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China’s E-Learning Revolution: The 10 Hottest Chinese Online Education Companies of 2016

The latest digital developments in the booming business of e-learning in China, and the 10 hottest players in the field in 2016.

Manya Koetse

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China’s rapid digital developments have greatly impacted people’s lives in many ways. It has not only changed how people talk, shop, pay, or even date – it has also changed how they learn. The increasing popularity of cyber schools is bringing about major changes in China’s education system. What’s on Weibo covers the latest developments in the booming business of e-learning in China, and introduces the 10 hottest players in the field. 

Online learning has become increasingly popular in China over the past few years – it is arguably one of the hottest topics in China’s tech industry today. The rise of e-education (在线教育) has made it possible for people to study any topic they like, no matter how old they are, where they live, or what they do. Moreover, compared to traditional education, online education is relatively cheap, making education more affordable and accessible to people from all layers of Chinese society. In this way, online education is a source of opportunities – both for e-learners and e-learning companies.

Education is generally deeply valued in China – a fact that is backed up by the numbers. In the PRC, education is in the top things that households generally spend the most money on, besides spending on housing and medical services. A large part of that education money is now being spent on digital education (Zi 2016, 36).

78 million online learners

Although China’s online education providers have been around since as early as 1998, it wasn’t until the 2011-2013 period that the market really exploded. There are now around 2.6 new schools coming online every single day, which has made China’s online learning market grow from around 500 institutions in 2012 to well over 4200 – and counting – in 2016. According to The China Online Education Report 2015-2020, the number of people studying online in 2014 was estimated at a staggering 77,97 million.

But experts say the popularity of online education in China is nowhere near its peak yet. With less than 30% of Chinese netizens currently using online education, an ever growing internet population, and a rising middle class, the market is expected to continue to grow an annual 15%. The coming decade will therefore be pivotal for China’s e-learning business (Sohu 2016; Zi 2016, 36).

Getting into the MOOC

The so-called MOOC (Massive Open Online Courses) are an important part of the online education business. MOOC are live-broadcasted classes that can be followed by a large audience of online students at the same time. Classes are often free, providing high-quality teaching. Students can sometimes get certificates upon completion when they pay a fee.

For universities, MOOC platforms give them a channel to raise their (international) profiles and prestige, to showcase their top professors, and share their own perspectives and methodologies with a worldwide audience (Confederation Swiss 2014). MOOC give e-students the opportunity to follow courses from prestigious universities like Harvard of Stanford, no matter where they are.

Although the first MOOC were already held since 2001 in the USA, they didn’t become especially popular until 2012, which was hailed as ‘The Year of the MOOC’ by the New York Times. What 2012 was for MOOC in the West, is what 2013 meant for MOOC in China, when local MOOC (幕课) platforms started to mushroom.

TopU.com (顶你学堂) was the first purely Chinese platform, set up in October of 2013. Other big Chinese MOOC players are Kaikeba (开课吧) and Xuetang X (学堂在线), and Coursera Zone – a collaboration between China’s Netease and American MOOC giant Coursera.

China’s biggest MOOC platform is the MOOC Academy (@MOOC学院) by Guokr (果壳网). Guokr closely collaborates with various Chinese and international MOOC providers.

A good year for cyber class?

According to recent news articles, 2016 has again been a specifically booming year for online education in China. By now, 42% of all Chinese netizens are allegedly planning to pay for online education now or in the future, and many companies are not afraid to invest large amounts of money in this fruitful market.

Although the booming market is tempting for many young start-ups, and 2016 has proven to be a good year for many e-learning companies, more start-ups are also closing down now that their business models turn out to be unprofitable.

A report from China’s Internet Education Research Institute has revealed that only 5% of mainland online education firms earned a profit in 2015, and that most online education companies need to be able to sustain losses for their first years of business before becoming profitable. Those who do succeed, however, can grow very big very soon.

China’s hottest online education companies

Big Chinese tech companies like Tencent or China Mobile are eager to invest in promising startups. This is a top ten of Chinese online education companies who are currently the most well-funded and most promising startups of the first half of 2016 (Netease Tech Report 2016; Education Net 2016; Sohu 2016):

1. 51 Talk (无忧英语)

Lina

Known as the “No.1 online English school in China”, 51talk was founded in 2011 and has since become the largest online English education platform in China, both for adults and children. Run by CEO Huang Jiajia (黄佳佳), 51Talk provides one-to-one teaching services for approximately 15 RMB (2.2US$) per class. The company currently has 10,000 part-time and full-time teachers, of which the majority is based in the Phillippines. Students can choose their private online teachers through the 51talk app, which also reflects the ratings of the tutor. The company has recently done some smart marketing moves by turning popular Chinese tennis star Li Na, who is known for her well-spoken English, into 51Talk’s official ambassador.

2. Koolearn (新东方在线)

Koolearn profile

Run by CEO Sun Chang (孙畅), New Oriental’s Koolearn was established in 2000. The online education network offers over 1,200 online courses to over 8.5 million registered users. New Oriental currently is the largest provider of private educational services in China, based on the program offerings, student total and geographic presence. Their courses cater to a large audience, from graduate students to middle school kids. Topics vary from different languages to medicine and finance. A beginner’s online Japanese course is available from 1980RMB (±300US$).

3. XS Teach (郉帅教育, literally ‘Xing Shuai Education’)

xsteach

Named after founder Xing Shuai (郉帅), Guangzhou-based XSteach started in 2008 as a website for learning Photoshop. It then quickly expanded and is currently offering 300 courses in 20 subjects, mostly in the areas of graphics, images, video, and design. The company profited from the rising popularity of vocational schools in China, as it gives younger generations the hope for better jobs and better incomes. XSTeach offers live-broadcasted lessons, online videos and VIP courses.

4. Yuanfudao (猿辅导)

yuandaofu

Online education startup Yuanfudao is aimed at Chinese middle and high school students who are preparing for exams. According to Technode, the company was recently boosted with 40 million US$ by Chinese tech giant Tencent. E-learners can use the Yuanfudao app to connect students with tutors, who livestream through the app. Courses are priced as low as 1 RMB ($0.15 USD) for a one-hour lecture. Yuanfudao claims on their homepage that they currently cater to over 1.6 million students.

5. Lao-A E-Commerce Platform 老A电商学院

1390

This is China’s ‘most qualitative’ training program for people who want to learn about the world of e-commerce and selling on Taobao. This online e-commerce education platform offers courses in becoming successful on Taobao or in market analysis. CEO Wu Yuanshi (吴元轼) received a 140 million RMB (±21 million US$) investment earlier this year from Guotai Junan.

6. Crazy Teacher (疯狂老师)

crazyteacher

Crazy Teacher, also known as Entstudy, is an after-school tutoring platform that allows parents to find a tutor for their children who will then come to their home to teach. The platform also has a live streaming teaching app with paid courses that students can follow from their homes. The company recently raised an investment of 120 million RMB (18 million US$) by Greenwoods Investment with participation of existing investors Tencent and Yuanxi Capital. According to Edweek, the money will be used for the development of a new livestreaming platform called Dingdang Classroom.

7. ABC360

abc

“The best online English School in China!”, and “aiming to become the best and largest leading professional online English lesson provider to young and motivated professionals in China” – this is how ABC360 advertises itself. The English school, headquartered in the Philippines, was founded by Li Jing (李晶) and his wife in 2011. They recently received a 15 million US$ investment from capital firm Guo Jin Capital.

8. Sanhaowang (三好网)

sanhao

Sanhaowang is probably the company name that has been least well-known until now, and has been hardly (or not) mentioned by English media yet – although it is considered a rising star in the world of online education. Particularly aimed at middle school students, Sanhaowang provides a one-on-one digital education platform that revolves around its desktop platform where students and teachers can log in to meet online. Both teachers and students have a writing tablet with a camera aimed at it, so that both sides can see what the other is writing [see their introduction video on Youku]. CEO He Qiang (何强) received a total of 75 million RMB (±11.2 million US$) in investments this year.

9. XDL or ‘Lamp Brother’ (兄弟连)

xdl

XDL, founded by Li Chao (李超), currently is the leader in China’s online IT education. It also one of the online education companies that has been around for the longest time; it celebrated its 10-year-anniversary this year. The company offers courses in Android technology, mobile gaming, Java, iOs and more.

10. Zhiyou Education (致优教育)

zhiyou

Founded by Ren Yanghui (任洋辉, former CEO assistant at Xueda Education), Zhiyou Education is a digital tutoring company that trains students one-on-one, both online and offline – teachers will also give classes at students’ home. The teaching cycle of Zhiyou uses the iPad as its main tool, which records student’s learning data and teachers’ teaching data with an online system. Zhiyou also offers live-streaming classes to rehearse lessons. Legend Capital invested 60 million RMB (US$9.2 million) in the company earlier this year.

Start of a revolution

Besides the top 10 of online education companies that are currently most booming, there are a myriad of other successful startups and established Chinese e-learning companies. While China’s domestic online education continues to grow steadily, an entire new generation is now growing up while learning to count and read through games on tablets and mobile phones. As Sanhaowang’s CEO He Qiang recently said in an interview: “Communicating through screen has become part of the nature of the post-2000 generation.”

‘Mobile’ is one of the key words when talking about the future of digital education in China. Right now, China has 710 million internet users. Approximately 92% of people connect to the web through their mobile phone and a quarter of them solely access the internet through mobile. This means that digital education companies will start working more and more through only apps and/or tablets, which is what companies like Zhiyou Education are already doing. Chinese media outlet Investment Bulletin recently reported on Weibo that already over 59% of China’s online education users are mobile-based, indicating that mobile education is becoming mainstream within the online education market.

Big data and data technology are other important keywords for the future of online education. By analysing specific student groups and education materials, companies can continue improving their platforms and keep on customizing learning content to suit the (age) groups they are catering to.

With an ever-growing user group, greater technological possibilities and the new tech-savvy generations who practically grew upo with a phone in their hand, the past decade has only shown us what online education might be; this is just the beginning of China’s education revolution.

– By Manya Koetse

References

Confederation Swiss (Embassy of Switzerland in China). 2014. “Situation Analysis: Massive Open Online Courses (MOOCs) in China.” http://www.swissnexchina.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2014/08/MOOCS-in-China.pdf [6.8.16]

Education Net. 2016. “十大知名的网络教育网站排行榜 [Top Ten Most Well-Known Online Education Platforms].” 7CXK, January 5. http://www.7cxk.net/Article/xinxihua/201601/57651.html [7.8.16].

iWeb Choice. http://www.iwebchoice.com/html/class_38.shtml?3Months

Netease Tech Report. 2016. “中国在线教育2016上半年融资前10强出炉.” Netease Technology, July 7. http://finance.ce.cn/rolling/201607/12/t20160712_13749319.shtml [7.8.16].

Sohu. 2016. “2016中国十大教育辅导机构排名榜 [].” Sohu, April 29. http://mt.sohu.com/20160429/n446860195.shtml [7.8.16]

Sohu Education (搜狐教育). 2016. “2016年中国在线教育行业市场现状及发展趋势分析 [China’s 2016 Online Education Market State and Development Trend Analysis].” Sohu Education, July 6. http://www.54hei.com/newweb/jsp/news8.jsp [6.8.16].

Tian Feng. 2014. “China in the Mass Consumption Stage.” In: Peilin Li (ed), People’s Livelihood in Contemporary China: Changes, Challenges and Prospects, 71-85. London: World Scientific.

Zi Tong (子瞳). 2016. “在线教育红海中的厮杀 [Online Education: The Fight in the Red Sea]”. 新商游 [The New Traveling Merchant], July 8: 35-43.

©2016 Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.

Manya Koetse is the founder and editor-in-chief of whatsonweibo.com. She is a writer, public speaker, and researcher (Sinologist, MPhil) on social trends, digital developments, and new media in an ever-changing China, with a focus on Chinese society, pop culture, and gender issues. She shares her love for hotpot on hotpotambassador.com. Contact at manya@whatsonweibo.com, or follow on Twitter.

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4 Comments

4 Comments

  1. Avatar

    John

    August 10, 2016 at 5:56 pm

    Very informative, thank you!

  2. Avatar

    Wytse

    August 10, 2016 at 6:19 pm

    Great read, thanks!

  3. Avatar

    Tony Diepenbrock

    December 13, 2016 at 9:08 pm

    Awesome, thank you! As a startup in the space, this is really helpful.

  4. Avatar

    Starc

    February 24, 2021 at 7:30 am

    online education in china is still big and keep performing. What are the latest Marketing strategies to reach Chinese Rich Mothers?

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Backgrounder

More Than Just a Visit: Explaining the Chinese ‘Cuànfǎng’

‘Cuànfǎng’ became a popular word on Chinese social media and in official Chinese discourse this year. But what is it?

Jin Luo

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Since Pelosi’s stopover in Taiwan, the word ‘cuànfǎng’ has been all over Chinese social media to refer to this controversial visit. But ‘cuànfǎng’ is more than just ‘visiting’ alone. Jin Luo explains.

It was a sleepless night for many Chinese people when U.S. House Speaker Pelosi flew to Taiwan on August 2nd of 2022. A new Chinese word created in recent years, cuànfǎng (窜访) appeared in the official statement that was issued by the Chinese Foreign Ministry at 11 pm that night, and subsequently it appeared all over social media.

Meanwhile, a pop song released more than 30 years ago titled “Tonight, Are You Coming or Not” (“今夜你会不会来”) suddenly became a Weibo hot topic before it was taken offline. What is this word lost in translation, and why did people suddenly get nostalgic over an old romantic song?

 
Cuànfǎng: A ‘Sneaky Visit’
 

Here is the original wording in Chinese and the official translation to English from the statement of the Chinese Foreign Ministry on the evening on 2 August:

In disregard of China’s strong opposition and diplomatic discontent, Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi visited China’s Taiwan region” (“美国国会众议长佩洛西不顾中方强烈反对和严正交涉,窜访中国台湾地区.”) The word ‘visited’ in Chinese that is used here is “cuànfǎng” 窜访.

While the English verb “visit” is a neutral word by itself, the Chinese “cuànfǎng” 窜访 has much stronger connotations. According to the Wiktionary, the word is a derogatory, officialese way to say “to visit.” But it is not an easy word to translate, as there is no direct equivalent in English, and both the literal and implied meaning of the word need to be understood.

Cuànfǎng is actually a compound word: cuàn 窜 refers to fleeing, escaping, hiding, or running away; fǎng 访 refers to inquiring, seeking, or visiting.

Cuan as a compound character (Sohu).

To make matters more complicated, cuàn by itself is also a compound character. It is written as ‘竄’ in traditional Chinese: the top radical ‘穴’ means ‘hole,’ and the lower part is the character ‘鼠’ which means ‘mouse.’ The character, having the shape of a mouse hiding in a hole, therefore has the meaning of ‘hiding’ and ‘escaping.’

The origins of the character ‘cuan’ explained, image via Sohu.com.

The mouse or rat is an animal that is more often associated with negative things in Chinese culture. They are often considered sneaky, dirty, running around everywhere, and able to reproduce quickly. With mice so often carrying a negative association, cuàn ‘窜’ also refers to a kind of hiding and escaping that is negative or objectionable.

The second character fǎng 访 is a neutral word that simply means “to visit.”

At the New York Times, Chris Buckley captured the underlying meaning of this word in writing: “The Chinese word used in the official statements for ‘visit’ — cuanfang — connotes a sneaky or illicit encounter, not an aboveboard meeting.”

 
The Evolution of Cuànfǎng
 

Although it is a relatively new word, cuànfǎng already existed before the Pelosi incident and was not created in light of this controversial visit.

Since the word’s first appearance, translators have had some difficulties in properly translating the term into different languages.

Research papers in translation studies and international relations in China suggested that cuànfǎng is a “new derogatory term invented in recent years, specifically for the purpose of maintaining national security and unity, and condemning and exposing the national separatists” and “demonstrated the big wisdom of Chinese diplomatic discourse users; vividly described the image of the separatists, that they go on the run sneakily, just like thieves and mice” (source, in Chinese).

Other sources interpret it as “the unjust, improper visit conducted in order to reach hidden political agenda, to agitate and peddle the separatist ideas,” and:

1. You went somewhere where you were not supposed to go;
2. The visit was not accepted or welcomed by the (Chinese) government;
3. The purpose is to shake justice and create conflicts
” (source, in Chinese).

Cuàn was mainly meant to add an emotional aspect to the term and shows the contempt of the person who uses it.

Image via Wainao.

The word was first prominently used in Chinese official discourse when the Foreign Ministry in 2006 referred to the Dalai Lama’s visit to Israel. Since cuàn has the meaning of fleeing, it is especially suitable when referring to political dissidents who went into exile overseas.

Since then, it has been used again for further visits of the Dalai Lama to other countries (US 2014, Mongolia 2017), as well as for Rebiya Kadeer, Lee Teng-hui, Shinzo Abe, Joshua Wong, and others.

Although it is clear that the term is not only applied to Chinese dissidents, it is generally applied to those who conducted visits that were perceived to be hostile towards China, with Nancy Pelosi’s Taiwan visit serving as a clear example.

Since the Dalai Lama has been living outside of China and conducted numerous visits to other countries, cuànfǎng was previously mostly used in this context until Pelosi’s visit, which ended up being good for more than 80% of the search results of cuànfǎng on the Chinese Foreign Ministry website.

If cuànfǎng is a word with such strong emotional connotations, why was it simply translated as “visit” in official English-language documents? Some say it is because of the mere difficulty to translate this word, while others say it is the routine sanitization of English translations by the Foreign Ministry.

David Gitter, president of the Center for Advanced China Research based in Washington D.C., said that the external goal of Beijing can be different from the internal goal towards the nationalist domestic audiences, and that “more accurate yet counterproductive translations … [often] breach normal diplomatic language.”

At this point, it remains up for debate whether this is a linguistic constraint or a political choice.

 
Tonight, Are You Coming or Not?
 

While the term cuànfǎng has been widely used in official discourse, it has also become a popular online word. Chinese netizens seemed to be as passionate as the Chinese Foreign Ministry – and perhaps even more so –  in condemning Pelosi’s Taiwan visit and demanding radical countermeasures.

Chinese netizens were watching the entire event unfold with mixed feelings – on the one hand, there was a strong sense of patriotism and anger, on the other hand, the massive attention to the event also turned it into something that was almost as exciting as a celebrity drama.

On that specific evening of Pelosi’s nearing arrival in Taipei, Chinese netizens were doing two things: watching real-time tracking of Pelosi’s flight, and listening to a classic pop song released in 1991 titled “Tonight, Are You Coming or Not” (今夜你会不会来) (video). Back in the previous century, Hong Kong singer Leon Lai expressed the emotions of someone waiting for his lover to arrive in this melodic song, singing:

“你是否愿意为我停留

Would you be willing to stay for me

今夜你来告诉我

Tonight, you tell me

你是否愿意陪我走过我的梦

Are you willing to accompany me through my dream?

我的所有

My everything

(Chorus)

今夜你会不会来

Tonight, are you coming or not?

你的爱还在不在

Is your love still there or not?

如果你的心已经离开

If your heart has left already

我宁愿没有未来

I would rather not have a future

今夜你会不会来

Tonight, are you coming or not?

你的爱还在不在

Is your love still there or not?

别让我所有的等待

Don’t let all my wait

变成一片空白

Go all in vain

 

In the middle of the uncertainty about whether Pelosi would come to Taiwan or not, this song served as entertainment for netizens and became a “collective carnival” of people jokingly applying the song to Pelosi, turning her into a ‘mysterious lover’ that might or might not show up. (Later, some were unable to play the song anymore, although it remains unclear if this was due to geographic restrictions or because the song was actually taken offline by censors.)

“Taiwan has been preparing for your cuànfǎng ‘sneaky visit’, are you coming or not tonight?” some netizens wrote, combining the title song with the cuànfǎng term. In doing so, Pelosi became both a ‘sneaky mouse’ and ‘mysterious lover’, both a target of condemnation and subject of fun and banter.

All jokes and cuànfǎng references aside, Pelosi did end up realizing that visit, and its aftermath, including a second Taiwan visit by a U.S. congressional delegation, has had a substantial impact on U.S.-China relations that were already strained before the move.

Will there be more cuànfǎng to Taiwan? It’s likely not an issue of if, but when. For next time, at least we’ve got cuànfǎng covered.

 

By Jin Luo 

Featured image by Alexa from Pixabay

 

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Backgrounder

A Baby for Sale, a Mother Chained Up – How Chinese Netizens Are Pushing Specific Social Issues to the Forefront

The stories of Liu Xuezhou and the Xuzhou mother both developed in real-time while netizens pushed them to the front page, making them too big for state media to ignore.

Manya Koetse

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It only takes a spark to start a wildfire. From Liu Xuezhou to the Xuzhou mother, China’s online spheres have seen multiple major trending topics this year that started with one short video and then caused a social media storm with netizens highlighting and amplifying specific stories to address bigger social problems.

 
This is the “WE…WEI…WHAT?” column by Manya Koetse, original publication in German by Goethe Institut China, visit Yi Magazin: WE…WEI…WHAT? Manya Koetse erklärt das chinesische Internet.
 

It was December 6th of 2021 when a teenage boy posted a short video on Chinese social media. With a straight back, clear voice, and serious face, he looked directly into the camera and said:

Hello everyone, I am Liu Xuezhou and I am looking for my biological parents. I was born in between 2004 and 2006 and around the age of three months old, I was bought by my parents, my adoptive parents, in Datong in Shanxi. I am healthy. I don’t have any congenital physical defects or diseases; I don’t have any obvious birthmarks or scars. At the age of four, my adoptive parents passed away due to an accident. I am now living in Nangong, Xingtai, in Hebei Province. I study in Shijiazhuang. I wish I’d found my biological parents sooner, to make up for what I missed. I hope you can help me spread my message so that those who suspect they might be my parents can see it.

This video would be the start of a story followed by millions of Chinese netizens. It is the story of Liu Xuezhou (刘学州). The search for his parents and his death became one of the biggest topics on China’s social media of the past months.

Why did the tragic story of one teenage boy capture the entire nation? There are multiple reasons. By posting his call for help in finding his biological parents, Liu involved Chinese netizens in his journey from the start, allowing them to follow his story in real-time through his social media and news reports. Another aspect of Liu’s story is the resilience he showed despite his tough life, something that many admired about him.

But more importantly, Liu’s story is part of a recent broader interest in the stories behind the widespread problem of trafficking in women and children in China, with more people raising awareness on the tragedies caused by these practices and demanding justice for the victims.

Besides Liu’s story, the story of a Xuzhou mother-of-eight being tied up and living in abominable conditions in a shed also dominated online discussions for weeks on end.

 

Liu’s Story: Sold, Orphaned, Abandoned

 

After Liu Xuezhou posted the aforementioned video on Douyin, the Chinese version of the popular TikTok short video platform, it soon went viral and various Chinese news sites started reporting on Liu’s search for his biological family.

Liu’s resilience was impressive. In interviews, he said that his story did not define him and that he was determined to make something of his life. Since 2018, the young Liu was working to earn money while also going to school. His plan was to be admitted to university.

Liu Xuezhou, picture posted on his Weibo account.

After his adoptive parents died in a firework explosion, Liu was raised by his grandparents and was sent to boarding school. Liu’s childhood was not a happy one. Being so young without parents, he was a target of school bullies and had to change schools at least four times until, by grade six, he had finally found a school where he could thrive.

Many people supported Liu and wanted to help the teenage boy, who was thought to have been kidnapped as a baby and then bought by his adoptive parents through an intermediary at a Datong hotel for 30,000 yuan ($4735).

Although Liu’s birth certificate said he was born in September of 2005, nobody was sure how old Liu actually was, and his grandparents did not remember the details surrounding his adoption. By late 2021, as a 16-something-year-old, Liu felt it was time to get some answers and find his biological parents. How did he end up being adopted? Was he abducted? Were his parents still out there searching for him?

Through his own efforts – sped up by finding his vaccination records – and with some help of the police, Liu was able to trace down his biological parents. On the evening of December 15, Liu sent a message to a journalist reporting on the case: “I found my mum and dad.”

His parents’ story, however, was not what Liu had expected at all. After DNA tests confirmed that they were in fact his biological parents, Liu was ready to meet them. But what was supposed to be a happy reunion turned out to be a bitter disappointment.

Liu’s biological parents, who were living in Datong, were not together anymore. Liu soon learned that he had not been abducted as a child, but that he had been sold on purpose by his father. His parents were unmarried when they had him, and Liu’s father turned out to have used the money they earned by selling their baby to marry Liu’s birth mother. They married and had another son, but then ended up divorcing. Both remarried again, and Liu’s father even got divorced two more times after that.

Although some of the unhappy circumstances surrounding Liu’s reunion with his parents came out through his posts on social media throughout January of this year, most of the details surrounding his situation only became clear when Liu posted a farewell letter on his Weibo account on January 24th, just a few minutes past midnight.

Liu Xuezhou’s last Weibo post including a farewell letter.

Titled “Born with little, return with nothing,” Liu posted a lengthy letter explaining his situation.

In this letter, Liu said that besides being sold as a child and becoming an orphan at the age of four, he was also severely bullied by classmates and molested by a teacher at school. His aunt, whom he loved as a mother, also left him behind after she moved away due to a broken marriage.

As he spiraled into depression, Liu felt a spark of hope when he saw the news about Sun Zhuo (孙卓), whose story became one of the major trending news stories of 2021. In 2007, when Sun was only four, he was stolen off the street by a human trafficker. His biological parents never gave up hope they would find their son again and sacrificed everything to be able to fund their search efforts. The Chinese film Dearest (亲爱的) was partly based on their story.

After a years-long search, Sun was found in 2021 due to the help of authorities and face recognition technology that helped trace the person suspected of abducting him. In an unexpected twist, Sun stated that he would prefer to stay with his adoptive parents, who had raised him for a decade. The story triggered many online discussions and raised more awareness on the issue of the trafficking of children in China in times of the country’s one-child policy. Sun’s biological father spoke to the media saying: “For 2022, my biggest wish is that all the abducted children can finally be found.”

Image of the reunion of Sun Zhuo with his parents, who never stopped searching for him (image via Sohu).

It was Sun Zhuo’s story that inspired Liu to search for his own parents, and it was also Sun Zhuo’s story that brought more attention for Liu’s initial video, which struck a chord with many who hoped that he could also be reunited with his parents and actually stay with them.

Liu described how his biological father did not seem happy when Liu first contacted him, and seemed reluctant to meet. His biological father eventually did come to see him, but their communication afterward was not smooth. When his father told Liu that he was sold as a baby so that he could pay for the bride price to marry Liu’s mother, Liu was heartbroken and could not sleep for several days: he was not kidnapped, and his parents never searched for him.

Liu and his biological father on December 26, 2021.

His mother also was not elated that her biological son had found his way back to her. Liu felt unwanted, again, and was also searching for a home to live and was not sure who to turn to anymore. After he asked his biological father for help in buying or renting a place to live, he was blocked on WeChat. Liu then decided to take his parents to court.

Sharing screenshots on social media of the developments between him and his parents, Liu was condemned and bullied by netizens, who accused him of only wanting to find his biological parents for financial gains.

It was all too much for the teenage boy. In his farewell letter, he expressed the hope that the traffickers and biological parents would be punished for their deeds. Liu was later found to have committed suicide at a beach in the city of Sanya, and could no longer be rescued. Liu passed away within a month after meeting his biological parents at the age of just 15 years old.

By now, Liu’s farewell letter has been shared approximately 174,000 times on Weibo, it was ‘liked’ over 2,4 million times and has received thousands of comments.

The topic of Liu’s death exploded on social media and led to national outrage. Many people sympathized with the boy and were angry at all who failed him: “Poor child, abandoned and sold off by his parents, bullied and humiliated by his schoolmates, molested and discriminated by his teacher, cyberbullied by keyboard warriors. Now he’s dead!”

The injustice of Liu’s situation – starting with how he was sold as a child – is what angered people most. China Digital Times recently described how on the Weibo page of Dr. Li Wenliang, one of the doctors who raised the alarm about the coronavirus outbreak, many people also mention Liu Xuezhou. Dr. Li Wenliang was one of the eight so-called ‘whistleblowers’ who tried to warn his colleagues about the Wuhan virus outbreak in late 2019, but was censored and reprimanded by local police for making “false comments.” He later became infected with the virus himself while working at the Wuhan Central Hospital and passed away on February 7th of 2020, sparking a wave of anger and sadness on social media.

Illustration that went viral on social media at the time of Dr. Li’s death (read more here).

Over the past two years, Dr. Li’s Weibo page has become a digital Wailing Wall where people send little messages to remember Dr. Li, tell about their own anxieties and worries, but also address social injustices. As recorded by China Digital Times, one among thousands of comments said:

Two years ago today, I had a sleepless night because of you, and my Weibo account once got shut down because I posted something about you. Over the past two years, I’ve often wondered: will this world become a better place? But between the Liu Xuezhou incident and the woman in Xuzhou with eight kids, I’ve been disappointed time and time again. If you happen to see Liu Xuezhou, please be good to him.

Looking at Dr. Li’s Weibo account today, it is not just Liu Xuezhou who is brought up by commenters; ‘the woman in Xuzhou’ is also mentioned by dozens of people as someone experiencing injustice. But who is she?

 

The Chained-Up Mother in Xuzhou

 

In late January of 2022, right around the same time when Liu Xuezhou was one of the biggest topics on Chinese social media, a TikTok video showing a woman chained up in a shed went viral online and triggered massive outrage with thousands of people demanding answers about the woman’s circumstances.

The video, filmed by a local vlogger in the village of Huankou in Xuzhou, showed how the woman was kept in a dirty hut without a door in the freezing cold. She did not even wear a coat, and she seemed confused and unable to express herself.

Other TikTok videos that came out around the same time showed how the woman’s husband, a man by the name of Dong Zhimin (董志民), was playing and talking with their eight children in the family home right next to the hut where the mother was confined.

The video caused a storm on social media. Many netizens worried about the woman’s circumstances. Why was she chained up? Was she a victim of human trafficking? Was she being abused? How could she have had eight babies? Was she forced to have so many children? While netizens were speculating about the case and venting their anger, Weibo shut down some of the hashtags dedicated to this topic, but the topic soon popped up everywhere, and people started making artworks and writing essays in light of the case.

Following public demands, local authorities started looking into the case. An initial statement by Feng County, where the village of Huankou is located, was issued on January 28 and it said that the woman, named Yang (杨), married her husband in 1998 and that there was no indication that she was a victim of human trafficking.

The woman was dealing with mental problems and would display sudden violent outbursts, beating children and older people. The family allegedly thought it was best to separate her from the family home during these episodes, letting her stay chained up in a small hut next to the house.

The first statement raised more questions than it answered and more people, including influential Weibo bloggers and media insiders, started investigating the case. Meanwhile, it became clear that husband Dong Zhimin was giving interviews to other vloggers flocking to Huankou. Besides talking about his eight children (seven sons, one daughter) as future providers for the family, he also used his newly-acquired ‘fame’ to make money through social media. This only led to more online anger about Dong exploiting his wife and children.

Screenshots from the original Douyin (TikTok) video.

As the social media storm intensified, more official statements ensued. On January 30, Feng County local officials responded to the controversy in a second statement, in which the Xuzhou mother was identified as Yang *Xia (杨某侠) who allegedly once was “a beggar on the streets” in the summer of 1998 when she was taken in by Dong family and ended up marrying their 30-something son Dong Zhimin.

Local officials did not properly check and verify Yang’s identity information when registering the marriage certificate and the local family planning department also made errors in implementing birth control measures and following up with the family. The statement said that Yang had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and was now receiving treatment.

A third, fourth, and even fifth statement issued by authorities on February 7th, 10th, and 23rd confirmed what many on Weibo had suspected all along, namely that Yang had indeed been a victim of human trafficking. Xuzhou authorities said their investigation had brought them to the village of Yagu in Yunnan, a place that was mentioned on Yang’s marriage certificate.

Yang was identified as Xiaohuamei (小花梅), born and raised in Yagu. Yang’s DNA had been compared to that of the family of Xiaohuamei, and the DNA match confirmed that Yang was indeed Xiaohuamei. According to the statements, Xiaohuamei married and moved to another city in 1994, but she divorced and returned to her village two years later, which is when she allegedly also showed signs of mental illness.

Her parents, now deceased, then allegedly ordered a female fellow villager to take their daughter to Jiangsu to get married there. According to the woman, she took Xiaohuamei with her on a train from Yunnan to Jiangsu’s Donghai, but she allegedly ‘went missing’ shortly after arrival. The woman never reported her as missing to the police and she never notified the family.

That woman, along with another man and Dong Zhimin, are now held criminally responsible for illegal detainment and human trafficking. Xiaohuamei was reportedly sold to a man in Donghai for 5,000 yuan ($790) in 1998. Though Xiaohuamei managed to escape, she was sold twice again, eventually ending up with the Dong family.

One of the many images shared on Chinese social media to raise awareness of the case of the Xuzhou mother and other women like her.

While details surrounding the case of the ‘chained Xuzhou mother of eight’ are still being discussed on Chinese social media, it has become clear that by now, ‘Yang’ has come to represent many more women like her. Over the past few weeks, the stories of other women who also might be a victim of human trafficking have surfaced, and the public outcry demanding justice for trafficked women is ongoing.

 

One Social Media Spark Starting a Wildfire

 

Both in the case of Liu Xuezhou and the Xuzhou mother, it should be noted that their stories initially did not catch the public’s attention because official news media reported them, but because of first-hand videos being posted on TikTok (Douyin) and then being picked up and shared by bigger accounts.

Both Liu’s video and the short video featuring the mother of eight were posted on accounts that were not necessarily very popular: starting as a small spark in an online environment with over 900 million social media users, they were shared, commented on, and then spread like wildfire.

Both stories developed in real-time while netizens were following the case, both stories eventually became too big for Chinese state media to ignore, and both Liu and Yang highlighted bigger social issues in contemporary China, mainly those relating to human trafficking.

Since these cases went viral, there has been a heightened focus on the problem of human trafficking, which mostly occurs in China’s poorer areas with weak governance. The trafficking of especially women and children has various purposes, including forced marriage and illegal adoption in areas where there is a shortage of women (along with a preference for baby boys).

China Daily recently reported that lawmakers and advisers are now pushing for heavier punishment for human trafficking crimes, suggesting that the current penalties imposed on the buyers of women and children are too weak; the maximum prison sentence for those who purchase abducted women and children is three years.

In the case of the Xuzhou mother, there has been online censorship but the ongoing intense public outrage eventually did lead to higher-level research into the case. The mother was rescued from her terrible situation, the human traffickers involved are being held responsible, and so are 17 officials, who will be punished by authorities for their wrongdoings in the case.

As for Liu Xuezhou, his adoptive family members have recently filed a request at the Sanya Public Security Bureau to launch another investigation into his case. Their request was accepted on February 23rd, with multiple people being suspected of criminal offenses, eventually leading to his death. On Weibo, many people are now demanding punishment for Liu’s biological parents.

In late January of this year, following the tragic ending to Liu’s story, Chinese state media1 emphasized how the widespread attention for these kinds of stories in the social media era is also changing how government agencies should interact with the public.

According to Dr. Liu Leming, associate professor at East China University’s Political Science faculty, government agencies need to follow up and respond more quickly to social incidents like these in the internet era: “When public issues emerge, people who are involved in social problems or incidents want to know, more than anything, whether their requests have been seen and who will handle their concerns.”

In light of these recent stories, the public is happy that actions have been taken, but they are not satisfied with how these cases were handled. Many argue that authorities have failed in being transparent, that local governments have not done enough to prevent these cases from happening, and that China should do more to put an end to human trafficking.

And so, they are still posting the stories of children like Liu and women like Xiaohuamei to keep raising awareness and to keep pressuring local authorities and lawmakers to take more action to eradicate these practices.

As Liu is no longer alive and Xiaohuamei, still hospitalized, cannot defend herself, Chinese netizens keep raising their voices for them. In doing so, they have not just impacted how authorities dealt with these specific cases, but they are also changing how cases such as these will be handled in the future.

One Weibo user discussing Liu and the Xuzhou mother wrote: “We need to get to the bottom of these kinds of stories: who is to blame, who made mistakes, and where do we go from here?”

In the meantime, online posts, videos, and artworks honor both Liu and Xiaohuamei, so that their stories will not be forgotten. “Dear little one, springtime has come,” one among thousands of messages still flooding Liu Xuezhou’s Weibo page says: “You have endured too many things that you should have never experienced. It should have been us, the adults, taking care of these things for you. You please go and rest now, we will finish the rest for you.”

By Manya Koetse
Follow @whatsonweibo

For information and support on mental health and suicide, international helplines can be found at www.befrienders.org.

1 Cao Yin and Li Yang. 2022. “Policymakers, Lawmakers Respond to Opinion Voiced Online.” China Daily Hong Kong, January 28, Page 1-2.

Featured image by Ama for Yi Magazin.

This text was written for Goethe-Institut China under a CC-BY-NC-ND-4.0-DE license (Creative Commons) as part of a monthly column in collaboration with What’s On Weibo.

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