After a beat, Xie Shenci cleared his throat—a transparent attempt to pivot. “You’re quick with the punchlines,” he said. “And sharp on the logic.”
It struck him then: never get into a verbal sparring match with a gifted actor. You’re only testing their stand-up comedy chops—and losing.
Chu Duxiu saw right through his forced calm. “You must really like cold drinks, Mr. Xie.”
A pause. “?”
“Even your compliments come without a smile. If you’re handing out sweet talk, it’s always served ice-cold.”
“…”
Just then, another comedian passed backstage and called out from a distance, “Mr. Xie! Long time!”
The man was tall and rail-thin, draped in loose linen like a flagpole in fabric. A navy painter’s cap sat atop his head, and a wisp of a goatee clung to his chin. His face, all sharp angles, stretched into a grin that looked more like a grimace.
Xie Shenci blinked, slightly taken aback. “Hello.”
The man eagerly extended his hand. “You remember me, right? I’m Caidou—we met last time, with Mr. Nie there.”
“Of course.” Xie Shenci quickly shook his hand, then turned to Chu Duxiu. “Just a moment, I—”
Chu Duxiu nodded, understanding he needed to exchange pleasantries with Caidou and wouldn’t be staying backstage. She’d seen Caidou before at Typoon Transit—another stand-up comic who occasionally performed at bars. Though his style wasn’t her taste, his distinctive look was hard to forget.
Sure enough, after a brief nod to her, Xie Shenci followed Caidou outside. The latter chatted animatedly, throwing a curious glance at Chu Duxiu—an unfamiliar face—before quickly refocusing on buttering up “Mr. Xie.”
So he’s kind of a big deal here.
Not surprising, given that he was basically the boss.
If Chu Duxiu weren’t the type who “fears nothing when wanting nothing,” she’d never have dared tease Xie Shenci earlier. She’d probably be like Caidou—polished, pandering, and subtly jostling for attention, like this was some kind of job interview.
The backstage area grew increasingly chaotic as staff hurried back and forth. By the time the gala began, neither Xie Shenci nor Caidou had returned.
Left undisturbed, Chu Duxiu retreated into a corner, quietly reviewing her script one last time.
The host’s voice drifted faintly from the stage, interspersed with grand, stirring opening music. The event’s introduction included acknowledgments of attending organizations, and when Chu Duxiu heard the name of the company she’d recently applied to, her heart skipped a beat.
It can’t be that much of a coincidence…
Before long, the program director came trotting over. “You’re up next,” she reminded her.
Chu Duxiu moved into position. Standing in the wings, she waited for the host to finish the introductions before making her way swiftly onto the darkened stage.
The theater’s spotlights swept across the stage like cascading silk ribbons, their dazzling white beams converging to illuminate the venue once more. As Chu Duxiu took her designated position, her eyes fell upon a familiar face in the front rows – confirming her earlier foreboding had been tragically accurate.
There sat General Manager Wang, his thinning hair combed over a shiny scalp, his stocky frame overflowing the seat exactly as it had during her job interview. Suddenly, he leaned back in his chair, studying her with a puzzled frown as vague recognition dawned across his features.
The very reason Chu Duxiu had performed at Typoon Transit that evening stemmed from their unpleasant encounter during that daytime interview.
Just how small was Yancheng’s media circle anyway?
Of all people to encounter during her stand-up routine – the very man she needed to roast sat staring up at her from the audience!
The shock lasted but a heartbeat. Chu Duxiu quickly steadied herself, clinging to the slim hope he might not remember her, and launched into her rehearsed routine with practiced professionalism.
Meanwhile, Xie Shenci attempted to bid farewell to Caidou, only to find himself inexplicably detained by the latter’s persistent questions about the program. As they stood in the venue, the host’s introduction echoed through the space, and they watched Chu Duxiu step onto the stage amidst applause.
“She’s a newbie, right? Don’t think I’ve seen her before,” Caidou remarked offhandedly, his eyes fixed on the stage. “Lots of newbies kill it at their first open mic, thinking they’re geniuses—only to bomb at the next venue. Happens all the time.”
Xie Shenci said nothing, his gaze unwavering.
Under the star-bright stage lights, the girl stood in a lemon-yellow hoodie, radiating youthful energy. Her oval face was framed by hair that, though naturally dark, took on a rich chestnut hue in the glow.
Chu Duxiu’s backstage nervousness melted away the moment she stepped onstage, replaced by an ease so natural that had Xie Shenci not witnessed her earlier anxious pacing, he might have mistaken her for a seasoned performer.
With effortless composure, she began: “Hello everyone, I’m Chu Duxiu, a soon-to-be college graduate. Recently I’ve been job hunting, and let me tell you—it’s tough. How tough? About as tough as squeezing onto the subway during rush hour in Yancheng.”
“Here’s how bad it is: One morning I packed a swiss roll in my bag before boarding the train. By the time I got off?” She held up an imaginary flattened cake with her free hand while slowly pacing the stage. “I was holding a pancake.”
Pausing meaningfully, she added, “Staring at that squashed cake, I realized something—just like it, I’m done being rolled thin.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the audience.
“So I’m not just here tonight for the stand-up performance—with so many outstanding MCN companies present, I’m actually hoping to land a job. Don’t worry about me being unable to handle hardship, or about your company benefits being insufficient. We can always negotiate these things.”
She quipped casually, “Even if the career growth potential starts as a swiss roll but ends up as a flat pancake, I’ll still take a bite.”
The atmosphere gradually warmed up. In the front row, General Manager Wang remained stone-faced and immobile, while those around him burst into wide grins.
Unfazed by the mixed reaction, Chu Duxiu felt satisfied with her opening. The theater’s vastness—much larger than a bar—made it impossible to see every audience member’s expression. Testing the waters with her first joke was like tossing a pebble into a lake, watching to see how many ripples it would make.
Now that laughter had come—not total silence—she knew she could continue.
“Some people think this is an exaggeration—’How can a college graduate not find work? You must be too picky.’ But I think this is like writing a thesis—we need to start by defining what ‘work’ actually means.”
Chu Duxiu deliberately slowed her delivery, enunciating each word, “According to the dictionary, work is ‘the process by which laborers convert means of production into means of subsistence through labor, to meet survival needs and sustain social development.’ Sounds a bit convoluted, doesn’t it?”
“If anyone believes laborers work not for survival but purely for social development,” she continued with a helpless shrug, “then yes, I admit—jobs are easy to find. Unpaid work? There’s plenty to go around.”
The cameras in the audience panned across laughing faces.
Chu Duxiu was hitting her stride now, completely immersed in her performance—she didn’t even have bandwidth left to check General Manager Wang’s reaction anymore.
“People online often talk about academic discrimination—how companies look down on those with lower education. But has anyone considered that companies might equally disdain everyone regardless of education level? Even highly educated people get mistreated.”
“There’s this bizarre phenomenon: when hiring, no one dares tell manual laborers ‘I won’t pay you,’ but they have no problem telling fresh graduates ‘Don’t think about salary—focus on learning and growth.'”
Clutching her chest with mock sincerity, she continued, “This always moves me deeply. Even my thesis advisor never said that—he’d just tell me ‘Stop worrying about learning and finish your damn thesis.'”
“The world works in mysterious ways—always pushing work in learning environments, and preaching learning in workplaces. Maybe we should start paying tuition to companies instead, and have university professors handle our social security payments.”
The punchline landed perfectly. Front-row guests maintained decorum with restrained chuckles, while the back rows erupted in roaring laughter so sudden it startled the backstage crew.
Xie Shenci turned to Caidou with a deliberately slow eyebrow raise. “Seems we’ve got an actual genius here.”
Caidou, recalling his earlier dismissive comments, could only stare in silent defeat.
The theater filled with waves of booming laughter, each crest crashing against the next like ocean tides battering rocky shores.
Chu Duxiu waited for the mirth to subside before continuing, “Funny, right? I told this bit to my roommate too. Know what she said?”
“‘I actually did pay tuition to a company,’ she admitted. ‘Just to buff my resume—took an unpaid internship at a TV station. Paid 800 yuan monthly training fees plus rent and transportation. Literally emptied my wallet to go to work.'”
A collective “Whoaa—” rippled through the audience.
“Exactly my reaction too.” Chu Duxiu screwed up her face in mock disbelief. “I said, ‘Is this even work? You can’t survive like this! You’re just… you’re just—'”
She thrust a thumbs-up. “‘Advancing social development! How noble!'”
The callback ignited the room. Building perfectly on her earlier premise, the punchline had the entire audience clutching their sides. Even the production crew behind the control panels grinned as they adjusted camera angles, thoroughly entertained by the routine.
Unlike dedicated comedy shows, award galas present tougher crowds—winning uproarious applause is no easy feat.
But even one solid round of explosive laughter means an eight-minute set has done its job.
As Chu Duxiu exited the stage to resounding applause, she encountered the exhilarated program director—bouncing like a jubilant rubber ball, still riding the high of the performance.
The director gave Chu Duxiu’s arm an enthusiastic tap, her voice pitched with excitement. “That was brilliant! Even we backstage couldn’t stop laughing!”
“Really?” Chu Xiuxiu flushed with surprised pleasure. “…I thought the front rows seemed pretty unresponsive.”
Around them, resting crew members chimed in unanimously:
“Absolutely true—the back rows were dying!”
“Front seats are all corporate execs—since when do they ever laugh?”
“Had us in stitches either way!”
The long awards ceremony had left everyone exhausted, but the stand-up routine had reinvigorated them. The backstage area now buzzed with lively chatter, a stark contrast to the earlier lethargic atmosphere.
Though some had heard drafts during rehearsals, live performances possessed a unique magic. A packed theater inevitably created different energy.
At first, Chu Duxiu suspected polite flattery—only after persistent praise did she realize their admiration was genuine. Facing such direct acclaim for the first time left her both flustered and relieved, the weight lifting from her shoulders.
As long as she hadn’t caused trouble and earned her 500-yuan fee, today counted as a victory.
Performers could leave post-show without waiting for the event’s conclusion. After finalizing logistics with the director amidst laughter, Chu Duxiu gathered her belongings, ready to exit backstage ahead of schedule.
Someone noticed her leaving and quipped, “Taking the subway back? Bringing any swiss rolls this time?”
Chu Duxiu laughed helplessly. “Ate them all—pancakes now, every last one…”
As she waved goodbye, an inexplicable warmth blossomed in her chest—something profound yet elusive.
A single performance had bridged the distance between strangers. Barriers dissolved as weary colleagues shared laughter, their inside jokes now woven from her material.
Perhaps Xie Shenci was right—stand-up comedy truly held magical power.
The awards ceremony continued without her, the director rushing off to duties. Only Chu Duxiu walked away completely unshackled, floating on the night’s unexpected grace.
At the restroom entrance, Chu Duxiu emerged after splashing her face with water. The cool flow brought clarity, steadying her racing heart. Post-performance euphoria always left her limbs weak yet mind hyperactive—she needed this cooldown ritual to recalibrate.
She pulled out her phone to message Xie Shenci: Any other business? Otherwise I’m heading back to campus.
The gala was still ongoing, leaving the restroom area deserted except for echoing distant applause. Only cleaning staff moved through the quiet hallway—until a figure rounded the corner.
A paunchy middle-aged man strode toward the venue while fussing with thinning hair. General Manager Wang, who’d sat front-row earlier, had apparently slipped out too.
Chu Duxiu turned instinctively to avoid recognition—too late.
Just as GM Wang passed, his peripheral vision caught her. He halted abruptly with a hiss, backtracking for closer inspection. “I meant to ask earlier,” he said, squinting. “Haven’t we met somewhere?”
“…”
What kind of twisted luck was this? She’d nailed her performance without a hitch, only to get caught offstage?
Since when did misfortune hit with this kind of rap-style delayed beat?