Weibo Watch: The Story of Wukong the Cat

Published

11 months ago

May 11, 2025

Dear Reader,

There is a lot going on this week, but one particular topic went trending and kept people — including myself — awake. It’s a bit of a long read, but there’s a lot to unpack. If this is too long for your email inbox to handle (and there’s quite a lot of images included here), check it out online here instead.

How did the death of a young stray cat lead to a online wave of grief and outrage over the past few days?

It started with fans mourning a beloved Chinese internet celebrity cat, then turned into backlash against fake news, anger over animal cruelty groups, and suspicions that local officials were more concerned with controlling the narrative than finding the truth.

Although things turned dark quickly, it began beautifully light.

The journey of Chinese cyclist Zhao Shuo and his cat Wukong seemed to come straight out of a novel. Zhao Shuo, the protagonist: a solitary traveler who would cycle through through snow-covered mountains and endless desert roads for days on end, seriously disciplined and focused.

Then came Wukong, the playful and spirited stray cat who suddenly appeared, curled up inside his tent, purring happily beside him as if they had always been together. She found just the warmth she needed – and so did he.

From Stray Cat to Star Status: Wukong and Zhao’s Journey

Zhao Shuo (赵朔) is a Chinese cyclist who runs a social media account about his adventurous travels, cycling and camping in China’s western regions. Since 2023 – starting in Xi’an — he has been documenting his remarkable journey on his Douyin account “Notes from Zhao Shuo’s Western Journey” (@赵朔西行漫记), which now has over three million followers.

In his videos — often long-form by Douyin standards (ranging from 12 to 40 minutes) — he offers viewers a glimpse into his ‘bikepacking’ life, cycling across West China, including Tibet, Xinjiang, and Qinghai, where he sometimes goes days without seeing another person, coming across lush green areas and dry, sandy territories while dealing with extreme temperatures.

Zhao Shu’s adventurous bicycle and wild camping travels, documented on Douyin.Screenshots via whatsonweibo.com.

Zhao had already published dozens of videos of his bicycle tour when he first introduced the kitten he named ‘Wukong’ (悟空) to his followers.

On October 30, 2024, while camping out in a village in Kanas (喀纳斯), near the main peak of the Altai Mountains (阿勒泰) in northern Xinjiang, the stray appeared in front of his tent at 4 am, waking him up with her cries. The kitten seemed cold and hungry. She had a small injury near her mouth and might have been a target in an area filled with stray dogs.

When he allowed her to step inside his tent, she soon comfortably settled inside his sleeping bag and purred away. In the morning, she stuck around the tent, Zhao fed her, and the two bonded.

Wukong on the night she adopted her human.

Ofcourse, Zhao was smitten – and so were his followers – how could he possible leave his ‘Wukong’ behind now? A suitable and creative nickname, ‘Wukong’ is the legendary Monkey King in the classic Chinese novel Journey to the West (西游记). He hoped the cat, like the Monkey, would have ’72 lives’, and decided to take her along with him.

Wukong made Zhao’s travels a lot more lively, but also a bit trickier — he had to rearrange his cycling gear to accommodate her, including a special cat backpack and a basket out front, and now he was cooking for two.

A new travel companion.

But it was all worth it. Wukong, who Zhao endearingly called his “stinky cat” (臭喵), grew bigger, chubbier, and braver, and the two became inseparable. By late December, it was minus 20 degrees Celsius (−4°F) when the two visited the scenic Sayram Lake (赛里木湖), where they played in the snow — something they would do far more often later on in their journey.

Playing in the snow – a favorite pastime of Zhao and Wukong.

Snow adventures at the lake, by @奶盖味的小山竹.

So far, so cute – the story of the lonely traveler Zhao finding an unexpected companion in the little stray Wukong resembles that of the Scottish Dean Nicholson, who found a best friend in Nala while cycling through Bosnia and then taking her along cycling around the world. It even led to the book Nala’s World.

The story of Zhao and Nala shows some resemblance to that of Dean Nicholson and his cat Nala, about which he wrote the book Nala’s World. (Image via Traveling Cats).

Zhao kept Wukong close, but still gave her enough freedom to roam around. In the late afternoons or at night, she would play around the tent — or in the guesthouse room when temperatures dropped too low. She often hunted for mice and would proudly bring Zhao her catch. She always returned to him. In December, as they passed through areas with more cars and traffic, Zhao got Wukong a cat leash and a GPS collar for safety.

Chinese netizens and media quickly took notice as the special bond between the cyclist and his cat deepened — the two literally sticking together through snow and wind, sunshine and rain. In December 2024, they even made the news for unexpectedly boosting sales of a Xinjiang yogurt brand featured in many of Zhao Shuo and Wukong’s videos. Zhao’s travels, with Wukong the internet celebrity cat as his ‘mascot,’ seemed to bring positive attention to Xinjiang and its various regions.

“It’s Done”: Wukong Is Gone

The happy story of Zhao and Wukong abruptly ended on April 15. In a video posted to Douyin in the middle of the night, Zhao Shuo, his eyes glassy and his appearance stressed, explained that Wukong had a run-in with a car earlier that day and was now “eternally resting.”

Standing on the side of the road in Ruoqiang (若羌), with Wukong’s remains in a cardboard box, Zhao said he had just gotten a car from the Miran Site (米兰遗址) to try and find a freezer to store the remains of his cat friend, hoping some of his followers could help. The video received more than 116,000 replies.

The midnight call for help from Zhao in Ruoqiang.

However sad, Wukong’s death initially did not attract as much attention outside the Zhao and Wukong online fan circles. The case really began receiving widespread attention in the weeks that followed, as what first appeared to be a tragic accident started raising unsettling questions.

In early May, Zhao Shuo posted a 42-minute video (link to copy) recounting the various developments — from how Wukong died to everything that followed.

On April 15, Zhao Shuo and Wukong woke up at their campsite near the visitor center of the Miran Ruins (米兰遗址) — the remains of an ancient Silk Road settlement and Buddhist religious center located in Ruoqiang County.

Zhao had slept in that day until 3 pm due to a rough, sleepless night the previous night. Zhao got out of his tent to go to the public toilet nearby, chatted with some visitors, and Wukong was following him as usual, staying near and playing around the square in front of the visitor center. Zhao put the GPS collar on her around 4 pm.

After 4 pm, Zhao briefly went into the main hall and took some photos. Wukong did not go in with him and remained at the front of the hall. Inside, Zhao inquired about the best route to continue his travels from Ruoqiang in Xinjiang toward Qinghai. He exited around 4:20 and visited the museum on the premises. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon, when he returned to his campsite, that he found Wukong was no longer there — not at their spot, not at the site.

By 6 pm, he went out looking for her. Thanks to the GPS system, he found — to his surprise — that Wukong’s location was over two kilometers away, and that there had been some disturbance in the signal.

He kept the camera rolling as he headed out on his bike to look for her, calling her name through an area of desert and empty highway. Then came the tragic moment Zhao spotted Wukong lying by the side of the road: “Oh god. I can’t believe my eyes, Wukong!” he said, the shock and pain visible on his face. The little cat was already lifeless and stiff. (Original video on Douyin removed; reuploaded video on YouTube: this is the moment Zhao finds Wukong).

Their heartbreaking final ride together.

“The stinky cat has been running around,” Zhao said, his voice breaking. “It’s done.” In a moving scene, he placed her in the basket on the front of his bike to take their final ride together and bring her back to the camp.

“Inexplicable Death: Full of Suspicious Points”: Zhao Searches for Answers

Back at the camp, Zhao walked around with Wukong’s stiff body in his arms, placing her on the ground and then picking her up again, seemingly overwhelmed with grief and unsure of what to do next.

Perhaps speaking more to himself than his viewers, he wondered how this could have happened — there was nothing but desert out there, with only a patch of green near his campsite. Wukong always stayed close, and there was nothing beyond to explore. How had she ended up so far from the site, all the way out by the national highway?

Once he collected himself, Zhao’s first priority was to cool Wukong’s remains. He packed up his belongings, arranged for a car, and made his way to Ruoqiang. There, he arranged storage for his bike and posted that video asking his followers if anyone could lend him a freezer.

After that was taken care of, he spent the following days organizing a vehicle and a portable icebox. With Wukong stored in the back of the car, he returned to Miran to check the security footage — only to find that nothing had seemingly been recorded due to a malfunction.

The complete lack of surveillance footage was not the only peculiar detail surrounding the death of Zhao’s cat. To his surprise, he came across a news article from the well-known Chinese media outlet Jiupai News (九派新闻), reporting on Wukong’s death. The article had been published just hours after Zhao posted his first video announcing her passing, and within 24 hours of her death.

In the report, published on April 16 at 14:04, reporter Huang Qiaowen (黄巧文) wrote that Wukong had died in a car accident, citing police as saying that the cat had crawled under a car and was accidentally run over when the driver started it. The article claimed the matter had already been resolved.

But according to Zhao, he had no idea how his cat had actually died — and had never come to any “understanding” with a car owner. “Which car owner? I don’t know anything,” he said. “This is considered a relatively big media outlet, it’s truly a blatant fabrication.”

Zhao added that he had spoken directly with the police, who told him they had no details about the incident beyond what he himself had reported, making the news story entirely false.

Zhao Shuo decided to set out again in a rental car on April 19, driving nearly 900 kilometers (560 miles) from Ruoqiang, via Korla, to Urumqi — the capital of Xinjiang. There, he visited three different pet hospitals to have Wukong examined, including both an X-ray and a CT scan.

The scans showed that Wukong’s organs and bones were intact.

In late April, Zhao returned to the Miran Ruins site twice, first to check whether the surveillance system had been fixed (it hadn’t), and later to see if any footage from the day Wukong disappeared had been recovered. Although the system was eventually repaired, there was still no footage from that day. Zhao also searched the surrounding area for any other surveillance cameras but found none that were relevant to where Wukong came from and where she was found.

“Traveling with a cat is full of risks, and I could accept it if Wukong had died in an accident,” Zhao said. “But this inexplicable death is full of suspicious points.”

🚩 One of the suspicious points is that Zhao found no obvious external injuries on Wukong — no bleeding from the nose or mouth. However, while her paw pads were intact, her claws were completely worn down, with split and damaged nails. Zhao initially considered the possibility that Wukong had climbed under a car parked near the visitor center and was unknowingly taken along when it drove off, eventually falling out onto the highway — which could explain the worn claws. However, the examination results showed that all major internal organs and bones were intact, with no signs of trauma, ruling out both a vehicle collision and a fall from height. Suffocation was also ruled out by the veterinarians.

🚩 Zhao also noted that the button on her GPS leash had come undone when he found her — something the cat would not have been able to do by herself.

🚩 The night when Zhao went to Ruoqiang in search of a freezer to store Wukong’s remains, he packed her in a plastic bag inside a cardboard box. Although there had initially been no visible bleeding, when he removed her body around 2 am, he found blood flowing from her mouth and nose in a non-coagulating state. This type of bleeding is consistent with toxin-induced bleeding, not trauma or natural death.

🚩 The conclusions from the different veterinarians were all consistent with symptoms of poisoning. The CT scan showed undigested food in Wukong’s stomach — notable because Zhao hadn’t fed her yet that day, as they had both slept in until later that afternoon. Zhao also inquired whether there was any rat poison in or around the visitor center and was told there was none.

🚩 The manufacturer of the GPS collar provided Zhao with the recorded data: the last refresh was at 4:10 pm, when Wukong was still near the visitor center, just after he had put the collar on her. The next location recorded was at 4:30 pm, right at the spot where Zhao later found Wukong’s body. This leaves a 20-minute gap in the data, which is highly abnormal, as the signal should refresh every 2–3 minutes under normal conditions.

Beyond the strange 20-minute interval, this also means that Wukong would have had to travel the full 2 kilometers from the Miran visitor center to the remote highway junction where she was found within those 20 minutes. But by the time Zhao discovered her around 6 pm, her body was already stiff and covered in flies, suggesting she had died well before that, making the timeline even harder to explain.

🚩 The area where Wukong was found sees hardly any traffic — it’s a quiet, almost abandoned stretch of highway. With all the information at hand, it’s just one more detail that makes her death all the more incomprehensible.

With all the new developments and information at hand, Wukong’s death not only triggered a wave of grief among fans, it also sparked broader concerns and anger over how she died.

These concerns soon touched upon the topic of so-called “cat abuse groups” — online dark web communities of twisted minds who take pleasure in abusing animals. These groups reportedly film or even livestream the capture and killing of stray cats. Some individuals even pay to watch such content. There is also a disturbing phenomenon of “bounties,” where money is used as bait to incite others to abuse or kill cats — sometimes specifically targeting well-known or popular strays to generate more buzz and attention.

The existence of these cat abuse groups became more widely known in April 2023, when Chinese food vlogger Xu Zhihui (徐志辉) was exposed as a member of a cat abuse chat group on QQ.

Various Douyin users have claimed that Wukong was, in fact, listed on one of these so-called “bounty lists.”

Whether or not Wukong’s death was actually connected to such abuse groups remains speculative — although many bloggers believe it is — most netizens engaged in these online discussions are convinced that, group or not, Wukong was deliberately poisoned by someone with malicious intent.

At the time of writing, several online animal advocacy groups are still urging the public to come forward with any dashcam footage or information they may have about what happened on April 15.

“Don’t Believe Me”: An Unnatural Apology

Amid all the online anger and speculation, a 3-minute video update by Zhao Shuo appeared on his channel on May 9.

In the Douyin video (link to reuploaded copy on Youtube), Zhao explained how he had rented another car to get back from Qinghai’s Mangya (茫崖市) to return to Ruoqiang County a final time to further investigate the cause of Wukong’s death.

The video was recorded at the exact spot where he found Wukong.

From the apology video.

Looking ahead while walking, Zhao says:

💬 “These days, I’ve been at the local Public Security Department, the Publicity Department and Cultural & Tourism department. With the warm assistance of local volunteers and citizens, through a step-by-step analysis and investigation, and step-by-step restoration of the scene, we basically determined the cause of Wukong’s death. That is the death caused by accidentally ingesting a [certain] small rodent. Other types of causes like car accidents, poisoning and torture have all been completely ruled out. So if we put it this way, the person who carries the biggest responsibility for the death of Wukong is me. As his owner, I didn’t look after him good enough. Wukong’s death has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else. Furthermore, this incident has caused a very negative public opinion for the local area. I hereby apologize to everyone, even though I know this apology is powerless, because the direction of public opinion is not something that can be changed by individual will.”

That part of the video was picked up by Chinese media. Beijing Daily even posted the apology on Douyin.

But they did not include what came next: a moment when something seems to shift in Zhao’s demeanor.

“Don’t believe me,” Zhao says.

After walking with the wind at his back, he suddenly turns around, now moving against it, looks straight into the camera, and says:

💬 “Additionally, I want to remind everyone of two points. First, never blindly trust anyone or any media outlet, especially immoral ones like Jiupai News. You even should not believe me. Everyone should rely on their own judgment. You need your own independent thinking to assess what a matter is about, how it developed – make your own reasoned judgement. Second, no matter how difficult or shocking the changes in life may be, we must respond with rational judgment, not blind emotional outbursts. Emotional release won’t solve anything — it will only make matters worse. Only by handling things rationally can we truly resolve problems.”

Zhao concluded the video by bidding his viewers farewell — something that was just as unusual as the short format of his video.

The next day, the video was suddenly deleted, along with a few other ones. Zhao’s Douyin account was also set to private.

On Chinese social media, from Douyin to Weibo, most commenters think they know why. “It’s because his apology wasn’t considered sincere enough,” one Douyin user suggested. Others also suggest that Zhao had been ordered to create an apology video.

📱 “(..) [It] clearly sounded like someone higher up told him to say them — way too official/formal.”

📱 “Classic, truly classic — absolutely classic!!! (..) They only talk about the impact of public opinion, but not about what triggered it. And they even hide the truth! So classic!”

📱 “I’m bursting with rage, they’re deleting the Douyin videos. So they claim it’s because [Wukong] mistakenly ate a small rodent, and that’s why it unbuckled its own harness, the signal was blocked, and [the cat] walked two kilometers in a straight line by itself? Wow. I honestly don’t even know what to say anymore.”

📱 “Wukong would never eat a dead rat — at most, he’d eat small field mice. I’m really furious. I can’t say too much, I don’t want to cause trouble for [Zhao Suo], but I will remember this place: Ruoqiang County.”

📱 “It probably ate a bat, and after eating it, it could fly and flew straight for two kilometers… even managed to undo the clasp behind its neck… in the end, it clawed at the ground until its paws were torn apart, then collapsed and couldn’t get up…”

📱 “I think that if Wukong’s cause of death is really as the Ruoqiang authorities claim, then they should release pictures of this rodent species. This rodent is definitely poisonous — the evidence being that Zhao Shuo took Wukong to more than two hospitals, and tests confirmed the presence of toxins. After all, that area is visited by many tourists, so it’s important to inform them to stay away from this rodent.”

📱 “Doesn’t anyone want to know the truth? Doesn’t anyone feel very bad for these two? One died in an unclear and unjust way.The other suffered while seeking the truth, and was crushed by an invisible force, like a mountain pressing down. This is truly criminalizing the innocent. Most netizens only see what’s presented on the surface, and blindly believe it.(..) Hope this incident can push for improvements in the Animal Protection Law.”

Was Wukong truly the victim of an animal abuse group? Was the cat purposely killed by a local? Or is there indeed a far more innocuous reason for the cat’s death, like digesting a poisonous rodent and running 2km before dying?

Regardless, the entire incident does little to enhance the image of Xinjiang’s Ruoqiang region, and this very likely played a role in the eventual ‘apology’ video posted — and then deleted — by Zhao.

There are many sides to this story, and you can dive deeper depending on what you choose to highlight. There’s the simple fact that Chinese digital media outlets like Jiupai News apparently fabricate stories for reasons one can only guess; there’s the angle that draws attention to how animal abuse is used as a form of entertainment in niche online circles; and there’s the undeniable reality that Chinese influencers have the power to make and break the public image of certain places in China — a fact that is readily embraced by local authorities when it casts them in a positive light, and sometimes quietly erased when it doesn’t.

But, above all, this is still a story about the friendship between a man and his cat. The way it ended only underscores just how deep that bond truly was.

After visiting Urumqi to have Wukong examined, Zhao drove another 600 kilometers (about 370 miles) — making it a total of 1,500 kilometers (around 930 miles) from Ruoqiang (and another 1,500 kilometers to return to his bicycle) — to reach Kanas and the majestic Altai Mountains, where he first met the kitten Wukong in 2024.

Wukong and Zhao at the place she loved on the left, and on the right Wukong when she was found on the road, and being buried.

It is here where Zhao wanted to say a final goodbye to his “stinky cat.” He dug a grave and laid Wukong to rest.

Meanwhile, on Chinese social media platforms like Weibo, Xiaohongshu, and Douyin, people are honoring Wukong — and venting their anger — in their own ways. These are some of the online tributes:

Wukong the cat, with reference to “Journey to the West,” saying: “Humans, do your best.” Posted by Douyin user: 大哥性感

Posted by Weibo user @杨于钥杨羊.

Zhao kneeling besides the box, with Wukong rising from it, shared by @余煌化妆师.

Dark hands reaching for the celebrity cat – original creator unknown.

The “Monkey King” cat is drying the tears of Zhao, at the camp site. Shared by @温婉的牛马, @赤火飞.

Wukong left at Altai Mountain, Zhao Su walks away. AI image via Xiaohongshu, original creator unkown.

Wukong in the grave, shared by @余煌化妆师.

Paw prints left on Zhao’s heart, memories of happy snow days.

More examples of online tributes to Wukong.

In a way, these images have now become a form of resistance in the face of uncertainty, and Wukong has come to represent something bigger. “I’ve been continuously following this case,” one Weibo user wrote. “Based on the latest updates from the ‘master’ [an online nickname for Zhao Shuo], it really feels like he’s been threatened and can no longer continue searching for clues. In the end, it’s the power of capital and background connections that’s suppressing us ordinary people.(..) Supporting the legislation of an Animal Protection Law is more urgent than ever — it starts with you and me. Speak up for Wukong, and for the countless stray animals out there!”

Although there are various laws in China regarding wildlife and the protection of animals, there currently is no national law that is explicitly against animal cruelty for all animals. In recent years, voices calling for better laws on animal abuse in China have grown louder.

As for Zhao Shuo, he is likely continuing his journey — leaving Xinjiang for Qinghai — and may be stepping back from social media for a while. Beyond any external pressures he faces, it will take time for him to process the loss of his travel companion, whose legacy endures not only in his heart but also within a much wider online community.

“Thank you for bringing joy into my otherwise ordinary days,” one Weibo user wrote. “Goodnight, little Wukong, and don’t forget — we’ll miss you very much, you stinky cat. I think I’ll remember this story for a long time — we’ll often look back at the footprints you left behind.”🐾🔚

Best,

Manya

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Featured

Quick Eye: XChat, Orbán, and a Very Questionable Tripe-Strawberry Hotpot

A 2-minute overview of trending topics on Chinese social media, including XChat, Orbán’s defeat, and that tripe-strawberry hotpot.

Published

4 days ago

April 14, 2026

Manya Koetse

🔥 Quick Eye: What’s Trending in China in 2 Minutes (April 14 | week 16 | 2026) Part of Eye on Digital China by Manya Koetse, this is a quick catch-up on what’s trending and being discussed on Chinese social media right now. Subscribe here to receive the next issue in your inbox.

The Big Stories

📌 Evergrande trial China’s fallen property giant Evergrande, once the world’s most indebted developer, and its founder Xu Jiayin (许家印) are at the center of a much-anticipated public trial in Shenzhen on April 13-14. Xu pleaded guilty to charges including fundraising fraud, illegal deposit-taking, and corporate bribery. A verdict will be announced at a later date.

📌 Lululemon investigated over “forever chemicals” American brand Lululemon is under investigation in Texas over the potential use of PFAS chemicals in its athletic apparel, which have been linked to health risks such as cancer and fertility issues. Chinese netizens and media are closely following this story: mainland China is Lululemon’s second-largest market.

📌 Diplomatic line-up in Beijing While Spanish Prime Minister Sánchez is still in Beijing, UAE Crown Prince of Abu Dhabi Khaled also arrived in China on Tuesday. Vietnamese President Tô Lâm is meeting Xi Jinping, while Russia’s foreign minister Sergey Lavrov has also arrived, and the President of Mozambique is expected later this week. Chinese newspaper Yangcheng Evening News described it as “foreign leaders lining up to visit China” (“外国政要排队访华”). The framing presents world leaders as turning to China in a turbulent time, amid tensions around Iran and the Strait of Hormuz, and declining trust in the US.

The Quick Eye

👁

XChat, Musk’s “Western WeChat” opens pre-registration in mainland China app store

[#“西方微信”XChat官宣上线时间#] [#马斯克版微信17日在苹果上线#]

Musk has long said he wanted X to become a WeChat-like “super app,” and now he’s finally launching XChat, already dubbed the “Western version of WeChat” (西方微信) in China. The app is set to launch on April 17 on the Apple App Store, with pre-registration available to users in mainland China. It features end-to-end encryption, no phone number requirement, no advertising, anti-screenshot and disappearing-message functions, and integrated Grok AI.

Zhihu discussions note that while XChat’s “pre-order” function is visible to Chinese iOS users, the app will likely remain inaccessible. Beyond China’s stringent platform regulations, XChat requires an X account to log in, meaning users cannot get past registration. The irony of a privacy-focused app opening pre-registration in a market where X itself is blocked has not gone unnoticed, with many commenters treating it as something of a joke.

👁

Hungary’s Orbán defeated: Chinese netizens react to pro-EU shift

[#欧尔班败选#] [##欧尔班承认败选#]

The Hungarian elections and Viktor Orbán’s defeat drew unusual attention on Chinese social media, where European politics usually aren’t a big deal. Beyond the historic loss, much of the discussion framed the outcome through a China–EU lens, especially in relation to the Russia–Ukraine war.

While state media stayed relatively neutral, some commentators emphasized that Orbán had been one of the EU’s most China-friendly leaders. Others, including Hu Xijin, pointed to more practical reasons — arguing that in the end, elections are decided by “bread and butter.”

👁

Audio recording: Shanxi judge accused of sexual harassment during divorce hearing

[#女子遭法官猥亵16分钟录音曝光#] [#山西猥亵当事人法官被停职#]

A judge at Lüliang Intermediate Court in Shanxi has come under fire after a woman accused him of molestation during her divorce proceedings. She says Judge Lü Yunsuo (吕云锁) summoned her under false pretenses and then groped, embraced, and kissed her in his office — an incident she secretly recorded on her smartwatch, capturing 16 minutes of audio.

Although she reported the case for months, no action was taken until news of the case and the recording circulated online, after which Lü was suspended. The case has sparked widespread anger, with many questioning why action was only taken after the situation drew public attention.

A Different Note

⭐

Tianjin University Library Q&A: Children Solve Existential Problems

A Q&A message board at Tianjin University Library (天津大学图书馆) went viral after primary school children visiting the campus answered questions left by university students. Some exchanges:

“How do you slow down growing up?”
— Child: “Enjoy the present.”

“What should I do if I’m unhappy?”
— Child: “Do something that makes you happy.”

“How can I get into Tianjin University?”
— Child: “I just came in on Open Day.”

“How do I find happiness again?”
— Child: “Watch Peppa Pig.”

“What is happiness?”
— Child: “Having an apple and thinking only about the apple.”

On My Feed

Bizarre Tripe & Strawberry Fusion Hotpot

Perhaps this needs a trigger warning for Sichuan foodies and hotpot purists, given the rather bizarre hotpot trend currently circulating on Chinese social media:

It’s Tripe-Strawberry Hotpot (毛肚草莓火锅), where you wrap fresh strawberries in organ meat (beef tripe 毛肚, máodǔ) — a somewhat sacred ingredient within Sichuan hotpot culture — before dipping them into spicy, simmering broth and eating them with your regular dipping sauce.

I’ve seen this pop up before, but it’s now gaining more traction—and not just as rage bait, since some people seem to genuinely enjoy it. Others, however, are shocked by how far hotpot food trends are going. One Weibo user wrote:

“First, I apologize to the tripe, then to the strawberries, to the hotpot, and fourth, to myself”😅

Watch the video here.

That’s it for today — more soon!

Best, Manya

P.S. If you find this useful and aren’t a paying subscriber yet, you can support my work and receive more updates by subscribing. You can do so here.)

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.

Published

1 week ago

April 10, 2026

Ruixin Zhang

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? In the fast-growing world of China’s AI microdramas, even virtual actors can’t escape reality. As production companies turn them into idols, audiences are voicing discomfort, while the future for human actors looks increasingly uncertain.

– 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