Chapter 3

Her apple cheeks were a bit big, and when others were sad, they had two lines of clear tears. I had four, plus the Indian lines; even crying felt effortless.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore and shouted to the audience, “The guy sitting in the last row, the last time you sat in the first row and didn’t laugh, and now you’re hiding in the last row—are you afraid of hurting me?”

Under the gaze of everyone, the man crossed his arms, his knit hat covering his eyes, and didn’t say a word. Gu Yi thought carefully about whether she had offended this man anywhere or if they had met before in another situation. No, they hadn’t. Although she really wanted to say something more, she felt that continuing would be personal attack, and comedy should be funny, not mean. She smiled and said, “Just to confirm, you don’t have any physical or mental... I mean, you can still change your expression, right?”

The man nodded, and it was clear that he could laugh. Gu Yi, standing five meters away, could only think of one word—bright-eyed and beautiful. The audience particularly liked interactive segments, especially when men and women exchanged words from a distance.

“I’ll ask one more thing—do you have any personal dissatisfaction with me?” Seeing him shake his head, Gu Yi scratched the back of her head and laughed self-deprecatingly. “So why are you here? The tickets are hard to get, and you’re not laughing. Are you here for some kind of spiritual practice?”

The bar erupted in laughter, with enthusiastic audience members urging, “Get together, get together!”

Gu Yi bowed and left the stage. “I dare not, I dare not. If a stand-up comedian were with such a handsome guy, people would doubt my professional ability and think I only got him because of my looks, right? That would greatly undermine my stand-up career.” Gu Yi changed her tone to sound like a gentle threat. “You definitely have to come next time. After the show, I’ll leave you my contact info. Don’t be scared, I’m just curious to know which joke will make you laugh.”

Of course, she didn’t leave her contact info—it was just a joke for the crowd. She had even asked Yu Dule to confirm that this man really had come for the second time and had just happened to catch Gu Yi’s performance. The ticket lottery for Ounce was extremely difficult; how many people were timing their applications? A week only allowed one show to be selected, and the performers were a blind box, only revealed when the program was announced.

Yu Dule, however, was very enthusiastic. “I think it’s fate, you ended up performing here last minute.”

Gu Yi sniffed. “Opportunities are for those who are prepared. Did I prepare, or did he?”

“Fate,” Yu Dule said, raising his eyebrows mysteriously.

In order to test fate, Gu Yi kept applying for open mic spots for the next week—performers, like the audience, were chosen by lottery—but, amazingly, she didn’t get selected even once. She had a lot of material ready in the office, enough for a solo show, but recently, the other performers at Ounce had been very vocal, so she never got her turn. While waiting for the open mic list to come out, she received feedback from a client on WeChat: “Lindsey, what about the content list for Q1 next year? We’re disappointed. Although your prices are high, the turnaround is slow, and communication takes too long. But this time, we’re especially unhappy with the theme. We need a new copy. The colors in the long image aren’t upscale enough, and the font is too big. We don’t like the flashy gold brand, we need a story, depth.”

Although the feedback was mostly complaints, the “but” part was full of more dissatisfaction and didn’t form a complete transition. Gu Yi was already used to the client’s complaints and knew the biggest mistake was sending the PPT too early. The “Ideal Home” magazine was still in her drawer, and she hadn’t had time to look at Liang Daiwen’s interview. A month had passed without opening the drawer—she didn’t dare to, because opening it meant she’d want to meet the real person, and to meet him, she’d need to get selected for the open mic. Gu Yi was getting anxious.

It’s a woman’s instinct to be drawn to handsome men, especially when words like “fate” were attached, making all the coincidences seem like the workings of destiny. Gu Yi spent her time compiling material in the office, staring at her file transfer assistant, and her thoughts wandered: “Love is such a wonderful thing for the imagination, even before it starts, the expectations can create a galaxy of mosquitoes around the Earth.”

An intern kept sending her private messages: “Hurry up and recall it! You sent it to the company group!”

Having not been selected for open mic for a month, Gu Yi grew impatient, and her thoughts about Liang Daiwen were magnified. The night of the open mic, she couldn’t help herself and said during her opening, “Let me confirm the fate—Is that guy, who never laughs at my shows, here today?”

The lighting technician even turned on the spotlight. Gu Yi surveyed the room and joked, “It’s alright, he’s not here today. For those who have come before, there’s always one audience member who chooses to appear at my shows and never laughs. It’s like they’re here to cure some illness. That illness is the inability to laugh.” She sighed theatrically. “Sigh, he’s not here today, though I’m relieved, I’m a bit disappointed too.”

Just as she finished speaking, Yu Dule pushed the door open and brought in the last latecomer to the show. The man who hadn’t laughed at the first two shows was dressed in denim, with his hat off, looking at her as he sat in the front row on the far edge. Gu Yi, holding the microphone, didn’t react immediately: “Well, well, here comes the big shot, the closing act.”

As the lights dimmed with the audience’s laughter, Gu Yi pretended to stretch and prepare for a big performance, but in reality, she was desperately deep breathing. Those damn few seconds earlier felt like the fate of an eye-to-eye connection.

For this show, Gu Yi had planned to talk about love. Her script had been polished repeatedly on the subway, and since the show only had one spotlight, she could only see the audience in the first row (as long as the guy who didn’t laugh wasn’t in the first row, everything could go smoothly, but he was in the first row). She was going smoothly, with the audience laughing after each punchline, and for a moment, she was very satisfied. But as she continued, she found herself distracted, pausing for two seconds. In the spotlight, something resembling animal fur danced in the air, and she could smell a hint of alcohol. Her heart raced for no reason, inexplicably.

When she came back to her senses, the audience had just stopped laughing at a punchline, and the whole room was looking at her in silence. She quickly covered for the pause: “I thought you’d laugh for five seconds, but you finished after two seconds. I overestimated my joke delivery.”

“My boss has been giving me trouble recently. During the day, I’m a soft-sell writer who’s not really liked by my boss. She’s been pushing me to write a love story for a brand. I won’t say which one, don’t want to offend the client. The client thinks the characters and plot I wrote are very stiff and dull. They say I must not have any love experience, and that’s why it’s so dry. But the story I’m supposed to write is about a diamond and a cubic zirconia, and they want me to make it feel like destiny. But I can’t even tell them—last time I saw a stone representing love, it was at a cheap little city’s rock store. Whoever wore it, broke up.”

“When my boss hired me, she did it because I created a somewhat popular game on Orange Light that was about a secret crush. A lot of people played it, and she thought I’d be great at writing these love-themed brand stories, but she probably only saw the data and didn’t look at the content. Of course, now she doesn’t see it either, the censorship got so strict, those indecent parts are now replaced with stars. How bad is it? Well, recently, I tried to get some inspiration for the diamond, so I went in to relive my high point. But when I got there, everything was starred out. Orange Light even blocked off everything below the neck. I was so confused, so I just consoled myself: love—dirty stuff.”

Gu Yi told her jokes with a hint of Northeast accent, tinged with a sense of grievance and bitterness, which made the audience laugh even harder. She didn’t stop: “So, I can’t write a romantic scene for a diamond-level love story during the day, but at night, when I’m alone in my 1.5-meter bed, just turning over a few times, it gets a little lonely and empty. You probably don’t know this, but after being single for so long, friends start to treat you like a plague. They think, ‘Oh, she’s single, there must be a reason for that, she’s not considered a potential partner.’ Don’t laugh, after I’ve had a few drinks, my friends would definitely just dump me at a bar. After all, I’m ‘single,’ who knows what could happen? I’m a stand-up comedian, not sexy, what if I get drunk and cause a scene? Throwing me at the bar is just a way for them to avoid the risk. Do you know what it feels like to wake up in a bar alone at dawn? I do—it’s lonely, awkward, and embarrassing. Testing the boundaries of morality, but somehow still managing to walk away clean—single, a stand-up comedian, my protective charm.”

The successive punchlines had the audience laughing in waves, but the man finally put down his phone and looked at the stage with a blank expression. Gu Yi noticed and paused, waiting for the laughs. After a few seconds, she thought, Wasn’t it funny just now? The audience’s reactions seemed fine, though? Liang Daiwen might have a high threshold for humor, so she continued.

“When I was young, my mom was especially afraid of me dating early. When I was fifteen, I started dating the class president, the most handsome guy in the class. When my mom found out, she beat me up and locked me in the house after school to reduce our chances of meeting, as if it would raise my value. This made me wonder, in a place like Shanghai, does the more expensive the place, the higher the value you gain by being locked away? You see, those women kept by rich men used to be called ‘canaries’—my mom, a bit philosophical. My roommate seems to have some intentions toward me, and I looked at our rent location—it’s not too expensive, yet he’s persistent. I just want to ask him, are you planning to ‘sponsor’ me by the pound?”

“About a year ago, or maybe the year before, I liked a guy. He was that kind of charming, sparkling type. I was going to conquer him with my charisma, told him all about my knowledge, social views, and ideals. After talking, I thought to myself, ‘Wow, I’m so smart and talented, taking off my sweater, sparks of wisdom flying everywhere.’ And then—he disappeared. I never understood why until recently, this client writing about diamonds gave me the answer. Diamonds, they have no love. Forcing meaning onto them just raises their price, but that’s all.”

Liang Daiwen remained expressionless the entire time, and Gu Yi felt even more confused. After the performance, Gu Yi sat in the bar with other comedians, reviewing their sets. Everyone was helping each other tweak their material, and without exception, they all mentioned this man. Yu Dule, holding the audience list, pointed to the name “Liang Daiwen”: “Gu Yi, did you offend him? Or did you kill someone’s livestock to specifically get him to watch you?”

Gu Yi clicked her tongue: “What, is my popularity that bad? Can’t it just be because he likes my style on stage?”

“He didn’t laugh.”

“Okay, I get it. No need to keep reminding me. Anyway, stand-up comedians don’t get involved in romantic relationships, because we’re all comedians. It’s totally normal for handsome guys to not be interested in me.” But deep down, Gu Yi felt something was off, a feeling gnawing at her as she kept thinking about him.

“Not really,” Yu Dule tilted his head, “Actually, you’re pretty good-looking, or why would so many people know you? It’s just that you’re too good-looking to be funny, you always dress so casually. In my eyes, you’re a beauty.”

“Then why didn’t he laugh?”

“Everyone who comes here is looking for fun. City people’s nightlife is all about having fun. Maybe his life is just too tough?”

Gu Yi suddenly felt really down and decided she wouldn’t leave until she was drunk.

Before she could cheer up, Yu Dule received a text, happily slapping her thigh: “I got my joke accepted by the 80s Tonight magazine! 800 yuan for the manuscript fee! I need to ask if they’re going to tax it—this is the first time I’ve had something accepted by them.”

“Clearly you’ve never been accepted before—800 bucks doesn’t get taxed.”

Yu Dule relaxed: “Oh. What are we all sticking to, anyway? A few days ago, there were two internet celebrities in the audience. They were just casually passing by to rest for a while, then going to the club next door for some fun, talking about getting ad deals, earning tens of thousands a month. I didn’t even dare to tell them I’m a stand-up comedian, just said I work in ticketing. Then I realized, I make more working as a stagehand than performing.”

The group of them sat together, looking at each other. A 220ml beer didn’t satisfy them anymore. Yu Dule said, “How about a bigger bottle?”

That sounded perfect to Gu Yi; she wasn’t leaving until drunk.

With the 800 yuan manuscript fee, the six of them bought a bottle of champagne, which after rounding, left them with a negative 800 in earnings. Yu Dule, who paid, didn’t mind; as long as her friends were happy, that was what mattered. Besides her and Yu Dule, both 26 years old, there was a 97-born stand-up comedian, and the rest were older veterans, all in their 30s. They were professional stand-up comedy writers, with decent incomes, but they liked hanging out with friends, chatting and brainstorming. No one had a family life; they often sat together to bounce ideas, occasionally getting so excited that they had to discuss who owned the rights to a joke. Gu Yi was one of the few single female stand-up comedians. Everyone felt she still had a future ahead, not yet burnt out. After all, sweet love and mundane marriages ruin artistic careers; only poor singles and those stuck in long-term relationships have fresh ideas. Especially since Gu Yi was known as the infamous unlucky stand-up comedian from Huangpu District.

But Gu Yi didn’t take this seriously. After all, it was tough for men to suddenly feel a spark of attraction toward a funny woman wearing a loose T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Most young urban men still treat love with a sense of ritual, judging appearances, body, clothing, family background, and manners all before any heartbeat.

This was just her simple perspective, not something she’d put in a joke. She enjoyed laughing at herself because, after all, she was live material. After the champagne, Yu Dule got even more excited and opened a bottle of whiskey. No one left their seat easily; when drunk, good jokes often emerged. Then, each person bought a bottle for the group. The total earnings were negative. Drinking and drinking, they all got drunk and also a bit sad, knowing they earned so little but didn’t go sit outside by the roadside to drink. Instead, they stayed in the bar to give money to the owner, widening the gap between rich and poor.

The six of them stepped out of the Ounce bar, standing in front of a neighboring club to soak in the air conditioning, feeling out of place in their shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops, compared to the young, stylish crowd passing by. Gu Yi felt refreshed by the cool breeze, but after sweating, her skull felt like a sieve, with wind blowing in from all sides. She sneezed right then. When she looked up, standing right in front of her was one of the men from the three shows who hadn’t laughed. He was wearing a backpack and a beanie, staring at her. Standing at 1.82 meters, plus the hat, up close, he was striking enough to stun Gu Yi for three seconds: “Damn, it’s the real Liang Daiwen.”

The other comedians were still standing nearby. The man acknowledged her greeting. Yes, his real name was Liang Daiwen.

“You’re still around here?”

“Working overtime.”

Liang Daiwen glanced at the six drunken actors and estimated that the open mic had ended a couple of hours ago, and they had probably had enough to drink.

“You didn’t come here to wait for me, did you?” Gu Yi, tipsy, blurted out.

“No.”

“How can you not laugh at all?”

“…”

“Am I not funny, or is my routine not funny, or are the other comedians just not funny?”

The man didn’t respond. Continuing the conversation would likely hurt feelings, but Gu Yi looked up at him with red eyes, and tears started streaming down her face. The others around them were stunned. She cried for over a minute, then suddenly turned her head away. Damn it, even in the middle of crying, she thought of a joke. My cheekbones are too prominent, so when I cry, it’s like water flowing naturally—two lines of tears for others, but four for me, plus the nasolabial folds. Even crying seems effortless.

It was an unexpected, overwhelming sadness. As the drunken actors nearby suddenly began cracking jokes, Gu Yi’s tears didn’t stop. Liang Daiwen didn’t look down, his expression tight, his eyes dark as he watched the girl in front of him crying. Gu Yi, drunk, couldn’t stop the tears: “Sorry, I just got emotional, it’s not about you.”

The scene had become absurd, and what was even more puzzling was that Liang Daiwen didn’t move. He just stood there, silently keeping her company as she cried by the roadside. The other actors, seeing this, thought, “He’s been to three shows, and in a big city like this, the odds of running into someone so frequently must mean something.” But seeing this serious, unmoving audience member for the first time, they wondered if it wasn’t just revenge, but perhaps… he liked Gu Yi.

None of them could look away, curious to see how the scene would unfold.

“If it’s all right… I’ll leave now,” Liang Daiwen said.

Gu Yi didn’t move, her nose clogged from crying, blocking his way and staring at him with labored breath. The beat of future house music from the club drifted out to the street, and the two of them grew closer. The four actors nearby exchanged worried glances, thinking, “Gu Yi is done for now. If she starts a relationship, the number of quality female comedians will drop by one.” Just as Liang Daiwen was about to turn and leave, Gu Yi suddenly stumbled forward, falling straight into his path. Liang Daiwen quickly reached out to steady her, his movement smooth, almost as if he had kicked over a terracotta soldier.

The surrounding actors stood frozen, stunned.

Liang Daiwen looked up: “Do you know where she lives?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll take her home.”

“Huh?”