In the hallway, the staff were bustling about without a moment’s rest, all working tirelessly to manage the chaos of the finals.
Communicating with guests, reassuring the audience, evacuating the contestants, coordinating with the platform, and managing public opinion—it was a sleepless night, and everyone had to work overtime.
Although Chu Duxiu had successfully taken control of the situation, it didn’t mean the crisis was over. The court of public opinion was undoubtedly a greater challenge, one that could potentially destroy the show’s reputation and standing.
In the restroom, Chu Duxiu splashed her face with cold running water, feeling utterly weak and drained, as if her energy had been completely depleted. With two performances during the finals and the unexpected turn of events after the button press, she had poured all her efforts into calming the audience, leaving her emotionally exhausted.
She couldn’t even remember how she had made her way out of the chaos. Without asking Wang Nali to accompany her, she had slipped away alone to rest here. She couldn’t think, couldn’t react—all she could do was use the cold water to soothe her frayed nerves.
Was this a nightmare?
It was time to wash her face and wake up.
Chu Duxiu stared at her reflection in the mirror, droplets of water still glistening on her skin, her hair slightly damp. She had no idea where she had found the courage earlier—she had never dared to argue with GM Wang on the streets before, yet just moments ago, she had spoken those bold words in the studio.
This was the first time she had stepped out of her performance persona, blurring the lines between the stage and real life, and spoken with such unrestrained audacity.
It wasn’t thought out; it was pure instinct. Fortunately, it had worked out by sheer luck.
Impulse was a devil, but impulse was also a cure.
After taking a moment to collect herself, Chu Duxiu left the restroom and made her way back to the contestants’ lounge through the staff corridor.
Countless staff members, clad in lanyards, hurried past her, only managing to raise a hand in brief greeting as they rushed by.
Amid the bustling crowd, a familiar figure emerged, escorted by talent managers, walking directly toward her. He had changed into a tracksuit jacket, the hood pulled tightly over his head, obscuring most of his face. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and his head remained bowed—a picture of someone fully armored against the world.
“B-Big…” Chu Duxiu faltered, her throat tightening, before she corrected herself, “Mr. Cheng.”
The talent managers halted, observing the exchange between the two.
Cheng Junhua lifted his gaze, and for a moment, their eyes met. After a few seconds of silence, he was the first to look away, avoiding her stare. His pale complexion, chapped lips, and distracted demeanor had completely shed their usual ease, replaced by a heavy, guarded shell.
The sight struck Chu Duxiu like a needle. She wanted to say something, but words felt barren and stiff. Her lips parted slightly.
Yet nothing came out.
She wanted to say, “It’s really okay,” but it would have sounded hollow. Both of them knew all too well that some things couldn’t be brushed aside so easily.
Even if there were no barriers between them, returning to how things used to be was no longer possible.
Silence hung heavy between them.
Finally, Cheng Junhua spoke up, his voice low. “…Sorry.”
A moment later, his figure was swallowed by the bustling crowd, like a tiny drop of water engulfed by waves, helplessly carried away by the tide.
Chu Duxiu watched him leave, feeling as though she, too, were but a drop of water in a vast and boundless world—powerless to change its course, swept along and tossed by raging waves, waiting in anguish for the day the sea would finally calm.
The storm would eventually pass, but what remained after the rain cleared was something no one could predict.
Her fingers clenched tightly, as if trying to grasp onto something, then slowly relaxed.
What was once a promise of a third season now left only regret.
The chaos of the Season 2 The King of Stand-Up finale not only set live-stream comments ablaze but also dominated trending lists across major platforms.
In an instant, most of the top searches were related to the show, with headlines ranging in tone from serious—like “Chu Duxiu and Cheng Junhua,” “Lu Yi and Su Xinyi,” and “The King of Stand-Up Rigging Scandal”—to the outright irreverent, such as “Lu Yi Needs Help,” “The Button Broke,” and “Low EQ Moment.” No matter which topic users clicked on, the discussions were fervent and widespread.
Amid the surge of attention and vitriol, the internet seethed with outrage, flooded with expletives directed at Lu Yi, with only a handful of comments refraining from explicit language.
Beyond the curses, the finale’s shocking twists—Cheng Junhua’s silent exit, Chu Duxiu’s impromptu speech to salvage the situation, and the unresolved winners—kept netizens buzzing with speculation and debate.
[Stand-up comedy really is the art of offense, and this time, every performer lost. All the offenses from the entire season combined couldn’t top Lu Yi alone.]
[Mind-blown. I hate this world where amateurs boss around professionals!]
[Chu: The show’s dignity is solely propped up by me.]
[She carried the whole season’s buzz—Shanle should be bowing to her. And they say she’s not the champion??]
[The life of an intern being exploited in the workplace.]
[Cheng Junhua should find a temple to pray at, get some talismans to ward off shady people. Though that “shady person” has long bloated into a “fat person.”]
[So dramatic. Cheng was so scared he climbed back to his silent mountain peak overnight, afraid to come back down.]
[Was Lu acting? Who in the entertainment industry says something so tone-deaf??]
[Let’s demystify celebrities sooner. Even if he had emotional intelligence, he wouldn’t waste it on contestants. Do bosses show EQ toward their workers? It’s just like a day job—they know you’re trapped, so they arrogantly “bless” you!]
[For real, my boss is exactly like Lu Yi—arrogant, clueless but pretentious, always spouting nonsense.]
[Looking back at the finale now, Chu was such a prophet—where the joke began.]
[WTF, did Lu Yi not listen to any of the bits Be He, Cheng Junhua, or Chu Duxiu did? Or did he just not get them? Who would want to win like that? I’d be so pissed!]
[Blacklisting this show. Gonna leave a bad review. A legendary variety show fallen from grace—and I used to watch every episode on time.]
[Ugh, I’m mad too but I can’t let go. I don’t want the contestants I like to be sad.]
[I’m the opposite—after the finale, it’s legendary to me. Not for the result, but for the performers.]
[Is Lu Yi not afraid of getting cursed out?]
[How daring! Mere netizens and stand-up comedians dare to curse the noble 208W (slang for overpaid celebs)!?]
[Face reality—even the show’s hottest stars, Chu and Cheng, are no match for minor celebrities. They’re just ordinary people. The stand-up comedy circle is too small. Once the show’s hype fades, no one will care. We’ve seen it all before with past talent shows…]
[True, the internet has no memory. So, in our limited time, let’s curse out Lu Yi a few more times.]
[Cursing is pointless?? Let’s boycott his new drama! If he shatters our contestants’ dreams, we’ll smash his rice bowl!!]
Furious netizens overwhelmingly condemned Lu Yi, with some even expressing desires to “skin him alive and feast on his flesh.” The backlash was so intense that Lu Yi’s Weibo comment section was completely overrun, and the official account of his upcoming drama was also stormed, forcing it to disable comments overnight.
Countless people spontaneously called for a boycott of Lu Yi’s new project and demanded a public apology to the four finalists!
Although fans of Chu Duxiu and Cheng Junhua had their own disagreements and ongoing disputes, their shared animosity toward Lu Yi—the one who sparked the controversy—was undeniable. For once, both sides set aside their internal conflicts and united in targeting Lu Yi and his projects.
This became a historic moment in variety show history: fans of both the champion and runner-up, despite their anger, joined forces after the finale—an unprecedented phenomenon that caught the attention of countless onlookers.
Even those who had never watched the show were drawn in by the spectacle.
[Stand-up comedy’s battlefield roses???]
[Season 1 fights: Village brawls; Season 2 fights: Dimensional strikes (like in The Three-Body Problem).]
[I’m out of the loop—why are the champion’s fans still attacking the judge?]
[Sorry, as a Cheng fan, let me clarify: Season 2 only has a third and fourth place—there’s no official champion or runner-up. They’re collectively called the top two contestants.]
[So who won?]
[Watch it and you’ll understand—everyone lost.]
[As a Chu fan, I’d say it’s a win-win situation. Everyone’s the Comedy King.]
[…Are comedy show fans just experts at finding joy in misery?]
[Are Cheng and Chu fans so pissed they’ve lost their minds? If you’re angry, just vent—your calmness is lowkey terrifying.]
Of course, while the die-hard supporters of both sides united against a common enemy, they couldn’t silence the whispers and speculation swirling around them. Numerous rumors continued to gain traction.
Cheng Junhua’s anti-fans insisted that he and Lu Yi were secretly in cahoots, suggesting that a collaboration might be announced soon and that the finals drama was orchestrated to boost his market value. Rumor had it that Lu Yi was in the process of setting up a comedy company and might be leveraging the stand-up comedy trend for strategic investments. Cheng Junhua, with his extensive industry experience, was allegedly Lu Yi’s ideal partner.
Chu Duxiu’s anti-fans claimed that her sensitive material had angered authorities, but since higher-ups couldn’t address it openly, they had instructed Lu Yi and the production team to manipulate the votes to prevent someone with controversial views from winning. They speculated that she might even face a ban in the future, arguing that “underhanded tactics won’t get you far.” In their narrative, Lu Yi was portrayed as a righteous force meting out justice, specifically targeting those who “stir up gender conflicts,” and deserved to be hailed as “Brother Lu.”
The show’s anti-fans alleged that Cheng Junhua had signed a contract with Shanle Culture before filming even began, securing the championship in advance—otherwise, he wouldn’t have agreed to participate. However, since he wasn’t officially tied to Shanle, his independent commercial activities had reportedly angered the company. On the other hand, Chu Duxiu, a newcomer with no connections, had allegedly refused to sign with Shanle, and her rising popularity made higher-ups nervous, sparking their ire as well. The theory went that “one move took out two rivals”—eliminating performers who couldn’t be controlled by Shanle to prevent them from being poached by other companies.
Speculation ran rampant, fueled by hearsay and exaggeration.
Putting aside the extreme insults and malicious speculation from all sides, the Season 2 finale of The King of Stand-Up truly broke through the bubble, evolving into a widely discussed social phenomenon.
What began as outrage from dedicated fans gradually transformed into reality-based analyses. The dramatic and absurd conclusion, while seemingly ridiculous, mirrored situations all too common in everyday life.
Many people went out of their way to watch the episode, sparking debates across various platforms and delving deep into the finalists and guests involved. As a result, the show’s viewership soared.
Rational Discussion: The Finale as a Microcosm of a Cruel Society—The Powerful Crushing the Vulnerable
Rebirth: Returning to the Stand-Up Finale—Besides Kicking Lu Yi Out, Is There a Way to Fix This?
Analyzing Lu Yi: Psychopathic Tendencies After Years of Frustration—A Puppet’s Obsession with Controlling Others
Shanle’s Gross Negligence: The Flaws in the Rules
Setting aside anger and rumors, some rational netizens revisited the sequence of events, attempting to objectively dissect the chaos.
[It’s such a shame. Chu Duxiu represents the classic struggle of a talented individual being suppressed. Despite her highly socialized and adaptable personality, she still fell victim to seniority-obsessed old guards. Lu Yi is her polar opposite—he spent over a decade acting in obscurity before finally gaining fame in middle age and recently transitioning into directing. He simply can’t relate to Chu Duxiu’s experience; it’s a miracle he doesn’t resent her outright.]
[I have such mixed feelings right now. It’s a shame how the championship turned out—she truly deserved first place. Part of me wants her to return next season, but another part feels it’s pointless since she’s already proven herself this season. It’s like wanting a toy from your childhood as an adult—the magic is gone.]
[I actually think this outcome is fitting. A rising star doesn’t need validation from an outsider—none of the guests were worthy of awarding her. In my heart, she’s already the champion, the undeniable TOP1. Having her receive a trophy from anyone else would only tarnish her talent.]
[Cheng Junhua must be utterly disgusted. He and Lu Yi are nothing alike, yet Lu Yi’s self-pitying narrative forced him to take the blame. Honestly, their personalities are worlds apart—Cheng is sensitive and principled, and I suspect he can’t stand people like Lu Yi…]
[What Lu Yi admires isn’t Cheng Junhua the person—it’s the symbol of “stand-up comedy royalty.”]
[Now I’m worried—will we ever get to see Cheng Junhua’s special?]
[Why couldn’t the production team just void Lu Yi’s vote? Why even invite celebrities in the first place!? The directors bear major responsibility for this mess!]
[Shanle has tried shows without celebrities before, but the reality is—no star power, no audience. Those projects got axed after just a few episodes. Voiding Lu Yi’s vote isn’t the solution either—the rules themselves aren’t flawed. Taste is subjective; the other guests were simply more conscientious and fair with their votes. Lu Yi’s actions weren’t illegal or even a “scandal”—just a reflection of his own incompetence and lack of tact.]
[Void Lu Yi’s vote? Here’s a scary thought: the annual income of any single guest probably surpasses Shanle’s entire profits. Never underestimate the power of 208W.]
[If you’re truly angry, go support live stand-up shows. This industry is incredibly vulnerable and needs audience support—not just outrage that fades away. Don’t let public opinion batter these performers only to forget them later. I’ve always believed it’s a distorted market that gives people like Lu Yi wealth and status, allowing them to casually belittle ordinary contestants.]
[The fact that Chu and Cheng’s fans united to target Lu Yi shows how fragile the stand-up scene is—both sides feared their voices wouldn’t be loud enough to hold the real culprit accountable. Otherwise, they would’ve turned on each other first.]
[Pessimistically speaking, if this happened in any other industry, no one would even be cursing Lu Yi today. It’s only because the stand-up world is still relatively pure—most performers historically earned very little, and those who persisted did so out of passion and integrity. It’s a haven for idealists, which is why the finale played out as it did. I don’t understand those curse Cheng—at worst, he wasn’t as decisive as Chu, but he did nothing wrong.]
[Those cursing Cheng are probably just frustrated Chu fans angry about her lost championship. She had terrible luck—not only did she not win, but she also got mocked by that toxic man. Just look at how the trolls are celebrating…]
[I don’t think those cursing Cheng are true Chu fans—they might just be criticizing the unfairness of the show. Anyone who truly understands her and her finale material wouldn’t say such things. All things are complete within me—where laughter begins, there’s actually more to it.]
[Exactly. Many say Chu’s style is about genuine resonance, but to me, she’s deeply philosophical—her material is rich with meaning.]
[Mencius: All things are complete within me. Through self-reflection and sincerity, there is no greater joy. By striving to practice forgiveness, one comes closest to benevolence.]
[Rough translation: I possess everything within myself. Introspection with honesty brings the greatest happiness. Persisting in empathy is the nearest path to virtue.]
Wencheng. A bright, clear day with a gentle breeze.
In the kitchen, Shi Qin was busy mixing dough, adding water as he worked. One hand pressed firmly against the steel bowl while the other kneaded the mixture, occasionally thumping it down with a dull, rhythmic thud. The sound soon drew company.
Chu Lan darted into the kitchen and gave Shi Qin a sharp slap on the back. “Do you really have to make such a racket first thing in the morning?” she scolded, her tone dripping with frustration. “What if you wake her!?”
Shi Qin sighed. “Xiuxiu would’ve been up by this time when she lived at home. Besides, it’s not that loud—”
“She’s been competing for months—she might want to sleep in!” Chu Lan fired back. “You never bother with anything anyway, but after everything that’s happened, how can you act like it’s business as usual? What kind of father are you!?”
“Then what should I do?” Shi Qin asked helplessly. “I have to make food so we can eat. Youyou said she’s coming back too—we can’t just starve.”
“Eat out!” Chu Lan declared without hesitation. “Finish those dumplings and freeze them. We’re not eating at home today!”
“But Xiuxiu said yesterday she wanted to sort her things. She might not have time…”
“She’s upset and doesn’t feel like it! All the more reason to take her out to clear her head. If she stays home scrolling through her phone all day, reading those comments… it’ll break her heart. How can you be so clueless?”
“Alright, alright. I’m the clueless sinner here, unlike you, so perceptive and magnanimous,” Shi Qin retorted, pursing his lips. “And I wonder who was the one shouting about wanting her to win first place.”
“I—I was just saying that! How was I supposed to know she’d make the finals…” Chu Lan’s expression shifted, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face. “You don’t think she’s upset because of what I said, do you?”
Shi Qin chuckled. “Who knows? You always blurt out things in the heat of the moment, hurt people, and then regret it afterward. What’s the point? Remember how you fought with her before—only to let her go in the end? And yesterday you were crying your eyes out.”
Chu Lan had no comeback. She could only shoot him an exasperated glare.
In the room, pale golden sunlight streamed through the window, warming the quilt with a gentle glow.
Nestled in the soft bedding, Chu Duxiu stirred and slowly opened her eyes, too lazy to get up just yet.
The familiar room, the familiar sheets, the familiar scent—all of it soothed the weariness and anxiety that had weighed on her lately.
The night before, she had unexpectedly dreamed a pleasant dream: playing with the big black cat from her childhood in the yard, bidding a reluctant farewell as the sunset painted the sky. In a rare gesture, the black cat leaped down from the wall and followed her for a few steps, all the way to her doorstep.
When she woke, Chu Duxiu lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of home, feeling an inexplicable sense of peace.
After the tense and absurd finale, she hadn’t stayed in Haicheng. Despite Director Shang’s attempts to persuade her otherwise, she had insisted on returning to Wencheng as originally planned. Partly because she didn’t want to endure others’ pity, and partly because time was tight—she needed to pack her things and return to campus. Having already lost the championship, she couldn’t afford to lose her degree too.
She had arrived at the airport late at night and spotted her parents waiting from afar. Before she could even utter a word, Chu Lan had burst into tears and hugged her tightly. Chu Duxiu had never seen her mother cry like that—great big tears rolling down her cheeks, choking too hard to speak.
Chu Duxiu hadn’t shed a single tear on the finale stage—perhaps because those who loved her had already cried all the tears and heartache for her.
Her family didn’t bring up the show or the promised championship. Instead, they chatted about ordinary, everyday things, and she rested soundly once they got home.
The little “good-for-nothing” had ventured out into the world, hoping to prove herself useful and eco-friendly, only to retreat right back into her comfortable “pile of trash,” completely surrendering to the comfort of home.
After lazing in bed for a while, Chu Duxiu pulled out her phone and idly checked WeChat. She noticed Xie Shenci hadn’t replied, and for a moment, she wondered if he might be upset with her.
After the finale, Xie Shenci had messaged her, asking her to wait awhile so they could talk privately. He mentioned he was tied up with something urgent and needed time to handle it.
Chu Duxiu figured they were all swamped, dealing with the aftermath of the chaos. So, she sent a polite, formal reply, assuring him she was fine and that he should focus on his work—effectively sidestepping the suggestion of a meeting.
They were both too busy with pressing matters—there was no need to wait around for each other.
But his silence since then had left her confused.
Had her wording been too stiff? Did he think she was sulking?
If she’d known, she would’ve sent a meme yesterday—maybe then her message wouldn’t have seemed so dry. Would sending one now feel forced?
After wrestling with her thoughts, Chu Duxiu decided to set her worries aside for the moment and not dwell on it any longer. She got out of bed and left her room, intending to start packing, but was immediately met with her mother’s beaming face—a stark contrast to her usual stern demeanor, now radiating warmth and kindness.
Chu Lan smiled brightly. “Let’s wait for your sister to get home around noon, then all go to Xian’er Zhai for lunch! You love their fresh shrimp, don’t you? We’ll order a bunch of dishes and have a proper celebration.”
Xian’er Zhai was a renowned restaurant in Wencheng, known for its daily fresh seafood and upscale local reputation—though it was also relatively expensive, usually reserved for birthday celebrations.
“Shuangyou is coming back? Wouldn’t it be too exhausting for her to go straight to a restaurant after just getting home?” Chu Duxiu asked doubtfully. “And there’s nothing really to celebrate—Xian’er Zhai is pretty far, too.”
“I already talked to her, and she said it’s fine! We’re going to Xian’er Zhai!” Chu Lan insisted eagerly. “What do you mean, nothing to celebrate? As long as we’re alive, every day is worth celebrating! Happiness is reason enough!”
She didn’t mention a word about the runner-up title, as if Chu Duxiu had never even been on the show.
“…Alright, let’s go then.”
Overjoyed by her response, Chu Lan raised her voice and called out to Shi Qin, “She said yes! She’s going! Check the car later—make sure we don’t run out of gas halfway!”
After breakfast, when Chu Duxiu finally had a chance to talk with her parents, she realized her status at home had skyrocketed.
Instead of her usual sharp remarks, Chu Lan was unexpectedly attentive and caring—offering to help Chu Duxiu pack, questioning why she was in such a hurry to return to school (“your diploma isn’t going anywhere”), and even suggesting she take more time to relax at home after her thesis defense instead of immediately preparing for civil service exams or job hunting. Stay in Wencheng and unwind for a while—it’s not like we can’t support you, she insisted.
It was true: sometimes you had to threaten to tear off the roof just to get a window open. Chu Lan, who had once worried about Chu Duxiu’s unstable career prospects and insisted on a “secure iron rice bowl” job, had now been so shaken by the show’s turmoil that her only fear was that her daughter might lose the will to keep going. All her previous demands had vanished.
Even after witnessing Chu Duxiu’s powerful speech during the finale, Chu Lan interpreted it as a brave front—a fragile child forcing herself to appear strong, while sadness festered beneath the surface.
Faced with Chu Lan’s sudden warmth, Chu Duxiu couldn’t help but reflect on life’s absurdities. She had always thought winning the championship would be the key to this kind of treatment, but reality had turned everything upside down.
She hadn’t won the title, yet her mother was finally speaking softly to her.
All those years of wanting to rebel, to prove herself, to earn her mother’s approval and concession—and now, through entirely unexpected means, she had gotten what she once dreamed of.
Of course, maybe she was just being difficult. Now that Chu Lan was being gentle, she found herself strangely unsettled by it.
On the sofa, Chu Duxiu watched as her mother shelled nuts for her and suddenly asked, “Mom, did you watch the show?”
Chu Lan’s expression instantly shifted. She evaded the question, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere, “Oh, what show? What are you talking about…”
Chu Duxiu said dejectedly, “After all my hard work, you didn’t even watch it?”
Chu Lan hurriedly confessed, “I did! I watched all of it!”
“So, what did you think?”
Chu Lan praised enthusiastically, “It was great! You performed really well—absolutely no issues at all!”
“Do you really mean that? Do you actually find stand-up comedy interesting?” Chu Duxiu lowered her gaze, skepticism in her voice. “Or did you just not understand it and have no idea about my skill level…”
Fearing her daughter might lose heart, Chu Lan quickly insisted, “Who said that? I understood it perfectly, and it was fascinating! I never got it before, but now I find it really entertaining. Your skills are top-notch—you totally captivated the audience! Even I felt inspired and almost wanted to try performing myself!”
“Really?” Chu Duxiu paused, then proposed, “Well then, why don’t you tell me a joke to cheer me up?”
Chu Lan fell silent: “?”
Seeing her mother frozen in place, unable to respond, Chu Duxiu immediately put on a pitiful act, rolling around on the sofa and pretending to cry. “Tell me a joke, tell me a joke! I’m so disheartened and depressed right now—I need to hear one of Mom’s jokes to feel better!”
Chu Lan stared at her daughter’s shameless antics, recognizing the blatant manipulation: “…”
After a long silence, her fists clenched involuntarily. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Do I look like a joke to you?”
