In late spring, the season of resplendent blossoms, a hint of summer heat was already faintly perceptible. The asphalt road was flanked by lush trees, behind which small Western-style houses were nestled. The occasional ring of a bicycle bell could be heard – a scenery entirely different from that of Yancheng.
The air in Haicheng was far more humid than in Yancheng, and with it came a richer palette of greenery across the city. The only question was whether the summer temperatures would prove as unbearable as the winters.
A gentle breeze swept through, bringing a wave of coolness. Chu Duxiu quickly clutched her hat, afraid that spring might steal it away. She strolled along the streets for a long while, taking in the sights of Haicheng at a leisurely pace, finally stealing a rare moment of serenity in her busy life.
Thesis defense, packing up the dorm, lending out savings, signing with Shanle, moving to Haicheng – countless tasks threatened to overwhelm her. Now that most matters were settled, she finally had a chance to wander around.
Following Lu Fan’s advice, Chu Duxiu rented an apartment near Shanle Culture. Swiping her card to enter, she found the security reliable, with a concierge available to handle miscellaneous matters. Best of all, since it fell within the company’s housing subsidy, her portion of the rent was quite affordable.
It was said that many employees had stayed here as a temporary arrangement upon first arriving in Haicheng, and some still rented in the building to this day.
The unit itself was a studio, not particularly spacious but equipped with a private bathroom and an open kitchen – suitable for one or two people. Aside from the lack of gas supply and relatively expensive electricity, it had no major drawbacks, and the transportation was exceptionally convenient.
Wang Nali also rented a unit in the same building, though on a different floor from Chu Duxiu. She had even sent her door number and invited her friend over, but Chu Duxiu had been too busy with matters back in Yancheng to take her up on the offer.
Now, with everything gradually falling into place, Chu Duxiu began a slow relocation process. She planned to make several trips between Haicheng and Yancheng for work, gradually moving the last of her belongings from school. Her goal was to completely clear out her dorm before graduation and officially settle down in Haicheng.
On the street, Chu Duxiu glanced at her phone and saw she still had some time before the meeting, so she decided to walk to Shanle Culture.
Following the path ahead, the view suddenly opened up to reveal a bustling commercial district. A moderately tall building adorned with a sunflower emblem came into sight – this was Shanle Culture’s office.
An iron gate stood at the entrance, restricting access to outsiders, requiring facial recognition to pass through.
“Chu Duxiu?”
Just as Chu Duxiu was about to enter, she suddenly heard someone call her name and turned around in confusion. Not far away stood three or four girls, their eyes shining with excitement.
Chu Duxiu didn’t recognize them and hesitated, “Hello?”
“Wow wow wow-” One of them grew even more exhilarated upon hearing her reply, nearly beside herself with joy. “Could you give us an autograph – no, wait, could we take a photo with you!?”
So they were viewers of the show?
“…Sure.”
“Thank you, thank you!”
The group chattered excitedly as they crowded around Chu Duxiu, eagerly stepping forward to take photos with her and even asking all sorts of curious questions.
“How come you’re here? Did you sign with Shanle?” one girl pulled out her phone, pressing close to Chu Duxiu for a selfie while bombarding her with questions. “Aren’t you performing in Yancheng anymore?”
Chu Duxiu was overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, unsure which one to answer first, and quickly found herself stammering.
Fortunately, someone appeared just in time to rescue her.
Bei He seemingly popped out of nowhere, extricating Chu Duxiu from the crowd and guiding her toward the company entrance. “Friends, fellow fans, the company has an urgent meeting – we can’t afford to delay any longer! We’ve got to run, or we’ll get fined!”
His swift interruption effectively diverted everyone’s attention.
Chu Duxiu and Bei He quickly slipped through the iron gate, waved goodbye to the girls through the bars, and then broke into a jog toward the office building.
By the time they reached the entrance, both were panting heavily, finally able to catch their breath.
“You’ve got some nerve, huh?” Bei He said admiringly. “You dared to use the main entrance!”
Chu Duxiu looked puzzled. “Didn’t we used to enter this way before?”
She had visited Shanle Culture before, and back then, everything had been calm and uneventful.
Bei He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t even mention it. Lately, people have been camping out here every day, and I’ve even heard there are ‘fansite admins’ showing up now.”
Chu Duxiu’s eyes widened. “Really? But it’s not like any of us have the looks worth photographing.”
When she had signed her contract, Chu Duxiu and Chu Shuangyou had driven straight into the parking lot without lingering outside, so she had no idea about the situation.
She never expected that stand-up comedians would have dedicated fans taking photos. While it made sense for people to admire celebrities for their looks and take pictures, stand-up comedians rely on talent – what’s the point of taking photos of them?
Unless they’re taking MRI scans of comedians’ brains to admire the humor and wisdom in their neural fibers?
“Anyway, times have changed. The show might’ve been controversial, but it’s definitely broken into the mainstream,” Bei He said. “Rookie Queen… no, wait – the Queen, you need to be mindful of her status now!”
Chu Duxiu wiped her forehead awkwardly. “Bei He, we live in a socialist country, and the show’s already over. Let’s not bring back feudal titles, okay?”
“Alright then, welcome aboard, new colleague – to the blazing inferno that is Shanle! Now that you’ve signed the contract, we can finally reveal the truth!” Bei He spread his arms dramatically and declared without restraint, “The silkworm labors until death its thread to sever, the candle burns to ashes before tears ever dry. Congratulations – you’re about to burn out your youth for the love of comedy, working yourself to death for the great cause of stand-up!”
Chu Duxiu replied, “…It’s fine. I have health insurance now.”
The two made their way toward the elevator, heading to the meeting room while chatting casually along the way.
“I heard your contract negotiations nearly wore Mr. Shang out. You brought along a negotiation expert and completely steamrolled him,” Bei He said with lively interest. “We were all discussing behind the scenes whether you’d even come, since with the Liansheng Group behind you, why bother joining a small micro-enterprise like ours?”
After the finals, the question of where Chu Duxiu and Cheng Junhua would end up had been the hottest topic of speculation within Shanle. While other actors had quietly signed their contracts during the show – except for Nie Feng, who returned to Yancheng – newcomers like Wang Nali and Scallion had all chosen Shanle.
Everyone knew the top two contestants would have different contract terms, much like veterans like Bei He and Lu Fan, who also enjoyed preferential treatment from the company. All eyes were watching closely: if the top-tier actors were willing to join, it would boost everyone else’s confidence in Shanle.
In the end, Chu Duxiu chose to sign with Shanle.
“Well, it’s not like my sister’s company wanted me,” Chu Duxiu joked. “My qualifications aren’t even up to their standard.”
“Ouch, that hurts,” Bei He laughed. “Don’t worry, you can just coast along with us. Your qualifications are more than enough for this company!”
Since it wasn’t a workday, the building was sparsely populated, and the area outside the meeting room was practically empty.
Bei He, familiar with the place, led her inward, passing by a long counter along the way. Two golden trophies were displayed on it, gleaming under the sunlight, immediately catching Chu Duxiu’s attention.
She paused, turned back, and took a closer look at the trophies. “These are…”
She picked up one of the trophies – it felt heavy in her hand, meticulously and uniquely designed, with the inscription: “Season 2 ‘The Stand-Up King’ Annual Champion.”
Hearing her, Bei He turned back and, seeing her examining the trophy, showed a hint of embarrassment. He hurriedly explained, “The finals were such a mess that they didn’t even hand out the trophies. Lu Fan and I came back to the company later and took ours, leaving only…”
Only the champion and runner-up trophies unclaimed.
“I heard Mr. Shang contacted the big-” Bei He scratched his nose and lowered his voice, “Contacted Mr. Cheng, but he never responded. He hasn’t been performing lately either.”
Chu Duxiu gently touched the two trophies. For some reason, a sense of melancholy washed over her. Even though she had already moved past that hurdle, recalling the storm of the finals still stirred ripples in her heart.
Perhaps what lingered wasn’t just the missed award ceremony, but also the loss of the person who should have been there to receive the award with her.
“Do you want to take them?” Bei He asked. “You can take both if you want. It’s not like anyone would dare to stop you.”
“Let’s leave them here for now,” Chu Duxiu set the trophy down softly. “When Mr. Cheng comes to the company, we can have a proper battle to decide who deserves which one.”
Bei He sighed and rubbed his head helplessly. “Now that’s what I call a dark joke.”
Whether Cheng Junhua would ever return to Shanle was still unknown – especially now that Chu Duxiu had signed. Given the controversy that had surrounded both of them, the idea of them working under the same roof felt awkward no matter how you looked at it.
Chu Duxiu smiled faintly. “People need something to hope for while they’re alive.”
She firmly believed that the lights that had dimmed during the finals would eventually shine again, and the person who had left would someday return.
Inside the meeting room, the senior management and key members of Shanle had gathered to discuss the company’s future development plans.
As Chu Duxiu stepped inside and glanced around, she realized she knew everyone present. Just as Bei He had said before, the company’s management was extremely flat – it all came down to these old friends.
Xie Shenci sat at the head of the table. Noticing Chu Duxiu’s entrance, he looked up and met her gaze. To his left were Shang Liang and Shang Xiaomei; to his right was Lu Fan, with empty seats beside her likely reserved for Bei He and Chu Duxiu.
Shang Liang shot Bei He a sharp glare for bringing the cash cow in late but ultimately held his tongue.
“Haha, seems we’re a bit late. The bosses arrived too early,” Bei He muttered dryly. “It’s not like we’re actually late.”
This was an internal small-scale meeting. Aside from the three founders, the attendees were all key performers at Shanle. Bei He and Lu Fan were seasoned veterans who had helped build the company, while Chu Duxiu was now the most recognizable face among them. All three held shares in the company and were deeply involved in its management and production.
With everyone present, the meeting began.
“Although everyone already knows each other, I’ll still make a brief introduction. This is Chu Duxiu, Miss Chu,” Shang Liang raised his hand, proactively moving the agenda forward. “She has just signed with Shanle and will regularly attend meetings from now on, overseeing the company’s writing content. Let’s welcome her aboard.”
The others smiled warmly and applauded sincerely, their gestures genuine.
Shang Xiaomei, Lu Fan, and the rest were already familiar with Chu Duxiu. In fact, if one were to count, Shang Liang was the person in the room Chu Duxiu had interacted with the least, largely because he was mostly tied up with company operations and rarely appeared in the studio.
Chu Duxiu stood up and bowed slightly, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Thank you, thank you all.”
She found the scene somewhat amusing, especially hearing Shang Liang refer to her as “Miss Chu.” It seemed the contract negotiations had truly left a mark on him – even his way of addressing her had changed.
As Xie Shenci watched her take her seat, his gaze softened. He straightened the documents slightly before addressing the main agenda. “Today’s meeting will focus on three key matters. First, the theaters are consistently sold out, with many audiences urging us to add more shows. We need a preliminary plan for the format and content of tours in various cities.”
“Bei He and I have discussed this privately, but the specific details still need to be finalized.”
Bei He nodded. “Exactly, and it’s not just Wenxiao Theater – we also need to consider partnered venues in other cities.”
Xie Shenci continued, “Second is the training camp program, primarily overseen by Lu Fan. We need to decide on the start date and training content.”
Lu Fan acknowledged with a soft “Mhm.”
“Third is the matter of the show. Although the finals have concluded, the online discussions haven’t settled,” Xie Shenci said calmly. “This is also the most critical issue today: whether we should proceed with a third season. I’d like to hear everyone’s thoughts.”
The room fell silent at his words.
Shang Xiaomei pursed her lips, her hands clenched tightly on the table. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, clearly worn out from the recent hectic workload.
“Perhaps we should discuss the show first,” Xie Shenci suggested, noticing the silence in the room. “This decision will shape Shanle’s next steps and also impact the theater tours and training camp.”
Shang Liang frowned, cutting straight to the point. “The Stand-Up King is the company’s flagship program. Whether in terms of exposure or return on investment, it’s currently our highest-performing project. When we seek funding or partnerships, we rely on it as our flagship offering.”
This was a practical issue: to drive the company’s growth, they needed a strong program. The Stand-Up King had already proven itself in the market, carrying lower risks compared to new projects and generating significant cash flow. It was this stability that allowed them to develop new programs and run training camps.
“But continuing it indefinitely isn’t a sustainable strategy – we’ve discussed this before,” Shang Xiaomei rubbed her temples, looking troubled. “Competitions are high-intensity and draining, placing immense pressure on the performers. It’s not really suitable to hold one every year, especially after what happened this time.”
Bei He agreed, “True. Constantly competing clears out our offline material too – it’s not great for theater performances. Once a bit is used on the show, we can’t perform it again.”
Lu Fan reminded them, “But if we wait two or three years, the momentum will fade, and who knows what the landscape will look like then.”
After everyone at the table had spoken, only Chu Duxiu remained.
Xie Shenci looked up at her.
The others, noticing his gaze, also turned toward her, gradually falling silent as they awaited her opinion.
After all, as one of the most affected by the finals, she undoubtedly had the most say in the matter.
Meeting everyone’s eyes, Chu Duxiu stated, “Of course we should do a third season.”
“And the reason is…?”
Chu Duxiu declared with conviction, “I haven’t won the championship yet.”
The next second, the room was struck with awe, and the solemn atmosphere instantly dissolved.
After a brief silence, the room erupted in suppressed laughter – even Shang Liang lowered his head to adjust his glasses.
Bei He was both amused and exasperated. “Well, I’ll be damned. Here we were worried you might have psychological scars, but it turns out you’re way more resilient than we thought!”
“But progress always moves in spirals and waves,” Chu Duxiu reflected. “I think we could hold the competition every few years in the future. But since we’ve run into trouble this year, we should get back up right where we fell – running away won’t solve anything.”
Shang Liang nodded in agreement. “I think Miss Chu is right. The problems won’t disappear just because we cancel the show.”
“Friend, are you really that eager to win the championship?” Bei He said, caught between laughter and disbelief. “The trophy is right outside – you can take it now if you want.”
Chu Duxiu replied calmly, “Yes, I do want to win. But I don’t want to be the only one on that stage receiving the award. I want everyone to have a chance to win.”
The room fell silent once more, taken aback by her words.
“I realized one thing from the finals: no matter who wins the championship, the impact is too small. The glory fades quickly, and the public forgets soon after,” she said softly. “Only when stand-up comedy itself wins can everything truly move forward.”
“So, until this industry is firmly established, we must keep pushing forward—until stand-up comedy claims victory.”
The finals were like a tidal wave, washing away her student-like innocence and shattering the campus mentality of meritocracy.
It was similar to studying happily in school, filled with vibrant hopes for the future, only to step into society and realize that the outside world operates by entirely different rules. Being a student council member meant little, and even winning a show championship had limited impact.
Both she and Cheng Junhua were top performers in their industry, yet faced with the storms of society, they were equally powerless.
This industry was too fragile to be saved by individual heroism alone. Only by gathering every drop of rain to form rivers, uniting the strength of everyone, could it flow onward continuously.
Shang Liang nodded in agreement. “I think Miss Chu is right.”
Shang Xiaomei was moved by these words, her eyes lighting up, but then she remembered something and said, “However, there’s another issue: even if we produce a third season, there’s no guarantee it will be well-received. We must face the fact that the contestants’ skill level determines the show’s ceiling.”
“The highlights of the second season were you and Mr. Cheng. Given the current situation, it’s unlikely he’ll return for a third season,” Shang Xiaomei continued. “The drain on performers has always been a critical problem. Even if we keep nurturing new talent, our reserves can’t compare to those abroad—the industry here is still too young.”
“If it’s just a variety show, isn’t it all about the quality of the material?” Chu Duxiu mused thoughtfully. “The audience doesn’t care about seniority; they just enjoy the performance. Otherwise, someone like me wouldn’t have stood out.”
Lu Fan added, “But truly great material is rare. Even the experience needed to refine bits requires long-term accumulation.”
“What if newcomers bring their drafts, and I help polish them?” Chu Duxiu suggested. “Back at the Yancheng club, I often exchanged feedback and revised scripts with others. Even during the training camp…”
Chu Duxiu’s skills had sharpened through collaboration – whether at the club, the training camp, or during the show’s production. She continuously absorbed new techniques, gradually becoming an all-rounder.
This gave her a significant advantage: she could not only write in different styles but also revise texts of varying tones, much like how she had offered advice to Wang Nali. If she took on the role of head writer and polished the contestants’ drafts, it could greatly enhance the show’s quality – potentially making it just as strong as the second season.
Xie Shenci pondered for a moment before saying, “But there are many contestants on the show. If we do this, the burden on you will be heavy. If you’re also competing, it could affect your own performance – you might not even have time to focus on yourself.”
Bei He exclaimed in surprise, “Yeah, you’d be burning yourself out to light up others!”
“…Is it really that bad?” Chu Duxiu replied with an awkward smile. “But what other options do we have? Find stronger contestants?”
After all, no matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t figure out where to unearth another dark horse with skills rivaling hers or Cheng Junhua’s.
“Oh my, behind such absolute selflessness lies absolute disdain,” Bei He gasped dramatically. “How terrifying!”
She showed no fear of her techniques being surpassed, selflessly sharing her expertise – truly embodying the spirit of a lone master seeking no equal!
“I think Miss Chu is right,” Shang Liang nodded in agreement, never having heard such comforting words. He covered his face with his hand to hide his satisfied smile and murmured quietly, “Indeed, you get what you pay for. This really feels like it’s worth 51% of the shares.”
You pay for what you get – this attitude of taking responsibility head-on was a world apart from certain blame-shifting experts.
Xie Shenci: “?”
