China Media
Zhang versus Zhang: An Online Debate over the Value of Studying Journalism in China
Is pursuing a degree in journalism worth it in China? Educational adviser Zhang Xuefeng says no, while professor Zhang Xiaoqiang says yes. Their online debate has captivated millions of people.
With the announcement of the 2023 Chinese National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao) scores this week, the process of selecting university preferences has become the focal point for more than 12.9 million families in China.
Zhang Xuefeng (张雪峰), an internet celebrity widely recognized as the “famous teacher for postgraduate entrance exams,” has found himself at the center of an online controversy for advising students against applying for journalism programs.
According to a report by Lianhe Zaobao (联合早报), the incident originated from a livestreamed phone conversation between Zhang Xuefeng and a parent of a student, who was seeking advice.
Upon learning that a science student from Xinjiang had estimated a score of 590 – surpassing the cutoff for admission to first-tier universities, – while expressing an interest in applying for the journalism program at Sichuan University, Zhang Xuefeng reacted with some extreme emotions and remarks.
He advised against pursuing journalism, stating, “Don’t apply for journalism! Any other major you choose blindly would be better than journalism.” He even went as far as saying that if he were the parent, he would “definitely knock the child unconscious if they insisted on studying journalism” (“这孩子非要报新闻学，我一定会把他打晕”).
A screenshot of Zhang Xuefeng’s live stream phone call session in which he dissuaded the student from selecting Journalism. The line reads: “Just don’t select Journalism, ok?”
After a video of their livestreamed conversation was shared by Yan Tu Education, Zhang Xuefeng’s educational company, on their official Douyin account, Zhang’s provocative remarks gained attention from various parties, including journalism scholars and Chinese (state) media outlets.
The ‘Zhang vs Zhang’ online debate started in mid-June when Professor Dr. Zhang Xiaoqiang (张小强) from Chongqing University’s School of Journalism criticized Zhang Xuefeng’s comments, describing them as “harmful and misleading to the public” (“害人不浅，误导公众”).
According to media outlet The Paper, Dr. Zhang argues that the field of journalism is applicable to many different domains, and parents can trust the journalism departments in prominent Chinese universities and colleges.
He believes that the negative perception of the journalism profession stems from the narrow belief that it only leads to careers in traditional media. However, Dr. Zhang asserts that graduates from journalism departments go on to work in various fields.
He suggested that journalism graduates are often recruited for communication roles, and that they can find employment at government organizations, state-owned enterprises, new media companies, or even gaming start-ups. He also cautioned against being deceived by individuals like Zhang Xuefeng, whom he referred to as a mere “internet celebrity.”
Three Reasons Not To Pursue Journalism Major in China
While there are authoritative voices defending journalism education, there is still substantial support for Zhang Xuefeng’s perspective on discouraging journalism as a career choice.
This support mainly stems from three primary reasons: the perceived impracticality of the profession, doubts about the substantive nature and effectiveness of journalism education, and concerns about the limited freedom and liberal values within the field.
1. Not Practical (“无用”)
Firstly, a journalism degree has been deemed as “impractical” as it cannot guarantee good employment prospects.
Zhang Xuefeng dissuades students from pursuing journalism because, according to him, choosing this major would make it hard to secure a livelihood. For families with limited resources, it is important to choose a field of study that is practical and will enable young people to support themselves (“吃上饭”).
He also emphasizes the need to consider real-life circumstances rather than blindly following prescribed norms. Zhang said, “I am not targeting anyone or any specific profession. I am only providing suggestions based on employment situations. If your child cannot find a job, the responsibility lies not with the teachers but with you as parents!”
However, individuals like Dr. Zhang Xiaoqiang strongly oppose such practicalism. On June 17th, during an interview with Fengmian News (封面新闻), Professor Zhang Xiaoqiang stated that the primary consideration for choosing a major should be the student’s interest instead of employability.
Similarly, China Education Daily (中国教育报) published an article titled “Beware of the Misleading Influence of Internet Celebrity Remarks on College Major Selection” (“警惕网红言论误导志愿填报”), condemning Zhang Xuefeng’s statement for being overly arbitrary and shortsighted. The article emphasizes that personal interests and aspirations are also crucial in major selection and encourages young people to dream big and explore uncertainties.
However, many netizens support Zhang’s pragmatic approach and criticize scholars and state media for being overly idealistic and lacking understanding of the difficulties faced by ordinary people, and especially the younger generations, in China today.
The phrase “Why not eat meat?” (“何不食肉糜,” referring to those in positions of power and influence often failing to understand the hardships of common people) has become widely used in this discussion to highlight the discrepancy between scholars and authoritative voices who advocate for choosing majors based on interests and the economic constraints faced by many families.
“The lower the socioeconomic status of the family, the higher the cost of making mistakes in choosing a major, and therefore students should be more cautious in their decision-making,” commented one netizen, contradicting the argument that young people should pursue their passions without considering practicality.
2. Non-Educational (“无学”)
Studying journalism in universities has also faced criticism for being seen as “non-educational” due to the belief that a journalism degree is unnecessary to become a journalist and lacks a substantial theoretical foundation.
The non-profit organization ‘Narada Insights’ (@南都观察) posted an opinion piece by Liu Yuanju (刘远举), a research fellow at the Shanghai Institute of Finance and Law, on their Weibo account. In the piece, Liu highlights the failure of journalism education to provide in-depth content. Writing skills in journalism can be acquired by competent high school graduates, and the ability to gather and evaluate information is a fundamental skill that extends beyond the journalism field, primarily developed through life and work experiences. Therefore, Liu argues, it becomes challenging for students to acquire specific journalism-related skills and knowledge in universities.
Furthermore, Liu points out that journalism is often perceived to have a relatively low entry barrier, as many successful media professionals do not hold journalism degrees at all. On the other hand, knowledge in areas such as science, technology, economics, finance, or law can be advantageous for journalism work. In practice, media organizations often prefer candidates with these kind of educational backgrounds, as they are the ones with specialized expertise in specific industries.
3. Lack of Freedom (“无自由”)
One third complain and common perception of journalism departments is that they primarily teach students how to align with the state’s agenda, which has led to accusations of Chinese journalism being severely restrictive.
Author Liu Shen Leilei (六神磊磊), a former journalist of Politics and Law at the Chongqing Branch of Xinhua News Agency, shared his thoughts on this topic on Weibo. According to Liu, journalism departments lack substantial theories and instead instruct students to be obedient and comply with authorities.
One journalism graduate agreed with Liu’s post, suggesting that they were being compelled to say what the state wants: “I graduated in journalism, and I have a deep aversion to the field. We not only lack the freedom to speak the truth but are also deprived of the freedom to remain silent.”
Even if students possess enough passion to overcome the ‘impractical’ and ‘uneducational’ aspects of journalism education in Chinese universities, they may be disillusioned when they find that the practice of “journalism” in China does not align with their expectations and ideals.
In response to Liu Shen Leilei’s post, another commenter emphasized the profound challenge of reporting the truth in today’s context and asserted that “journalism has died (新闻已死).” This statement reflects the perception that authentic and truthful reporting has become virtually non-existent. Instead, media outlets are believed to employ various tactics to attract attention and disseminate state propaganda. On social media, there is a frequent suggestion to “rename journalism departments as propaganda departments” to reflect this perceived reality.
An End to the Debate?
As the Zhang versus Zhang discussion on pursuing a degree in Journalism continued, Dr. Zhang Xiaoqiang recently took to his social media to express his desire to end the debate, acknowledging the overwhelming criticisms from netizens (#张小强称给自己和张雪峰争论画上句号#, #张小强说和张雪峰争论结束#).
“I still firmly believe that journalism and communication are good majors with promising prospects,” he wrote. “However, media professionals and educators need to foster a positive public opinion and social environment for their own development. We must first prove ourselves.”
Meanwhile, on Chinese social media, various hashtags have emerged in light of this discussion. One of them is “Who Do You Support in the Zhang Xuefeng Journalism Studies Debate?” (#张雪峰新闻学之争你支持谁#), which has reached over 130 million views on Weibo by now.
There even is a possibility to vote on whose side you are.
With more than 42,000 votes, it is clear who the majority of netizens agree with most: 39,000 voters agreed with Zhang Xuefeng that studying journalism is not a favorable option for Chinese young people today.
“They’re starting rumors, smooth things over, and oppose the people,” another person criticizes the state of journalism.
While the debate between Zhang Xuefeng and Professor Zhang Xiaoqiang may have temporarily subsided, the ongoing discourse surrounding the significance of journalism in China is bound to continue.
By Zilan Qian
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Part of featured image via Xigua Shipin.
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China Brands, Marketing & Consumers
More than Malatang: Tianshui’s Recipe for Success
Zibo had its BBQ moment. Now, it’s Tianshui’s turn to shine with its special take on malatang. Tourism marketing in China will never be the same again.
During this Qingming Festival holiday, there is one Chinese city that will definitely welcome more visitors than usual. Tianshui, the second largest city in Gansu Province, has emerged as the latest travel hotspot among domestic tourists following its recent surge in popularity online.
Situated approximately halfway along the Lanzhou-Xi’an rail line, this ancient city wasn’t previously a top destination for tourists. Most travelers would typically pass through the industrial city to see the Maiji Shan Grottoes, the fourth largest Buddhist cave complex in China, renowned for its famous rock carvings along the Silk Road.
But now, there is another reason to visit Tianshui: malatang.
Gansu-Style Malatang
Málàtàng (麻辣烫), which literally means ‘numb spicy hot,’ is a popular Chinese street food dish featuring a diverse array of ingredients cooked in a soup base infused with Sichuan pepper and dried chili pepper. There are multiple ways to enjoy malatang.
When dining at smaller street stalls, it’s common to find a selection of skewered foods—ranging from meats to quail eggs and vegetables—simmering in a large vat of flavorful spicy broth. This communal dining experience is affordable and convenient for solo diners or smaller groups seeking a hotpot-style meal.
In malatang restaurants, patrons can usually choose from a selection of self-serve skewered ingredients. You have them weighed, pay, and then have it prepared and served in a bowl with a preferred soup base, often with the option to choose the level of spiciness, from super hot to mild.
Although malatang originated in Sichuan, it is now common all over China. What makes Tianshui malatang stand out is its “Gansu-style” take, with a special focus on hand-pulled noodles, potato, and spicy oil.
An important ingredient for the soup base is the somewhat sweet and fragrant Gangu chili, produced in Tianshui’s Gangu County, known as “the hometown of peppers.”
Another ingredient is Maiji peppercorns (used in the sauce), and there are more locally produced ingredients, such as the black fungi from Qingshui County.
One restaurant that made Tianshui’s malatang particularly famous is Haiying Malatang (海英麻辣烫) in the city’s Qinzhou District. On February 13, the tiny restaurant, which has been around for three decades, welcomed an online influencer (@一杯梁白开) who posted about her visit.
The vlogger was so enthusiastic about her taste of “Gansu-style malatang,” that she urged her followers to try it out. It was the start of something much bigger than she could have imagined.
Replicating Zibo
Tianshui isn’t the first city to capture the spotlight on Chinese social media. Cities such as Zibo and Harbin have previously surged in popularity, becoming overnight sensations on platforms like Weibo, Xiaohongshu, and Douyin.
This phenomenon of Chinese cities transforming into hot travel destinations due to social media frenzy became particularly noteworthy in early 2023.
During the Covid years, various factors sparked a friendly competition among Chinese cities, each competing to attract the most visitors and to promote their city in the best way possible.
The Covid pandemic had diverse impacts on the Chinese domestic tourism industry. On one hand, domestic tourism flourished due to the pandemic, as Chinese travelers opted for destinations closer to home amid travel restrictions. On the other hand, the zero-Covid policy, with its lockdowns and the absence of foreign visitors, posed significant challenges to the tourism sector.
Following the abolition of the zero-Covid policy, tourism and marketing departments across China swung into action to revitalize their local economy. China’s social media platforms became battlegrounds to capture the attention of Chinese netizens. Local government officials dressed up in traditional outfits and created original videos to convince tourists to visit their hometowns.
Zibo was the first city to become an absolute social media sensation in the post-Covid era. The old industrial and mining city was not exactly known as a trendy tourist destination, but saw its hotel bookings going up 800% in 2023 compared to pre-Covid year 2019. Among others factors contributing to its success, the city’s online marketing campaign and how it turned its local BBQ culture into a unique selling point were both critical.
Zibo crowds, image via 163.com.
Since 2023, multiple cities have tried to replicate the success of Zibo. Although not all have achieved similar results, Harbin has done very well by becoming a meme-worthy tourist attraction earlier in 2024, emphasizing its snow spectacle and friendly local culture.
By promoting its distinctive take on malatang, Tianshui has emerged as the next city to captivate online audiences, leading to a surge in visitor numbers.
Like with Zibo and Harbin, one particular important strategy used by these tourist offices is to swiftly respond to content created by travel bloggers or food vloggers about their cities, boosting the online attention and immediately seizing the opportunity to turn online success into offline visits.
A Timeline
What does it take to become a Chinese ‘celebrity city’? Since late February and early March of this year, various Douyin accounts started posting about Tianshui and its malatang.
They initially were the main reason driving tourists to the city to try out malatang, but they were not the only reason – city marketing and state media coverage also played a role in how the success of Tianshui played out.
Here’s a timeline of how its (online) frenzy unfolded:
- July 25, 2023: First video on Douyin about Tianshui’s malatang, after which 45 more videos by various accounts followed in the following six months.
- Feb 5, 2024: Douyin account ‘Chuanshuo Zhong de Bozi’ (传说中的波仔) posts a video about malatang streetfood in Gansu
- Feb 13, 2024: Douyin account ‘Yibei Liangbaikai’ (一杯梁白开) posts a video suggesting the “nationwide popularization of Gansu-style malatang.” This video is an important breakthrough moment in the success of Tianshui as a malatang city.
- Feb – March ~, 2024: The Tianshui Culture & Tourism Bureau is visiting sites, conducting research, and organizing meetings with different departments to establish the “Tianshui city + malatang” brand (文旅+天水麻辣烫”品牌) as the city’s new “business card.”
- March 11, 2024: Tianshui city launches a dedicated ‘spicy and hot’ bus line to cater to visitors who want to quickly reach the city’s renowned malatang spots.
- March 13-14, 2024: China’s Baidu search engine witnesses exponential growth in online searches for Tianshui malatang.
- March 14-15, 2024: The boss of Tianshui’s popular Haiying restaurant goes viral after videos show him overwhelmed and worried he can’t keep up. His facial expression becomes a meme, with netizens dubbing it the “can’t keep up-expression” (“烫不完表情”).
The worried and stressed expression of this malatang diner boss went viral overnight.
- March 17, 2024: Chinese media report about free ‘Tianshui malatang’ wifi being offered to visitors as a special service while they’re standing in line at malatang restaurants.
- March 18, 2024: Tianshui opens its first ‘Malatang Street’ where about 40 stalls sell malatang.
- March 18, 2024: Chinese local media report that one Tianshui hair salon (Tony) has changed its shop into a malatang shop overnight, showing just how big the hype has become.
- March 21, 2024: A dedicated ‘Tianshui malatang’ train started riding from Lanzhou West Station to Tianshui (#天水麻辣烫专列开行#).
- March 21, 2024: Chinese actor Jia Nailiang (贾乃亮) makes a video about having Tianshui malatang, further adding to its online success.
- March 30, 2024: A rare occurrence: as the main attraction near Tianshui, the Maiji Mountain Scenic Area announces that they’ve reached the maximum number of visitors and don’t have the capacity to welcome any more visitors, suspending all ticket sales for the day.
- April 1, 2024: Chinese presenter Zhang Dada was spotted making malatang in a local Tianshui restaurant, drawing in even more crowds.
A New Moment to Shine
Fame attracts criticism, and that also holds true for China’s ‘celebrity cities.’
Some argue that Tianshui’s malatang is overrated, considering the richness of Gansu cuisine, which offers much more than just malatang alone.
When Zibo reached hype status, it also faced scrutiny, with some commenters suggesting that the popularity of Zibo BBQ was a symptom of a society that’s all about consumerism and “empty social spectacle.”
There is a lot to say about the downsides of suddenly becoming a ‘celebrity city’ and the superficiality and fleetingness that comes with these kinds of trends. But for many locals, it is seen as an important moment as they see their businesses and cities thrive.
Even after the hype fades, local businesses can maintain their success by branding themselves as previously viral restaurants. When I visited Zibo a few months after its initial buzz, many once-popular spots marketed themselves as ‘wanghong’ (网红) or viral celebrity restaurants.
For the city itself, being in the spotlight holds its own value in the long run. Even after the hype has peaked and subsided, the gained national recognition ensures that these “trendy” places will continue to attract visitors in the future.
According to data from Ctrip, Tianshui experienced a 40% increase in tourism spending since March (specifically from March 1st to March 16th). State media reports claim that the city saw 2.3 million visitors in the first three weeks of March, with total tourism revenue reaching nearly 1.4 billion yuan ($193.7 million).
There are more ripple effects of Tianshui’s success: Maiji Shan Grottoes are witnessing a surge in visitors, and local e-commerce companies are experiencing a spike in orders from outside the city. Even when they’re not in Tianshui, people still want a piece of Tianshui.
By now, it’s clear that tourism marketing in China will never be the same again. Zibo, Harbin, and Tianshui exemplify a new era of destination hype, requiring a unique selling point, social media success, strong city marketing, and a friendly and fair business culture at the grassroots level.
While Zibo’s success was largely organic, Harbin’s was more orchestrated, and Tianshui learned from both. Now, other potential ‘celebrity’ cities are preparing to go viral, learning from the successes and failures of their predecessors to shine when their time comes.
By Manya Koetse
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China Arts & Entertainment
Going All In on Short Streaming: About China’s Online ‘Micro Drama’ Craze
For viewers, they’re the ultimate guilty pleasure. For producers, micro dramas mean big profit.
PREMIUM CONTENT
In February of this year, Chinese social media started flooding with various hashtags highlighting the huge commercial success of ‘online micro-short dramas’ (wǎngluò wēiduǎnjù 网络微短剧), also referred to as ‘micro drama’ or ‘short dramas’ (微短剧).
Stories ranged from “Micro drama screenwriters making over 100k yuan [$13.8k] monthly” to “Hengdian building earning 2.8 million yuan [$387.8k] rent from micro dramas within six months” and “Couple earns over 400 million [$55 million] in a month by making short dramas,” all reinforcing the same message: micro dramas mean big profits. (Respectively #短剧爆款编剧月入可超10万元#, #横店一栋楼半年靠短剧租金收入280万元#, #一对夫妇做短剧每月进账4亿多#.)
Micro dramas, taking China by storm and also gaining traction overseas, are basically super short streaming series, with each episode usually lasting no more than two minutes.
From Horizontal to Vertical
Online short dramas are closely tied to Chinese social media and have been around for about a decade, initially appearing on platforms like Youku and Tudou. However, the genre didn’t explode in popularity until 2020.
That year, China’s State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television (SARFT) introduced a “fast registration and filing module for online micro dramas” to their “Key Online Film and Television Drama Information Filing System.” Online dramas or films can only be broadcast after obtaining an “online filing number.”
Chinese streaming giants such as iQiyi, Tencent, and Youku then began releasing 10-15 minute horizontal short dramas in late 2020. Despite their shorter length and faster pace, they actually weren’t much different from regular TV dramas.
Soon after, short video social platforms like Douyin (TikTok) and Kuaishou joined the trend, launching their own short dramas with episodes only lasting around 3 minutes each.
Of course, Douyin wouldn’t miss out on this trend and actively contributed to boosting the genre. To better suit its interface, Douyin converted horizontal-screen dramas into vertical ones (竖屏短剧).
Then, in 2021, the so-called mini-program (小程序) short dramas emerged, condensing each episode to 1-2 minutes, often spanning over 100 episodes.
These short dramas are advertised on platforms like Douyin, and when users click, they are directed to mini-programs where they need to pay for further viewing. Besides direct payment revenue, micro dramas may also bring in revenue from advertising.
‘Losers’ Striking Back
You might wonder what could possibly unfold in a TV drama lasting just two minutes per episode.
The Chinese cultural media outlet ‘Hedgehog Society’ (刺猬公社) collected data from nearly 6,000 short dramas and generated a word cloud based on their content keywords.
In works targeted at female audiences, the most common words revolve around (romantic) relationships, such as “madam” (夫人) and “CEO” (总裁). Unlike Chinese internet novels from over a decade ago, which often depicted perfect love and luxurious lifestyles, these short dramas offer a different perspective on married life and self-discovery.
According to Hedgehog Society’s data, the frequency of the term “divorce” (离婚) in short dramas is ten times higher than “married” (结婚) or “newlyweds” (新婚). Many of these dramas focus on how the female protagonist builds a better life after divorce and successfully stands up to her ex-husband or to those who once underestimated her — both physically and emotionally.
One of the wordclouds by 刺猬公社.
In male-oriented short dramas, the pursuit of power is a common theme, with phrases like “the strongest in history” (史上最强) and “war god” (战神) frequently mentioned. Another surprising theme is “matrilocal son” (赘婿), the son-in-law who lives with his wife’s family. In China, this term is derogatory, particularly referring to husbands with lower economic income and social status than their wives, which is considered embarrassing in traditional Chinese views. However, in these short dramas, the matrilocal son will employ various methods to earn the respect of his wife’s family and achieve significant success.
Although storylines differ, a recurring theme in these short dramas is protagonists wanting to turn their lives around. This desire for transformation is portrayed from various perspectives, whether it’s from the viewpoint of a wealthy, elite individual or from those with lower social status, such as divorced single women or matrilocal son-in-laws. This “feel-good” sentiment appears to resonate with many Chinese viewers.
Cultural influencer Lu Xuyu (@卢旭宁) quoted from a forum on short dramas, explaining the types of short dramas that are popular: Men seek success and admiration, and want to be pursued by beautiful women. Women seek romantic love or are still hoping the men around them finally wake up. One netizen commented more bluntly: “They are all about the counterattack of the losers (屌丝逆袭).”
The word used here is “diaosi,” a term used by Chinese netizens for many years to describe themselves as losers in a self-deprecating way to cope with the hardships of a competitive life, in which it has become increasingly difficult for Chinese youths to climb the social ladder.
Addicted to Micro Drama
By early 2024, the viewership of China’s micro dramas had soared to 120 million monthly active users, with the genre particularly resonating with lower-income individuals and the elderly in lower-tier markets.
However, short dramas also enjoy widespread popularity among many young people. According to data cited by Bilibili creator Caoxiaoling (@曹小灵比比叨), 64.9% of the audience falls within the 15-29 age group.
For these young viewers, short dramas offer rapid plot twists, meme-worthy dialogues, condensing the content of several episodes of a long drama into just one minute—stripping away everything except the pure “feel-good” sentiment, which seems rare in the contemporary online media environment. Micro dramas have become the ultimate ‘guilty pleasure.’
Various micro dramas, image by Sicomedia.
Even the renowned Chinese actress Ning Jing (@宁静) admitted to being hooked on short dramas. She confessed that while initially feeling “scammed” by the poor production and acting, she became increasingly addicted as she continued watching.
It’s easy to get hooked. Despite criticisms of low quality or shallowness, micro dramas are easy to digest, featuring clear storylines and characters. They don’t demand night-long binge sessions or investment in complex storylines. Instead, people can quickly watch multiple episodes while waiting for their bus or during a short break, satisfying their daily drama fix without investing too much time.
Chasing the gold rush
During the recent Spring Festival holiday, the Chinese box office didn’t witness significant growth compared to previous years. In the meantime, the micro drama “I Went Back to the 80s and Became a Stepmother” (我在八零年代当后妈), shot in just 10 days with a post-production cost of 80,000 yuan ($11,000), achieved a single-day revenue exceeding 2 million yuan ($277k). It’s about a college girl who time-travels back to the 1980s, reluctantly getting married to a divorced pig farm owner with kids, but unexpectedly falling in love.
Despite its simple production and clichéd plot, micro dramas like this are drawing in millions of viewers. The producer earned over 100 million yuan ($13 million) from this drama and another short one.
“I Went Back to the 80s and Became a Stepmother” (我在八零年代当后妈).
The popularity of short dramas, along with these significant profits, has attracted many people to join the short drama industry. According to some industry insiders, a short drama production team often involves hundreds or even thousands of contributors who help in writing scripts. These contributors include college students, unemployed individuals, and online writers — seemingly anyone can participate.
By now, Hengdian World Studios, the largest film and television shooting base in China, is already packed with crews filming short dramas. With many production teams facing a shortage of extras, reports have surfaced indicating significant increases in salaries, with retired civil workers even being enlisted as actors.
Despite the overwhelming success of some short dramas like “I Went Back to the 80s and Became a Stepmother,” it is not easy to replicate their formula. The screenwriter of the time-travel drama, Mi Meng (@咪蒙的微故事), is a renowned online writer who is very familiar with how to use online strategies to draw in more viewers. For many average creators, their short drama production journey is much more difficult and less fruitful.
But with low costs and potentially high returns, even if only one out of a hundred productions succeeds, it could be sufficient to recover the expenses of the others. This high-stakes, cutthroat competition poses a significant challenge for smaller players in the micro drama industry – although they actually fueled the genre’s growth.
As more scriptwriters and short dramas flood the market, leading to content becoming increasingly similar, the chances of making profits are likely to decrease. Many short drama platforms have yet to start generating net profits.
This situation has sparked concerns among netizens and critics regarding the future of short dramas. Given the genre’s success and intense competition, a transformation seems inevitable: only the shortest dramas that cater to the largest audiences will survive.
In the meantime, however, netizens are enjoying the hugely wide selection of micro dramas still available to them. One Weibo blogger, Renmin University Professor Ma Liang (@学者马亮), writes: “I spent some time researching short videos and watched quite a few. I must admit, once you start, you just can’t stop. ”
By Ruixin Zhang, edited with further input by Manya Koetse
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