Weibo Watch: How a Chinese Anti-Japanese War Film Backfired

Published

9 months ago

September 24, 2025

Note: If images do not automatically display, please enable image display for this email. Another note: This issue dives into the film Evil Unbound — its visuals, narrative, and why it unexpectedly drew so much criticism and so many one-star reviews (incl a 3.1 rating on IMDb). If you plan to watch the film without “spoilers,” you may later want to skip my review and revisit later.

Dear Reader,

731 and 918, those were the numbers dominating Chinese social media over the past week. Both numbers carry heavy historical weight, but the recent discussions surrounding them reveal two parallel worlds of the official narrative vs the audience experience of a controversial new World War II film.

It was “9.18” on Thursday, when China commemorated the 94th anniversary of the September 18th Incident (九一八事变). On that day in 1931, a small explosion on a Japanese-owned railway near Shenyang (Mukden) was used as a pretext to invade Manchuria.

While many older Chinese were taught in school that the war began in 1937, recent state-led campaigns increasingly emphasize 1931 as the true beginning of China’s “14-year-long war” (1931–1945). Over the past decade, the 918 commemorations have become more prominent online, shaping public memory through nationalistic messaging.

This year, the commemoration had an extra dimension, as it wove the release of Evil Unbound (English title), also known as 731, into the patriotic media narratives around 918.

Patriotic film poster putting 918 and 731 together.

The much-anticipated war movie 731 depicts the atrocities of Japan’s Unit 731 (731部队), notorious for conducting horrific biological warfare experiments in Harbin during World War II under Major General Shiro Ishii (石井四郎), a former army surgeon and biologist with a particular interest in historical plagues. Under his command, Japan’s biological warfare and human experimentation in China were carried out on a larger scale than anywhere else between the 1930s and 1940s.

After the war, because the US felt his knowledge on bioweapons was of great value, Ishii was granted political immunity deal and was never brought to trial.

Together with the Nanjing Massacre, Unit 731 has come to symbolize the peak horrors of Japan’s wartime atrocities. Public attention for this history has grown in recent years, especially since the 2015 opening of the Harbin-based Museum of Evidence of War Crimes by Unit 731.

It was around that same time, about a decade ago, when Chinese director Zhao Linshan (赵林山) started working on the movie Evil Unbound (731), produced by Changchun Film Group in collaboration with the Propaganda Departments of Shandong, Jilin, Heilongjiang, and Harbin.

It finally premiered nationwide on Thursday, ‘9.18’ at exactly 9:18 and shattered 10 box office records on its opening day. Screened 258,000 times in a single day, it rapidly surpassed 200 million yuan (US$28 million) in ticket sales. After three days, the box office exceeded 1 billion yuan (US$140 million).

The film focuses on Unit 731 in the final days before Japan’s defeat in 1945, portraying how local salesman Wang Yongzhang (王永章, played by Jiang Wu 姜武) is imprisoned together with other civilians. They are promised freedom in exchange for “health checks and epidemic prevention cooperation,” and are subjected to frostbite experiments, poison gas, and live dissections.

Official film posters for Evil Unbound/731.

“What we made is not a movie — it is historical evidence,” director Zhao said about the film.

A state-orchestrated hashtag ecosystem is currently amplifying the film’s ‘success.’ Similar to previous viral war film hits such as The Battle at Lake Changjin (长津湖) and Nanjing Photo Studio (Dead to Rights 南京照相馆), the media campaigns highlight the film’s commercial performance, its educational and historical value, the ‘authenticity’ of its production process, and its emotional reception and overseas recognition.

Recent trending hashtags, from Kuaishou to Weibo and beyond, include:

电影731票房再创新高 – “Film 731 sets another box office record”
没有人能在看731时不流泪 – “No one can watch 731 without crying”
观众掩面哭泣 / 哭到没法接受采访 – “Audiences cover faces in tears” or “Audiences too moved to be interviewed”
观众自发起立唱国歌 – “Audience spontaneously stand up to sing national anthem”
新兵入营集体观看731 – “New army recruits joined the camp and watched 731 together”
海外观众看731不停抹泪 – “Overseas audiences weeping when seeing 731”
9岁小孩看完731后泪奔 – “9-year-old child burst into tears after watching 731”
日本观众看完电影731后情绪崩溃 – “Japanese audiences having emotional breakdown after watching 731”
电影731是一本沉重的历史教科书 – “731 is a heavy history textbook”
让731这段历史不再沉默 – “The history of 731 can no longer be silenced”

There are hundreds of other hashtags contributing to this official narrative, that portrays Evil Unbound as an absolute patriotic and commercial triumph.

From Anticipation to Backlash: 731 Between Shawshank and Squid Game

Outside of this official narrative, however, audiences are telling a very different story. Despite months of anticipation, the film has been met with overwhelmingly negative reviews.

On Weibo, the hashtag “731 Film Review” (#731影评#) was pulled offline. On Douban, the movie’s ratings meter was switched off entirely (“暂无评分”). On IMDb, the film is currently rated 3.1.

Usually, criticism of patriotic films is a slippery slope. People have been censored, blocked, or even detained for criticizing war films. But criticism of this film is so widespread, and so ubiquitous across social media platforms, that it is barely containable.

Many viewers called the movie “trash,” while others said they felt “defrauded”.[1] One commenter suggested the director tried to make The Shawshank Redemption but ended up with Squid Game.[2] Others called it “bizarre”[3], or concluded: “The short review section doesn’t even allow enough characters to describe how unbearable this movie is.”[4]

Viewing the film, I must admit I also felt confused – the movie is nothing like you would expect after the state-led promotion of the film.

The opening minutes quickly set a messy historical context, leaping from the 1925 Geneva Protocol to China’s 1943 counteroffensives, to Iwo Jima, and to Japan’s “Operation PX” plan (Operation Cherry Blossoms at Night), a scheme to attack the United States with biological weapons—before landing in Harbin and Unit 731 in the year 1945.

About ten minutes in, the movie seems to switch tracks and take inspiration from Squid Game, the 2021 South Korean survival drama.

Some details appear almost one-to-one from the Netflix show: the cold speaker voice, characters labeled by numbers, stylized lighting (including the Japanese flag’s red dot turned into menacing red spotlight), and eerily sterile sets that create a cold, clinical atmosphere stripped of humanity.

Different scenes from 731.

Narrative elements also echo Squid Game’s deadly competitions, including an actual life-or-death rope pulling game. In 731, “winners” are promised freedom (but actually sent for experiments) and “losers” surviving slightly longer, until even these rules seemingly disappear, leaving viewers just as lost as the characters.

Beyond these echoes of Squid Game and The Shawshank Redemption (with their themes of prison break, brotherhood, and hope), where horror meets drama and occasionally even comedy, I also thought I saw traces of The Green Mile (there’s even a befriended mouse), The Shining, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and even Kill Bill.

If this all sounds like a fever dream, that’s about right.

While the film undoubtedly has artistic value in its visual references and symbolism, at times it seems more intent on presenting itself as an arthouse production than on telling a coherent historical war story.

731 scene showing Japanese flags with red lasers/spotlights one the left. Some of the movie’s camera angle points, color use, narrative elements and settings show some similarities with Squid Game (image on right).

731 (left), Squid Game (right)

Scene from 731, which I thought sometimes had some echoes from The Shining.

Another reference to Stanley Kubrick? 731 on the left, Clockwork Orange on the right.

Prison mouse friend. 731 (left) and The Green Mile (right).

And that is also what most of the online critique is about – people feel that while the movie is supposed to be about creating awareness of a particularly horrific part of Chinese war history, the actual factual history seems to have ended up in the background.

One commenter from Harbin wrote:[5]

💬 “For Harbin, 731 is the most painful chapter of history. This movie uses a mass of absurd visuals and music to tell a story that has almost nothing to do with real history. All the information that truly should have been shown is brushed over in passing words, and in the end it just tells audiences ‘never forget history’? This tramples on the history of 731. Stupid and vulgar.”

Others are also upset over historical inaccuracies in the film — from the makeup to the sets, the props, and the biological experiments. Even the toilet paper used by the prisoners isn’t very realistic, with some commenters saying these kinds of details ‘drove them crazy’:

💬 “I’m born after 1990, and even I grew up with worse toilet paper than what the aggressors in those years apparently gave to their prisoners. Theirs was so high-quality you could fold it into bows and baby shoes. Must have been strong, durable, and waterproof.”[6]

One other reviewer on Douban wrote:

💬 “As a prison break film it’s not exciting, as a historical film it’s too careless, and as a drama it’s too fragmented.”[7]

Douban reviewer Qingyun (青云) noted that it jumps from relatively calm scenes to intense emotional outbursts or extreme cruelty without any buildup — instead of moving viewers to tears, it alienates them from the story and its characters.

He adds:

💬 “The film wants to exploit history’s seriousness to entertain the public, but also fears the theme is too depressing and will affect the box office, so it stuffs in commercial gimmicks (jokes, fantasy, spectacle). This opportunism sacrifices the solemnity that is rewired for the historical topic, while also failing to provide as qualified entertainment. The result: it offends history and disappoints audiences.”[8]

Most of these disappointed reviewers argued that the chance to tell the story of Unit 731 was wasted by a director and script that offered little context to the subject, with some even suggesting that another, 37-year-old film (Men Behind the Sun, 黑太阳731, 1988) did a better job of conveying the history of Japan’s biological warfare in China.

A ‘Masterful Cult Film,’ But a ‘Total Failure’ as a War Movie

Despite the wave of strongly negative feedback, there are also those who did find the film moving, giving it five-star reviews — some from those who stress the film’s value as a reminder to “never forget national humiliation,” while others genuinely appreciate its creative vision.

Douban commenter ‘Bat Lord’ (蝙蝠君) called it a “masterful cult film” with the film’s aesthetics being “built on a foundation of Western stereotypical Orientalism of Japan and layered with Christian martyrdom.”[9]

As an example, Bat Lord describes a recurring scene in which prisoners are taken from their cells toward “freedom,” only to be taken to lethal human experiments. They are escorted by Japanese guards in traditional kimonos with samurai swords, led by a geisha carrying a bright red umbrella and wearing impossibly high okobo clogs, followed by Edo-period guards with topknots and white kimono. Bat Lord calls it “Orientalist punk seen through a Western gaze” (“有一种西方视角的东方主义朋克的味道”).

The reviewer also interprets the main characters, the Chinese prisoners, as representations of Christian martyrdom. Cross symbols are indeed everywhere in the film, with prisoner No. 017 constantly drawing crosses on the wall, and an ingenious escape plan hidden in a dictionary as a series of crosses.

At the climax, after battling guards in kimonos with wooden swords, the prisoners flee toward a crematorium resembling a cathedral of light, where crosses formed from pure white beams symbolize freedom. But behind the cross loom the Japanese executioners. After a bloody massacre, the survivors are captured and executed — tied to crosses arranged around a pit, with fleas dropped on them from above as Japanese officers watch from a grandstand.

Cross symbols appear throughout the film.

💬 “It’s clearly a direct homage to Christian martyrs who were sacrificed in the Colosseum during the ancient Roman Empire. In the end, all the protagonists die martyrs’ deaths,” Bat Lord writes.[10]

He concludes that the film is “4/5 as an art house film, but zero points as a war movie”:

💬 “As a mainstream patriotic commercial blockbuster, it is a complete and utter failure (..) But as a niche cult prank film, it actually has some positive points (…) – built on exaggerated Orientalist visions of Japan, it feels strangely authentic. This kind of deconstruction of Japanese culture isn’t something the Japanese themselves could do — only the West or China, as seen in works like The Last Samurai, Ghost of Tsushima, and Shogun.” [11]

He adds:

💬 “The biggest problem is the subject matter. Using 731 — such a solemn, tragic history — only to hollow out its pain, exploit national emotions, and repackage it as a cult prank film disguised as a patriotic blockbuster, inevitably backfires. If it had been framed as a semi-fictional low-budget black comedy, the backlash wouldn’t be so severe.”[12]

“No Japanese in Heaven”: Over-‘Othering’ the Enemy

How could 731 have failed so miserably to live up to public expectations?

In recent years, Chinese museums, books, and popular culture have made many attempts to revitalize the history of war and make it more relevant to younger generations. In many cases, this has been successful, from popular war dramas to blockbuster films.

But Unit 731 is perhaps an especially difficult subject to adapt into a commercially successful film for a broad audience, especially since it chose to leave out the kind of contextualization that Oppenheimer provided in exploring the history, process, and character development that led to the atomic bomb.

Like the gas chambers of Auschwitz or Mengele’s brutal experiments, its history is so gruesome that there is little to focus on beyond the suffering of the victims and the cruelty of the perpetrators. (The film had already been postponed once, as it allegedly failed to pass official screenings due to its graphic scenes.)

War films in China are expected to reflect — or help shape — national identity. In 731, this means boosting national unity by focusing on Japan as the ultimate “Other,” the ‘constructed outsider’ against which the own national identity is defined.

The entire nation is cast as an enemy, depicted through exaggerated cultural symbols — geishas, kimonos, samurai, and cherry blossoms — regardless of whether they belonged in the actual prison setting. Japan’s national colors and imagery are fused with scenes of bloody and barbaric slaughter, turning Japanese cultural identity itself into a target.

References to Japanese cultural symbols in the film.

In doing so, the film not only holds Japan as a whole responsible for its wartime aggression, but also strengthens Chinese identity by defining it in opposition to Japan, visually contrasting “good” versus “evil” through opposing characters, colors, and symbols.

Clear visual symbols: dead Chinese bodies covered in white dust. With the red circle of blood, the scene resembles a Japanese flag.

This contrast is also made explicit in dialogue: at the beginning of the film, for instance, a young boy enters the stark white prison halls and asks, “Master, are we in heaven?” to which the older Chinese man replies, “Nonsense, how could there be Japanese in heaven?”

In promoting the film, director Zhao Linshan (赵林山) reinforced the image of Japan as the eternal “Other” by explaining that he had insisted none of the Japanese roles could have possibly played by Chinese actors, suggesting they would not be able to convey their evilness. Despite the difficulty of bringing over more than 80 Japanese actors during China’s ‘zero Covid’ era, when 731 was largely filmed, Zhao maintained that “only the Japanese can play this dual nature.”

While Chinese social media is often filled with anti-Japanese sentiment, many viewers criticized the depiction of “Japan” and the Unit 731 staff — not because of the anti-Japanese angle, but because they felt it trivialized history. They argued that Unit 731 was already so horrific that it needed no added gimmicks, tropes, or exaggerated villains to make it look bad.

As Douban reviewer Qingyun wrote:

💬 “Portraying devils as clowns diminishes their true guilt. The real criminals were rational, organized, and intelligent, embodying the will of Japanese militarism as a systematic project. Making them idiots (..) greatly underestimates the danger and organization of militarism, and is a severe simplification of history.”[13]

This critique goes further, suggesting the film both weakens its warning value (“the true terror is that advanced civilization and barbarism can coexist”) and cheapens the victims’ suffering (“if the enemy is so stupid, the tragedy seems less grave”).

On Weibo, one commenter criticized this one-sided approach:

💬 “I saw an auntie in Hangzhou who, after watching the movie 731, said she hated the Japanese devils so much — that she would hate them for her entire life. But this elderly woman, brainwashed by hatred education for a lifetime, doesn’t stop to think that (..) so many other brutal slaughters happened throughout Chinese history. If you only speak of hate, can your hate keep up with all of them? Shouldn’t we instead explore and reflect more deeply on the underlying causes of these events? Better to talk less of hate and more of love — because only the most genuine love from the depths of the human heart can ultimately prevent such tragedies from happening again.”[14]

Some viewers who appreciated the film, however, disagreed. One Weibo user wrote: “I watched the film with my husband and on our way home we scolded the Japanese, wishing we could throw two more atomic bombs on them. It was a good film.”

Between the history and the hate, the official narrative, the polarized audience reactions, and disagreements over the film’s message, 731 has brought more controversy than clarity.

But beyond the debate and confusion, one message remains clear. As one viewer wrote:

“The film wasn’t what I expected, but I’m not sure what I even expected? A good story? More like a documentary? There’s one thing I can say for sure: this movie is just a shell — the history itself is the soul.”[15]

Best,

Manya

[1] “看完有种被诈骗的感觉” (source: Douban).
[2] “一句话评价《731》，导演按照《肖申克的救赎》拍出了《鱿鱼游戏》” (source: Xiaohongshu).
[3] “令人非常迷惑” (source: Douban).
[4] “短评骂的字数不够了实在是忍不了了” (source: Douban). [5] “作为一个哈尔滨人，去过至少三次纪念馆，731对于哈尔滨就是最沉痛的一段历史，这个电影用大量极其荒诞的镜头和音乐，讲述一个基本跟真实历史毫无关系的故事，所有真正需要拍出来的信息全部是文字一笔带过，最后却告诉观众勿忘历史？这是对731这段历史的践踏。弱智且下流” (Source: comment section Sina). [6] “作为一个90后，我出生的那个年代卫生纸质量都达不到侵略者给实验体使用的，纸的质量太好了，又是编蝴蝶结，又是编鞋子的，我猜应该是坚韧又耐用，透水都不断的那种吧” (Source: Douban long reviews). [7] “或许是删减太多或许是各种局限，当做越狱不精彩，当做历史片太随意，当做剧情片太碎片”(Source: Douban). [8] “影片既想利用沉重历史的严肃性作为宣传噱头，又担心题材过于压抑影响票房，于是强行注入商业娱乐元素（搞笑、幻想、刺激场面）。这种“既要…又要…”的投机心态导致影片既失去了历史题材必需的敬畏感，又未能提供合格的娱乐体验。最终，它既冒犯了历史，也辜负了观众”(Source Douban, review by Qingyun (青云). [9] “西方刻板印象东方主义日本与基督殉难的碰撞，cult片的杰出之作”(Source: Douban, review by ‘Bat Lord’ (蝙蝠君).
[10] “很明显也在致敬古罗马帝国时期殉道在斗兽场的圣徒们。最终主角团全员殉道，无一幸免。”
[11] “这个片作为主流主旋律商业大片是完全的，彻头彻尾的失败，彷佛那纯纯的依托！甚至从预告片开始这电影就没有任何一丝一毫的符合历史，我从一开始就完全没有抱任何期望的去看，结果发现这片作为小众邪典整蛊片却颇有可取之处（。。）当你不认为这片是正常电影之后，这片表达出的那股子真的是超正宗的外国视角下的刻板印象东方主义日本美学、东方朋克味，这种对日本文化的魔怔向的解构其实我个人还真感觉挺不错的。这种解构日本人是搞不出来的，目前只有欧美和中国能搞出来，代表作就是《最后的武士》、《对马岛》、《幕府将军》之类的作品，里面的日本文化，日本武士道精神一个赛一个魔怔，欧美是往骑士幻想的那个路子去走的，我们是往黑暗邪典的路子去走的“
[12] “所以这片的最大问题还是选择了731这个严肃题材，完全在消解历史的悲痛，消费民族的情感，拍了个小众邪典整蛊片后，还按照主流商业片来包装和宣发，如果他拍成半架空的超小成本黑色喜剧我觉得反噬恐怕不会有这么大”(Source: Douban). [13] “它美化了真正的邪恶：将恶魔塑造成小丑，实际上减轻了他们的罪责。真实的731部队不是一群疯癫的傻瓜，而是清醒的、有组织的、高智商的罪犯。他们的行为是日本军国主义国家意志的体现，是一个系统性的工程。把他们拍得弱智，仿佛这场悲剧只是一群笨蛋造成的意外，这极大地低估了军国主义的危害性和组织性，是对历史的严重简化”(source: Douban).
[14] “看到一位杭州阿姨看完电影731后讲太恨日本鬼子了，要一辈子一辈子的恨。这个被仇恨教育洗脑一辈子的老太太，您也不思考一下，嘉定三屠，江东六十四屯，南京大屠杀等等一系列的野蛮屠杀事件在中国历史上发生的太多了，光讲恨您恨的过来吗？不应该是更多的探究和反省发生这些事的深层原因嘛！还是少谈恨多讲爱吧，只有发自心底人类最真实的爱才能最后解决这些惨案在人类世界的发生吧”(Source: Weibo).
[15] Weibo user “红屋顶上的猫”: “我不知道该怎么评。首先在这个忙乱的日子里安排自己去看这个电影，我也说不清楚我是想铭记那段历史，还是想比较小时候看过的《荒原城堡731》，还有那部《黑太阳》。其次我也不知道电影从越狱视角切入，写实和魔幻风格交替，是好还是不好？但它和我想象的不一样，可我也不知道自己想看到的到底是什么样？甚至我也说不清我对这场电影的期待是什么？讲好故事？还是拍成纪录片？我只能确定，电影只是个壳子，那段历史才是灵魂。”

What Else Is Trending?

Popular Topics at a Glance 

Prefab Panic | I didn’t want to add much else to this newsletter — there’s already plenty to chew on — but if you’re in the mood for more reading: you may have heard about the online controversy surrounding the Chinese restaurant chain Xibei and the debate over pre-made food. What began with a single negative restaurant review on social media quickly spiraled into a nationwide discussion on prefab meals in Chinese dining, and it ended with far-reaching consequences. This is definitely a trend to watch, as it’s likely to serve as a warning for others.

If you need a clear explainer of the Xibei controversy, read on:

Read More

Also keep an eye on:

■ Besides Super Typhoon Ragasa (拉加萨) hitting southern China, there’s also another online storm, namely the fireworks show held by Anta-owned outdoor clothing brand Arc’teryx in collaboration with Chinese artist Cai Guoqiang (蔡国强) . The show took place on September 19 in Tibet’s Himalayas. What was staged as a tribute to nature quickly backfired, with critics blasting it as tone-deaf commercialization of sacred, fragile land. Ivy Yang covered this issue here.

■ I’m publishing another round-up of what’s been trending in the coming two days. Meanwhile, check out the last China Trend Watch here.

What’s On

Handpicked China events for our readers

Political historian Joseph Torigian has been presenting his new and much-praised biography of Xi Zhongxun, the long-serving Chinese Communist Party official and father of Xi Jinping. Based on new archival sources and interviews, Torigian explores Xi Zhongxun’s role in shaping CCP policy from the revolutionary period through reform-era China, including his influence on the Special Economic Zones and United Front work. The book also offers insight into how the legacy of Xi Zhongxun may illuminate the leadership of his son.

👉 Get the book here

👉 Register for the Oct 6 event in London by SOAS

👉 OR Register for the Oct 13 event in The Hague by Leiden Asia Center (also allows for online attendance) here.

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Editorial

Look Only at the Ugly Sides, and You Won’t See China

A response to a Dutch debate on China, and why nuance matters in an age of geopolitical polarization.

Published

1 week ago

June 2, 2026

Manya Koetse

The following is an English translation of a Dutch opinion piece I wrote in response to a recent essay in FD (Het Financieele Dagblad, the Dutch Financial Daily). It reflects on how China is discussed in Europe and why nuance matters in debates about freedom, safety, and public perceptions of China.

Anyone who says something positive about China nowadays quickly runs the risk of being dismissed as a propagandist. This became apparent again this week when Dutch philosopher Sebastien Valkenberg cited me in Het Financieele Dagblad (FD, the Dutch Financial Daily) as an example of a “hip influencer” who has succumbed to the allure of autocratic regimes.

According to Valkenberg, more and more people in the West are becoming impressed by stories of safety, order, and efficiency. China plays an important role in this. He refers to an interview I previously gave to EW Magazine, in which, according to him, I supposedly nodded along approvingly to remarks about China’s alleged superiority when it comes to public safety.

That is remarkable, because I actually spoke strongly about an unpleasant experience on a Dutch train, where I was harassed one evening while sitting alone in a carriage by a man who pulled down his trousers. The conversation was about safety, freedom, and the different ways societies weigh those concepts.

This is not merely a theoretical discussion. Earlier this year, Chinese artist and dissident Ai Weiwei caused a stir when, after visiting China, he said that in certain ways he felt freer there than in Europe. Not because China had suddenly become a liberal democracy, but because he experienced limitations and social tensions in Europe that, in his view, often remain out of sight.

You may agree or disagree with Ai Weiwei. But the fact that one of China’s most well-known critics of the regime makes such observations shows that the relationship between freedom, security, and social order is more complex than is often portrayed.

It should be possible to have a conversation about this without every comparison with China being immediately seen as a defense of the Chinese political system.

The fact that political freedom is important does not mean that physical safety should be off limits as a topic of discussion. Since China reopened after COVID, many Chinese have wondered how free democratic European countries really are when people can be robbed in broad daylight or when women increasingly feel unsafe on public transportation.

According to Valkenberg, however, Chinese people do not ask such questions on their own. They have supposedly been conditioned not to challenge authority. Worse still, he suggests, some people in the free West are now following the same path.

I am not a mouthpiece for Beijing; I am a sinologist. For nearly twenty years I have studied China, lived there, traveled there regularly, and followed discussions about censorship, propaganda, technology, and public opinion. I know that Chinese people do, in fact, question what authorities say. My readers also know that I regularly write about subjects that are anything but comfortable for the Chinese government.

But the bigger issue is not personal.

What strikes me is that Valkenberg makes hardly any distinction between China as a country, the Chinese as people, and the Chinese state as a political system. In his worldview, the ‘free democratic West’ stands opposed to the ‘autocratic China,’ with China almost entirely reduced to Xi Jinping and the Communist Party. Anyone who then says something positive about developments in China quickly risks being seen as someone spreading propaganda.

That is a problematic way of looking at things. Not only because it leaves little room for nuance, but also because it produces a simplified image of China itself. While every move made by Donald Trump is analyzed in great detail, knowledge about China in the Netherlands remains strikingly limited.

It is particularly striking that, in an essay about the dangers of stereotyping, Valkenberg so readily portrays Chinese people as a homogeneous mass that is barely capable of critical thinking. At the same time, he falls back on one of the most persistent misconceptions about China: the idea that every citizen is continuously assessed and scored through an all-encompassing social credit system.

That image of a system in which every citizen receives a personal point score has since been convincingly debunked by researchers. Yet this narrative stubbornly resurfaces in the public debate. Ironically, this shows how even highly educated people can be swept along by techno-orientalist myths and disinformation.

That does not mean there is no reason to be critical of China. On the contrary.

China has censorship. Political freedoms are limited. Dissidents are under pressure. The state exercises extensive control over parts of society, and the Communist Party wields significant power in the digital sphere. These are important issues that deserve serious attention, discussion, and scrutiny.

But precisely because these problems exist, we do not need Orwellian scare stories. Anyone who wants to understand China seriously must be willing to confront reality as it is, not as it best fits an ideological narrative.

You can acknowledge that Chinese cities have become safer without endorsing censorship. You can appreciate the quality of infrastructure without defending state control. And you can believe that more should be done to improve women’s safety on Dutch public transportation without being dismissed as an admirer of an authoritarian regime.

We live in a time when debates about China are increasingly dominated by extremes. Some see the country as a miracle state; others see it only as a dystopian nightmare. Both views fall short.

At a time when China’s geopolitical influence is growing, what we need is knowledge, context, and nuance. And as Europe struggles with its own challenges, it would not hurt to occasionally take a critical look at itself.

The strength of our democracy should not depend on how dark we paint the picture of China. Whoever looks only at the ugly side does not see China.

By Manya Koetse
(follow on X, LinkedIn, or Instagram)

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China Arts & Entertainment

The Reunification with Taiwan is Hitting Chinese Cinemas This Summer

A new state-backed epic about the Qing conquest of Taiwan is stirring debate. Plus: the Shanxi mine disaster, a controversial prison film, hukou reform, and China’s top 5 rising books.

Published

2 weeks ago

May 29, 2026

Manya Koetse

🔥 China Trend Watch (Week 21–22 | 2026) Part of Eye on Digital China by Manya Koetse, China Trend Watch is an overview of what’s trending and being discussed on Chinese social media.

In this edition:

China’s upcoming Taiwan reunification blockbuster
8 Quick Scrolls to Know
The Liushenyu coal mine disaster exposes hidden tunnels, “yin-yang maps,” and systemic safety failures
A controversial prison film starring a convicted killer is pulled from cinemas
China announces major hukou reforms
China’s Top 5 Rising Books
Why everyone is saying: “I genuinely did feel uncomfortable”

Chinese cinema is “riding the winds of history.”[1] While the biggest films of the 2025 summer movie season focused on the Second Sino-Japanese War, this year, it is China’s military campaign to take Taiwan that is heading to the big screen.

The movie Battle of Penghu (澎湖海战), scheduled to premiere in mainland China on July 25, is a state-backed historical epic centered on the major naval battle that ultimately led to the Qing conquest of Taiwan.

Over the past week, the film held its first full preview screenings, released its theatrical trailer, unveiled a series of posters, and triggered online discussions.

The film’s narrative and promotional slogans make clear that its timing is neither coincidental nor merely historical. The movie is deeply entangled with contemporary cross-strait politics and Beijing’s message that unification with Taiwan is inevitable and “unstoppable.”

The “Battle of Penghu”, also known as the Battle of the Pescadores, took place in 1683, when Qing dynasty admiral Shi Lang (施琅) defeated the forces of the Zheng regime in Taiwan, which was basically the last big Ming loyalist center after Beijing had already fallen in 1644. Shi Lang’s victory at sea led to the Zheng regime’s surrender and the Qing annexation of Taiwan, formalized in 1684 when Taiwan was incorporated as a prefecture of Fujian province.

Over the past decade, China has increasingly fused Hollywood-style commercial filmmaking with state propaganda goals. Although Xi-era patriotic blockbusters had appeared earlier, the 2021 Korean War epic The Battle at Lake Changjin marked a turning point: it showed that a visually spectacular film could become both a massive commercial success and an effective vehicle for state messaging.

Beyond serving as spectacular propaganda and a nationalist boost, The Battle at Lake Changjin also became a platform for promoting a new narrative about China’s role in the Korean War. The film helped breathe new life into these narratives among younger Chinese moviegoers, who bought merchandise, checked in online while watching the film, and even posted photos of themselves eating frozen potatoes — echoing scenes from the movie based on the real experiences of soldiers on the battlefield.

The victory the Chinese soldiers achieved on the battlefield in Korea against the Americans was a reminder of Chinese courage and pride at a time of heightened Sino-American tensions.

Battle at Lake Changjin caused a real social media frenzy surrounding its merchandise and people eating frozen potatoes to share in the hardships felt by those on the battlefield.

Last year, similar dynamics unfolded when Dead to Rights (Nanjing Photo Studio, 南京照相馆) hit theaters, focusing on the Japanese invasion of Nanjing and the atrocities that followed. Together with Unit 731 and Dongji Island (东极岛), it formed part of a broader cinematic re-narration of the Sino-Japanese War (read more here).

The films were accompanied by a wider state media campaign emphasizing how China’s War of Resistance against Japan, as an integral part of World War II, represented China’s major contribution and sacrifice in the global fight against fascism, underscoring the country’s important role in shaping the postwar world order.

Now, this upcoming Taiwan-focused blockbuster seems to follow a similar playbook.

The movie is directed by award-winning Hong Kong filmmaker Cheang Pou-soi (郑保瑞). Wang Xueqi (王学圻), one of China’s most respected veteran actors, stars as Admiral Shi Lang, while the super-popular Jackson Yee (易烊千玺), the TFBOYS pop idol who turned into an acclaimed actor, plays the young Emperor Kangxi. Other major names starring in the movie include Zhao Liying (赵丽颖), one of China’s most renowned female stars, and Geng Le (耿乐), who also starred in Battle at Lake Changjin.

Promo posters for Battle at Penghu.

Besides the cast, the other details surrounding the production of the film are also impressive.

The crew reportedly spent 34 months in preparation, constructing 50 ancient warships, including twelve battleships of nearly 40 meters long, allegedly the largest historical naval replicas ever built in China. Most of them were destroyed during filming. We can expect some spectacular scenes.

Although this summer blockbuster appears to have the right formula for another Battle at Lake Changjin-like success, criticism is surfacing online.

Many netizens argue that the film should never have celebrated Admiral Shi Lang as its hero, and that it would have been more appropriate to focus on Zheng Chenggong (鄭成功, Koxinga) instead, since he is the one who expelled a foreign colonial power, the Dutch VOC, in 1662 and established the first Han Chinese governance on Taiwan. Due to this story of resistance against Western imperialism, many see Zheng Chenggong as the true hero.

💬 As one commenter writes: “Zheng Chenggong [Koxinga] drove out the Dutch colonizers and recovered Taiwan — what does that have to do with Shi Lang? Instead of making a film about Zheng Chenggong, they chose to make one about the traitor Shi Lang.”

Adding to this criticism, others wondered why a movie celebrating the Qing dynasty’s defeat of the Ming loyalist Zheng regime — framed by some netizens as “Manchu forces defeating Han Chinese” — should be treated as part of Chinese history worth celebrating.

Shi Lang’s backstory makes him a contested figure in Chinese history. Originally, he was a general under Koxinga until he switched allegiances and ultimately surrendered to the Qing, leading some critics to label him a traitor (“汉奸”) rather than a hero.

One relevant study by Ronald C. Po [2] into the historical commemoration of Shi Lang argues that Shi Lang’s image has been continuously reconstructed since the Qing dynasty to serve shifting political agendas.

In this case, Shi Lang is framed as the admiral who “unified” Taiwan with China, making him an important historical anchor for the one-China narrative.

In the end, that’s what it’s all about — and the movie’s official tagline is clear about that: “What is isolated must return; what is divided must unite” (“孤悬必归、分疆必合”). Its trailer closes with the slogan “Unifying Taiwan is unstoppable” (“统一台湾，势不可挡”).

Whether Battle of Penghu will become as big a box office hit as Battle at Lake Changjin remains to be seen, but I doubt it, since we know that it’s putting reunification with Taiwan on mainland cinema screens this summer in a way many Chinese find flawed.

One critical reviewer, popular Weibo account @释不归, says:

💬 “The core historiographical flaw of Battle of Penghu does not lie in its ‘choice of the Qing dynasty’s perspective,’ but in its systematic concealment through a ‘unification narrative’ (统一叙事) that forcibly whitewashes a history full of moral grey zones into a binary confrontation between justice and evil.”

For this reason, some say they will boycott the film, while others are celebrating it as a blockbuster promoting unification with Taiwan. Either way, it promises to spark a debate worth watching, and it’s one I’ll certainly be following this summer 👀🍿. I will report back to you after I’ve seen it!

There’s a lot more to catch up on, so keep reading to see which stories dominated online conversations in China over the past two weeks.

Quick Scrolls

🌧️ Severe rainstorms and extreme weather triggered flash floods in Chongqing’s Yongchuan District, leaving nine people dead and eleven missing.
🏪 The “Father of the Convenience Store,” 7-Eleven founder Toshifumi Suzuki (铃木敏文), is being remembered on Chinese social media following his passing in Tokyo at the age of 93. Netizens praised Suzuki for bringing 24-hour convenience culture to Asia and reshaping global retail.
🇷🇸 The first-ever China state visit by Serbian President Aleksandar Vučić became a major talking point on social media, where many netizens refer to Vučić as “577” because his Chinese name sounds similar to “5-7-7” (五七七 wǔ qī qī). Vučić said he was aware of the nickname and perfectly happy being “577.”
🎬 The Chaoshan-dialect film Letters to Grandma (阿嬷的情书) surpassed 10 billion yuan ($1.38 billion) at the box office within 25 days. With a 9.1 rating on Douban, the underdog production has become one of the biggest surprise hits of 2026, achieving massive success without major stars or blockbuster budgets.
🏛️ Wuhan University recently opened its campus to the public without requiring reservations. Although not everyone is happy about visitors roaming the grounds and taking photos, the move has sparked broader discussions about how Chinese university campuses, as important cultural and public spaces, should be made more accessible.
🚀 After nearly seven months in orbit, the Shenzhou-21 crew welcomed the incoming Shenzhou-23 astronauts aboard Tiangong. The docking marked the eighth “space meetup” in Chinese spaceflight history and the first time an astronaut from Hong Kong entered the space station.
🛵 Olympic swimmer Sun Yang (孙杨) went viral after grabbing his phone during a TV interview to order food delivery. One related Weibo hashtag — “Sun Yang suddenly starts ordering food during interview” (#孙杨采访时突然开始点餐) — received over 61 million views. Some commenters described him as a typical post-90s-generation personality who simply does whatever he feels like.
☠️ One of China’s most sensational corporate crime cases has come to an end. Xu Yao (许垚), former CEO of Santi Universe, the company holding the rights to the hugely successful The Three-Body Problem IP, was executed on May 21, two years after being convicted of poisoning gaming tycoon Lin Qi in 2020. Xu used a deadly mix of pufferfish toxin and amatoxin and also poisoned four other colleagues with methylmercury.

The Week’s Key Stories

Hidden Back Doors, Yin-Yang Maps: The Liushenyu Coal Mine Disaster

The catastrophic gas explosion at the Liushenyu Coal Mine (留神峪煤矿) in Qinyuan County, Shanxi, has dominated Chinese news discussions over the past week. The explosion, which occurred on the evening of May 22, killed at least 82 people, while 123 others were hospitalized with injuries of varying severity. Two people remain missing.

This is the worst coal mine incident in China since 2009, when an explosion at the Xinxing coal mine (新兴煤矿) in Heilongjiang killed 108 people.

Soon after the incident in Qinyuan, discussions began focusing on safety violations, especially after the reported numbers failed to add up. At the time of the explosion, 247 workers were reportedly underground, yet the company operating the mine, Tongzhou Group, had recorded only 124 names in the entry log, meaning around 123 workers had entered the mine without following required protocols.

During rescue operations, emergency workers soon discovered that the mine’s official maps did not match the actual underground layout. Tongzhou Group had apparently been operating with so-called “yin-yang maps” (阴阳图纸): two versions of the mine plan — one official version shown to inspectors, and another real version used in practice.

In a May 26 Xinhua report, it was revealed that the mine even had camouflage doors (假门) — constructed from steel mesh wire and woven sacking to resemble tunnel rock walls — to conceal unauthorized tunnels from safety inspectors. When inspectors arrived, workers inside would reportedly seal the door and smear it with coal dust to make it indistinguishable from the surrounding tunnel walls.

In this way, the mine could maximize output and produce extra coal outside official quotas without reporting it. But it also meant these hidden areas fell outside formal oversight and safety protocols, which is why they are referred to as “invisible bombs” (隐形炸弹) within the mining system: gas could accumulate due to insufficient ventilation.

The mine had already been listed in 2024 by China’s mine safety regulator as a site with “serious hazards.”

On social media, the disaster has sparked anger over systemic failures surrounding a mine disaster many viewed as preventable, and over management’s apparent disregard for the lives and safety of its contracted workers, who already occupy some of the most dangerous and lowest-status positions in China’s labor market.

In multiple ways, the Liushenyu Coal Mine disaster shows similarities to the recent Liuyang fireworks factory explosion, which also occurred in May.

Although the two disasters took place in very different industries and locations, they reveal a similar pattern: there had been explicit prior warnings in official records that went unaddressed; inspections identified problems but failed to halt production; hidden production conditions/mechanisms were involved; and both disasters killed dozens of vulnerable migrant workers employed through informal labor arrangements.

One comment pretty much rounds up a general sentiment:

💬 “For the sake of enormous profits, they completely disregarded safety and basic human morality, and showed utter contempt for human life, which is an unforgivable crime! The leadership must receive the death penalty!”

Award-Winning Prison Film Starring Convicted Killer Pulled in China

A Chinese film that was supposed to premiere in mainland cinemas on May 30 has backfired and been pulled following days of controversy and intense online discussion.

The movie, titled Mom from Prison (监狱来的妈妈) in Chinese and using the English title Her Heart Beats in Its Cage, was marketed as a domestic violence film “based on a true story,” with the convicted killer in the movie played by the actual person involved — Zhao Xiaohong (赵箫泓).

Zhao was sentenced to 15 years in prison for killing her husband in 2009 during a domestic violence incident in which she stabbed him with a fruit knife.

Director Qin Xiaoyu (秦晓宇) and famous TV host and producer Wang Han (汪涵) then developed a film around Zhao’s story, presenting it as a sympathetic anti-domestic violence narrative about a woman who suffered long-term abuse, finally struck back, accidentally killed her husband, and later tried to repair her relationship with her son while in prison.

Although the film received approval to be screened in China and performed well at various foreign film festivals, including the San Sebastián International Film Festival, everything fell apart when Chinese netizens collectively criticized the gap between the movie’s narrative and the legal realities of the case. How “true” was this story if the killing was never legally ruled as self-defense, and if the judgment explicitly stated that no domestic abuse had been recognized or evidenced in the case?

Beyond that, many pointed out that Zhao was still formally serving restrictions tied to her prison sentence while participating in a commercial film production, raising questions about how a convicted killer could end up starring in a feature film about her own crime.

Moreover, when the project began in 2019, the production team reportedly applied for permission to film inside prisons under the category of a “public-interest correctional education documentary” (公益教育改造纪录片), which many commenters — including those in this Zhihu thread — considered deceptive.

Although domestic violence has received increasing public attention and sympathy in China in recent years, many argued that this particular project crossed an ethical line and used “feminist-coded content” (女权话题) to glamorize the story of a convicted killer.

“If they had simply used another actress and treated the story as artistic adaptation, perhaps things would never have become this serious,” one Zhihu commenter wrote.

Following the overwhelmingly negative public reaction, Zhao Xiaohong’s social media accounts were silenced, while the film bureau announced that screenings had been suspended due to public complaints and an ongoing investigation. Wang Han also apologized for becoming involved in the project without properly researching its background and content, and announced he had cut ties with the film.

This is one movie that definitely won’t be getting a sequel.

Hukou Reform Announced: Public Services Will Now “Follow the Person”

China’s Household Registration System won’t be as important anymore – that’s the message that was reiterated across Chinese social media by state media, becoming top news on Weibo, Toutiao, and Baidu News on May 27 (#户口以后没那么重要了#)

This comes after China’s State Council, for the very first time, has issued a national-level directive to decouple basic public services from household registration (户口, hùkǒu).

The hukou or ‘household registration’ system is China’s registered permanent residence policy that has been in place in China since 1958. A hukou is assigned at birth and basically works like an official place-based ID. China’s hukou system, among others, separates rural and urban citizens and is essential for access to social services, including education and healthcare.

Because the hukou is tied to one’s registered place of origin rather than to an actual place of residence, it creates problems for the estimated 250 million people in China who have moved elsewhere to live and work. When their children’s access to public schools is closed off, many families choose to leave children behind in their native, more rural areas to live with grandparents or other caregivers. These “leftover children” are just one of many broader problems of urban-rural inequality behind the hukou system, particularly regarding access to public benefits and healthcare.

In this new policy, filed on May 18 and presented at a May 26 press conference, social services, basic benefits, and protections will follow the person, not the hukou. That means that as long as a person resides in and is legally employed in a place, has registered a residence permit, and has paid social insurance, they are entitled to equal access to basic public services as local hukou holders.

In the aftermath of the announcement, social media commenters seem cautiously positive yet skeptical, and still have many questions about the practicalities and the extent to which this will actually change things.

One important question revolves around the gaokao (高考) system – China’s national college entrance exam. Traditionally, one’s hukou affects where a child can go to school and where they can take the gaokao. If this were to change, it would essentially change the rules of the playbook that matters most to many students and their families, as it’s the main doorway to university in China, and university access is tied to later life and career chances.

Some people also express anxiety about the knock-on effects on urban property markets and school enrollment: they think cities like Beijing or Shanghai will get even more crowded in the near future. Who knows how many people will rush there to work now for their kids’ sake?

The optimism about the policy does shimmer through most comments, like one person writing:

💬 “It’s important to be realistic: while the policy lowers the barriers, high-quality public resources remain limited. Achieving complete equality will still take time. But at least the overall direction has changed. Treatment is no longer determined by a piece of paper called a hukou. If we work hard and build our lives in a city, we should be able to enjoy the corresponding protections and services there. And that is the most meaningful source of security this policy provides.”

What China’s Reading

Top 5 Rising Books in China This Week

📚1. Work, Consumerism and the New Poor by Zygmunt Bauman | 工作、消费主义和新穷人

Work, Consumerism and the New Poor is rising on China’s popular book and reading charts this week. The 1998 work by Polish sociologist Zygmunt Bauman (translated into Chinese in 2021) argues that poverty in consumer society is defined not by joblessness but by the inability to participate in consumption — that the “new poor” are marked not by exclusion from work but by exclusion from the marketplace of goods and identities. A relevant topic for Chinese social media users in 2026, with issues like youth unemployment and middle-class downward mobility popping up in all kinds of discussions nowadays. 🔗 Link to the book in English / in Chinese.

📚2. The Protagonist by Chen Yan | 主角

The Protagonist (主角) is a long novel by Chen Yan (陈彦) that previously won China’s most prestigious literary fiction award, the Mao Dun Literature Prize, and became one of the top titles on WeChat’s reading platform this week. That is no coincidence: the renewed attention follows the release of the CCTV/Tencent Video television adaptation starring Zhang Jiayi (张嘉益) and Liu Haocun (刘浩存). The novel tells the story of female Qinqiang opera performer Yi Qine and follows more than four decades of her life on and off the stage amid major personal, social, and national transformations. 🔗 Link to Chinese edition.

📚 3. The Second Chief by Huang Xiaoyang | 二号首长

The Second Chief (二号首长) is a Chinese political novel by Huang Xiaoyang, which was originally published in 2011 and recently reissued. It follows the protagonist, Tang Xiaozhou, a veteran journalist from Fudan University who is at a low point in his life when he is appointed as the personal secretary to a new provincial party secretary, Zhao Deliang. Although the book offers a (fictional) glimpse into Chinese provincial politics, some social media users say it’s more like a guide to navigating the workplace and life. 🔗 Link to Chinese version.

📚 4. Fortunate That You All Comfort My Life | 幸得诸君慰平生

“Fortunate to Have You All Comfort My Life” is a collection of warm, light, and easy-to-read essays by the author writing under the pen name “Before the Storms in the Old Garden” (故园风雨前). Originally published in 2022, the book belongs to the popular “slow life” literary genre and focuses on small everyday details, family, flowers, friendship, and fleeting encounters that add warmth, meaning, and vividness to ordinary life. 🔗 Link to Chinese version.

📚5. The Klein Bottle by Okajima Futari | 克莱因壶

The Klein Bottle is a 1989 Japanese mystery novel by the duo Okajima Futari (冈岛二人) was ahead of its time in telling the story of a writer who signs up to test an experimental VR game and gradually loses the ability to distinguish virtual experiences from reality, as people around him begin to disappear or deny shared memories. The book’s renewed popularity in China lately is largely driven by social media discussions about the increasingly murky boundaries between simulated and real experiences in the AI era. 🔗 Link to Chinese version.

The Word of the Week

“I genuinely did feel uncomfortable” 我想说当确实不舒服

Everyone and their cousin has been talking about Wang Hedi (王鹤棣), aka Dylan Wang, over the past week. The Chinese actor recently appeared in the celebrity reality show Dear Inn (亲爱的客栈), in which celebrities run a guesthouse together. Wang served as the manager, while his former Meteor Garden (流星花园) co-star Shen Yue (沈月) was also part of the cast.

During the final episode, the celebrities handed out playful awards to each other. Wang received the “Best You’re Just Wang Hedi Award” (“最佳你只是个王鹤底奖”), where the “Di” (棣) character from his real name was replaced with the similarly pronounced character 底, meaning “bottom.”

Many viewers felt the “funny” reward wasn’t actually so funny, especially after rumors surfaced that the cast members had a separate group chat without Wang in it. Fans felt he was being purposely excluded and mocked.

As discussions escalated online, Wang responded on Weibo, writing:

“At the time I thought I was just being oversensitive, but after reading everyone’s analysis for a whole day, I want to say that I genuinely did feel uncomfortable back then.”

That response only made the situation blow up. Shen Yue later issued a public apology, explaining that “You’re just Wang Hedi” had been meant as an inside joke among the cast, encouraging Wang to step down from his manager role and relax into being himself again. But by then, the phrase had already taken on a life of its own online.

By now, “I genuinely did feel uncomfortable back then” has become a meme for admitting that something actually bothered you, even if it initially seemed too trivial to mention and only started nagging at you later.

It is now being used in completely unrelated contexts, and “At the time I thought I was just being oversensitive… I want to say that I genuinely did feel uncomfortable back then.”
(“当时以为是我敏感了……我想说当时确实不舒服”) has become a template for expressing all kinds of grievances and annoyances about things that happened in the past.

That’s a wrap, have a great weekend!

Best,

Manya

[1] “天下大s，乘风而来” is the slogan on the themed teaser poster of Battle of Penghu (澎湖海战》

[2] Ronald C. Po, “Hero or Villain? The Evolving Legacy of Shi Lang in China and Taiwan,” Modern Asian Studies 53, no. 5 (2019), https://doi.org/10.1017/S0026749X17000737.

By Manya Koetse
(follow on X, LinkedIn, or Instagram)

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