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

– By Ruixin Zhang and Manya Koetse

For Chinese audiences, AI in film and television is nothing new. In the fall of 2023, the first fully AI digital performer in a Chinese domestic drama, the character Erzhuang (二壮) in I Am Nobody (异人之下) sparked debate on Chinese social media.

Some fans, due to Erzhuang’s convincing northeastern Chinese dialect and natural expressions, almost couldn’t believe she wasn’t a real actress.

Erzhuang in I Am Nobody (异人之下) in 2023.

But Erzhuang was just the beginning.

In 2024, China Mythology (中国神话) was promoted by state media as China’s first fully AI-produced short drama series.

A year later, In My Heart, You Are One of a Kind (在我心中，你是独一无二) premiered as Hong Kong’s very first AI-generated short drama, a youth campus romance that sparked further discussion about whether AI actors could actually replace human actors.

From the two AI dramas from 2024 and 2025: China Mythology and In My Heart, You Are One of a Kind.

Those discussions were reignited in late March of this year when Shanghai-based production company Yaoke Media (耀客传媒) introduced two newly signed AI actors, Qin Lingyue (秦凌岳) and Lin Xiyan (林汐颜), who’ll be starring in the fantasy short drama Qinling (秦岭).

Qin Lingyue (秦凌岳) and Lin Xiyan (林汐颜)

Unlike earlier AI figures in microdramas, this high-profile ‘signing’ marks a shift: the company plans to develop these characters as independent IPs, much like human actors. In other words, they are to attract fans both through their on-screen performances and their off-screen ‘personalities.’

Soon after, the two AI actors created their own social media accounts on Douyin and Xiaohongshu, and began cultivating a sense of authenticity and ‘liveness’ (活人感).

A real-looking social media profile.

But as these digital performers and real actors become harder to distinguish, audience discomfort is growing, too.

In China’s microdrama market, AI is already playing a dominant role, with “AI dramas” (AI剧 or AI短剧) standing out as a distinct creative category within the broader industry.

Microdramas, also simply known as short dramas, have been around in China for at least a decade, but have become especially popular in recent years due to their vertical, ultra-short formats, designed for quick mobile viewing and easy ‘binge watching.’ Microdramas typically run for 60 to 100 episodes, but with each episode lasting just one to three minutes, an entire season can be watched in an hour or two.

That format also makes the industry particularly well-suited to AI. It is large, fast-moving, and often operates on limited budgets, with productions turning around quickly. In this environment, using AI-generated effects and AI actors simply makes sense. This is very different from traditional drama production, which typically involves longer timelines, higher budgets, well-known actors, and less room for experimentation.

“AI is no longer just an add-on in China’s drama sector—it is an integral part of the production process”

As a result, AI is no longer just an add-on in China’s short drama sector—it is becoming an integral part of the production process, with digital actors helping to improve efficiency and reduce costs. With the launch of Bytedance’s Seedance 2.0, production costs for AI-generated videos have dropped significantly, further boosting the growth of AI microdramas.

The scale of this shift is already clear: AI microdramas are now often outpacing live-action productions on trending charts. In 2025 alone, one Zhejiang-based production company (刚刚好影视) released 229 AI micro-dramas, generating over 513 million views.

According to Sixth Tone, short dramas featuring AI actors already represented approximately 40% of the top 100 animated short dramas in January 2026.

With AI and microdramas entering a kind of symbiosis, virtual actors are no longer disposable, one-off creations. They are evolving into continuous, persona-driven figures, often designed to resemble real celebrities—much like “fandom-driven actors” (流量演员), whose core function is to monetize fan attachment and sell fantasies rather than just act.

According to Yaoke Media, their plans for Qin Lingyue and Lin Xiyan are similar to those of idol models: they are expected to interact with fans, appear in multiple productions, and eventually become monetizable assets through brand endorsements and image licensing.

This also means they will likely take on the full spectrum of idol labor, including promotional events, fan service, and carefully manufactured on-screen chemistry—sometimes even “queerbaiting” (卖腐). (There’s no perfect English equivalent, but the term refers to deliberately staging romantic interactions between two male characters aimed in particular at a female “danmei” fans or “rotten girls” audiences who like indulging in such fantasies.)

In one AI costume drama, behind-the-scenes clips showed the lead actor and actress “live-streaming” together, answering fan questions, and deliberately hyping up their on-screen chemistry.

“Behind the scenes” livestream screenshots by AI actors.

Such human-coded content is now increasingly becoming an important part of the AI microdrama industry.

Some of these online videos also show the supposed perspective of “fans” and “staff” watching the actors walk around or interacting with them, creating a simulated world that some netizens feel is pushing a sense of “realness,” with comments like: “Please don’t force AI to act so human-like.”

“AI actors featuring in AI dramas that are watched by AI audiences, it’s the perfect closed loop”

For the same AI costume drama, some clips even mimic the perspective of ‘fansite admins’ (站姐)—dedicated fan photographers who typically capture and share candid, off-stage footage of real stars.

In one vlog by a supposed prop assistant, she appears as an overworked but witty crew member, taking viewers around the set, chatting with the leads, buying them coffee, and even stepping in as an extra.

“Behind the scenes” of an AI microdrama.

These glimpses of everyday, behind-the-scenes life all feel oddly real, but everything is AI-generated: the actors, the sets, the audience interactions, the staff, even the paparazzi (see example videos here and here).

For ordinary audiences, it is striking how deeply AI has already penetrated the film & television industry. Beyond criticisms of stiff expressions and rigid aesthetics, many netizens describe the new phenomenon as “uncanny” or “just too real😨.”

With AI actors now realistic enough to pass as human at a glance, but with small details like emotional expression still being off, that gap between being almost human but not quite creates a sense of discomfort among viewers, who dub these AI actors ‘stuffed monsters’ (缝合怪) or ‘stitched-together corpses’ (尸块).

More than the actors, it’s the entire ecosystem around them that makes us believe we’re watching “candid moments” of something that is not even alive. Screenwriter Wang Hailin (汪海林) was sarcastically commented on Weibo: “AI actors featuring in AI dramas that are watched by AI audiences 👍, it’s a perfect closed loop.”

Besides the simulated “aliveness” of digital performers, another controversial issue surrounding the recent rise of China’s AI actors is whether these creations infringe on portrait rights. Since the debut of Qin Lingyue and Lin Xiyan, these AI figures have been criticized for appearing to use facial features from multiple real actors.

As online discussions intensify, more AI actors in microdramas have been found to resemble real celebrities. Fans of beloved Chinese celebrities such as Dilraba Dilmurat (迪丽热巴) and Xiao Zhan (肖战) have taken to Weibo to protest this kind of “face swapping” (AI换脸) and demand protection of their idols’ likenesses.

An “AI face swap” (AI换脸): an AI actor on the left, Xiao Zhan on the right.

Yaoke responded that these images were “derived from massive datasets on the internet” and did not replicate any specific individual’s features.

This only fueled further backlash. To many, the use of “massive data” suggests that anyone, celebrity or ordinary person, could potentially have their image appropriated.

“The vlogger discovered the face swap infringement after a friend recognized his face while watching the AI drama”

In related recent trending news, a Chinese content creator (白菜汉服妆造), who typically wears traditional Chinese clothing in his videos, accused Hongguo (红果短剧), ByteDance’s short drama platform, of using his likeness without authorization to create a greedy villain in the AI-generated drama Taohua Zan (桃花簪).

On the left: greedy villain in the AI-generated drama Taohua Zan. On the right: Chinese content creator (白菜汉服妆造).

The vlogger discovered the face swap infringement after a friend recognized his face while watching the drama. The series was later taken offline.

One problem is that legal frameworks around AI lag behind technological development: by the time victims try to fight back legally, the technology has already moved on, making enforcement almost impossible.

Despite the backlash against the AI-fication of China’s short drama industry, some netizens are more optimistic about its development.

One blogger recently noted that as many people have already formed near friendship-like emotional dependencies on chatbots like ChatGPT—initially seen as cold technological tools—it is entirely possible that audiences will also develop genuine attachment to AI actors.

Current limitations that still make AI actors feel stiff, such as robotic voices or unnatural expressions, will likely diminish as the technology continues to improve.

Some call binging on AI short dramas their “guilty pleasure,” just to watch the AI actors perform. As one Weibo user wrote: “The female characters are just so beautiful—seriously, unbelievably beautiful. And they’re becoming more and more realistic: their facial expressions, especially the way their mouths move, are incredibly precise. Even the makeup looks stylish, and the hair feels very real. I honestly find myself wondering what eyeshadow and mascara they’re using.”

But support for AI performers in China’s drama industry is not limited to guilty pleasures and tech enthusiasts. For some, it also reflects a broader weariness with the perceived lack of quality among human actors.

“If the performances of real actors are already no better than AI, why not use AI actors instead?”

China’s film and television industry’s strong focus on fandom culture and good-looking idols, combined with limited budgets and a lack of formal training, has produced a wave of actors who are widely criticized for poor acting and a lack of professionalism. They are also frequently caught up in controversies, from refusing to memorize lines to relying heavily on green-screen acting.

These criticisms intensified during the 2021 major scandal involving former drama actress Zheng Shuang (郑爽), who had long faced criticism over her acting. A leaked recording at the time revealed she was earning a staggering 2.08 million RMB per day (roughly $320,000 then). Since then, “2.08 million” (208万) has become a derogatory label for fandom-driven actors who get high pays despite low-quality performances.

Amid weak acting and a distorted pay structure, many viewers have been calling for change. A common sentiment is: if their performances are already no better than AI, why not use AI actors, and give real actors a sense of crisis?

But will the use of AI actors actually push the industry to improve human actors, or simply replace them?

Some Chinese industry insiders remain optimistic, arguing that AI can never fully replicate the nuance of human emotion. Among those who have spoken out are A-list actors such as Zhang Ruoyun (张若昀) and Feng Yuanzheng (冯远征), president of the Beijing People’s Art Theatre.

Others, however, are less optimistic.

“China’s “cancel culture” will eventually make AI actors an increasingly attractive bet for industry investors”

Agan Jackie (阿甘Jackie), a streamer working in the film industry, pointed out in a recent podcast that China’s “cancel culture” will eventually make AI actors an increasingly attractive bet for industry investors.

Although there’s “cancel culture” in the Western entertainment industry as well, the moral bar for Chinese celebrities is exceptionally high: anything from tax evasion to littering, simply being rude to fans could destroy an actor’s commercial value. The superstar Fan Bingbing (范冰冰), for example, disappeared from public view after a tax evasion scandal. Even after repaying her debts, she is still effectively banned from mainland productions.

China’s cancel culture is also closely tied to political red lines. One remark or move – intended or not – could end a career overnight. Zhang Zhehan (张哲瀚), an actor who quickly rose to fame a few years ago, vanished from the industry after photos surfaced of him posing near the Japanese Yasukuni Shrine.

For production companies and streaming platforms, such unpredictability creates a high-investment, high-risk environment. “Scandal-proof” AI actors offer a low-risk substitute.

This perhaps also plays a major role in why major streaming platforms such as Tencent and iQiyi are now promoting or encouraging the use of AI actors through AI feature film experiments, with the first fully AI-generated commercial blockbusters expected to be released later this year.

At the recent China TV Drama Production Industry Conference, it became clear that the industry is undergoing something of an earthquake, with major changes ahead: while top actors will continue to function as traffic drivers, demand for human actors is expected to decline, and much of the mid- and lower-tier acting segment (such as extras and body doubles, but also voice actors) could largely disappear as it becomes replaceable by AI.

The microdrama industry, already heavily infiltrated by AI, offers a glimpse of the future of the broader TV and film industry when it comes to digital performers.

Microdrama actress Zhou Ye (周野) recently said that her pay has been slashed by 50% since AI-driven microdramas flooded the market, leaving many more actors jobless. For the 140,000 registered extras at Hengdian World Studios, China’s largest filming base, these developments could have far-reaching consequences.

Sometimes, these actors even sign away their fate—quite literally—as some companies now require “AI authorization” clauses as a condition of employment, effectively selling their digital likeness just to get a job. Companies can then create AI actors based on real individuals. Chinese talent management company Yuxiao Media (聿潇传媒) has introduced six such AI actors, directly modeled on real performers.

“The microdrama industry, already heavily infiltrated by AI, offers a glimpse of the future of the broader TV and film industry when it comes to digital performers”

One of these, influencer Han Anran (韩安冉), openly stated during a livestream that she had sold her likeness rights for AI creation. Playing into public criticism of her acting and heavily altered appearance, she said this was the best way to monetize her image. She even wondered that if her AI doppelganger were ever to win an award, whether she or the AI should go on stage to accept it.

Han Anran (韩安冉) on the left and the AI actress modeled after her on the right.

Perhaps nobody likes to see ordinary actors’ livelihoods being taken over by AI. But despite concerns about shrinking job opportunities, China is unlikely to see Hollywood-like strikes, as it lacks unions or organizations comparable to SAG-AFTRA or the AFL-CIO, which focus on labor representation beyond awards and industry guidelines.

For now, the only collective pushback against the full “AI-fication” of the industry comes from Chinese netizens themselves: boycotting platforms and production companies using AI actors, and voting with their views. Ultimately, only when public demand for realness becomes strong enough to threaten profits—or when laws finally catch up—will there be a sense of security for the people behind the screen—the real ones.

By Ruixin Zhang, with editing and additional context by Manya Koetse

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