China Celebs
Zhai Tianlin’s Alleged Plagiarism Triggers Discussions on Academic Cheating in Chinese Universities
“Colleges and Universities face great corruption problems, that is what you should be looking into.”

Published
6 years agoon
By
Gabi Verberg
Earlier this month, Chinese actor Zhai Tianlin (翟天临) drew the public’s attention for his appearance at the CCTV Spring Festival Gala, where he starred as a police officer preventing his parents from being scammed. Now, Zhai, again, is at the center of attention: not for his acting skills, but for allegedly committing academic fraud.
The famous actor is a Beijing Film Academy Ph.D. graduate and postdoctoral candidate at Peking University, one of China’s most renowned universities.
His alleged academic misconduct has been a topic of discussion for some days now. During a live broadcast with fans, Zhai apparently said he did not know what CNKI (知网) is, an academic database that all scholars in China will be familiar with.
It led to suspicions on Zhai’s academic standing, and people on the Quora-like Q&A platform Zhihu accused Zhai of not publishing any academic papers in recognized scholarly journals – something that is mandatory for Ph.D. students in China in order to fulfill their graduation requirements.
Zhai’s academic records increasingly became the focus of attention on February 9th, when one Weibo user (PITD亚洲虐待博士组织), a graduate student from Beijing, posted the results of a plagiarism detection test that was run on one of Zhai’s papers.
The test result revealed that of the 2783 words used in the paper, that was published last year, 1482 words were copied from other texts, indicating a 40.4% similarity score.
After the Beijing Film Academy released a statement that they would be investigating Zhai Tianlin, state media outlet China Daily posted a message on their Weibo account, stating that “academic standards must be the same for everyone” and that “postdoctoral researchers are a university’s greatest honor, ” and that “who wants to carry the crown should also carry the weight.”
On that same day, Peking University also published a statement saying that they are investigating the incident.
Zhai Tianlin (1987), who is also known as Ronald Zhai, is most known for starring in various popular Chinese TV shows and dramas, such as White Deer Plain and The Advisors Alliance.
The plagiarism allegation case has become a major topic of discussion on Chinese social media this week. The hashtag “Peking University Responds to Zhai Tianlin Case” (#北大回应翟天临事件#) has been viewed a staggering 650 million times on Weibo at time of writing, while the hashtag “Beijing Film Academy Sets Up Zhai Tianlin Investigation Team” (#北电成立翟天临事件调查组#) received more than 490 million views.
The storm is not likely to blow over soon, as new reports now also allege that Zhai’s MA-thesis relies heavily on the scholarly work of Chen Kun, a famous Chinese actor who also attended the Beijing Film Academy.
Although the scandal has triggered countless reactions condemning Zhai, there are also many people on social media who are directing their anger towards the universities and state media, with one typical comment saying: “By solely focusing on Zhai, you are avoiding the real problem. Colleges and universities face great corruption problems, that is what you should be looking into.”
Another person wrote: “I feel like the public opinion is focused too much on this case of ‘academic misconduct.’ What the media should be investigating is: why was the paper not checked for plagiarism before its publication? What the Beijing Film Academy should be looking into is how somebody can graduate with a paper that is not up to standard? And how someone who clearly doesn’t hold the appropriate academic abilities has access to its programme.”
“Peking University and Beijing Film Academy are both responsible for this fraud. How could they ever enroll such a fraudulent person?!” others wrote.
Some commenters seem to have no trust in China’s academic standard, saying: “Are you telling me you [the universities] didn’t know about this when you admitted him? Now you are setting up investigation teams, but it is all just for show.”
Academic corruption in the Chinese educational context has been a well-known problem for years. As early as 2002, the Ministry of Education implemented various policies to combat academic misconduct, defining it as an act of academic dishonesty that is punishable, but the problem is still widespread (Kai 2012).
Some studies suggest that one of the factors that play a role in plagiarism in China relate to the fact that ‘plagiarism’ is something that is often defined in very general terms, with university handbooks nor policies clearly codifying instances of “appropriate and inappropriate source use” (Hu & Lei 2015, 236).
There are also many other factors at play, however, such as the pressure for doctorate students to publish their papers, and the phenomenon of “publishing cash incentives,” which would allegedly trigger more academic fraud.
On Chinese social media, many people express that they hope that the institutions involved will “set an example” for other universities and “be transparent” in the way they’ll handle Zhai in case he is found guilty of plagiarism.
Many also pointed out the irony in the fact that it was Zhai who played the police officer that prevented his parents from being scammed during the CCTV New Years’ Eve Gala.
“This is just all so embarrassing,” some write: “Now it looks like not just Zhai’s PhD status should be taken from him, but also his MA title.”
Others suggest that this whole scandal would make an excellent topic for another TV drama, starring Zhai Tianlin, doing what he does best: acting. Some voices suggest that people should wait for the investigations into Zhai’s work to be completed before condemning him. With the massive online attention for this case, it might not take too long for more facts to surface on the case. We’ll keep you updated.
By Gabi Verberg and Manya Koetse
References
Hu, Guangwei and Jun Lei. 2015. “Chinese University Students’ Perceptions of Plagiarism.” ETHICS & BEHAVIOR 25(3): 233–255.
Kai, Ren. 2012. “Fighting against Academic Corruption: A Critique of Recent Policy Developments in China.” Higher Education Policy (25): 19–38.
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©2019 Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com
Gabi Verberg is a Business graduate from the University of Amsterdam who has worked and studied in Shanghai and Beijing. She now lives in Amsterdam and works as a part-time translator, with a particular interest in Chinese modern culture and politics.

China Celebs
Beauty Influencer Du Meizhu Accused of Scamming Fan Out of $27K

Published
3 weeks agoon
June 27, 2025
🔥 Quick Take: Trending in China
This is a brief update from our curated roundup of what’s trending in China this week. A version of this story also appears in the Weibo Watch newsletter. Subscribe to stay in the loop.
Chinese beauty influencer and livestreamer Du Meizhu (都美竹) is facing online backlash this week after a former female fan filed a police report accusing her of scamming her out of nearly 200,000 yuan (approx. US$27,800).
The fan, known online as Sister Bing (Weibo handle @冰点人a冰点), has come forward with detailed allegations, claiming Du began swindling her in 2022.
Du Meizhu rose to national prominence in 2021 when she was 19 years old and became the first person to publicly accuse Chinese-Canadian pop star Kris Wu (吴亦凡) of rape and sexual misconduct. After at least 24 more victims also came forward, Wu was formally arrested on suspicion of rape in mid-August 2021 and was later sentenced to 13 years in prison.
It was around this time that ‘Sister Bing,’ whose real name is Ms. Zhu (朱, born 1979), started following Du Meizhu on social media. As a hard-working single mother of a daughter, she said she sympathized with Du and wanted to show her some support. In a Weibo post published in 2024, she detailed how Du Meizhu began noticing Zhu’s online interactions in early 2022 and added her as a friend on WeChat.
In private conversations, Du shared complaints about her difficult life, and as the two talked more and more, Zhu began transferring small amounts of money to help. Over time, Du said she needed money for various things—from financial support for school to legal disputes and expensive medical treatments for family members. Between 2022 and 2023, Zhu claims she transferred nearly 200,000 yuan in total.
At the end of 2023, Zhu–who works as a taxi driver–urgently needed money due to a family crisis. She reached out to Du to ask if she could repay the money. According to Zhu, she only returned 30,000 yuan (US$4,180) and refused to pay more, even though at the same time, Du was allegedly flaunting luxury brand purchases and had plans to buy a villa.
On June 25, 2025, Zhu posted an update on her Weibo account, saying she had traveled to Ulanhot City in Inner Mongolia – Du’s hometown – to seek justice and report the case to local authorities.
Du Meizhu has responded to the allegations on social media, writing that she “won’t admit to things I haven’t done.” She does not deny that Zhu gave her money.
She writes: “When she had money, she was lavishly spending it on gifts in all kinds of livestreams. Now that she’s broke, she wants it back from the streamers? After I transferred her thousands of yuan, she’s still not satisfied and is now starting to extort me. No amount of moral pressure will work. I have a clear conscience!”

The post by Du Meizhu
The case has blown up online. One post by Ms. Zhu has already received over 133,000 likes and is still gaining traction.
But the developments surrounding the case are puzzling to some. Du Meizhu has long maintained a social media image of wealth, showcasing a lifestyle filled with Dubai travel, horseback riding, luxury food, and fashion. Why would she need to take money from a single mum? Du is being criticized not only for faking her wealth, but also for accepting so much money from a woman who clearly needed the money for her own family.

Du Meizhu social media photos.
Although the story is attracting a lot of attention online because it exposes private conversations between Du and the woman – and, frankly, many netizens just enjoy the drama, – it also says a lot about China’s thriving livestreaming industry and just how close online followers can feel to the influencers they follow. In these kinds of online communities, it is common for fans and followers to send livestreamers money or ‘virtual gifts’.
In the case of Ms. Zhu, some netizens doubt that she can prove in court that she loaned Du the money instead of gifting it to her. People also criticize Zhu: why did she spend so much money on an online influencer instead of on her own daughter?
Either way, many Chinese netizens feel that it was not right of Du Meizhu to take advantage of a single mum like that. Even if she’s not legally wrong, they feel she lacks moral integrity.
Du’s most recent social media post—featuring her in so-called “old money fashion” outfits—has only added fuel to the fire. Dozens of commenters flooded the post with demands that she repay Ms. Zhu. Though Du seemingly tried to delete the negative comments, they kept pouring in. “At this rate, there won’t be any comments left,” one user wrote.
Whether or not Du Meizhu ultimately faces legal consequences, the backlash is already taking a toll. She might escape the courtroom, but won’t be able to escape the court of public opinion.
By Manya Koetse
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China Celebs
Earring Gate: Huang Yangdiantian and the 2.3 Million RMB Emerald Earrings
Online sleuths connect emerald earrings to post-earthquake business ties—sparking official investigations.

Published
2 months agoon
May 25, 2025By
Ruixin Zhang
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
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Rob
February 15, 2019 at 4:40 pm
I did research into Chinese Universities and their (lack of) academic policies – not a single University among the top 50 in China had clear written policies. More to the point, the Universities I and friends worked in (USTB, Renmin, UIR, BFSU, UIBE) not only had no policies, but teachers who caught students were not allowed to apply suitable consequences (I caught two Masters students and the Department Head tried to convince me not to fail them).
Zhai’s case is only at issue because he’s highly public; nobodies in China who cheat and plagiarize still manage to get away with it, and University departments permit it and defend students who do it.
Of course, Chinese academia is full of this; there was a scandal in Beijing back in 2010-2011 where a group were translating academic papers into Chinese and selling them to Chinese scholars for publishing; in other cases, Uni profs were stealing their students’ work and publishing it as their own (USTB had a couple of cases of this).
Plagiarism is like any form of corruption in China – it only matters if you get caught in a very public way.