Chapter Dive
Chinamaxxing and the “Kill Line”: Why Two Viral Trends Took Off in the US and China
We’re at a very complicated time in our online lives. An explainer of “Chinamaxxing,” the “kill line,” and the platform politics behind them.
In the first month of 2026, two noteworthy social-media trends, both telling of the times we live in, went viral in the US and China: a China-focused trend in the US and an America-focused one in China.
In the US, TikTok videos and Instagram posts showing young people cheerfully portraying themselves as “Chinamaxxing,” or being “in a very Chinese time” of their lives, began popping up across social media.
Meanwhile, in China, posts about the darker side of American society and its so-called “kill line” (斩杀线) dominated trending lists.
In this week’s chapter dive, I’ll explain the stories behind both of these trends and why, despite their very different implications, the dynamics driving them are strikingly similar.
Converting to “Chinese Baddies”
Over the past week, the phrase “Becoming Chinese” (成为中国人 chéngwéi Zhōngguórén) has been gaining traction on Chinese social media. On January 30, the headline “Why ‘Becoming Chinese’ Videos Are Going Viral’ even made it to the number one most popular topic on Chinese platform Toutiao (“成为中国人视频为什么火了”).
Before reaching China’s social media, the trend had been gaining momentum on TikTok and Instagram for months, with viral videos showing foreigners humorously flaunting their supposedly deep connection to China by doing things like drinking a nice cup of hot water (the solution to everything), using traditional Chinese medicine, sitting in a squatting position while smoking Chinese cigarettes and holding Tsingtao beer, eating noodles or dim sum—all while wearing that popular Adidas “Chinese jacket.”
This is all referred to as “Chinamaxxing” or “Chinesemaxxing”: optimizing life by living in a Chinese-coded way.
Various “very Chinese time” examples (TikTok/Instagram).
The build-up to this moment has actually been underway for several years. In the post-Covid era, China’s global pop culture influence has grown noticeably, driven both by increasingly outward-facing efforts from Chinese companies and state actors, and by a broader shift among younger audiences in the US toward Asia.
As part of this broader shift, several notable online moments have emerged over the past few years, including the viral success of a Chinese pop song in 2022; the 2024 breakout of Black Myth: Wukong; the 2025 “TikTok refugee” phenomenon; Chinese rapper SKAI ISYOURGOD becoming a staple on TikTok; and the widely watched March 2025 China tour of American YouTuber IShowSpeed, followed by a less impactful but still meaningful China visit by American influencer Hasan Piker.
The now-famous line “You met me at a very Chinese time in my life”—inspired by the quote “You met me at a very strange time in my life” from the final scene of Fight Club—first surfaced on X in April 2025. The X account “Perfect Angel” (@girl__virus) then posted the phrase in a tweet that since has gathered over 950,000 views.1
The X post of April 5, screenshotted Jan 30, 2026.
The trend snowballed from there, especially in October 2025. When creator Myles Marchant posted a video of himself eating dumplings while using the phrase, it received nearly 200k likes. Afterward, all kinds of internet users, but particularly American content creators, started using the phrase in videos to show off just how “Chinese” they were.
Myles Marchant and McMungo in their videos.
As the meme went viral, from October 2025 through January 2026, it continued to evolve. What began with cigarette smoking and playful performances of “Chinese” behavior has, for many TikTok users, grown into something more. Drawing on Chinese food philosophies and wellness practices, they now present “Becoming Chinese” as a lifestyle trend focused on better energy, health, and skincare.
Chinamaxxing, Chinese Baddies, Becoming Chinese, A Very Chinese Time of My Life: Trends on Tiktok.
TikTok creator Missmazz, for example, introduced her morning routine “since recently converting to Chinese”: wearing slippers in the house, doing small jumps to “activate” lymph nodes, and drinking warm water and herbal tea. Creator Ohplsnatagain also shared her “first day of being Chinese,” drinking ginger tea, boiling apples, wearing red, and avoiding cold drinks.
“Chinease” morning and night routines, shared on TikTok by Tallow Twins.
Besides those aspiring to become Chinese, some Chinese creators have expressed their joy about the trend others emerged as online guides to these newly adopted identities and lifestyles. Creators like Emma Peng made a video telling people, “my culture can be your culture,” while others, like Sherry, actively encourage people to become Chinese: “It’s gonna be so fun!”
They have now formed an online community of self-labeled “Chinese baddies,” sharing recipes, morning routines, and tips for being as ‘Chinese’ as possible. On Chinese social media, netizens are humored by the overseas trend, and see it as a sign of just how powerful Chinese cultural confidence has become (“藏在烟火气里的文化自信才最有感染力”).
America’s “Kill Line”
While American social media users have been busy Chinamaxxing, Chinese social media have been feverishly discussing America’s so-called “kill line” (also translated as “execution line,” 斩杀 zhǎnshāxiàn).
The term first went trending in late 2025 after it was coined by the Northern Chinese livestreamer Squishy King (斯奎奇大王), better known by his nickname “Lao-A” (牢A), who is particularly active on Bilibili, the Chinese platform known for its strong anime and gaming subculture.
Lao-A has been livestreaming since 2024 without ever showing his face on camera. Through pure voice narration over images, he became known for casually chatting in livestreams—sometimes lasting over five hours—about a wide range of topics, especially those connected to American society. Lao-A claimed he was a Chinese biomedical student in Seattle who worked part-time as a forensic assistant, handling unclaimed bodies and preparing them for medical education or research.
Profile image of “Lao A”, who never shows his face on streams.
On November 1, 2025, during a stormy Halloween Friday night, Lao-A hosted another one of his five-plus-hour live-chatting streams, in which he spoke about the bad weather and homelessness in the US.
He mentioned how people living on the streets could easily die from a cold or Covid that turns into pneumonia without proper treatment, and how dreadful he felt about the freezing conditions—knowing that on Monday he would see the bodies of people who had died on the streets that very weekend.
According to Lao-A, the unidentified bodies of homeless people would be brought by the police to his school, where they could still generate some value. Drawing comparisons to “harvesting in harsh winter,” he introduced the concept of the “kill line,” borrowing the term from multiplayer/role-playing games such as Hades or League of Legends.
In gaming, a “kill line” refers to the health-point (HP) threshold below which a character can be instantly killed, with no possibility of recovery. Lao-A suggested that the situation of marginalized and homeless people during Seattle’s winter was similarly bleak: their deaths are treated as almost inevitable, even though basic medical care—such as antibiotics—might prevent them.
The way Lao-A spoke about his work and the darker sides of American society spread rapidly through Bilibili’s comment culture and then into wider Chinese social media, especially as he expanded on the topic in other livestreams, where he further discussed poverty in America, from the healthcare system to food assistance programs.
Visuals accompanying a report about Lao-A on the 163.com website.
Lao-A particularly focused on medical bills as a key component of America’s “kill line.” He described how people suffer first and then seek care, only to be further burdened by crushing costs—arguing that the American system drains people at their most vulnerable. An unexpected event such as illness, job loss, or a car breakdown can suddenly disrupt a family’s cash flow, leading to unpaid bills and a collapse in credit scores. Bad credit, in turn, makes it harder to rent housing, pass background checks, or secure affordable insurance, while debts pile up. This downward spiral, he suggested, eventually pushes people past a final execution threshold: too broke, too sick, too depressed, and too far gone to recover, ending in homelessness or addiction and shortening life spans.
Lao-A framed this as a systemic trap created by capitalism: a game mechanic in which the rules are rigged so that once someone falls below the threshold, the system itself kills them. Besides the “kill line,” he introduced other gaming-inspired terms, such as using “Gundam” (高达, after the Japanese model kits) to refer to the bodies he handled, or “slimes” (史莱姆) for decomposed bodies found in sewers.
In some ways, Lao-A’s “kill line” resembles the concept of ALICE (“Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed”), a demographic category created by the nonprofit United For ALICE to describe American households that earn above the federal poverty line but still cannot afford basic necessities such as housing, childcare, healthcare, or groceries.
By mid-December 2025, the term and the stories surrounding it had entered the mainstream and began hitting trending lists on Weibo, Toutiao, and Kuaishou.
Cartoon by Chinese state media outlet CRI Online about the killing line. Top texts say: “Thriving economy, America first, America great again.” On the staircase, it says: “Unemployment, unexpected costs, illness.”
As the “kill line” quickly entered China’s online lexicon, it was also embraced and boosted by official media. After earlier coverage, Qiushi (qstheory), the Chinese Communist Party’s most authoritative theoretical journal, published a January 4 commentary arguing that the “kill line” reflects a widespread condition in which Americans’ capacity to withstand risk has been pushed to its limits, while Trump’s MAGA movement fails to work towards a solution as it focuses on cultural identity rather than addressing the economic challenges faced by millions of Americans.
Something that also caused a stir online, is how American media began reporting on the Chinese “kill line” concept. First Newsweek on December 26, followed by The Economist and later The New York Times. The phrase even surfaced at the World Economic Forum in Davos, when a Chinese state-media reporter asked US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent about the phenomenon.
All of this placed a considerable spotlight on Lao-A himself, whose real identity and personal backstory began to be questioned by internet users. After he was identified as the possibly 30-year-old “Alex Kong 孔” from Daqing, who attended a community college in Seattle, more of his details were leaked online. Lao-A said he feared for his safety and returned to China.
This supposed “escape from America” became a major story on Chinese social media, with Lao-A repeatedly topping trending charts from January 17 onward. Attention peaked around January 22–23, after he joined Weibo and participated in joint livestreams with Chinese professor and prominent nationalist commentator Shen Yi (沈逸), and again around February 1, when he streamed with foreign-policy commentator Gao Zhikai (高志凯). During this period, Lao-A and the dystopian “kill line” narrative completely dominated Chinese online discussions.
Throughout his solo livestreams and collaborative appearances, Lao-A has continued to paint an especially dark picture of American society, describing graphic gang violence, failures in the education system, murky organ-transplant systems and black markets for organ harvesting (claiming that healthy Chinese students who have not used drugs are “very valuable”), and Chinese female students abroad as “ideal hunting targets” for white men—explicitly warning Chinese parents not to send their daughters to study overseas.
By now, “kill line” is a term that pops up all over Chinese social media and is applied to all kinds of news coming from America, from the Epstein files to the Alex Pretti shooting.
Where the “Kill Line” Meets “Chinamaxxing”
On the famous Know your Meme website, the phrase “You Met Me At A Very Chinese Time In My Life” is described as “ultimately meaningless and purposefully absurd.” But it’s actually not.
Both the “Becoming Chinese” trend and the discourse surrounding the “kill line” are shaped by our current media moment and reflect broader, shifting narratives about China, the United States, and global power.
While China’s rise has been a major media theme for years, a lot of Chinese influence had felt invisible for younger generations in the West, even if they were already living, wearing, and consuming “made in China.” More recently, however, China’s soft power narratives have become more visible, with popular culture emerging as a powerful tool.
The changing attitudes toward “made in China,” alongside a growing interest in Chinese tradition and elements of ancient culture, took shape in the late 2010s as China’s domestic cultural confidence increased. This development was partly supported by China’s flourishing livestreaming economy & homegrown e-commerce platforms, as well as more assertive official messaging around the idea of products being “proudly made in China.”
Wang Yibo poses with Anta’s “China” t-shirt in 2021, the year that “made in China” had become cool again.
Younger Chinese consumers in particular—those born after 1995 or 2000—began showing more interest in domestic brands than earlier generations. This trend reflected not just consumer preference, but a stronger identification with Chinese culture and national identity. By 2021, a Global Times survey indicated that most Chinese consumers believed Western brands could be replaced by Chinese ones (75% of respondents agreed that “national products could fully or partially replace Western products“).
By 2025, pop-culture products emerging from this renewed focus on domestically produced goods—often incorporating traditional Chinese aesthetics—began reaching audiences beyond China, finding traction in Western markets as well.
At the same time, the United States experienced significant societal divisions in the aftermath of the 2024 elections, while its global image and cultural influence were affected by the dismantling of traditional US soft power channels.
Together, these developments shaped broader changes in global public opinion, tilting toward a more favorable view of China as “the world’s leading power,” and fueling conversations about a future increasingly framed through a Chinese lens.
This wider geopolitical context forms the backdrop against which the two viral trends discussed here took shape.
–Why these trends took off
🔹 The Decay of the American Dream and Insecurities about China’s Dream
Geopolitical power shifts alone are not enough to explain the virality of both “Becoming Chinese” and the “kill line” discourse. Current socio-cultural dynamics also play a major role.
In both the US and China, people’s sense of security, future, and identity is shifting, and other countries are increasingly used as mirrors, escape routes, or coping mechanisms to process that change. Young working-class Americans under Trump and middle-class Chinese facing “involution” (nèijuǎn 内卷, a seemingly never-ending societal rat race) are questioning their systems, but arrive at opposite conclusions by using each other as contrasts.
🇺🇸 “A projection of what Americans believe their own country has lost”
In a recent article for Wired,”Why Everyone Is Suddenly in a ‘Very Chinese Time’ in Their Lives,” the authors argue that the “very Chinese time” meme is “not really about China or actual Chinese people,” but instead functions as a projection of what Americans believe their own country has lost.2
Rather than offering an accurate depiction of China, the trend relies on stereotyped markers of “Chineseness” to express frustration with US infrastructure erosion, political instability, polarization and, as PhD researcher Tianyu Fang puts it, “the decay of the American dream.”
In this context, China appears as an aspirational contrast—”less as a real place than an abstraction”—through which Americans critique their own realities.
🇨🇳 “Why China is suddenly obsessed with American poverty”
Similarly, in a The New York Times article titled “Why China Is Suddenly Obsessed With American Poverty,” author Li Yuan argues that the “kill line” narrative offers emotional relief to Chinese netizens while also helping to deflect criticism of domestic leadership. As she writes, “the worse things look across the Pacific (…), the more tolerable present struggles become.”3
A related conclusion is reached in an article by The Economist,4 which suggests that the surge in discussion about America’s failures says less about the realities of life in the US than about China’s own anxieties over slowing growth and the fragility of domestic political discourse.
While the “Chinese Dream,” which prioritizes collective effort and national strength, is promoted as part of state ideology, everyday life tells a more sobering story, in which climbing the social ladder seems increasingly out of reach for millions of Chinese facing economic slowdown, high youth unemployment, and a constrained space for criticism.5
Yet as narratives about the perceived failure of the “American Dream” flood Chinese social media, China itself begins to look like the better place—even with all of its own challenges.
Ultimately, both the “Becoming Chinese” and “kill line” phenomena are embedded in collective anxieties about vulnerability and decline, fueling a growing hunger for counter-narratives.
–The stories told
🔹Fantasizing about “the Other”
Those counter-narratives do not need to be realistic. To fulfill their role in channeling perspectives, insecurities, and even a sense of cathartic relief about the present and future, they can’t actually be nuanced. Simplification, exaggeration, and symbolic contrast are precisely what make them effective.
🇺🇸 “Chinese cultural identity as a disposable trend”
In the case of “Becoming Chinese,” the trend is comically fairy-tale–like, suggesting that people of all backgrounds can “turn Chinese” in the blink of an eye. One popular meme even implies that there is no need to “kiss the frog” to meet the prince: simply looking at the frog would already make you Chinese.
Beyond fairy tales, there is also a gaming logic at play in other “Becoming Chinese” memes, with different levels of “Chineseness” to unlock to reach that final mythical state of Being Chinese.
Although this is all tongue-in-cheek, it is also what has made the trend a focal point of criticism recently. Chinese cultural identity is turned into a game, a disposable trend for non-Chinese users. Some Chinese and Chinese-American creators have taken offense at how casually Chinese identity is treated—particularly after being a target of discrimination during the Covid era, only to now become a source of social-media hype.
Others argue that it feels more like appropriation than appreciation, suggesting that “Becoming Chinese” reflects a form of Orientalism: a simplified fantasy of an “exotic” China that mirrors Western desires, anxieties, and power relations rather than the lived realities of Chinese people.
Similar critiques have surfaced on Weibo, especially targeting Chinese-American social-media users. Some commenters accused them of seeking Western validation, framing their participation in the trend as an expression of unresolved insecurities about their own identity.
When confronted with such criticisms, some TikTok users respond defensively. One critical creator shot back at the “dumb comments” in his feed, saying: “Forget meeting you at a very Chinese time in your life—when am I going to meet you at a very intellectual time in your life?”
🇨🇳 “American society as a dystopian game”
The success of Lao-A’s descriptions of America’s dark sides and its “kill line” also lies in how he gamifies social stratification and marginalization. He does not just borrow terms from gaming, but frames society itself as a dystopian game, where reaching certain thresholds means it is simply game over.
While the “kill line” concept has been embraced by netizens and official media alike, the persona of Lao-A has grown increasingly controversial. As criticism mounted over inconsistencies and falsehoods in his stories about America, including his education and alleged “escape,” netizens began questioning how much was factual and how much was Hollywood-inspired: from slimy corpses in Seattle sewers to thriving black markets for organs, cannibalism or gangs beheading victims and hanging their skinned heads like “candied apples” (糖霜苹果).
In a recent livestream, Lao-A finally admitted that around “40 percent” of what he had told was not based on his own experience, with part drawn from borrowed accounts and part outright fabricated.
In a way, the popularization of Lao-A’s stories about the US resembles the wave of reporting about China’s “social credit score” in Western media between 2018 and 2020, when even reputable outlets claimed that the Chinese government was assigning all of its 1.4 billion citizens a personal score based on their behavior, linked to what they buy, watch, and say online. In many ways, those stories fed into Western fears about AI, privacy, and these developments becoming reality in Western societies themselves.
There was some truth in reports about the nascent social credit system in China, but much of the coverage was exaggerated or simply false—much like Lao-A’s stories, which mix real structural problems with a heavy dramatization and elements of fiction. In the end, that distinction matters less than you might expect. Lao-A has by now almost become a myth himself, praised by many not for the falsehoods he spread, but for consolidating a strong image of a dystopian America, one that balances the dark portrayal of China so often encountered in US media.
–Dynamics behind the trends
🔹Platform Politics
Both “Becoming Chinese” and the “kill line” are not just products of broader geopolitical shifts, US–China relations, and growing social insecurities. They are also inherently shaped by the platforms they emerged from and, in many ways, are products of those platforms themselves.
🇺🇸 “Chinese baddies building their TikTok success on Chinamaxxing”
In the West, “Becoming Chinese” trends are primarily created and shared on TikTok, an entertainment-focused platform built around endlessly scrolling short-form videos that are algorithmically recommended based on user behavior (particularly what people watch, engage with, or quickly scroll past). Although TikTok is originally Chinese—its parent company is ByteDance—it is separated from the app’s Chinese version (Douyin) and is only used outside China. TikTok has been popular in the US ever since its 2017 launch and is now used by some 200 million people there, with daily life, comedy, fashion & beauty and pop culture being among some of the popular content categories.
Since 2020, there have been repeated discussions about banning TikTok in the US over concerns about national security and the power of its algorithm due to its Chinese ownership—a prospect that proved widely unpopular among American TikTok creators. (As of this month, TikTok has finally reached a deal that allows the app to continue operating in the US, with its algorithm trained only on US data.)
As a result of this resistance against a potential ban, and against any policies changing the app’s dynamics, large numbers of users previously “fled” to the Chinese social media app Xiaohongshu, and began expressing overtly pro-China sentiments as a playful form of protest against what they saw as the anti-Chinese undertones of the proposed ban.
This background, along with the fact that TikTok is a platform generally focused on humor and relatability, has made it a place that is rather positive when it comes to China-related content. Earlier research confirms that, in sharp contrast to traditional US media, popular content on the app tends to frame China in a largely non-political and positive way.6
This has led to the current dynamics of the “Becoming Chinese” trend as a way for creators to profit. By creating these positive, entertaining, and short videos, they can aim for likes, build community, and grow their accounts. For a few “Chinese baddies,” their entire success was built on “Chinamaxxing.”
🇨🇳 “How to score on Bilibili”
In China’s social media environment, stories about the darker side of American society have always been a consistent part of online circles discussing US–China relations, and this holds especially true for Bilibili.
Although Bilibili originally started as a platform focused on ACG (anime, cartoons, games), it has evolved over the years along with its user base, which consists largely of college students and young professionals. It is now home to many creators producing political and geopolitical analytical content in a way that encourages interaction and aligns with Bilibili’s rather unpolished, humorous style.
Different from TikTok in America, popular Western-related content on China’s Bilibili platform is often framed through a strongly pro-Chinese lens and frequently carries anti-Western narratives. There are also foreign creators on the platform whose credibility is boosted when they produce what is considered pro-China or party-conforming content.7
Lao-A succeeded on Bilibili precisely because he tapped into what its users are most drawn to: using gaming slang and imagery to cast a dark light on American society on a platform whose users are increasingly politically engaged. At the same time, he claimed to be located in America itself, deep within the grim reality he described—further boosting his credibility.
In doing so, Lao-A showed that he understands how to “score” on Bilibili and has ultimately made an irreversible impact. The fact that he fabricated some of his stories does not seem to bother many people, who claim that being more nuanced would have simply led viewers to swipe away. These tactics have helped make him one of the most prominent “America watchers” on China’s social media in 2026.
🌀 Utopian Borrowing and Dystopian Pointing
Put side by side, “Becoming Chinese” and the “kill line” appear to be opposites: one romanticizes China, the other condemns America; one is playful and humorous, the other dark and serious; one thrives on Western social media, the other emerged from Chinese platforms; one is entertainment-driven, the other overtly political.
Yet both are built on similar foundations. Each taps into underlying anxieties and frustrations about the present, responds to broader global shifts, and relies on gamified language, stereotypes, or selective details that easily resonate with online audiences and encourage them to engage. In doing so, both trends are perfectly adapted to the platform dynamics and social media environments in which they flourish, and from which they benefit.
What these trends ultimately reveal is not a definitive truth about either country, but the power of digital discourse to seize on existing discontent to shape or influence perceptions of the United States and China. One becomes a utopia to borrow from, the other a dystopia to point at. Perhaps the most important takeaway is not how different these trends are, but how similar the underlying impulses behind these narratives actually are, revealing deeper ideas about American and Chinese internet users having so much more in common than meets the eye.
Meanwhile, Lao-A has already begun to move on a bit. His focus for now has shifted, at least partly, from America’s “kill line” to Japanese society. On TikTok, many of the creators who “discovered” they were “Chinese” in early January have also pivoted and are now posting about Pilates, reviewing Thai food, or booking holidays to Spain. Even “Perfect Angel,” who was the first to tweet that “Very Chinese time” phrase in 2025, just tweeted that “being Canadian is in this year.”
Who knows what we’ll become tomorrow? Maybe it really is time for that cup of hot water now.
By Manya Koetse
(follow on X, LinkedIn, or Instagram)
1 See: Elle Jones. 2026. “Why Everyone Is Now Chinese.” Substack, January 11. https://substack.com/home/post/p-184141480 [January 30, 2026].
2 See: Zeyi Yang and Louise Matsakis. 2026. “Why Everyone Is Suddenly in a ‘Very Chinese Time’ in Their Lives.” WIRED, January 16 https://www.wired.com/story/made-in-china-chinese-time-of-my-life/ [January 30, 2026].
3 See: Li Yuan. 2026. “Why China Is Suddenly Obsessed With American Poverty.” The New York Times, January 13 https://www.nytimes.com/2026/01/13/business/china-american-poverty.html [February 1, 2026].
4 See: The Economist. 2026. “China Obsesses over America’s “Kill Line.”” The Economist, January 12 https://www.economist.com/china/2026/01/12/china-obsesses-over-americas-kill-line [February 1, 2026].
5 See: Ma Junjie. 2025. “A ‘Loser’s Nation’ and the Abandoned Chinese Dream.” The Diplomat, September 4. https://thediplomat.com/2025/09/a-losers-nation-and-the-abandoned-chinese-dream/ [February 3, 2026].
6 See: Cole Henry Highhouse. 2022. “China Content on TikTok: The Influence of Social Media Videos on National Image.” Online Media and Global Communication 1 (4): 697–722.
6 See: Florian Schneider. 2021. “China’s Viral Villages: Digital Nationalism and the COVID-19 Crisis on Online Video-Sharing Platform Bilibili.” Communication And The Public 6 (1-4): 48-66.
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Chapter Dive
Cancel-Proof: The Rise of China’s AI Actors
China’s AI actors are on the rise, and not everyone is buying it. The country’s microdrama industry offers a glimpse of what’s to come for the broader film and TV sector.
– By Ruixin Zhang and Manya Koetse
For Chinese audiences, AI in film and television is nothing new. In the fall of 2023, the first fully AI digital performer in a Chinese domestic drama, the character Erzhuang (二壮) in I Am Nobody (异人之下) sparked debate on Chinese social media.
Some fans, due to Erzhuang’s convincing northeastern Chinese dialect and natural expressions, almost couldn’t believe she wasn’t a real actress.
Erzhuang in I Am Nobody (异人之下) in 2023.
But Erzhuang was just the beginning.
In 2024, China Mythology (中国神话) was promoted by state media as China’s first fully AI-produced short drama series.
A year later, In My Heart, You Are One of a Kind (在我心中，你是独一无二) premiered as Hong Kong’s very first AI-generated short drama, a youth campus romance that sparked further discussion about whether AI actors could actually replace human actors.
From the two AI dramas from 2024 and 2025: China Mythology and In My Heart, You Are One of a Kind.
Those discussions were reignited in late March of this year when Shanghai-based production company Yaoke Media (耀客传媒) introduced two newly signed AI actors, Qin Lingyue (秦凌岳) and Lin Xiyan (林汐颜), who’ll be starring in the fantasy short drama Qinling (秦岭).
Qin Lingyue (秦凌岳) and Lin Xiyan (林汐颜)
Unlike earlier AI figures in microdramas, this high-profile ‘signing’ marks a shift: the company plans to develop these characters as independent IPs, much like human actors. In other words, they are to attract fans both through their on-screen performances and their off-screen ‘personalities.’
Soon after, the two AI actors created their own social media accounts on Douyin and Xiaohongshu, and began cultivating a sense of authenticity and ‘liveness’ (活人感).
A real-looking social media profile.
But as these digital performers and real actors become harder to distinguish, audience discomfort is growing, too.
The Rise of AI Microdramas
In China’s microdrama market, AI is already playing a dominant role, with “AI dramas” (AI剧 or AI短剧) standing out as a distinct creative category within the broader industry.
Microdramas, also simply known as short dramas, have been around in China for at least a decade, but have become especially popular in recent years due to their vertical, ultra-short formats, designed for quick mobile viewing and easy ‘binge watching.’ Microdramas typically run for 60 to 100 episodes, but with each episode lasting just one to three minutes, an entire season can be watched in an hour or two.
That format also makes the industry particularly well-suited to AI. It is large, fast-moving, and often operates on limited budgets, with productions turning around quickly. In this environment, using AI-generated effects and AI actors simply makes sense. This is very different from traditional drama production, which typically involves longer timelines, higher budgets, well-known actors, and less room for experimentation.
“AI is no longer just an add-on in China’s drama sector—it is an integral part of the production process”
As a result, AI is no longer just an add-on in China’s short drama sector—it is becoming an integral part of the production process, with digital actors helping to improve efficiency and reduce costs. With the launch of Bytedance’s Seedance 2.0, production costs for AI-generated videos have dropped significantly, further boosting the growth of AI microdramas.
The scale of this shift is already clear: AI microdramas are now often outpacing live-action productions on trending charts. In 2025 alone, one Zhejiang-based production company (刚刚好影视) released 229 AI micro-dramas, generating over 513 million views.
According to Sixth Tone, short dramas featuring AI actors already represented approximately 40% of the top 100 animated short dramas in January 2026.
Turning AI Actors into Real Idols
With AI and microdramas entering a kind of symbiosis, virtual actors are no longer disposable, one-off creations. They are evolving into continuous, persona-driven figures, often designed to resemble real celebrities—much like “fandom-driven actors” (流量演员), whose core function is to monetize fan attachment and sell fantasies rather than just act.
According to Yaoke Media, their plans for Qin Lingyue and Lin Xiyan are similar to those of idol models: they are expected to interact with fans, appear in multiple productions, and eventually become monetizable assets through brand endorsements and image licensing.
This also means they will likely take on the full spectrum of idol labor, including promotional events, fan service, and carefully manufactured on-screen chemistry—sometimes even “queerbaiting” (卖腐). (There’s no perfect English equivalent, but the term refers to deliberately staging romantic interactions between two male characters aimed in particular at a female “danmei” fans or “rotten girls” audiences who like indulging in such fantasies.)
In one AI costume drama, behind-the-scenes clips showed the lead actor and actress “live-streaming” together, answering fan questions, and deliberately hyping up their on-screen chemistry.
“Behind the scenes” livestream screenshots by AI actors.
Such human-coded content is now increasingly becoming an important part of the AI microdrama industry.
Some of these online videos also show the supposed perspective of “fans” and “staff” watching the actors walk around or interacting with them, creating a simulated world that some netizens feel is pushing a sense of “realness,” with comments like: “Please don’t force AI to act so human-like.”
“AI actors featuring in AI dramas that are watched by AI audiences, it’s the perfect closed loop”
For the same AI costume drama, some clips even mimic the perspective of ‘fansite admins’ (站姐)—dedicated fan photographers who typically capture and share candid, off-stage footage of real stars.
In one vlog by a supposed prop assistant, she appears as an overworked but witty crew member, taking viewers around the set, chatting with the leads, buying them coffee, and even stepping in as an extra.
“Behind the scenes” of an AI microdrama.
These glimpses of everyday, behind-the-scenes life all feel oddly real, but everything is AI-generated: the actors, the sets, the audience interactions, the staff, even the paparazzi (see example videos here and here).
For ordinary audiences, it is striking how deeply AI has already penetrated the film & television industry. Beyond criticisms of stiff expressions and rigid aesthetics, many netizens describe the new phenomenon as “uncanny” or “just too real😨.”
With AI actors now realistic enough to pass as human at a glance, but with small details like emotional expression still being off, that gap between being almost human but not quite creates a sense of discomfort among viewers, who dub these AI actors ‘stuffed monsters’ (缝合怪) or ‘stitched-together corpses’ (尸块).
More than the actors, it’s the entire ecosystem around them that makes us believe we’re watching “candid moments” of something that is not even alive. Screenwriter Wang Hailin (汪海林) was sarcastically commented on Weibo: “AI actors featuring in AI dramas that are watched by AI audiences 👍, it’s a perfect closed loop.”
‘Borrowing’ Facial Features
Besides the simulated “aliveness” of digital performers, another controversial issue surrounding the recent rise of China’s AI actors is whether these creations infringe on portrait rights. Since the debut of Qin Lingyue and Lin Xiyan, these AI figures have been criticized for appearing to use facial features from multiple real actors.
As online discussions intensify, more AI actors in microdramas have been found to resemble real celebrities. Fans of beloved Chinese celebrities such as Dilraba Dilmurat (迪丽热巴) and Xiao Zhan (肖战) have taken to Weibo to protest this kind of “face swapping” (AI换脸) and demand protection of their idols’ likenesses.
An “AI face swap” (AI换脸): an AI actor on the left, Xiao Zhan on the right.
Yaoke responded that these images were “derived from massive datasets on the internet” and did not replicate any specific individual’s features.
This only fueled further backlash. To many, the use of “massive data” suggests that anyone, celebrity or ordinary person, could potentially have their image appropriated.
“The vlogger discovered the face swap infringement after a friend recognized his face while watching the AI drama”
In related recent trending news, a Chinese content creator (白菜汉服妆造), who typically wears traditional Chinese clothing in his videos, accused Hongguo (红果短剧), ByteDance’s short drama platform, of using his likeness without authorization to create a greedy villain in the AI-generated drama Taohua Zan (桃花簪).
On the left: greedy villain in the AI-generated drama Taohua Zan. On the right: Chinese content creator (白菜汉服妆造).
The vlogger discovered the face swap infringement after a friend recognized his face while watching the drama. The series was later taken offline.
One problem is that legal frameworks around AI lag behind technological development: by the time victims try to fight back legally, the technology has already moved on, making enforcement almost impossible.
Better Than the Real Thing?
Despite the backlash against the AI-fication of China’s short drama industry, some netizens are more optimistic about its development.
One blogger recently noted that as many people have already formed near friendship-like emotional dependencies on chatbots like ChatGPT—initially seen as cold technological tools—it is entirely possible that audiences will also develop genuine attachment to AI actors.
Current limitations that still make AI actors feel stiff, such as robotic voices or unnatural expressions, will likely diminish as the technology continues to improve.
Some call binging on AI short dramas their “guilty pleasure,” just to watch the AI actors perform. As one Weibo user wrote: “The female characters are just so beautiful—seriously, unbelievably beautiful. And they’re becoming more and more realistic: their facial expressions, especially the way their mouths move, are incredibly precise. Even the makeup looks stylish, and the hair feels very real. I honestly find myself wondering what eyeshadow and mascara they’re using.”
But support for AI performers in China’s drama industry is not limited to guilty pleasures and tech enthusiasts. For some, it also reflects a broader weariness with the perceived lack of quality among human actors.
“If the performances of real actors are already no better than AI, why not use AI actors instead?”
China’s film and television industry’s strong focus on fandom culture and good-looking idols, combined with limited budgets and a lack of formal training, has produced a wave of actors who are widely criticized for poor acting and a lack of professionalism. They are also frequently caught up in controversies, from refusing to memorize lines to relying heavily on green-screen acting.
These criticisms intensified during the 2021 major scandal involving former drama actress Zheng Shuang (郑爽), who had long faced criticism over her acting. A leaked recording at the time revealed she was earning a staggering 2.08 million RMB per day (roughly $320,000 then). Since then, “2.08 million” (208万) has become a derogatory label for fandom-driven actors who get high pays despite low-quality performances.
Amid weak acting and a distorted pay structure, many viewers have been calling for change. A common sentiment is: if their performances are already no better than AI, why not use AI actors, and give real actors a sense of crisis?
From Cancel Culture to AI Actors
But will the use of AI actors actually push the industry to improve human actors, or simply replace them?
Some Chinese industry insiders remain optimistic, arguing that AI can never fully replicate the nuance of human emotion. Among those who have spoken out are A-list actors such as Zhang Ruoyun (张若昀) and Feng Yuanzheng (冯远征), president of the Beijing People’s Art Theatre.
Others, however, are less optimistic.
“China’s “cancel culture” will eventually make AI actors an increasingly attractive bet for industry investors”
Agan Jackie (阿甘Jackie), a streamer working in the film industry, pointed out in a recent podcast that China’s “cancel culture” will eventually make AI actors an increasingly attractive bet for industry investors.
Although there’s “cancel culture” in the Western entertainment industry as well, the moral bar for Chinese celebrities is exceptionally high: anything from tax evasion to littering, simply being rude to fans could destroy an actor’s commercial value. The superstar Fan Bingbing (范冰冰), for example, disappeared from public view after a tax evasion scandal. Even after repaying her debts, she is still effectively banned from mainland productions.
China’s cancel culture is also closely tied to political red lines. One remark or move – intended or not – could end a career overnight. Zhang Zhehan (张哲瀚), an actor who quickly rose to fame a few years ago, vanished from the industry after photos surfaced of him posing near the Japanese Yasukuni Shrine.
For production companies and streaming platforms, such unpredictability creates a high-investment, high-risk environment. “Scandal-proof” AI actors offer a low-risk substitute.
This perhaps also plays a major role in why major streaming platforms such as Tencent and iQiyi are now promoting or encouraging the use of AI actors through AI feature film experiments, with the first fully AI-generated commercial blockbusters expected to be released later this year.
A Glimpse into the Future
At the recent China TV Drama Production Industry Conference, it became clear that the industry is undergoing something of an earthquake, with major changes ahead: while top actors will continue to function as traffic drivers, demand for human actors is expected to decline, and much of the mid- and lower-tier acting segment (such as extras and body doubles, but also voice actors) could largely disappear as it becomes replaceable by AI.
The microdrama industry, already heavily infiltrated by AI, offers a glimpse of the future of the broader TV and film industry when it comes to digital performers.
Microdrama actress Zhou Ye (周野) recently said that her pay has been slashed by 50% since AI-driven microdramas flooded the market, leaving many more actors jobless. For the 140,000 registered extras at Hengdian World Studios, China’s largest filming base, these developments could have far-reaching consequences.
Sometimes, these actors even sign away their fate—quite literally—as some companies now require “AI authorization” clauses as a condition of employment, effectively selling their digital likeness just to get a job. Companies can then create AI actors based on real individuals. Chinese talent management company Yuxiao Media (聿潇传媒) has introduced six such AI actors, directly modeled on real performers.
“The microdrama industry, already heavily infiltrated by AI, offers a glimpse of the future of the broader TV and film industry when it comes to digital performers”
One of these, influencer Han Anran (韩安冉), openly stated during a livestream that she had sold her likeness rights for AI creation. Playing into public criticism of her acting and heavily altered appearance, she said this was the best way to monetize her image. She even wondered that if her AI doppelganger were ever to win an award, whether she or the AI should go on stage to accept it.
Han Anran (韩安冉) on the left and the AI actress modeled after her on the right.
Perhaps nobody likes to see ordinary actors’ livelihoods being taken over by AI. But despite concerns about shrinking job opportunities, China is unlikely to see Hollywood-like strikes, as it lacks unions or organizations comparable to SAG-AFTRA or the AFL-CIO, which focus on labor representation beyond awards and industry guidelines.
For now, the only collective pushback against the full “AI-fication” of the industry comes from Chinese netizens themselves: boycotting platforms and production companies using AI actors, and voting with their views. Ultimately, only when public demand for realness becomes strong enough to threaten profits—or when laws finally catch up—will there be a sense of security for the people behind the screen—the real ones.
By Ruixin Zhang, with editing and additional context by Manya Koetse
©2026 Eye on Digital China/Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.
Chapter Dive
Chinese Postdoc Death Raises Questions as Key Details Remain Missing
About a widely discussed “chilling effect”, the death of Chinese researcher Wang Danhao, and unanswered questions. (April 3 update included)
On March 27, news about a Chinese postdoctoral researcher based in the United States who allegedly died by suicide a day after being questioned by US law enforcement officials began trending on Chinese social media.
The news came out during the Friday regular press briefing, where a CCTV reporter asked China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) spokesperson Lin Jian (林剑):
🗣️ “We’ve learned [据了解] that recently, a Chinese postdoctoral scholar took their own life a day after being subjected to questioning by US law enforcement personnel. What’s the Foreign Ministry’s comment?”
Spokesperson Lin Jian responded that China is “deeply saddened by the tragedy,” and added that Chinese authorities have formally protested to the US, further commenting:
🗣️”For some time now, the US has been overstretching the concept of “national security” for political purposes, carrying out unwarranted questioning and harassment of Chinese students and scholars, infringing upon the legitimate rights and interests of Chinese citizens, undermining the normal atmosphere of China–US people-to-people exchanges, and creating a serious “chilling effect.””
Lin Jian emphasized that China urges American authorities to conduct a thorough investigation into the case, provide answers to the victim’s family and to China, and stop any “discriminatory law enforcement against Chinese students and scholars in the United States.”
Lin Jian during the March 27 press briefing.
The “chilling effect” referenced by Lin Jian, in Chinese, is hán chán xiàoyìng (寒蝉效应), referring to a climate of fear in which people do not dare to speak out.
While xiàoyìng simply means “effect,” hán chán (寒蝉) literally means “a cicada in cold weather”—a metaphor for a repressive environment, as cicadas fall silent and become inactive in colder temperatures.
From MFA Briefing to Trending Topic
Following the press briefing, major Chinese news outlets like Xinhua and Global Times picked up the news and amplified the MFA statement across both their international and domestic channels, after which it quickly entered the top five “hot search” lists on platforms like Bilibili, Kuaishou, and Baidu. The MFA statement was also covered by Newsweek.
What is particularly noteworthy about how this news entered the online discourse is that it was reported solely through top-down, official channels. Unlike many incidents involving Chinese nationals overseas—particularly in cases of sudden death or personal tragedy—it did not first surface on social media through posts by friends or family members before prompting an official response. Nor were there any identifiable reports from local news or overseas Chinese community platforms that broke the story before the MFA did.
This left many questions about which university this researcher was affiliated with, where the incident occurred, and why the CCTV reporter asked this question on March 27 without any published news reports to go by.
Some have argued the Chinese government deliberately amplified the story to stir anti-American sentiment amid broader US-China tensions — a claim made, without supporting evidence, by the notoriously biased Epoch Times outlet.
🔍 Given the lack of details, Weibo’s own AI chatbot attributed the incident to the death of Li Haoran (李昊然). Li was a postdoctoral researcher at Princeton University who died at home in September 2025. On February 13, 2026, his death was officially ruled a suicide. Since this case predated the current report and has never been linked to law enforcement questioning, this appeared to be a hallucination error by the Weibo chatbot.
Weibo chatbot “hallucinating” and linking the current case to Li Haoran. Screenshot by author, March 27.
At the same time, claims popped up on social media regarding a recent suicide involving a researcher in the Department of Electrical & Computer Engineering (ECE) department at the University of Michigan.
One US-based Xiaohongshu user shared a screenshot of an email sent by University of Michigan staff on March 20 regarding the “sad news of the death of an Assistant Research Scientist (..) who fell from an upper story of the GG Brown building last night.”
The social media post, as well as an entire thread on another US-based Chinese community forum, had vanished by Monday, March 30, returning a “404” message.
The Michigan connection was also indirectly raised by some netizens (such as “Science Futurist” @科学未来人), who referenced earlier cases where Chinese researchers at the University of Michigan were allegedly “arrested, humiliated, and tormented.”
(🔍 Although there have been multiple incidents involving Chinese researchers at the university, this particular commenter referred to postdoctoral fellow Jian Yunqing (简云清), who was arrested by the FBI in June 2025 on charges including conspiracy and smuggling small samples of “toxic biological materials” into the US. This involved a crop-affecting fungus studied by Jian that, while also found in US fields, is illegal to import without a permit and is classified as a hazardous biological pathogen.)
Meanwhile, at the time of writing, few reports have emerged identifying any key details of the current case, and this lack of information surrounding the incident, both on the American and Chinese sides, is especially noteworthy for a case that has been framed as a major incident and a significant development in Sino-American academic exchanges.
The Michigan Connection
On March 31, the Chinese Consulate General in Chicago issued a statement via its WeChat account, responding to media inquiries regarding a Chinese scholar’s suicide following questioning by US law enforcement.
🗣️ The spokesperson confirmed that the case had occurred at a US university within its consular district, reiterating the sentiments expressed by the MFA and again using the term “chilling effect” (寒蝉效应, hán chán xiàoyìng). The statement criticized what it described as the US side’s use of “national security” to carry out unwarranted and politically motivated questioning and harassment of Chinese students and scholars.
Wechat post by Chinese Consulate in Chicago, March 31.
The Hong Kong newspaper Sing Tao Daily then connected the case to the University of Michigan’s ECE department, citing the aforementioned internal email and reporting that a local researcher died after falling from a height on the university’s North Campus.
The G.G. Brown Building, where the incident allegedly happened, when it was still under construction in 2013, photo by Michael Barera via Wikimedia Commons.
The deceased researcher was reportedly an Assistant Research Scientist on the team of Professor Zetian Mi, who specializes in semiconductors, nanomaterials, and optoelectronic technologies.
Professor Mi has been previously honored for his contributions to the growth of wide bandgap semiconductor materials, and leads a top-tier semiconductor research group that has received millions of dollars in funding from the US Department of Defense, published groundbreaking research, and earned prestigious awards in photonics and semiconductor science.
A Researcher at the Intersection of US–China Science
One Assistant Research Scientist previously listed on the official ECE website—who worked in Mi’s lab but has now been removed from the public staff list—is Dr. Wang Danhao (汪丹浩).
Wang’s research focused on next-generation semiconductor materials, including ultra-thin and ferroelectric systems with applications in electronics and photonics. He was previously part of a University of Michigan research team that explained why a new class of ferroelectric semiconductors can sustain opposing electric states without breaking apart—work published in Nature and supported by US funding sources, including the Army Research Office.
Over the years, Wang has built an extensive body of research published in some of the most prestigious scientific journals, including Nature Electronics, Nature Communications, and Science Advances.
More recently, Wang was listed as a co-first author on a study—covered by various industry publications—regarding a neuromorphic vision sensor capable of sensing, storing, and classifying images without external circuits, reportedly achieving over 95% recognition accuracy. The research was led by Professor Sun Haiding’s iGaN lab at the University of Science and Technology of China (USTC) and funded by Chinese government sources, including the National Natural Science Foundation of China.
Various Chinese sources have described this research as a breakthrough, noting that USTC developed the first optoelectronic diode integrating sensing, memory, and computing in a single device (“中国科大研制出首个具有感存算三合一功能的光电二极管”) (USTC link and news sources here and here).
According to Washtenaw County vital records, Wang Danhao died on March 20, 2026.
On that very same day, the research he contributed to (“A single diode with integrated photosensing, memory and processing for neuromorphic image sensors”) was published in Nature Electronics.
Wang’s profile, spanning research of interest to military and defense institutions, reflects involvement in both US-funded semiconductor projects (including work supported by the Army Research Office & within a DARPA-funded lab), as well as collaboration on Chinese government-funded research with a Chinese state university. This cross-institutional, cross-funded research highlights the increasingly complex and sensitive position of researchers operating across the US–China scientific landscape.
From a Mysterious Case to Serious Concerns
For now, many questions still surround this case, with official reports—from both the American and Chinese sides—likely to follow. At the time of writing, neither US government agencies nor the University of Michigan have publicly responded to the MFA statement or the Chicago consulate statement.
What we do know, and what is supported by prior studies, is that many Chinese researchers feel pressured and unsafe while carrying out academic work in the US, partly due to concerns about government investigations targeting researchers of Chinese origin.
In this recent case, Chinese online responses reflect that sentiment.
In some of the more notable discussions on Zhihu (such as this thread), users comment on the case’s mysterious nature while also linking it to a broader pattern of scrutiny and pressure on Chinese researchers in the United States.
These discussions reference past FBI investigations of Chinese academics under the so-called “China Initiative,” a 2018–2022 program launched by the US Department of Justice to counter espionage and intellectual property theft involving China.
🔍 One case mentioned is the 2024 death of Northwestern University Chinese-American neuroscientist Jane Wu (吴瑛), who died by suicide following years of federal scrutiny over her China-related ties, during which her lab was shut down, and her academic presence was later removed online.
In this context, some commenters also express skepticism about the suicide narrative in the current case. One popular comment stated:
💬 “Former Boeing quality manager and whistleblower John Barnett once publicly stated that if anything were to happen to him, it would not be suicide. On March 9, 2024, he was found dead in his car in a hotel parking lot in Charleston, South Carolina. The official ruling was suicide. He had been scheduled to testify that day, exposing issues related to Boeing’s production quality.”
Another commenter—a graduate of Peking University—argued that the US is no longer seen as a safe destination for Chinese researchers:
💬 “No matter how you look at it, he had already made it to the postdoc level, traveled all the way across the ocean only for things to end like this, it’s so unfortunate. Looking back now, the three years of the pandemic mark a very clear turning point. The “Bald Eagle” (白头鹰 – the US) is no longer an ideal destination for Chinese students, and is gradually no longer an ideal place for academic exchange and research either.”
At the same time, institutional responses are also taking shape.
🗣️ Dr. Nick Geiser, leader of the University of Michigan Postdoctoral Researchers’ Organization (UM-PRO), the union representing 1,500 postdocs, told Eye on Digital China they are currently bargaining with the university.
The union is preparing a proposal on international scholar rights that would ensure foreign postdocs are supported by the university in cases of abrupt funding cuts or warrantless investigations by US federal authorities.
This is a developing story. At the time of writing, there is no official confirmation that Wang Danhao is the individual referenced in this case. Any important updates will be added here as more information becomes available.
UPDATE April 3:
A news report by local news website MLive has come out earlier today, including additional information on this case.
In an April 1 email, Deputy Police Chief and Public Information Officer Melissa Overton stated that the researcher “jumped from the third floor and fell to the second floor inside the atrium in the George G. Brown Building on March 19.” He was later pronounced dead, and police — first called about 11 p.m. on March 19 — are investigating his death as a “possible act of self-harm.”
Paul Corliss, assistant vice president for public affairs and internal communications at the University of Michigan, has also issued a statement in an April 3 email, writing that: “Our priority is to honor the wishes of the family and those affected while adhering to legal requirements and ensuring that any information shared is accurate and non-speculative.”
An earlier internal email, sent out to the Michigan Engineering community on April 1, confirmed the passing of Wang Danhao (Dr. Danhao Wang), and stated that there is an active police investigation going on, with no further information to share.
The statement described him as “a promising and brilliant young mind,” whose research into wide bandgap III-nitride semiconductor materials and devices published in Nature “stands as a landmark, uncovering for the first time the switching and charge compensation mechanisms of emerging ferroelectric nitrides.”
The UM Postdoctoral Researchers Organization, the union that represents postdoctoral researchers, is advising its membership not to speak with federal authorities.
If you or someone you know is struggling, international mental health and crisis support helplines can be found at www.befrienders.org.
By Manya Koetse
(follow on X, LinkedIn, or Instagram)
Note: In Chinese, names are written with the surname first, followed by the given name (e.g. Wang Danhao, Mi Zetian). In English-language contexts, this order is usually reversed (e.g. Dr. Zetian Mi, Dr. Danhao Wang).
©2026 Eye on Digital China/Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.
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