With no one else around to offer an escape, Chu Duxiu had no choice but to turn toward GM Wang, her polite smile brittle.
“Yes, during the interview the other day—” she began, her voice carefully measured.
“Oh! You applied for a job at our company, didn’t you?” Recognition flickered across his face, followed by an approving nod. “You did well up there just now.”
“…Thank you.”
The words should have been a compliment, but something in his tone made her skin prickle. It carried an edge—too smooth, too deliberate—as if laced with unspoken mockery. She hadn’t performed her manic GM Wang impression tonight, so she wasn’t sure if he’d take it personally and fly into a rage. This was an MCN awards gala, after all. She’d sanded down the rougher edges, softened the blows.
He shouldn’t have any reason to take offense. Right?
Yet GM Wang lingered, his gaze lingering on her a beat too long before he spoke again.
“So,” he said, tilting his head. “Was that supposed to be a comedy sketch?”
“Not a sketch—stand-up comedy,“ Chu Duxiu explained, watching the confusion settle deeper into GM Wang’s expression. “Some people here call it ‘talk show’…”
“The hell’s that?”
“In English, it’s ‘stand-up comedy.’”
“Ohhhh, so like crosstalk!” He nodded, as if slotting her into a familiar box. “How long you been doing this?”
She bit back the urge to correct him. There were differences, sure—but more baffling was why they were even having this conversation. Had he really forgotten how badly their interview had ended?
Yet the exchange remained civil, so she obliged. “Not long, officially.”
“Where’d you learn? You got a teacher or something?”
“No, I just—” She caught herself before mentioning open mics. “—watched live shows. And online specials.”
GM Wang fired off a string of questions and listened patiently as she answered each one. Finally, he clasped his hands behind his back and nodded slowly with an air of bureaucratic satisfaction, as though he had just concluded an important inspection.
Just as Chu Duxiu thought she was finally free from this awkward exchange, he suddenly dropped a bombshell:
“Weren’t you applying for a job in our company? Why not come do this instead?”
“Huh?”
“We’re launching a few short video accounts soon—posting jokes and stuff for young people. Seems pretty similar to what you do.” GM Wang made the decision with the brisk finality of a man used to getting his way. “Talk to Zhang Ping about probation salary. She’s the one who contacted you last time—handles HR and admin.”
Zhang Ping was indeed the company’s HR manager. Chu Duxiu was stunned. This was a complete 180 from the furious man who had stormed out of her interview.
Had three days apart really changed him so much?
Had his midlife crisis finally stabilized?
Logically, this should be good news. But the memory of their disastrous interview still lingered, leaving her torn between suspicion and reluctant optimism.
“Got it. Thank you—I’ll check in with Zhang Ping later,” she said carefully, opting for polite deflection.
For now, just play along. Whether to actually take the offer… that’s a problem for Future Chu Duxiu.
“You can start next week, right? Monday’s just two days away,” GM Wang pressed, his tone leaving little room for debate.
“That might be… difficult,” Chu Duxiu hesitated, her mind racing through unfinished uniwork and her family’s relentless push for her to take the civil service exam. Jumping straight into a job now was impossible.
“Why not?” His brow furrowed. “Weren’t you just on stage talking about how you ‘don’t fear hardship’ and ‘don’t care about company benefits’?” A beat. “And we’re even offering you probationary pay.”
His gaze swept over her, impatience creeping into his voice like frost over glass.
That tone—cold, dismissive—was the splash of ice water she needed.
Suddenly, it clicked.
Every ounce of discomfort she’d felt around him crystallized into clarity. The way he looked at her, as if his mere consideration were a gift. As if tossing a few coins at her feet meant she ought to scramble for them, grinning gratefully. As if his condescending curiosity about stand-up comedy obligated her to perform like a trained seal, eager and compliant.
Just like the interview.
Back then, GM Wang had played the reasonable executive for two rounds—only to drop the act in the third, revealing the tantrum-throwing tyrant beneath.
And now, history was repeating itself.
Chu Duxiu instantly made up her mind—there was no way she was taking this job.
“That was just comedic exaggeration, Mr. Wang,” she said evenly. “Stand-up humor relies on irony and satire—it wasn’t an actual commentary on job interviews.”
The fact that he took a punchline literally was absurd enough.
“Besides, I may not be able to accept the offer. I appreciate the opportunity, but it might not be the right fit.”
The moment the words left her mouth, GM Wang’s expression darkened. “Playing hard to get now?” he snapped, disbelief dripping from his voice.
He refused to believe she’d genuinely refuse—to him, this was clearly a power play, some underling trying to squeeze more money out of him. Just last week, she’d been desperate enough to interview here. Now, suddenly, she had the nerve to act reluctant?
“No, that’s not it at all. It’s just—”
Her attempt to explain only made things worse. In his eyes, she was nothing but a disposable junior, and yet here she was, daring to reject him?
“Then why can’t you start?” he demanded, voice rising. “Did you find something better?”
Chu Duxiu froze.
The truth was—she hadn’t.
GM Wang’s expression twisted into outright disdain, as if she’d just proven herself hopelessly ungrateful. He tilted his chin up with a sneer. “Not easy for college grads to land jobs these days. So, which company did you get into? Or are you just bluffing?”
Irritation prickled under Chu Duxiu’s skin. Was he deliberately misunderstanding her, or just that obtuse? The urge to snap “None of your damn business” or fabricate some prestigious employer name to spite him surged—but years of ingrained civility held her back.
Even if she lied, he’d probably see right through it. She could already picture his derisive chuckle.
A bitter realization settled over her: the politeness and honesty drilled into her since childhood were useless out here. Worse—they were weapons others used against her. No one respected integrity; they only took it for weakness.
She knew why GM Wang felt so entitled to bully her. He was the employer; she was just another replaceable grad. In the real world, there were no poetic comeuppances—no “the heavens strike down the arrogant”, no “don’t mock the youth’s poverty” justice.
Maybe I should just lose it and curse him out.
Just as Chu Duxiu was about to throw civility to the wind, a familiar male voice cut in: “Are we hiring here?”
Both Chu Duxiu and GM Wang turned toward the source. A tall, striking young man stood nearby, dressed in sleek black with a wristwatch glinting at his left cuff. He held a translucent document folder—every inch of him polished and effortless.
“Mind if I join?” Xie Shenci arched a brow, his tone light but deliberate. “Though I’ve already invited her several times to join our company.”
Chu Duxiu blinked. “…Mr. Xie?”
Xie Shenci gave her a brief nod before stepping toward GM Wang, hand extended. “Hello. Xie Shenci from Shanle Culture.”
GM Wang eyed him warily but shook his hand. “Hello.”
People carried their identities like fingerprints—Chu Duxiu’s inescapable new-grad aura, Xie Shenci’s innate elite bearing.
And now, in the span of a handshake and exchanged business cards, GM Wang’s gaze flickered over the cut of Xie Shenci’s suit, the watch on his wrist, the title on the card. The calculus was instant: This man matters.
Xie Shenci was the kind of person who’d starve doing stand-up—his natural detachment and intensity made him seem allergic to humor, better suited to boardrooms than punchlines.
So why was he here?
GM Wang’s smile tightened. He couldn’t read the play.
“I overheard you discussing scheduling,” Xie Shenci said smoothly. “Our company is currently producing a stand-up comedy program in collaboration with Lingguo Video, and we’ve been wanting to invite Duxiu to participate. She’s been quite busy lately and said she needed time to consider.”
He turned to GM Wang with polite professionalism. “May I ask what your company does? Perhaps we could discuss compensation first, so she can weigh her options and arrange her shooting schedule accordingly. That way, there won’t be any conflicts between both productions.”
Lingguo Video was one of China’s largest streaming platforms. The fact that Shanle Culture had secured a collaboration with them meant the company was already a significant player in the industry.
GM Wang was visibly stunned. Just days ago, this had been an ordinary college graduate interviewing at his company—and now she needed her “shooting schedule” accommodated?
Chu Duxiu panicked. “What shooting schedule? I don’t—”
She was completely thrown off. This was laying it on way too thick!
“Duxiu is too humble to speak frankly about her commitments, so her polite refusals might have been misunderstood,” Xie Shenci remarked, glancing at her with deliberate calm. “Truthfully, her stand-up comedy is quite renowned in the industry—she just hesitates to boast, worried it might come across as presumptuous. Young people tend to downplay themselves, you know.”
Boss Wang’s jaw nearly dropped. “Really?”
Skepticism flickered in his mind, but faced with Xie Shenci’s unreadable composure and Chu Duxiu’s flustered denial, doubt crept in. What if I’ve underestimated her? This guy was, after all, a company executive—why would he go out of his way to vouch for her unless she truly had merit?
Suddenly, Chu Duxiu’s earlier politeness, her reluctance to mention the show, even her frantic dismissal of praise—all of it took on a new light. What had seemed like naive student awkwardness now seemed like unpretentious humility.
It was like spotting a scruffy vagrant in a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops on a shabby street. Most would assume, “This guy’s broke.” But if that same vagrant suddenly pulled out a ring of property keys and strutted into a luxury boutique, onlookers would gasp, “A millionaire dressed like a beggar!”—perhaps even marveling at how truly wealthy people disdain flashiness.
Right now, Chu Duxiu was the disheveled vagrant.
And Xie Shenci?
He was the jingling keys to a demolished neighborhood—or better yet, the priceless limited-edition luxury item dangling from her wrist. His mere presence reframed her entirely, lending her an unshakable aura of significance.
Xie Shenci gave a measured nod. “But efficiency matters in business—I believe direct communication works best. If you’ve already finalized the project format and shooting schedule, we can discuss which engagement she should prioritize.”
GM Wang faltered. He had no concrete plan to present, much less the nerve to admit his “project” was just low-budget short videos. His company’s accounts hadn’t gained traction yet; his sudden interest in rehiring Chu Duxiu stemmed purely from hoping her performance might boost their follower count.
A strained smile crept onto his face. “I wasn’t aware she had prior commitments. Since you’ve already arranged something, I’ll… step back.”
“No need for modesty,” Xie Shenci said, his tone diplomatic. “Our show’s budget is modest. If your project offers better compensation, of course she should prioritize that.” A faint smile. “She honors her word, but we’d never stand in an artist’s way.”
What followed was a masterclass in performative politeness—until GM Wang, thoroughly outmaneuvered, retreated in disheveled defeat.
With the burly GM Wang gone, only Chu Duxiu and Xie Shenci remained in the hall.
Having witnessed the entire exchange, Chu Duxiu was practically ready to bow in gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Xie! You’re truly chivalrous!”
Words couldn’t capture her admiration for his gallantry. In her mind, he already had a heroic BGM playing—something like “See injustice? Roar and strike! Act when the time is right! Charge forth and send that guy packing!”
Even if Xie Shenci looked nothing like a Water Margin outlaw, his words and actions radiated the spirit of a righteous hero!
“Not chivalry—just crisis management,” Xie Shenci replied evenly. “Can’t let a future comedy star get into a public spat. A decent agent steps in to prevent early-career scandals.”
Chu Duxiu caught the teasing lilt in his tone and sighed. “You’re overestimating me. Was it really appropriate to hype up my ‘industry reputation’ like that? Didn’t it sound… excessive?”
Even now, the thought made her uneasy. While his grand claims had been satisfying in the moment, she couldn’t shake the guilt of being undeserving. Xie Shenci was known for his objectivity—yet here he was, lying through his teeth about her “renowned” stand-up skills. It didn’t sit right with her.
Xie Shenci’s response was dry. “It was fine. Our ‘industry’ is hardly impressive anyway. No clear prospects at the moment.”
“…”
Well. That’s one way to stay objective.
