China Society
Nobody’s Baby? Chinese Girl in Canceled Surrogacy Case Has No Birth Certificate, No Hukou
From surrogacy baby to ‘heihaizi’ – her biological parents canceled the surrogacy agreement, but she was born anyway.
The tragic story of a 3-year-old girl born through surrogacy is top trending on Chinese social media today, where the child is referred to as the ‘unregistered surrogacy girl’ (“黑户代孕女童”).
The child was meant to grow up with her two biological parents, but when the surrogate mother tested positive for a syphilis infection halfway through the pregnancy, the intended parents canceled the surrogacy agreement. The story was told in a short video report by Chinese news outlet The Paper.
The poverty-stricken surrogate mother ended up having the baby herself, but could not afford her bills and sold the baby’s birth certificate. The biological parents have refused to take responsibility for the girl.
Without her formal papers and household registration, the 3-year-old girl cannot go to school and is not registered anywhere.
From Surrogacy Baby to ‘Heihaizi’
On January 12, Chinese media outlet Time Weekly (时代周报) published a lengthy interview with the surrogacy mother recounting the entire story of the canceled surrogacy agreement.
The story starts in 2016 when the then 38-year-old* Wu Chuanchuan (吴川川, alias) became a surrogate mother as a way to earn money. The older couple who wanted a baby came from Inner Mongolia and had previously lost a child. *(In the interview, Wu claims she is actually younger than the age indicated on her official papers, which say she is now 47.)
The surrogacy agreement, arranged through an underground company, was settled at 170,000 yuan ($26,200). It concerned a gestational surrogacy, in which the child is not biologically related to the surrogate mother.
During the pregnancy, Wu was living together with other surrogate mothers. When she was four months pregnant, she unexpectedly tested positive for syphilis. Wu says she suspects that the infection was spread within the small surrogacy mother community she lived in.
Syphilis in pregnant women is risky and can have a major impact on the baby’s health. It can cause miscarriage, stillbirth, or death as a result of the infection as a newborn.
“The intended parents decided to withdraw from the surrogacy arrangement, asking for a refund and offering to pay for an abortion.”
Due to syphilis, the intended parents of the baby decided to withdraw from the surrogacy arrangement, asking for a refund and offering to pay for an abortion. Wu would only receive 20,000 yuan ($3085).
This situation left Wu, who already felt the fetus moving, in a very difficult situation. She eventually refused to terminate the pregnancy and withdrew from the surrogacy agency’s home.
Staying at cheap hotels in the city of Chengdu and unable to find a suitable adoption family, Wu eventually gave birth to a baby girl that she would raise herself.
But there was one major issue: money. Wu already could not afford the hospital admittance fee, let alone the 12,000 yuan ($1850) in hospital bills she had to pay after needing a C-section delivery.
To pay for her medical bills, Wu was forced to take desperate measures and ended up selling her baby’s birth certificate. Through the internet’s black market, she found someone who would pay 20,000 yuan ($3085) for it.
Once the baby was born, things looked up for Wu. She soon married a kind man who was willing to raise baby girl ‘Xiao Rang’ (小让, alias) together with her, and the child’s congenital syphilis was cured.
But Xiao Rang still had no birth certificate, and thus no hukou.
Wu and Xiao Rang, screenshot from The Paper video report.
The hukou or ‘household registration’ system is a registered permanent residence policy. A hukou is assigned at birth based on one’s community and family. China’s hukou system, amongst others, separates rural from urban citizens and is essential to access social services, including education and healthcare.
Without a hukou, the child cannot attend kindergarten, and will not be able to go to school – she will be a heihaizi (黑孩子, lit. ‘black child’), an ‘illegal child’ not registered anywhere.
In December of 2020, as reported by The Paper, Wu traveled from Chengdu to Inner Mongolia in search of her daughter’s biological parents.
The girl’s intended parents turned out to have twin sons now. They bought a house and went through the process to get their twins through another surrogate mother. After spending approximately 700,000 yuan ($108,000), the family allegedly could not afford to also be legally responsible for Xiao Rang. Afraid of the consequences, the 50-year-old biological father initially also seemed unwilling to formally arrange adoption papers for his daughter, Wu told Time Weekly.
Banned Baby Business
On Weibo, a hashtag page about Xiao Rang’s story received over 550 million views on Tuesday, making it one of the most-discussed topics on January 12 (#首个遭代孕客户退单女童无法上户#).
Due to the media attention, and the biological father’s identity being exposed, the case was still developing while Chinese netizens looked on.
According to the latest reports, Xiao Rang’s biological father will now provide assistance in arranging registration papers for the little girl while Wu Chuanchuan will still raise the child.
The fact that the father himself came forward to tell his side of the story also became a trending topic (#遭退单代孕女童生物学父亲现身#), garnering over 260 million views by Tuesday night Beijing time. The biological father confirms that they gave up on the baby once they were informed of Wu’s syphilis infection, and that they did not expect Wu to have the baby after all.
Meanwhile, on social media, there seems to have been a shift in sentiments regarding this story. Netizens initially sided with the surrogate mother and her tragic story.
But as the media continue to report on this story, more and more people are starting to doubt Wu’s sincerity, wondering if she used media exposure to portray herself as a victim to gain the public’s sympathy.
Online commenters criticize Wu for being part of the surrogacy agreement, for choosing to have the child despite her syphilis, and for selling the child’s birth certificate. Many call her ‘immoral’ and ‘irresponsible.’
“Surrogacy exploits women, and it is a serious violation of social ethics and morals. Taking part in surrogacy should be severely punished.”
Surrogacy has been a hot topic on Chinese social media recently. Just a month ago, a short film titled “10 Months With You” (‘宝贝儿’) by famous Chinese director Chen Kaige (陈凯歌) also stirred controversy for supposedly presenting surrogacy in China in a relatively positive light.
Screenshot from “10 Months With You” by Chen Kaige
The 30-minute film revolves around a young girl who signs a surrogacy contract with intended parents without telling her boyfriend. When she gets emotionally attached to the baby during her pregnancy, things get complicated. But she eventually is persuaded by her boyfriend that the child is not intended to be with them, after which she is willing to part with the baby.
Chinese state media outlets, including Global Times and China Daily emphasized that surrogacy is illegal in China and that those who take part in surrogacy will face fines or even criminal prosecution.
Nevertheless, the practice of surrogacy is a somewhat legislative grey area in China. China’s Ministry of Health introduced regulations in 2001 that made it illegal for medical staff to offer surrogacy services. In 2015, there were official plans to completely curb surrogate pregnancies. But that strict ban on surrogacy pregnancies was later reversed.
In 2017, People’s Daily even published a controversial article that suggested a loosening of surrogacy bans to boost China’s birth rates. Meanwhile, there have been ongoing reports about China’s booming underground surrogacy market (here, here ).
In 2018, state media outlet Global Times quoted Qiu Renzong, a bioethics expert at the Chinese Academy of Social Science in saying: “The Chinese government should consider setting some rules to allow surrogacy in certain circumstances.”
With discussions on Xiao Rang’s case and surrogacy in China being a major topic on Weibo, the legal side is also receiving much attention. Law expert Zhang San (@普法达人张三) uses the hashtag “Criminalize Surrogacy” (#建议代孕入刑#) when he writes:
“Although surrogacy is illegal, it is a blank space in the criminal law. Surrogacy exploits women, and it is a serious violation of social ethics and morals. Taking part in surrogacy should be severely punished. If the freedom is not restricted, it will surely lead to exploitation of the weak by the strong.”
Some people on Weibo argue that most of the people involved in Xiao Rang’s story are filthy and immoral, and that they need to be punished. But virtually everyone agrees that the little girl needs to be registered in order to still have a chance to lead a normal life: “The child is innocent.”
By Manya Koetse
Follow @WhatsOnWeibo
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China Insight
What Does 20 Yuan ($3) Mean Anymore? China’s Disappearing Living Rooms & the Great Laundry Debate
What does 20 yuan mean in China today? Why are traditional living rooms disappearing? And can underwear and socks be washed together? Plus, China’s latest travel trends.
China Brands, Marketing & Consumers
Starbucks Goes Xinjiang & The Kardashians in China
Starbucks rebrands as “Star-Bazaar” in Urumqi—what does it say about shifting perceptions of Western brands in China? Also: a cheating sports influencer and the souvenirs that became most hated.
Originally published in the Eye on Digital China newsletter on Sunday, October 4, 2026.
In this edition:
- Quick scrolls: A Chinese athlete cheated her way to the Berlin Marathon’s finish
- Zooming in: When Localization Gets Political: Starbucks Goes Xinjiang
- On the Feed: The Kardashians in China
- Phrase of the Week: The 3 souvenirs sold everywhere, but nobody wants them
🗞️ QUICK SCROLLS
🇯🇵 The National Day holiday has begun, but nobody’s going to Japan. Although Japan was the number one outbound destination for Chinese travelers during last year’s October holiday, it has now dropped out of the top ten destinations entirely. According to data from Chinese tour operator Tuniu (途牛), Indonesia, Turkey, and South Korea are among this year’s most-booked overseas destinations.
🚲 Chinese fitness influencer “Abeeeer” was caught cheating during the Berlin Marathon after she posted about running her “personal best.” The sport-blogger (530k+ followers on Xiaohongshu) was photographed riding on the back of a bicycle around the 38-kilometer mark. On Saturday, she publicly apologized and admitted that she had broken the rules and that she was “feeling unwell.”
The sports influencer was caught hitching a ride to the finish line.
🏳️🌈 Japanese volleyball player Rui Takahashi came out as gay on Tuesday, saying he wanted to help others struggling with their sexuality by coming out publicly. On Douyin, many Chinese fans and commenters praised Rui for his bravery.
🤖 Former Global Times editor-in-chief Hu Xijin (胡锡进) published a National Day essay praising the country’s achievements but forgot to delete the AI chatbot’s closing follow-up question (”Would you like me to read through the whole text again and check it for omissions?”). Hu quickly deleted the AI prompt, but “Hu Xijin’s National Day AI ghostwriting fail” had already gone trending.
⚽ Chinese football produced its best and worst result of the year nineteen hours apart. On Friday, the senior men’s national team lost 0–5 to Palestine – a first-ever loss to that opponent – in a friendly in Chongqing. On Saturday, the under-23 team China took the men’s football bronze medal at the 2026 Asian Games, beating Uzbekistan 4-3 on penalties.
🎵 One of China’s most influential singers, composers and music educators has passed away. Liu Huan (刘欢) died of illness in Shanghai on September 25. Internationally, he is best remembered for singing “You and Me,” the official theme song of the 2008 Beijing Olympics.
📱 Chinese internet users now spend more time watching mini-dramas than scrolling social media. Bytedance’s Hongguo app, the short-drama platform, reports 168 million daily active users and an average of 125 minutes per user per day, exceeding Douyin (which itself overtook WeChat for the first time in July).
👁️ ZOOMING IN
Starbucks Goes Xinjiang: When Localization Gets Political
Just ahead of the National Day holiday, Starbucks opened in Xinjiang. The opening of the two stores in the capital, Urumqi, became a big topic of discussion both in China and across English-language social media, but for very different reasons, and viewed through very different lenses.
The brand’s Urumqi debut marks its first expansion into the region since entering the Chinese market over 26 years ago. Back then, Starbucks mostly targeted white-collar workers, focused on first- and second-tier cities, and, for many, symbolized cosmopolitan, urban life.
Starbucks’ move into Xinjiang comes as part of the company’s new Chinese investment and ownership structure: in April of this year, Chinese company Boyu Capital (博裕资本) became 60% owner of Starbucks’ China operations.
Starbucks Becomes ‘Starbazaar’
On Chinese social media, on the opening days of September 28–29 and in the days that followed, conversations were largely consumer-focused. The new stores, long queues, special menu, and merchandise created online excitement surrounding Starbucks’ Xinjiang debut.
The promotion of the new stores — particularly the Xinjiang International Grand Bazaar flagship store (the second store is located at Tianshan International Airport) — has also taken a distinctly local approach. Rather than emphasizing the arrival of a foreign brand in a new frontier market, Starbucks has presented itself as a brand adapting to, and becoming part of, its new local surroundings.
The flagship store incorporates Xinjiang elements throughout its design and marketing, from local patterns and music to a special menu featuring items such as baklava and lamb pastries, along with limited-edition merchandise. Its mascot is a Starbucks bear dressed in stylized Uyghur traditional attire.
Promotional visuals by Starbucks
The Urumqi Starbucks even has a unique store name: “Star-Bazaar” (星巴扎, Xīng Bāzhā), a play on Starbucks’ Chinese name, 星巴克 (Xīngbākè), and 巴扎 (bāzhā), “bazaar.” The nickname captures this broader marketing approach: not simply bringing Starbucks to Xinjiang, but giving Starbucks a distinctly Xinjiang identity.
This distinct approach resonates with Chinese consumers, who have been posting photos of the enormous lines in front of the stores and showing off their online “check-ins” at the new local hotspot.
Over the past years, Xinjiang has acquired positive associations in various Chinese consumption contexts. At one point, “made with Xinjiang cotton” even generated a buycott and became a popular slogan among online sellers sourcing cotton from the region.
Starbucks in China apparently has a lot of confidence in the positive appeal of Xinjiang-themed products: for the National Day holiday, it is rolling out Xinjiang-themed menu items to more than 2,700 Starbucks stores across 41 Chinese cities.
From Coffee to Controversy
On X and in Western media, however, reactions to the Xinjiang Starbucks have been far less positive. The opening was framed primarily as a political and human-rights story and faced much criticism.
Among these critical voices is US Congressman John Moolenaar, who chairs the House Select Committee on China. He called it a “morally bankrupt decision” to open stores in Xinjiang amid ongoing concerns about human rights abuses in the region, and called on Starbucks to close the cafes, arguing that “every cup sold in these stores ties an iconic American brand to the CCP’s brutal campaign against the Uyghurs.”
“There is no justifiable reason for an American company to do business in a region where the Chinese Communist Party has detained more than a million Uyghurs and is stripping them of their faith, language and culture,” he said.
Image spread by US lawmakers
American criticism of Starbucks in Xinjiang soon reached Chinese social media, becoming a number-one trending topic on Weibo on Sunday, October 4.
“Xinjiang” used to be a highly sensitive and heavily censored word on Chinese social media, but since around 2018–2021, when the region increasingly became part of the ordinary national development agenda, online discussions have been allowed and steered in different directions.
The controversial internment camps widely reported on in Western media were officially described as “vocational skills education and training centers” (职业技能教育培训中心): “people-oriented” facilities intended to “fundamentally eliminate the environment and soil that breeds terrorism and religious extremism.”
Following the 2021 sanctions on Chinese officials over alleged human rights abuses and the Xinjiang cotton controversy — when Western brands distanced themselves from Xinjiang cotton over forced-labor concerns — Chinese online narratives surrounding the region shifted further.
A major “support Xinjiang cotton” social media campaign, launched by state media and official channels, symbolized a defense of China’s sovereignty against Western interference. International criticism was cast as an attack on China’s dignity, rallying the public around national pride. Since then, foreign criticism of policies in Xinjiang has often not been censored, but instead published and reframed as another attack on China.
This time, too, these dynamics unfolded, although in a different form. The criticism was discussed in the context of America, once again, “digging up its tired old lies about Xinjiang” (#美方又翻出老掉牙的涉疆谎言#). China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokesperson Guo Jiakun said that US institutions habitually fabricate accusations and attack and smear China for political purposes, “without any credibility whatsoever.”
Netizens blamed critics for being hypocritical and for “denying the people of Xinjiang the chance to drink Starbucks.” Many others also pointed out that ‘Starbucks China’ is no longer quite the same thing as ‘Starbucks.’
Meanwhile, netizens also seem to appreciate the fact that Starbucks had not responded to the controversy — at least, not at the time of writing. Instead, its response has simply been to keep posting promotional material and videos about the Xinjiang stores, an approach some described as “defiant.”
The Starbucks opening in Xinjiang brings two very different sides of the same discussion into view. On one side, there is a consumer perspective; on the other, a human-rights angle. One emphasizes local culture, while the other focuses on international politics. And while one side stresses the responsibility of a Western multinational operating in Xinjiang, the other appreciates precisely how much this foreign company is localizing itself.
It also shows how Western rejection of Xinjiang-linked business can actually increase the symbolic value of Xinjiang-linked consumption in China. People may appreciate the local flavors, ethnic elements, colors, and design, but there is another layer to it, too: consuming Xinjiang can become an expression of national solidarity, especially when foreign criticism turns an otherwise ordinary consumer choice into something political.
In the end, perhaps the most striking thing is the shift in how Starbucks itself is perceived. When Starbucks first entered China, part of its appeal was precisely how foreign it was, offering access to an imagined Western, cosmopolitan way of life. More than two decades later, in Urumqi, Starbucks is being appreciated for almost the opposite reason: for how local it is becoming, selling an imagined Xinjiang experience back to Chinese consumers.
📱ON THE FEEDS
The Kardashians in China: “Manifesting” and Magic Mushrooms
The Kardashians have been on my feeds this week due to their recent China visit.
First: the Kardashians in the US are not what they are in China. Many people in China have never heard about them, but they did reach many people in corners of the internet due to fan-subtitled uploads of Keeping Up With the Kardashians or through clips cirulating online. What also matters: Kim Kardashian was one of the first major Western celebrities to open an official Xiaohongshu account back in 2018, and also one of the first to sell products directly from there.
What attracted attention in their China visit is that, after doing sightseeing and visiting the Great Wall, Kim Kardashian – who came to China for the NikeSKIMS sportswear event in Shanghai – went for dinner with her entire entourage at the well-known Yunnan restaurant In & Out (Yī zuò Yī wàng 一坐一忘).
That is the same restaurant where US secretary Yellen had her “magic mushrooms” back in 2023. The Kardashians had those same mushrooms with their orders.
They are called jiànshǒuqīng (见手青), which literally means “see hand blue”, in reference to turning blue when handled. It is the lanmaoa asiatica mushroom species that grows in China’s Yunnan region and is considered hallucinogenic (nothing happens when properly prepared though).
The restaurant quickly tapped into the buzz by launching a “let’s manifest” or “Let’s 显化” set menu containing the dishes they had.
The Kardashians, but mostly mum Kris Jenner, is famous among netizens as a lucky charm for wealth. Jenner believes in the power of manifestation: focusing on what you want through visuals and prayer in order to actually get what you want.
Some of the images used by Chinese netizens to “manifest” good luck through Kris Jenner visuals
The fact that mum Kris Jenner, more than Kim herself, became popular in China has to do with the perception of her as the driving force behind the family’s success, pushing everyone to where they are today and coordinating their careers. In doing so, she is the one who’s seen as the “symbol of wealth” and — through her own belief in the power of manifestation — became the perfect image for Chinese netizens to make their own wishes visible, like a digital good luck charm.
Kris wore a blue Tang suit (唐装, tángzhuāng) to the Shanghai launch event, which Chinese commentators read as a friendly gesture toward the Chinese market.
For In & Out, the “manifesting” formula seems to work. Their “Let’s Manifest” menu is popular and resonates online, where people mostly find it funny to see the restaurant capitalizing on its VIP guests so quickly.
🀄 WORD OF THE WEEK
Sucker’s Souvenirs Starter Pack: The Three Things Everyone Sells and Nobody Wants
景区”冤种三件套” jǐngqū yuānzhǒng sānjiàntào
Lit.: Scenic Area Sucker’s Three-Piece Set
Meaning: The “Tourist-Trap Trio”: generic souvenirs you see everywhere
During this National Day holiday, when so many Chinese are traveling all over the country, one phenomenon being discussed (also on Zhihu) is the scenic site’s 冤种三件套 (yuānzhǒng sānjiàntào), roughly “the sucker’s three-piece set,” or more loosely, the “tourist-trap trio.”
This refers to those three things that every Chinese tourist site sells nowadays, yet nobody really wants: scenic-spot hand creams, fridge magnets, and cultural-themed ice cream.
The formula is the same everywhere, repeated in the same kinds of shops, and is part of China’s wénchuàng (文创 – culturally creative) boom that started in the 2010s, where local cultural elements and symbols are turned into commercially attractive products that aren’t even produced locally. Even though the landmarks and texts may change, they all follow the same cookie-cutter model reproduced across the country.
Examples of the same souvenirs sold at every scenic site.
But these kinds of common tourist-attraction purchases are becoming less popular among younger Chinese. One reason is that they are more critical of overconsumption and unwilling to buy overpriced stuff they don’t need anyway. They are willing to spend money on more genuine, locally made items, like pottery or DIY products.
Another reason is that these products have also become the ultimate sign of the lamentable homogenization of Chinese tourist sites (景区同质化), where you’ll find the same shops, foods, signs, and souvenirs whether you’re up north or down south.
Another reason is that online shopping has become so mainstream that most shoppers now recognize they can buy the same products for much less on sites like Taobao.
Tourist hand cream sold on Taobao.
💬 On Xiaohongshu, one commenter wrote: “A fridge magnet that costs 9.9 yuan with free shipping online suddenly sells for 28 yuan once you’re inside a tourist attraction. And the ice cream is the funniest one: five seconds to take a photo, ten seconds to melt, and whether it actually tastes good is anyone’s guess.”
💬 Another commenter on Zhihu wrote: “Really good cultural-creative products should try to put the place into the product, rather than simply putting the name of the place onto the product. Because what people really want to take home when they travel is some small connection that existed between themselves and that place. When your product can achieve that, then it truly becomes a souvenir.”
That’s a wrap!
Best,
Manya
🔚
Eye on Digital China, by Manya Koetse, is co-published on Substack and What’s on Weibo. Both feature the same new content — so you can read and subscribe wherever you prefer. Substack offers community features, while What’s on Weibo provides full archive access.
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Markus Havemann
January 13, 2021 at 9:35 am
“Through the internet’s black market, she found someone who would pay 20,000 yuan ($3085) for it.”
Who buys a birth certificate and why and for so much money?
After all, the birth certificate states the name of the child and the parents, so it should be easy to track down the buyer once he presents the birth certificate at any official place. And then the certificate can be retransfered to the girl it belongs to… So it is more or less worthless for the buyer?