The Greatest Funmaker has not been broadcast yet, and all the information is just hearsay.
After learning about the online buzz, Shanle Culture also began discussions about the third season of the show following the conclusion of their tour.
In the meeting room, everyone gathered to discuss the show’s open auditions and knockout rounds, finalizing the recording time and location. Although it was still early, the venue needed to be confirmed so that the stage design team could begin setting up the stage in advance.
Facing the group, Shang Xiaomei flipped through the documents in her hand and said, “For this season, we plan to change the stage design team we’re collaborating with. Everyone can take a look at the materials. Firstly, we want to incorporate some fresh elements, and secondly, the previous team just finished working on Chengjing’s new show. I feel it’s somewhat inappropriate to work with them again…”
Variety shows operate on a project-based system. Although Shanle has in-house art department staff, they still outsource some of the work.
In theory, it shouldn’t be an issue for different show teams to collaborate with the same partners. However, Director Shang specifically emphasized “Chengjing’s new show,” which immediately made everyone else read between the lines.
Bei He scratched his head and sighed, “They’re absolutely relentless – they want to learn everything from us.”
The Greatest Funmaker’s promotional campaign has expanded to Haicheng, and now there’s even friction over the stage design team.
Lu Fan remarked, “Changing the team is probably for the best. Their recording is scheduled before ours, and if there are any similarities in the stage design, it’ll be hard to explain later.”
Chu Duxiu asked curiously, “Is their show format the same as ours? Also a competition?”
Shang Liang replied, “Pretty much. I heard their first episode was well-received internally. They spent a fortune hiring a writing team – none of them had experience writing stand-up comedy before, but the trial run turned out okay. Since their performers aren’t as strong as ours, they have to rely on external support.”
Knowing that performers like String Bean were somewhat less skilled, Lu Yi decided to invest heavily in collaborating with another comedy team. He had writers study stand-up comedy writing to supply material for the performers on their show.
“They will definitely polish the first three episodes meticulously, otherwise they wouldn’t have started recording so early,” Xie Shenci analyzed calmly. “If we can hold our ground through the first three episodes, we’ll have the advantage – our production experience is more extensive.”
The Greatest Funmaker had just finished recording its first episode, but it was inevitably set to premiere around the same time as The Stand-Up King, sparking a head-to-head battle. By then, Lu Yi and his team would undoubtedly launch aggressive marketing campaigns, boasting about the quality of their initial episodes and potentially overshadowing Shanle’s promotional efforts.
Shanle’s strength lay in production – maintaining consistent content quality rather than relying on overwhelming publicity. If they could withstand the initial barrage from their competitors, the later episodes would undoubtedly achieve higher completion and refinement. At the very least, veterans like Shang Xiaomei and Bei He had been through several cycles of such competitions. Competitive creativity was a test of endurance, not a short sprint.
Xie Shenci added, “True gold fears no fire. There’s no need to panic. Let’s stick to our plan and follow our own rhythm.”
Shang Xiaomei agreed, “Exactly. There will always be imitators, but the key is to surpass ourselves.”
Bei He chuckled, “Who knows? If they go all out with viral marketing, we might even catch a wave of free publicity and save on promotion costs!”
The team cheered each other on, and the atmosphere grew lively. After receiving their respective tasks, they returned to their workstations to busy themselves with preparations for the third season of The Stand-Up King.
As summer arrived, the weather in Haicheng turned humid and stifling. Outside, the thick, sweltering wind made it hard to breathe, but indoors, the air conditioning provided ample relief, offering a fleeting sense of comfort and dryness.
At her workstation, Chu Duxiu stared intently at her computer screen, carefully reviewing Word drafts and occasionally adding comments alongside them. After scanning through the comedians’ segments and sending feedback to the respective writers, she moved on to a new batch of content.
This had been Chu Duxiu’s routine lately. As the head writer for the third season, she not only had to prepare her own material but also lead other writers in reviewing and revising scripts, providing suggestions for the contestants – all to ensure the content quality of The Stand-Up King remained high.
The auditions for the third season have concluded, with a total of 100 contestants advancing. The initial rounds will cut this number in half, leaving only 50 participants for the knockout stage.
This year’s selection process has brought many new faces to the forefront. Inspired by the second season, numerous contestants have chosen to embark on the path of stand-up comedy. Most of them lack competition experience and are eager for guidance, especially upon learning that Chu Duxiu is leading the writing team. Their excitement is palpable – they tirelessly refine their drafts and frequently seek her advice.
Chu Duxiu never directly revises anyone’s script. Instead, she highlights areas for improvement, offers suggestions for refinement, and encourages the writers to develop their own material.
Though she serves as the head writer for the show, her communication style remains approachable and supportive. Unless content crosses a line, she never insists that contestants adopt her ideas. After all, everyone comes from vastly different backgrounds, and imposing a uniform style might strip performances of their unique charm.
Naturally, most contestants deeply appreciate her insights and readily incorporate her feedback. Some even return with revised drafts for further input, praising Chu Duxiu’s guidance and expressing profound admiration and respect.
While Chu Duxiu gets along well with the contestants, she does face one minor challenge: their overwhelming enthusiasm. They often extend warm invitations in group chats, sometimes a little too fervently.
All the contestants have joined the group chat and often engage in casual conversations.
[I can’t rewrite this bit! Let’s pray to Ms. Duxiu for help!]
[Praying +1]
[“Chu rises, the king of stand-up reigns”.jpg]
[“Congratulations, you’ve been chosen by King Chu for the Spring Festival Gala”.jpg]
[We should put up a portrait of her at Wenxiao Theater so we can all bow before going on stage.]
Chu Duxiu stared at her phone, scrolling through the group chat filled with bizarre memes and screenshots of herself: “…”
Since netizens have jokingly suggested that a temple ought to be built in honor of “King Chu” for her contributions to stand-up comedy, the contestants have recently developed a superstitious admiration for Chu Duxiu, frequently sharing memes of her. This has left her feeling somewhat undeserving and embarrassed. She isn’t quite sure what kind of spiritual guidance she can offer, but since everyone means well and it’s all in good fun without any intention to offend, she finds it hard to put a stop to it.
No wonder the veterans in the industry tend to be socially anxious – who wouldn’t feel overwhelmed when surrounded by so many eager contestants seeking advice? It’s enough to make anyone hesitant to engage too much with other performers.
She secretly messaged Bei He: [Bro, you’re the group admin – please control the chaos, SOS.]
Fortunately, Bei He understood the situation and helped defuse her embarrassment.
Bei He: [Friends, let’s try to avoid spamming the group with too many images so we don’t miss any important announcements! The staff is finalizing the menu for the gathering – please remember to inform us of any dietary restrictions!]
[Are we having a contestant gathering? Will the other mentors be there?]
[I have dietary restrictions, and I’d love to see the “Garlic, Ginger, and Scallion” trio at the gathering (doge).]
[Will Bei He, Lu Fan, and Ms. Duxiu all be coming?]
The contestants cheerfully shifted the conversation to the upcoming gathering, much to Chu Duxiu’s relief.
She let out a quiet sigh and returned to working on her material, only to be overheard by someone passing by.
Just as Shang Liang was about to return to his office, he suddenly noticed his “cash cow” sighing and felt an inexplicable sense of alarm. Ever since Xie Shenci had made his shocking declaration, Shang Liang had been paying extra attention to Chu Duxiu, worried that she might be influenced in a way that could even impact the company’s performance.
After a moment’s thought, Shang Liang turned back and walked over to her, asking with utmost concern, “How have you been lately? Are you settling in okay at the company?”
Chu Duxiu was taken aback and hurriedly replied, “Ah, everything’s been fine…”
“That’s good. Since you’re just starting out, if you run into any difficulties, feel free to speak up anytime,” Shang Liang said politely. “You can talk to me, or to Xiaomei or Lu Fan – just don’t keep it bottled up inside.”
Just as long as you don’t talk to a certain someone.
Chu Duxiu said gratefully, “Okay, thank you for your concern, Mr. Shang?”
She genuinely hadn’t expected Mr. Shang to have such a warm side to him – he actually cared about her mental well-being.
Shang Liang spoke with earnest sincerity, “The first two or three years of your career are when you grow the fastest – don’t waste this valuable time. Work should be your top priority. Of course, I’m not pressuring you to never rest, but other matters can wait. Building a solid foundation for your career is what matters most.”
As for distractions like frolicking with cats and dogs, save those for after you’re thirty-five.
Chu Duxiu pondered for a moment before suggesting, “Well… perhaps you would like to take a look at my draft…”
Was he worried that her responsibilities as head writer were affecting her? Or that she might struggle to write her own material?
Shang Liang declined outright, “No need. I don’t understand comedy drafts – your humor is lost on me.”
“Then is there new business opportunities?” Chu Duxiu hesitated, “But I’d prefer not to have too much exposure lately. Saving some buzz for the third season might be better for the show.”
She figured Mr. Shang only cared about matters like these – after all, no one visits the temple without a reason.
“True, the company’s show is more important. Keeping a sense of novelty is wise,” Shang Liang nodded appreciatively. “It’s fine. As long as you have a clear sense of direction and prioritize your work, I’m reassured.”
Chu Duxiu: “?”
The sudden concern left Chu Duxiu utterly bewildered, so she could only chalk it up to management tactics.
Nevertheless, she agreed with Shang Liang’s perspective. With the third season about to begin, building a strong career foundation was crucial. So, she spent two consecutive weekends writing drafts at the company, quietly adding to her workload.
On weekends, the office was quiet and still, with almost no one at their workstations -only the crisp sound of keyboard typing breaking the silence.
Shang Xiaomei and the others had long since moved to a hotel, officially setting up their workspace next to the studio. The number of permanent staff at Shanle’s headquarters had sharply decreased. With the first episode recording scheduled for next week, Chu Duxiu and the rest of the team were also preparing to relocate, busy packing their belongings lately.
At her desk, Chu Duxiu was copying computer files onto a hard drive, planning to take it with her for use during the recording.
She had forgotten to turn on the air conditioning when she entered the office, and suddenly felt a wave of stuffiness. Her cheeks grew warm, and she began to break into a light sweat. Just as she hurriedly stood up to look for the remote, something cool brushed against the side of her face, instantly dispelling the summer heat and sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
“So you are here.”
A familiar male voice sounded.
Chu Duxiu turned her head and saw a fruit-flavored milk tea with strawberry bits and ice shavings. Her eyes lifted to meet Xie Shenci, dressed casually. He dangled the cup in the air, having deliberately chilled her a moment ago, but now feigned innocence and blinked at her playfully.
Chu Duxiu took the milk tea, looking puzzled. “Why are you here?”
The room in her apartment was a bit too small, making it hard for her to focus on writing, which was why she had come to the office. She hadn’t expected him to find her here.
“Just checking to see who’s been monopolizing my company, refusing to leave even on weekends,” Xie Shenci leaned in to glance at her screen. “Working on your material?”
“Yeah, with recording next week, I’m giving it one last pass.”
“Take a break and grab a bite to eat first,” Xie Shenci set a fruit box on the table. “We wouldn’t want it to look like Shanle is exploiting its hottest star.”
The air conditioner hummed to life, cooling the room. The strawberry milk tea was refreshingly cold, and the chilled fresh fruit, neatly cut into pieces, was sweet and juicy, soothing the restlessness brought by the summer heat.
The two sat around the table enjoying the fruit, casually chatting about work and daily life, savoring their afternoon tea break.
Chu Duxiu eyed the plastic fruit container and asked doubtfully, “Did you bring this fruit from home?”
It wasn’t packaged like something from a fruit store but rather in a reusable LocknLock container, as if he had peeled and cut it himself.
“Yes,” Xie Shenci pulled over a chair and sat beside her, helping himself to the fruit. He gazed at the colorful assortment and suddenly remarked, “I suppose I should cherish days like these.”
Chu Duxiu was taken aback. “Why?”
Xie Shenci looked up at her. “I heard that in Wencheng, men aren’t allowed to sit at the table.”
“…”
Chu Duxiu was horrified. “Who told you that!?”
If such a peculiar custom really existed in Wencheng, it should have been recognized as a model of civilizational achievement and promoted nationwide long ago.
“But last time at your place…”
“That’s not a real thing! It was just my dad joking around – pure fun at home,” she hurriedly explained. “He was just being humorous!”
After all, Shi Qin had managed to win Chu Lan’s favor back in the day – he must have had something going for him, far surpassing the average man of his generation. But one exceptional case shouldn’t be used to romanticize an entire gender.
Xie Shenci said, “So, in your household, men aren’t allowed to sit at the table.”
Chu Duxiu replied, “Pretty much, though it’s not a Wencheng-wide thing – more like my dad’s way of poking fun at himself.”
Xie Shenci let out an “Oh” at this, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just thinking about my future.”
“…”
Future? What future was he thinking about?
Chu Duxiu felt her face grow warm and couldn’t help shooting him a glare. But he looked completely unbothered, as if he saw nothing unusual about what he’d said.
A moment later, she cleared her throat lightly and declared with mock seriousness, “Don’t worry, you’ve been granted special permission.”
“Special permission?”
“You’re now an honorary woman. You can sit at the table.”
“?”
After the break, the two discussed the draft for a while. Xie Shenci offered a few suggestions before settling quietly beside her to watch her revise.
Chu Duxiu noted down his ideas, planning to refine them further during an open mic session. She briskly jotted down new inspirations, quickly organizing her thoughts before her attention subtly drifted toward the silent figure nearby.
Xie Shenci seemed wary of disturbing her. He didn’t interrupt at all, sitting perfectly still beside her, his eyes following the text on the screen. He showed no intention of leaving or returning to his own office, lingering instead like a quiet ornament by her desk.
How infuriating. Did he really just come here to deliver fruit?
This makes me want to ruffle him up so badly.
Chu Duxiu felt as though a cat had curled up beside her computer. Once she finished with the draft, her focus had already been stolen away. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the next piece, her fingers itching with the urge to tousle and tease him – to make him understand the perils of human society.
Xie Shenci noticed the screen hadn’t changed for a while. He looked at her, puzzled, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Chu Duxiu protested discontentedly, “Why don’t you have to work?”
“The Labor Law stipulates that workers should not exceed an average of 44 working hours per week. I’ve already surpassed that this week,” Xie Shenci replied calmly, adding, “Even Shang Liang doesn’t work overtime on Sundays.”
Most others had relatively normal schedules and wouldn’t come to the office to work on weekends.
Chu Duxiu frowned, “No, I don’t like seeing you idle. It bothers me.”
She never bothered asking whether Wang Nali or others had work to do, but she simply couldn’t stand him being free. For some inexplicable reason, she felt the urge to stir up trouble.
Xie Shenci looked surprised, “Why?”
“I don’t care, it just makes me uncomfortable. You can’t be idle,” she crossed her arms, deliberately picking a fight. “Mr. Xie, you once promised weekend team-building activities for employees – trips to the suburbs, gatherings, and whatnot. Turns out it was all just empty promises, just a tactic to trick people into signing contracts.”
During the finals, he had said something like “looking forward to working with you.” Who knew it would really just be about working together?
He mentioned that Haicheng had many places worth visiting. Not long ago, the company was busy with the tour, but even after returning to Haicheng, nothing had been organized.
Faced with her accusations, Xie Shenci fell silent for a few seconds before simply pulling out his phone and displaying their chat history. He explained methodically, “The week before last, I asked you what you were doing over the weekend, and you replied, ‘Writing drafts.'”
Chu Duxiu glanced at the screen and noticed that his chat background had been changed to a photo of the two of them. She was momentarily stunned before finally reacting, reaching out in flustered annoyance to snatch the phone. “Why did you set this as your background!?”
How silly would it look to chat with that photo staring back at them!?
But Xie Shenci raised his arm, deftly evading her grasp, and continued calmly, “Last week, I asked if you were going to be writing drafts over the weekend, and you said, ‘Yes.'”
Chu Duxiu ignored him, still focused on grabbing the phone. “Change the background. This photo isn’t flattering.”
Xie Shenci shifted slightly, causing his swivel chair to turn and once again avoid her attempt. “This week, I didn’t ask, but you’re still…”
He turned back, slightly raising his chin to gesture toward the screen. “Revising drafts.”
His voice carried a muffled tone, dripping with unmistakable reproach, as if accusing her of importing the toxic culture of relentless overwork into the company and corrupting Shanle’s exemplary corporate ethos.
Chu Duxiu, caught red-handed: “…”
Fortunately, she reacted quickly and immediately deflected the blame, retorting sharply, “So you should be thinking of suitable office entertainment activities for employees. Just because we can’t go out doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be any plans.”
Xie Shenci stared back at her, wide-eyed. “…No one can actually have fun in the office, right?”
What kind of work-obsessed overachiever could possibly find joy in the office?
“How do you know it’s not possible?” Chu Duxiu had heard plenty of nonsense during her job search, and now she was putting it to use, mischievously tossing it back at him to teach him a lesson. “One should always dare to try. When faced with difficulties, you solve them – how can you just give up and declare that the office can’t be fun?”
Her tone was deliberately provocative. She had decided to take the boss’s usual approach and leave him with no way out.
Xie Shenci, now on the receiving end of upward management from an employee: “…”
He fell silent for a few seconds, momentarily at a loss, before humbly asking, “For example? What kind of entertainment can I provide for you right now?”
He could see it now – she was deliberately making things difficult for him, perhaps even deriving pleasure from tormenting him.
Chu Duxiu was taken aback by the question. Hearing his calm demeanor, she felt a surge of impulsivity. His patience in the face of her demands only made her inner scheming grow louder, stirring up wild and mischievous thoughts.
Her eyes flickered with audacity as she boldly proposed, “…How about letting me rub your head?”
Xie Shenci was stunned: “?”
She extended both hands, wiggling her fingers like claws, as if ready to ruffle his hair. “To vent the frustration from revising drafts.”
“…”
Xie Shenci’s body stiffened. After a long silence, his cold expression softened, and he conceded, “Alright.”
He didn’t understand what was so fun about it, let alone that she was imagining him as a cat. Yet, he lowered his head, yielding to her whimsical demand. His dark eyelashes fluttered slightly as he actually agreed.
Chu Duxiu was instantly overjoyed, just like when she had picked leaves for him back in Wencheng. She reached out and patted his head gently. “So obedient, so good!”
Her touch was light, almost like a dragonfly skimming the water’s surface – far gentler than when she had teased him earlier, more like stroking a small animal.
Hearing the sheer delight in her voice, Xie Shenci was infected by her mood. His heart stirred in his chest, like a calm lake suddenly rippling under the sunlight, soft waves spreading outward.
The next moment, as he felt her hand begin to pull away, he suddenly reached out and caught it, whispering, “Happy now?”
The unexpected gesture wasn’t forceful – it was merely a gentle hold, as if catching a leaf drifting in the wind.
Chu Duxiu instinctively clasped his hand in return. It felt like two separated puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together, without the slightest hint of awkwardness. She could feel the dryness and warmth of his palm.
Her breath hitched. Her fingertips trembled slightly in his hand, a tingling sensation spreading through her, yet she made no move to pull away. Mumbling, she replied, “…Yeah.”
The scorching summer sun and the blazing light outside seemed to pale in comparison to the restless thoughts racing in her heart, louder even than the cicadas’ cries.
“Let’s leave it at that for now,” Xie Shenci said, lowering his gaze, not daring to look at her. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Whenever you have time, you can always come to me. I’ll keep my promise.”
![Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth]](https://i3.wp.com/lazygirltranslations.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/1749931059-7143-I-Am-the-Only-Human-Here.png?resize=151,215 "Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth]")
