their three-lamp state, never having fully shone.
The contestants, who had been chatting and laughing while waiting for Chu Duxiu to return, now wore looks of surprise and began scrutinizing the stage closely.
Wang Nali exclaimed in astonishment, “Why are there only three lights?”
Bei He asked, “Who didn’t press the button?”
Scallion said, “Everyone did, didn’t they? Director Lu was the last one—I saw him reach out.”
The knockout round and themed round were crucial, and all four laughter representatives typically pressed their buttons, leaving the outcome entirely up to audience votes.
No matter how Bei He, Lu Fan, and Cheng Junhua performed, they all ended up with four lights—almost like a consolation prize in the finale. Yet, Chu Duxiu alone did not.
During performances, Chu Duxiu had never paid much attention to the laughter or reactions. But as she returned to her seat from the stage and heard the discussions around her, she turned and noticed the missing light. She froze, momentarily stunned.
The scene grew chaotic.
Qi Yunhan, sensing the commotion, leaned closer to Lu Yi beside him and inspected the other’s button. He called for staff assistance, “Hold on, there might be an issue with Mr. Lu’s button—I saw him press it earlier.”
Lu Yi said, “No, it’s not that. I didn’t press it.”
Qi Yunhan was surprised. “Huh?”
Lu Yi explained, “I struggled with it for a long time but ultimately couldn’t bring myself to press it. Her performance was excellent, but I genuinely hope to see an actor who has persisted in stand-up comedy for many years receive tonight’s special honor.”
Upon hearing this, Qi Yunhan, Luo Qin, and Su Xinyi were utterly stunned.
His words sent shockwaves through the venue, instantly dissipating the joyous atmosphere from moments earlier.
In front of the screen, Shang Xiaomei widened her eyes in confusion. “What is Lu Yi saying? I don’t understand.”
Xie Shenci immediately frowned. “Have another guest steer the topic away from him.”
He had a sinking feeling that what was about to be said would hurt more than one person.
Inside the venue, the contestants exchanged uneasy glances, seemingly grasping the deeper meaning behind his words. They stole subtle glances at Chu Duxiu and Cheng Junhua.
Chu Duxiu looked somewhat bewildered but was being comforted by Wang Nali, her expression still relatively composed.
Cheng Junhua, however, had turned pale. His lips were pressed tightly together, his hands clasped and trembling slightly.
The live stream chat exploded into complete chaos.
[????]
[What does this mean? Does he want to choose Cheng over Chu?]
[No way, must every talent show finale be depressing? Is there even rigging in stand-up comedy now!?]
[Low EQ: Why didn’t he press the button? High EQ: There might be an issue with Mr. Lu’s button.]
[I’ve been saying it all along—Cheng was definitely guaranteed to win. He must have signed a contract early.]
[Lu Yi is in the entertainment industry after all—he can’t possibly be that tactless, right?]
[…Damn, now that you mention the entertainment industry, I’m even more scared. They really do lack tact.]
[A perfect example of how one obsessive fan can do more damage than ten haters. Cheng Junhua is in for a world of trouble.]
[Qi Yunhan (neutral) | Su Xinyi (die-hard fan of the Rookie Queen) | Luo Qin (stan of the big shot) | Lu Yi (secret hater)]
The other guests sensed the awkwardness and quickly stepped in to smooth things over, offering Lu Yi a way to save face.
Luo Qin forced an awkward smile and subtly hinted, “Director Lu, the finale is primarily about the contestants’ stage.”
Qi Yunhan chimed in, “After all, we’re just here as laughter representatives.”
Su Xinyi was the most direct. Instead of addressing Lu Yi, she turned to the staff and whispered, “Is it too late to press the button now?”
The staff member replied hesitantly, “I’m afraid so.”
She retorted coldly, “Then what if I withdraw the light I already pressed? I, too, hope that ‘another actor’ can receive tonight’s special honor.”
“Well…”
Her words were clearly a challenge and a direct rebuttal to Lu Yi.
The sudden tension, the guests’ varied expressions, and the confused top nine contestants—all painted a picture of chaos.
Nie Feng watched as the guests removed their microphones and huddled in the corner of the stage. He stammered in disbelief, “Are Su Xinyi and Lu Yi really arguing?”
Staff members formed a tight wall around the celebrities, blocking the view of the contestants and audience. Yet, even from a distance, occasional voices could be heard—sometimes the calm reasoning of Luo Qin and Qi Yunhan trying to mediate.
Of course, the cameras weren’t capturing any of this. Even the live audience couldn’t see what was happening. Only the contestants, from their vantage point, had a clear view of the chaos.
In front of the screen, Xie Shenci ended a call and turned to leave in a hurry. “Lingguo is asking questions. I need to head over there immediately.”
Although Shang Xiaomei had acted decisively by cutting to commercials to mask the situation, it was only a temporary fix. They couldn’t stall for more than a few minutes.
Pausing a live finale was a broadcasting incident—one that would inevitably lead to tough questions. Someone had to step up and manage the fallout.
“Got it,” Shang Xiaomei replied, already overwhelmed, as she spoke into her walkie-talkie. “What’s the situation on the ground?”
A response crackled through the device, faint sounds of argument echoing in the background. “…Mr. Lu refuses to press the button retroactively. Ms. Su wants to withdraw her earlier light. The others are trying to calm things down.”
Both Lu Yi and Su Xinyi held significant sway in the industry, and since their film and television resources rarely overlapped, neither felt compelled to yield to the other.
Their refusal to back down, each on the verge of publicly losing their temper, was severely disrupting the show’s flow.
“We have a full audience here—we can’t just wait for them to finish arguing,” Shang Xiaomei said sharply. “Get them back now. A live broadcast is no joke!”
After a moment, the four laughter representatives returned to their seats. The chaos had temporarily subsided, but an undercurrent of tension remained.
Su Xinyi’s face was frosty, and she remained silent. The hosting duties were taken over by Qi Yunhan, making it clear she was dissatisfied with the outcome.
Lu Yi also wore his displeasure openly—arms crossed, brows furrowed, like an obstinate rock atop a mountain.
The advertisements on the large screen faded, and Luo Qin and Qi Yunhan took charge of moving the process forward.
Luo Qin said, “Welcome back to the live finale of The Stand-Up King. Our voting channel has now closed.”
Qi Yunhan continued, “Next, we will announce the results of the third round. Let’s welcome the four finalists back to the stage.”
Hearing this, the four finalists had no choice but to rise and approach the stage. None of them knew what to expect, and their anxiety was palpable. Chu Duxiu and Lu Fan walked hand in hand at the front, followed closely by Bei He and Cheng Junhua.
Su Xinyi and Lu Yi sat in silence, not a trace of a smile on their faces. It was obvious to everyone that something was off.
Despite Luo Qin and Qi Yunhan’s efforts to lighten the mood, neither the laughter representatives nor the audience were having it. The hushed whispers from below the stage were drowned out by the music, like a sharp, relentless current flowing beneath winter’s icy surface.
Wang Nali asked in confusion, “So the button presses won’t be changed? They’re announcing the votes now?”
Scallion replied, “Then it all comes down to the audience votes.”
On stage, Chu Duxiu, Lu Fan, Bei He, and Cheng Junhua stood side by side. The large screens on both sides lit up with dazzling visuals, accompanied by intense, suspenseful music, building up the drama of the final vote count.
Luo Qin announced, “First, we’ll reveal the audience votes. Please look at the big screen—”
First place: 294 votes – Chu Duxiu
Second place: 276 votes – Cheng Junhua
Third place: 262 votes – Lu Fan
Fourth place: 255 votes – Bei He
Wang Nali cheered, “She’s in first!”
“Not yet—the bonus votes haven’t been added. Each light is worth twenty votes,” Nie Feng said hesitantly. “After adding them…”
Qi Yunhan continued, “The four laughter representatives will now add their bonus votes based on the buttons they pressed—”
In the next moment, the numbers on the screen updated, forming a new ranking:
First place: 356 votes – Cheng Junhua
Second place: 354 votes – Chu Duxiu
Third place: 342 votes – Lu Fan
Fourth place: 335 votes – Bei He
A dramatic two-vote difference—like a curse from fate.
The entire venue erupted in an uproar, buzzing with disbelief.
Chu Duxiu’s eyes widened, and she stood frozen, utterly stunned. Cheng Junhua’s vision went dark, his entire body trembling with unease.
“Congratulations to the winners of the second season of The Stand-Up King! Let’s invite the laughter representatives to present the awards to the top four contestants!”
The audience instantly erupted into chaos, like dry grass set ablaze by a spark. Even the award ceremony music couldn’t drown out the roaring, overwhelming outcry.
“Rigged—!”
“Fair competition! Press the buttons again!”
“Give her light back!”
“Lu Yi, Cheng Junhua doesn’t need your pity—!”
“He’s talented enough on his own!”
Words sharp as ice picks relentlessly struck, hitting everyone’s hearts hard. Even veterans like Bei He, who had experienced the first season and weathered countless storms, had never seen such a chaotic and tumultuous finale.
At this moment, everyone stood united in outrage. Whether they supported Chu Duxiu or Cheng Junhua, they all voiced their fury loudly and without restraint.
The blaze of collective fury startled even Lu Yi. He turned back, visibly shaken, as if he hadn’t anticipated such an intense outburst or that things would escalate so dramatically.
Su Xinyi sat expressionless, making no move to approach the stage for the award presentation.
Left with no choice, Luo Qin took the championship trophy and handed it to Cheng Junhua, forcing a stiff smile. “Now, let’s invite the champion to share a few words.”
The championship trophy glittered brilliantly under the stage lights, sitting just within reach.
Cheng Junhua kept his head down, his expression hidden. He didn’t accept the trophy. Instead, he brushed past it decisively and walked off the stage, his steps slightly unsteady, leaving behind only a solitary, cold figure.
Staff members at the edge of the stage panicked and rushed after him. “Mr. Cheng! Mr. Cheng, where are you going!?”
Qi Yunhan stood helplessly. “This is…”
The second-season champion had walked out live on stage, refusing to even accept the trophy—throwing the already chaotic situation into further disarray.
In front of the screen, Shang Xiaomei rose to her feet and hurried toward the stage, gripping her walkie-talkie as she barked orders: “Get security in position—don’t let this escalate! Tell Luo Qin and Qi Yunhan to control the scene! I’m on my way there now!”
Luo Qin pleaded, “Everyone, please stay calm—”
But the audience had already spiraled beyond control. Eager to confront Lu Yi, they ignored Luo Qin and Qi Yunhan entirely.
Deafening noise flooded the studio, completely drowning out the sound effects and music, as if threatening to burst everyone’s eardrums. Intense emotions ricocheted off the walls and ceiling, agitating everyone present like they’d been thrust into a bloody battle.
The finale had become a chaotic nightmare, catching Chu Duxiu completely off guard. Her mind went blank, leaving only dizziness and disorientation.
A sense of unreality washed over her, as though she were observing everything through the haze of a dream—or like a dying person watching their life flash before their eyes. She felt herself floating mid-air, lifted by the clouds, only to soon plummet dangerously toward the ground.
“No more rigging!”
“Rematch!”
“One more round—!”
Nie Feng listened to the audience’s shouts and frowned. “How could they possibly compete again in this atmosphere?”
Stand-up comedy requires relaxation and naturalness, but the audience had built up barriers, resisting everything with hostility. It was impossible to make them laugh now.
No matter how brilliant the performer, no one could bring laughter in such an environment. It was utterly ill-timed.
Under the harsh lights, Chu Duxiu stood on the stage, feeling for the first time that the glare was unbearable. The gazes of the crowd burned like fire, threatening to scorch her through, leaving nothing but blackened ashes scattered on the ground.
Facing the furious audience, she trembled from her scalp down to her back, her calves shaking uncontrollably. Frozen in place, she was overwhelmed by the uproar, like a stranded fish gasping for air.
The scene reminded her of her very first open mic performance—how Scallion had pointed her out, how she had awkwardly taken the stage, unexpectedly trapped under the spotlight, alone before a crowd of strangers.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
What bitter irony.
She had spoken about friendship. She had spoken about the place where laughter begins. Yet everything had been shattered, and the ending was the complete opposite of what she had hoped for.
The finale wasn’t supposed to be like this. Stand-up comedy wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Should she run away?
At the bustling cocktail party, Cheng Junhua had been the first to leave, while Chu Duxiu had stayed until the end. Now, faced with a similar scene, she wasn’t sure what she could do—but she felt she had to stay.
It wasn’t that she felt no fear or panic, but no matter the outcome of the competition, everyone’s hard work shouldn’t be destroyed.
A sense of unease gripped her: if no one stepped in to control the situation, not only would the show itself be ruined, but stand-up comedy as a whole might also suffer—dragged into the mud, trapped in a world where rumors distort truth, unable to recover.
Someone needed to speak up. Someone needed to take charge.
Intense emotions surged through her veins. The fear had surpassed its limit, paradoxically calming her. It was a familiar, almost nostalgic feeling—when pushed to the brink, she always found clarity, shedding her usual timidity.
Chu Duxiu’s mind, once a muddled mess, gradually sharpened. Her hands and feet steadied, her expression softened, and she politely asked Luo Qin for the microphone.
Luo Qin hesitated for a moment, then handed it over.
Chu Duxiu took the mic, tapped it gently, and a few dull thuds confirmed it was working.
Perhaps because the audience saw her holding the microphone, the roaring waves of noise began to recede slightly. The chaos lessened, no longer as overwhelming as before.
On stage, Chu Duxiu faced the roaring crowd. “Hold on, hold on. The finale is just a game—why is everyone getting so worked up?”
It was as if she possessed a natural ability to communicate sincerely. No matter how chaotic or messy the situation, she could always make people pause and listen, even if just for a moment, temporarily setting aside their frustration and aggression.
Her words caused the arguments in the venue to quiet down—far more effectively than anything Luo Qin or the others had said.
Someone shouted hoarsely, “This isn’t fair—!”
“Champion! Champion! Champion!”
Then, as if sparked by an unseen cue, the crowd erupted into unified chants, rhythmic and intense, like military drills.
Chu Duxiu listened to the overwhelming roar and made a “time-out” gesture with her hand. With a wry smile, she said, “We just talked about how happiness and success shouldn’t be defined by external standards—and now everyone’s screaming for a champion. That’s a little ironic, don’t you think? Makes it seem like I didn’t get my point across.”
She deliberately made a playful, teasing sound, “It doesn’t matter how loud you shout—you’re still part of the ‘external world,’ neener neener.”
Her approachable and childishly mischievous joke dissolved much of the crowd’s anger.
It was like flowers and candy suddenly appearing in the midst of a bloody brawl—sweet, fragrant, and utterly disarming, leaving everyone feeling like they’d punched cotton.
Chu Duxiu continued, “I believe every contestant who came here and gave their all in stand-up comedy did it not for the championship, because…”
“We hold the world’s laughter in our hands. Terrorists flee from our humor! Our jokes are like the Olympic flame—symbolizing light and peace. The moment they echo through CCTV’s Studio One, they spread through radio, television, and new media to every corner of the world!”
“What’s the King of Stand-Up compared to that?”
“In the future, we will all become Kings and Queens of Comedy!”
Her eyes shone with brilliance, her posture was confident and strong, and her words landed with powerful resonance.
The final callback silenced all noise, leaving only her clear voice ringing through the air—carrying an irresistible energy that cut through countless disputes and clamor.
The fledgling bird had finally become an eagle. She no longer needed anyone’s approval to soar freely at the edge of the cliff!
Su Xinyi, who had been tense and stern, now covered her mouth, unable to hold back her tears.
After a moment of silence, the entire venue erupted into applause—thunderous, like ten thousand horses galloping, echoing relentlessly.
Amid the deafening ovation, Shang Xiaomei rushed to the edge of the stage, staring in astonishment at the scene before her. The chaos had already subsided. She looked up, frozen in place.
On the magnificent stage, Chu Duxiu’s silhouette was gilded in golden light. Her eyes glistened brightly, seeming no different from before, yet somehow profoundly changed.
The audacity of youth always evokes nostalgia—the fiery passion of bygone days.
But even more admirable is when youth fades, weathered by trials and scars, yet the courage of the heart remains unshaken.
Tonight, no champion was crowned.
Tonight, there was only an uncrowned king/queen.
