Once a promising Master’s graduate in Engineering, Ms. Bu went missing for 13.5 years. Her return marks the end of her family’s long search, but it is the beginning of an online movement. Chinese netizens are not only demanding answers about how she could have remained missing for so long but also want clarity about the puzzling inconsistencies in her story.

Over the past few days, Chinese social media users have been actively spreading awareness about a case involving a Chinese woman who they suspect became a victim of human trafficking.

Netizens trying to draw attention to this story used the hashtag “Female MA Graduate Becomes a Victim of Human Trafficking” (#女硕士被拐卖#). Between December 6 and December 10, the hashtag garnered 150 million views on Weibo.

The case centers on a Chinese female Master’s graduate from Yuxi District in Shanxi Province’s Jinzhong, who went missing for over thirteen years. Now reunited with her family, netizens are demanding clarity and answers about how she could have disappeared for so long.

This case, which has sparked emotional and outraged responses online, brings back memories of another incident that became a landmark moment for online feminism in China: the case of the Xuzhou mother of eight children, who was discovered chained in a shed next to her family home. Her husband was later sentenced to nine years in prison for his role in her human trafficking.

 
A Niece’s Search into the Origins of Her Mysterious Aunt
 

The online movement to raise awareness about this case began well before it gained traction on December 6. It all started when a young woman named Zhang (张) from He Shun County (和顺县) contacted a volunteer group dedicated to reuniting missing individuals. On November 25 of this year, Zhang sought their help in tracking down the family of her somewhat mysterious “aunt.”

According to Zhang, her aunt—who suffered from mental illness—had been living with her uncle for over a decade. Despite this long history, the family knew almost nothing about her past. Wanting to know more, Zhang reached out to the group in hopes of learning about her aunt’s origins.

Zhang claimed that her “aunt” had wandered into their family home one day fifteen years ago. Although they reportedly informed the police, no action was taken, and they allegedly decided to “take her in.” After about two years, she ended up living with Zhang’s uncle, with whom she had two children.

When volunteers visited the family home, they found that the “aunt” was literate and appeared to be well-educated. As reported by the popular WeChat account Xinwenge (December 4 article), the volunteers gradually guided the woman into revealing her name, her family members’ names, and the university she attended.

After passing this information to the police, they confirmed her identity as ‘Ms. Bu’ (卜女士), a missing person from Jinzhong’s Yuxi, about a 2.5-hour drive from He Shun County.

On November 30, Ms. Bu finally returned home, where her 75-year-old father had prepared a welcome banner for her. She was accompanied by her “husband” and their two children, a 12-year-old son and an 8-year-old daughter.

A banner in Jinzhong’s Yuxi: “Welcome home, daughter.”

Although Bu initially did not seem to recognize her father, Chinese media reported that she eventually smiled when he brought out her glasses, which she had worn as a student.

 
From Doctorate Pursuit to Disappearance
 

Ms. Bu was born in 1979. As a bright young woman, she graduated high school, attended college, and earned her master’s degree in engineering in 2008. Bu planned to pursue a doctorate afterward. However, due to not renewing her ID card in time, she failed to register for her doctoral exam.

This caused severe stress, and she subsequently developed schizophrenia. Her brother recalled that it was not the first time she had struggled with mental health issues—she had undergone various treatments at multiple hospitals for mental illness between 2008 and 2011.

At the time, Bu reportedly received medical treatment. While recovering at home after being discharged, the then 32-year-old Bu suddenly disappeared in May 2011. Although she was reported as a missing person, her family did not hear from her for over 13 years.

But this is where the questions arise. According to Ms. Zhang, her “aunt” had first walked into their home fifteen years ago, which is impossible since Bu did not go missing until May 2011.

Other aspects of Bu’s disappearance also raise questions. How did she end up in He Shun County? Why did the Zhang family not seek help all these years? And how was she able to have two children with her “husband” despite her fragile mental state?

 
Authorities Get Involved
 

While the story of Ms. Bu has received considerable online attention over the past few days, a joint investigation team was set up in Shanxi’s He Shun County to investigate the case. While investigations are still ongoing, new reports suggest that, after her disappearance in May 2011, Bu spent some time wandering alone in multiple nearby villages for over ten days in July and August of that year, exhibiting signs of mental illness.

She was later taken in by Mr. Zhang, a 45-year-old villager, who is now the target of an active criminal investigation. Zhang was aware of Ms. Bu’s mental condition yet engaged in relations with her, resulting in children.

Bu has now been hospitalized for treatment, and authorities are providing support to her children. It is unclear if they will remain with their father—custody arrangements will be determined based on the outcome of the case.

On social media, interest in the case is only growing. On Tuesday, a Xinhua post detailing the latest updates on the case received over 433,000 likes and 44,000 shares shortly after it was posted.

Despite the official updates, questions continue to surround the case of Ms. Bu, nicknamed ‘Hua Hua’ (花花). Given that her mental illness was apparent to so many, why did local authorities fail to intervene earlier? Particularly during the strict social controls and widespread testing of China’s ‘zero-Covid’ era, it is hard to believe that local authorities were unaware of her existence and her mental state. These criticisms and questions are flooding social media and growing louder as more details about her past emerge.

Ms. Zhang, the family niece, further revealed in a livestream that ‘Hua Hua,’ who was reportedly sleeping under a bridge before being taken in by the Zhang family, actually had more than two children. However, as of the time of writing, the fate of these additional children remains unclear.

This case also brings back memories of the Xuzhou mother of eight, another victim of mental illness who was nonetheless “married” to her “husband” and gave birth to eight children. Her story sparked a massive online outcry over how local authorities were complicit in enabling such abuses.

“From the Xuzhou chained woman to the missing Ms. Bu, these women’s tragedies cannot remain incomplete stories,” author Ma Ning (麻宁) wrote on Weibo. “Women are not commodities for marriage and reproduction (…) Let’s continue to follow this case, not just to seek justice for Ms. Bu but also to protect ourselves.”

See more about this story in our follow-up article here.

By Manya Koetse, with contributions by Miranda Barnes
(follow on X, LinkedIn, or Instagram)

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Sanitary pads have never been a bigger topic of debate on Chinese social media as it’s been over the past few weeks. What began with one blogger’s discovery of menstrual pads falling short of their advertised size has grown into a broader movement, demanding better-quality products and greater awareness of menstrual health.

Despite being a natural part of life for women around the world, menstruation remains a sensitive and taboo subject in many parts of China, particularly in more conservative, rural areas and smaller cities.

Essential feminine hygiene products like sanitary pads or tampons are often discreetly wrapped in dark plastic bags to avoid drawing attention.

However, this month, the silence was broken. “Sanitary pads” and related topics dominated online discussions, igniting a heated conversation that started with pad length but quickly expanded to include concerns about health, safety, and women’s rights.

EXPOSING THE “SHORTCOMINGS” IN SANITARY PADS

“Buy it if you want, or just don’t.”

In early November, a viral post on Xiaohongshu (later deleted) brought attention to a troubling issue. A woman who purchased sanitary pads online found them significantly shorter than advertised—a supposed 290mm pad measured only 250mm.

When she confronted the seller, they dismissed her concerns, citing a “normal 4% margin of error” and claiming, “If you order 290mm, we can only send 250mm—that’s the rule.”

The post struck a nerve. Netizens began measuring their own pads and discovered that many brands similarly fell short of their advertised lengths. This perceived deception ignited widespread outrage:

“They market themselves as designed for women, but even the lengths are misleading?”

“We pay the highest taxes for subpar products!”

The controversy soon spread to platforms like Douban and Weibo, where more and more people started comparing advertised versus actual pad lengths. The results revealed that many well-known brands consistently fell short, raising accusations of industry-wide cost-cutting.

Facing mounting pressure, several Chinese brands issued responses claiming their products adhered to the national standard that allows a ±4% length deviation. According to this standard, a 290mm pad can legally measure between 278mm and 302mm.

However, consumer measurements consistently showed pads at the lower limit—or even shorter. This raised suspicions that manufacturers were exploiting the -4% allowance as an industry norm to cut costs.

Some netizens compiled a crowdsourced chart comparing the advertised length, actual length, and cotton coverage of various brands. The findings revealed similar discrepancies across major brands.

Various brands’ responses to the controversy listed by blogger @妳健康富有.

Some brands, with size deviations as large as -15%, responded evasively to consumer concerns, claiming that such deviations are normal and do not affect usage. These responses only fueled further frustration among netizens, who accused the brands of dismissing their concerns. As one blogger (@你健康富有) remarked, the brands’ attitude couldn’t be clearer: “‘Buy it if you want, or just don’t.'”

BEYOND LENGTH: A DEEPER ISSUE

“Society tolerates or even reinforces menstrual stigma.”

While the pad length scandal initially focused on cost-cutting, the ensuing discussions uncovered far more serious concerns. A resurfaced video by documentary filmmaker and blogger Fourfire (四火, @为了玲飞护肤纪录片) revealed the industry’s dark side. The video exposed illegal factories recycling used materials, including shredded pads and diapers, into new sanitary products. These contaminated pads, sold cheaply on e-commerce platforms, have been linked to pelvic inflammation and other gynecological problems.

In the video, Fourfire urged women to stick to well-known brands and purchase from reputable retailers.

Still from the video by documentary filmmaker and blogger Fourfire (四火, @为了玲飞护肤纪录片)

But are pricier pads from major retailers truly safe? Quality issues with domestic brands have surfaced repeatedly, and this latest length discussion reignited those concerns. Consumer-created “red-flagged brands” for domestic pads feature numerous well-known brands with prior reports of containing maggots, mold, and other contaminants.

This renewed scrutiny prompted questions and discussions among female netizens. One user asked, “Is there any brand of sanitary pads that’s actually safe to use?” Among the hundreds of replies and shares, one prevailing sentiment emerged: “None of them.” Many users began to view previous quality issues not as isolated incidents but as indicative of broader problems within the industry.

Adding fuel to the fire, one blogger (@迷宝吃不饱) claimed that the national standards for sanitary pads in China allow a pH range of 4–9. This range aligns with standards for non-intimate textiles, such as jackets or curtains. Given that human skin is slightly acidic, with a pH between 4.1 and 5.8 (3.8–4.5 for intimate zones), products in close contact with the skin, such as sanitary pads, should ideally be designed to maintain the skin’s natural pH balance and prevent irritation.

This seemingly loose standard sparked further concerns among female consumers. Many began reflecting on their past experiences, sharing issues they’d faced while using sanitary pads—frequent inflammation, allergic reactions, itching, and other symptoms. Few had considered the possibility that these problems might be linked to the pads themselves.

In response, experts argued that the materials, hygiene, and sterilization of pads were far more critical than pH levels. However, in today’s China, where public trust in such authorities is relatively low (read: “Experts Are Advised Not to Advise“), this explanation not exactly reassured the public. Gynecologists and popular science influencers, such as Sixthfloor (@六层楼先生), pointed out that similar products like baby diapers and men’s sanitary pads are held to stricter production standards. This disparity naturally fueled suspicion and concern about women being disadvantaged and the role of societal taboos surrounding menstruation.

One Douban user commented: “Society tolerates or even reinforces menstrual stigma. The less we talk about sanitary pads, the easier it is for companies to profit from women.”

BREAKING THE SILENCE

“Decisions about menstrual products are being made by people who don’t menstruate.”

Sanitary pads in China are relatively expensive and not covered by health insurance. A single daytime pad from a common brand costs around 1 RMB ($0.15), while nighttime pads can be twice as expensive. Over a typical six-day period, a woman might spend 30-40 RMB ($4.15-$5.50) each month. Tampons, though less popular in China, are even more costly.

For women in impoverished or rural areas, this expense can be a significant burden. Many are forced to purchase low-cost, unregulated “three-no” products (no license, no standards, no brand), often manufactured by the shady companies exposed in Fourfire’s video. On Taobao, product reviews for these pads reveal heartbreaking stories. Some users recommend switching to safer, higher-quality options, but responses often reflect the harsh reality: “I don’t have a choice.”

Now, as major brands face public backlash, many women are turning to “medical-grade sanitary pads,” originally made for surgical recovery or heavy bleeding. According to the Sichuan Observation media channel (@四川观察), online searches for these products have jumped by over 3,000%. While safer, these pads are even more expensive.

The frustration is clear: “Do we really have to keep paying more for basic necessities just to protect our health? Why not just make regular sanitary pads safe and reliable? Is that too much to ask?”

So why is it so hard to produce affordable, safe sanitary pads without cost-cutting tricks? The answer may lie in a regulatory change made over a decade ago. In 2008, new national standards for sanitary pads eliminated quality grading classifications and reduced minimum requirements for the length of filling cotton. This gave manufacturers more freedom to cut costs, often at the expense of quality.

One glaring detail hasn’t gone unnoticed: the revised standards were drafted entirely by men. As one netizen commented, “Decisions about menstrual products are being made by people who don’t menstruate.” For women, the lack of female representation in an industry directly affecting them is both absurd and infuriating, highlighting a deeper issue of gender imbalance in industries and regulatory frameworks that shape women’s lives.

At the time of writing, distrust in domestic sanitary pad brands in China has reached a peak. Whether driven by exaggerated fears or valid concerns, one thing is clear: after years of menstrual stigma and neglect of women’s health issues, many women feel unheard and are now speaking out. This growing frustration has given rise to an online feminist movement, calling for accountability and demanding change from an industry—and a culture—that has long overlooked some of women’s basic rights.

GRASSROOTS EFFORTS FOR CHANGE

“Girls should never feel ashamed of their periods”

With policymakers mostly male, Chinese women have had to take matters into their own hands. Over the years, various incidents related to menstrual products have gone viral and triggered grassroots efforts to improve the status quo.

The last major public outcry about sanitary pads occurred in 2022 when a woman on a high-speed train discovered they weren’t available for purchase. She vented her frustration online, and the issue quickly gained traction. Many commenters, mostly men, argued that pads weren’t “essential items” and didn’t warrant taking up retail space onboard. The railway authority’s official response—categorizing sanitary pads as “personal items” that didn’t need to be sold—only intensified the outrage.

In the same year, a young woman in Covid quarantine in Xi’an went viral after she tearfully begged anti-epidemic staff for sanitary pads. When workers at her quarantine hotel told her there was nothing they could do, she asked, “So what? Does that mean I have to bleed a river of blood?”

For many women, these incidents highlighted how little society understands or respects their basic needs. In response, people organized online campaigns, flooded hotlines with complaints, and raised awareness about why menstrual products are essential. “Girls should never feel ashamed of their periods,” one netizen wrote.

Sometimes, progress is made. The woman in Xi’an’s quarantine later posted an update, saying she eventually received the menstrual pads she needed. And although pads are still not available on all high-speed trains, they are now provided on many routes—a small but meaningful step.

This time, the debate over pad quality has drawn even greater attention, involving public figures, celebrities, and even tech mogul and Xiaomi founder Lei Jun (雷军), with some hoping that a trusted brand like Xiaomi could play a role in making Chinese sanitary pads safer and more innovative. Women have launched cross-platform campaigns like #ShowYourSanitaryPads (#晒出你的卫生巾#), encouraging people to share posts on Weibo, Douban, and Xiaohongshu to call out brands for inaccurate sizing or poor quality.

Activists are also sharing step-by-step guides on filing formal complaints and advocating for stricter national production standards. The movement is gaining momentum, driven by a collective determination to demand safer, more reliable products.

On November 21, China News Weekly reported that a new national standard for sanitary pads is being drafted. CNR News also called for tighter industry oversight, signaling an urgent response to recent public criticism.

Yet, this response only scratches the surface of the deeper issues surrounding menstrual products in China. Challenges such as the high cost of pads, their limited availability in public spaces, and inadequate menstrual education persist. Will meaningful change continue to rely solely on grassroots efforts? Hopefully, this marks the beginning of a broader, systemic shift that not only addresses these immediate concerns but also redefines how society values and prioritizes women’s basic needs.

By Ruixin Zhang

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edited for clarity by Manya Koetse

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