China has a thriving gaming culture with far-reaching impact — not just on pop culture, but on language too. Even those who aren’t into gaming inevitably use expressions that come from it. RealTime Mandarin’s Andrew Methven explains.

It might be an unexpected source, but online gaming has had a significant impact on the evolution of modern Chinese slang. Words and expressions that once appeared in gaming chat rooms or livestreams have made their way into mainstream media, business headlines, and even government rhetoric.

Let’s take one recent news story as an example: the ongoing competition between Chinese tech giants JD.com (京东) and Meituan (美团), where headlines describe the rivalry using the term “PK.”

📰 “JD “PK” Meituan: Who will dominate the trillion-yuan instant retail market?” (“京东PK美团，谁能主宰万亿即时零售市场”)

The term “PK” stands out because it’s not Chinese characters. “PK” is one of those Chinese phrases which originated from online gaming—from an imported video game—and is now common in spoken language and news coverage.

The phrase began life in the early 1990s, when text-based online games were popular in China. Those early computer games were mainly imports, and with them came the English language gaming slang.

“PK” originally was how player deaths were described in these games, meaning a “Player Kill”, to be killed by another in-game player, as opposed to a non-player character.

“Player Kill” morphed into “PK”, which is much easier to pronounce for Chinese speakers, and became common in Chinese language gameplay.

The term made its way into daily language, originally as a noun, and later evolved into a verb, with different meanings depending on context, such as to “challenge”, “defeat”, “kill”, or “eliminate”.

In the context of the battle between JD and Meituan, “PK” in the title of the news story can be translated as “vs”, “challenges” or “battles”.

“PK” is just one of many modern slang terms in Chinese which have come from online gaming, some of which we’ll share below.

But before that, even more surprising, is which games these phrases come from.

Most phrases come from a small number of blockbuster foreign games popular in China. The three main ones are:

• League of Legends (英雄联盟): developed by Riot Games, entered China in 2011 through Tencent (China’s largest gaming company).
• World of Warcraft (魔兽世界), released in 2004, entered China in 2005 under NetEase, another top gaming company in China.
• Dota 2 (刀塔), the full title is Defense of the Ancients 2, which was developed by Valve and launched in 2013 and localised for the China market by Perfect World (完美世界) in the same year.

In more recent years, two homegrown Chinese video games have also generated more online slang phrases which have then gone mainstream:

• Honour of Kings (王者荣耀), is one of the most popular mobile multiplayer online battle arena games in China, developed by Tencent, released in 2015
• Black Myth: Wukong (黑神话：悟空) is an action role-playing game developed by the Chinese studio, Game Science. Released in 2024, Black Myth is China’s most successful video game ever.

Of these two, Honour of Kings has became so popular that it has its own slang title: “pesticide”.

The word for pesticide in Chinese is “农药” (nóng yào), which has a similar pronunciation to the word for “honour” (荣耀 róng yào) from the game’s title. So the game is jokingly called “pesticide” by its fans.

In more recent years, the term “pesticide” has taken on a darker tone, meaning the gaming industry as a whole. It’s often used in government narratives pejoratively to draw attention to the negatives of gaming, as a poisonous “spiritual opium” (精神鸦片).

Despite official pushback—including limits on how many hours children can play online each day, restrictions on gaming companies, and increasingly negative rhetoric—online games still play an important role in everyday life and language in China today.

So here’s a top 10 trending internet slang words you probably did not know came from online gaming (these have also been featured in previous Realtime Mandarin episodes).

 
TWO-CHARACTER PHRASES:

1. 氪金 kè jīn

🔍 “Spending virtual money” — over-spending online, or being tricked into online purchases

👉 氪金的实质是一种炫耀性消费，粉丝凭借大量氪金的经济实力攀爬权力阶梯  
Spending virtual cash is a kind of ‘show off consumerism’ – the more fans spend the higher they climb within fan groups.

📝Background: In the gaming context, this means “in-game purchasing” or paying for virtual goods in online games. This term was popularised by the phrase, “24K Pay-to-win Dog Eyes” (24K氪金狗眼), where “氪金” means spending large amounts of money on rare in-game items. In mainstream Chinese it means spending lots of money online, and even being conned into online or in-app purchases.

Source: World of Warcraft (魔兽世界)
In context: Gaming stocks lose $80 billion in one day

2. 冲塔 chōng tǎ

🔍 “Attack the tower” — challenge or protest against those in authority

👉 通过在公司内网“冲塔”的方式声援该名员工
Other employees showed solidarity with her through protesting on the company’s internal web.

📝Background: This literally means “charging the tower”. In gaming it refers to a reckless move where a player, not yet strong enough, attacks a defense tower, often resulting in their own defeat. As an internet slang it means “asking for trouble” and now describes provocative actions or statements that challenge authority or censorship.

Source: League of Legends (英雄联盟)
In context: Our favourite phrases of 2021

3. 上头 shàng tou

🔍 “Gone in the head” — obsessed, addicted

👉 这个产品会上瘾，太有毒、上头了
This product is very addictive, users have become obsessed.

📝Background: In gaming lingo, this describes a moment of impulsiveness or being irrational, and a situation where a player, after achieving several kills, becomes over confident, ignores potential risks, and charges ahead—usually resulting in their death. In modern Chinese, the phrase has come to describe any impulsive or irrational behaviour driven by emotion or excitement, and even to become addicted to something.

Source: Defence of the Ancients 2 (刀塔 2)
In context: Catching Sheep: A new computer game with an old format takes off

4. 团灭 tuán miè

🔍 “Total wipeout” — complete or total failure

👉 最坏的情况下，储能在美国的业务会被“团灭”
In the worst-case scenario, the energy storage business in the U.S. will be totally wiped out.

📝Background: In gaming this means the complete defeat of an entire team during a group battle or raid, where all members are killed. In modern Chinese it describes any collective failure or complete annihilation of a group, sector, or even industry.

Source: World of Warcraft (魔兽世界), League of Legends (英雄联盟)
In context: China’s exporters are feeling the pain

5. 破防 pò fáng

🔍 “Guard break” — emotionally overwhelmed

👉 网友们瞬间集体破防
Netizens were instantly overwhelmed.

📝Background: Originally from fighting games, this phrase’s direct translation is “guard break”, which means to break through an opponent’s defences (“破” means “break”; “防” means “defences”). As a modern internet slang, it means to be emotionally overwhelmed, to burst into tears, or to feel devastated. It’s normally used humorously or in an exaggerated way. The phrase became so popular it was voted one of China’s top internet slang phrases in 2023.

Source: Unknown
In context: Crashing stock markets, 31 July

6. 秒杀 miǎo shā

🔍 “Instant kill” — totally wiped out, flash sale, to snap up

👉 最近频繁刷到烤全羊秒杀套餐的钱怡，考虑再三过后还是被这个超低价给劝退了
Recently, Qian Yi kept seeing flash sale deals for whole roasted lamb, but she was discouraged by the ultra-low price after much thought.

📝Background: The direct meaning is to “kill in seconds” (“秒” is “seconds; “杀” is to “kill”). In gaming it means to kill an opponent or a monster in an instant, using a single skill or physical attack. As a mainstream slang phrase, it can mean something similar, to beat, overwhelm, or wipeout a competitor in a very short time. It has more recently evolved into a common phrase heard in livestream e-commerce broadcasts, where products are sold within a short time period—which translates as “flash sale”.

Source: Red Moon (红月)
In context: Meituan “group take-out” boom signals shifting consumer habits

 
THREE-CHARACTER PHRASES:

7. 带节奏 dài jié zòu

🔍 “Set the tempo” — to mislead public opinion (against the interests of China)

👉 不能由个别国家的单边主义给整个世界“带节奏”
We must not let the rules set by one or a few countries be imposed on others, or allow unilateralism pursued by certain countries to set the pace for the whole world (against the interests of China).

📝Background: Originally translated as “set the tempo”, this phrase was first popularised by game commentators as they described how experienced players would take the lead, organise their team, and execute coordinated attacks—which was known as “starting a wave of tempo” (“带一波节奏”). Over time, the term expanded beyond gaming into broader internet slang. It even made its way into official Chinese government rhetoric, used by its “Wolf Warrior” diplomats to mean “steering or influencing public opinion against the interests of China.”

Source: Defence of the Ancients 2 (刀塔2)
In context: Our favourite phrases of 2021

8. 拉仇恨 lā chóu hèn

🔍 “Pull hatred” — to attract criticism, or provoke resentment

👉 丁太升其实不是第一个骂的，只不过这人确实自带流量，也自带拉仇恨属性
Ding Taisheng is actually not the first one to criticise the song, but he has a big profile and what he says attracts a lot of criticism.

📝Background: This original meaning is when a player deliberately draws attention from and attacks by monsters in a game, by increasing their own “aggro” or “hate”. In these games, monsters choose their targets based on each player’s level of hate—the higher the level, the more likely a player is to be attacked. So in team battles, one teammate intentionally “pulls aggro” (拉仇恨) to draw the enemy’s attention, allowing others coordinate their attacks while the enemy is distracted. In modern Chinese, this is now commonly used to describe people who provoke resentment or jealousy—such as flaunting a romantic relationship, or showing off wealth or superiority.

Source: Unknown
In context: Pop singer is too tacky

9. 血槽姐 xuě cáo jiě

 
🔍 “Blood bar sister” — elites who abuse power and privilege for personal gain

👉 昨天开始，一位来自上海的余小姐，因为遭遇一场严重车祸后逃出生天，而火遍全网，进而竟获封“血槽姐”这个让人浑身不适的称号
Since yesterday, Miss Yu, a woman from Shanghai, has gone viral across the internet after surviving a severe car accident. She has since been given the disturbing nickname “Blood Bar Sister”

📝Background: The health bar, or “blood bar” (血槽 xuě cáo) in Chinese, first appeared in the 1978 arcade game Space Invaders (太空侵略者). The first graphical health bar emerged in the 1980 game Space Warrior (太空战士). Since then, the “health bar” has been a key feature in many games, offering a visual on a character’s health. The term “health bar” became part of a viral meme in November 2023, following a scandal involving a woman who became known as “blood bar sister” (血槽姐), after she shared a video online explaining how she used a powerful relative to force local officials in the Tibetan region of Ali to donate blood to her following her injury in a car crash. The “Blood Bar Sister” meme has since evolved into a more general term, representing the abuse of power and the over privilege of China’s elite.

In context: ‘Sister Blood Points’ Controversy

10. 黑神话 hēi shén huà

🔍 “Black myth” — legendary, a stunning or sector-leading success

👉 胖东来这家河南本土超市，早已成了商超领域的“黑神话” –
Pangdonglai, this local supermarket from Henan, has already become a legendary success in grocery retail.

📝Background: This is a reference to the title of China’s most successful video game ever, Wukong: Black Myth, which was released in August 2024. Its popularity was so great that the phrase “black myth” (黑神话) has taken on its own meaning as a stunning or “legendary” success of a product or company in a particular sector, which has shot to fame out of nowhere.

Source: Black Myth: Wukong
In context: Local shopping mall builds national brand

Other gaming phrases you should know:

As well as these ten phrases, all of which have now entered mainstream use, there are many more common Chinese phrases which have come from video games. Including:

● PK pī kēi — to battle

● GG gī gī — I’m done for, or it’s over

● 完爆 wán bào — totally outperform

● 农药 nóng yào — poisonous computer games (“pesticides”)

● 开挂 kāi guà — achieving something amazing or unbelievable

● 毒奶 dú nǎi – when positive words backfire

● 满血复活 mǎn xuě fù huó — significant recovery in physical or mental state

● 6666 (溜溜溜溜) liù liù liù liù — awesome, well played

So now you know—these expressions, along with many others, are Chinese “hot internet slang phrases” (网络热词) that originated in video games and have since entered widespread mainstream use.

If you want to ‘level up,’ subscribe to RealTime Mandarin, the resource to help you bridge the gap to real-world fluency, stay informed about China, and communicate with confidence in Mandarin.

By Andrew Methven

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Dear Reader,

This week, the Chinese internet exploded over a pair of earrings worn by a child actress.

In recent years, China’s netizens have been paying closer attention to so-called “nepo babies”—the children of the rich and powerful whose success often seems tied more to family connections than to talent.

Some, like Huawei’s heiress Yao Anna (姚安娜), have been criticized for using family ties to enter the entertainment industry. Others, like the infamous “Miss Dong” in the recent medical scandal, have sparked public outrage for abusing privilege to bend academic rules.

Facing economic difficulties and a tough job market, the public’s tolerance for nepotism and corruption is running increasingly thin. But when these issues touch on national trauma, including natural disasters and charity efforts, the public anger runs even deeper.

That’s why a Chinese teenage actress named Huang Yangdiantian (黄杨钿甜) recently found herself at the center of an online storm.

Earring Gate: Behind the Sparkle

Huang, born in 2007, started her career as a child actress in the 2017 historical drama Princess Agents (楚乔传).

She later gained more popularity by starring in other hit series, including Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace (如懿传), and also built an online following.

The recent scandal broke out after Huang shared a series of photos on Xiaohongshu, where she has around 328,000 followers. In the photos, meant to celebrate her 18th birthday, she’s seen proudly wearing a pair of sparkly emerald earrings. In the caption, she mentioned they belonged to her mom.

Sharp-eyed netizens quickly identified the earrings as a pair from the British luxury brand Graff—worth a jaw-dropping 2.3 million RMB (319,000 USD).

Digging deeper, online sleuths also found a Weibo post from 2018 showing Huang’s mother wearing a Cartier bracelet, which now retails for around 450,000 RMB (62,400 USD).

Considering Huang’s limited acting experience and modest earnings as a child actress, these luxury items raised eyebrows—and questions about where the family’s wealth was really coming from.

The “online detectives” didn’t stop there. They discovered that Huang’s father, Yang Wei (杨伟), was once a public official in Ya’an City (雅安市), Sichuan Province. After a major 7.0-magnitude earthquake struck Yan’an in 2013 (the Lushan Earthquake), Yang was reportedly involved in post-earthquake reconstruction projects, including investment and tendering.

Interestingly, in 2014, just a year after the earthquake, Huang’s family registered a film and culture company in Shenzhen with 5 million RMB (694,000 USD) in capital. Initially, the company’s legal representative was Huang’s uncle, followed by her mother in 2016. But after Yang resigned from public service, he took over as the official legal representative.

During the pandemic in 2020, Yang also registered a biotech company, which was later rebranded as a beauty and cosmetics trading business. The timing—one company during post-quake reconstruction, then another during a global health crisis—raised suspicions about whether Yang was using national emergencies as business opportunities.

It was also discovered that the Yang family currently lives in a luxury villa in one of Shenzhen’s most upscale neighborhoods, valued at over 100 million RMB (approximately 13.8 million USD).

How did Yang get enough money to start such companies and purchase a multi-million yuan villa? Even if all his official work and business ventures were legitimate, netizens pointed out it still wasn’t enough to explain the family’s enormous wealth.

Huang’s Father Responds, Netizens Dig Deeper

As the controversy grew, Huang’s father responded on May 16 via Weibo, using an account simply named “Huang Yang’s Dad” (黄杨爸爸).

In his post, he claimed that the emerald earrings were fake and of little value. He acknowledged having worked for the Yan’an government but denied any involvement in post-earthquake work, saying the online accusations against him were a case of mistaken identity—“just someone with the same name.” He even added, “I’ve never been corrupt—feel free to report me.”

But the “same name” defense didn’t hold up for long.

In a second wave of ‘detective work’ by online sleuths, netizens found a phone number listed under the name “Yang Wei” on a government website related to post-earthquake reconstruction projects in Ya’an. Some tried sending a small transfer to this number via Alipay, revealing that the profile picture linked to that account was a photo of Huang and her mother when she was younger, immediately making his “same name” explanation completely implausible.

Soon after, the account could no longer be found on Alipay, but because the number was likely tied to many services and platforms, it wasn’t easy to erase entirely. People quickly traced the same phone number to Yang’s accounts on other platforms. Around the same time, the legal representatives of the family’s companies were abruptly changed, only further fueling public suspicion.

Huang’s talent agency issued a statement calling the online rumors false but didn’t offer any concrete evidence to back that up.

By now, a local investigation by the Ya’an Discipline Inspection Commission has confirmed that Yang engaged in illegal business activities and that the birth of his second child (Huang’s younger brother) violated the one-child policy still in effect during his time as a government official. However, the investigation also denied any misappropriation of post-earthquake reconstruction funds. (link).

Most netizens find that many key questions are still left unanswered, and continue to investigate and dissect every single detail relating to Yang, Huang, and the earrings.

More than Online Gossip: Privilege & Public Grief

Some argue that the online speculation surrounding this case has now gone too far.

But for many Chinese netizens, especially younger ones, this isn’t just another scandal passively consumed by the so-called “melon-eating masses” (吃瓜群众). It strikes a nerve because it brings together several sensitive issues all at once.

Although China’s “nepotism babies” frequently spark backlash, they’re also everywhere, from business and entertainment to political and academic circles. For years, the fù èr dài (富二代), or “second-generation rich”—children of those who built fortunes after China’s economic reforms in 1978—have drawn criticism for flaunting wealth and behaving irresponsibly.

Through the years, new terms have been added to China’s nepotism lexicon: there’s xīng èr dài (星二代), referring to the children of celebrities; guān èr dài (官二代), a negative label for the children of government officials or bureaucrats; and hóng èr dài (红二代) and jūn èr dài (军二代), used to describe the children of political elites and military families.

Nepotism is closely tied to corruption—another painful issue in society that surfaces time and again. It’s particularly sensitive because it undermines more than just trust in (local) leadership; it erodes faith in meritocracy and leads the public to question the fairness of the entire system.

When these kinds of issues become entwined with national disasters and charity work—where the already privileged are seen to illegally profit from public grief for private gain—it becomes more than just a breach of public trust. It crosses a moral red line in the most extreme way.

For many young Chinese today, earthquake disasters are not distant history – they’re part of a shared collective memory that still strikes a nerve. In the comment sections of related news posts these days, many netizens recall donating money and supplies to earthquake relief efforts, now wondering whether their goodwill ever truly reached those in need.

The timing has only added fuel to the fire. The controversy erupted around the 17th anniversary of the devastating 2008 Wenchuan earthquake (5.12). Though that disaster is different from the 2013 earthquake, both struck Ya’an City, and public discussions has started to lump them together, bringing back old memories and concerns about disaster relief and public trust.

Back in 2009, Professor Deng Guosheng (邓国胜) from Tsinghua University studied where the 76.7 billion RMB (about 10.5 billion USD) in Wenchuan relief donations had gone. He found that nearly 80% of the money was controlled by the government or groups linked to it, like the Red Cross, with little transparency on how it was spent. People basically have no idea how the money they donated was spent.

In light of the recent controversy, Deng’s study and its numbers are being brought up again in many threads across Chinese social media. Today, as much as 15 years ago, the call for transparancy on how the public’s money is being used in the post-disaster time period is just as relevant.

One Weibo commenter wrote: “For context, in all of 2024, Ya’an City’s general public budget revenue was 8.4 billion RMB in total. This means that the total amount of donations and supplies after the 2008 earthquake was equivalent to 25 years of Ya’an’s current public budget revenue!” He later added: “It’s really not unreasonable at all for the public to ask questions about the authenticity of a pair of 2.3 million RMB earrings.”

Others agree: “It’s absolutely valid for everyone to focus on whether Huang Yangdiantian’s father was involved in embezzlement or bribery (..) When it comes to a tragic event like the Wenchuan earthquake, claims should especially be backed by solid evidence.”

The speculation about Huang’s family wealth goes well beyond celebrity gossip or a “nepo baby” narrative; it reflects a deeper call for clean governance and stricter oversight of how public and charitable funds are managed and spent.

As for Huang, the consequences of her glamorous photoshoot and the controversy it sparked are already unfolding. While her father has now become the target of further formal investigation by disciplinary authorities, it’s rumored that Huang has been removed as the female lead for the historical drama Peacock Bone (雀骨), as well as casting uncertainty over the viability of some of her upcoming projects.

At least we almost certainly know one thing: she won’t be wearing those earrings again any time soon.

Best,

Ruixin Zhang & Manya Koetse