The most notable incident of online censorship grew out of an exchange on the U.S. platform X, which is blocked in China and requires a VPN to access there. After well-known Chinese dissident and whistleblower account Teacher Li Is Not Your Teacher (@whyyoutouzhele) reposted some videos and photos about the Sino-American summit, Elon Musk posted an unexpected reply in simplified Chinese, stating, “My son is studying Mandarin.” The reply, which attracted over 13 million views, became a hot topic on Chinese social media, as netizens commented on the irony of Musk circumventing the GFW to access a banned overseas site “right under Xi’s nose.” The tweet was reported by China Business Network/CBN [第一财经, Dìyī Cáijīng] and other Chinese media outlets, all of which omitted any mention of the "Teacher Li" account, leaving the response without context. Despite this cautious approach, the original report from CBN and related trending topics on Weibo were completely blocked, and the buzz quickly died down. In response, Teacher Li tweeted: "This proves that even Musk has to bypass the Great Firewall to [read my account] when he comes to China. Xi Jinping and I are just two ‘Voldemorts’ separated by a wall."

CDT Chinese editors also archived two posts that referenced the summit. One was an article from WeChat account He Liuwei that argued against the practice of using schoolchildren to greet and offer flowers to visiting political leaders, including Donald Trump. “The spectacle of minors being trotted out to ‘adorn the lapels’ of political figures turns my stomach, and that reaction didn’t start with Trump,” wrote the author. “When I was a child I thought it odd, but by middle school (this was during the Cultural Revolution), I found it nauseating. Even back then, I told myself that if I ever had a child, I would never allow her to be selected for that ‘honor.’" The other was a post from WeChat account The Sun Also Rises about two recently deleted articles, one of which was titled, “Taking Stock of Trump’s Visit to China.” The author admits to being puzzled as to why it was censored, and goes on to castigate “professional complainers” who lodge complaints with social media platforms for various petty reasons:

As for the second article [about the U.S.-China summit], I don’t believe it contained anything particularly sensitive. You can find similar pieces all over the internet, and I’ve always maintained a careful balance in my writing. The most ridiculous thing is that while my original article was reported and deleted, reposts of it by others remain online. This isn’t the first time I’ve observed this kind of farce.

It’s the fault of those busybodies, those professional complainers. They can’t write anything themselves, but when they read something that doesn’t align with their own viewpoint, or when they’ve left a comment that gets called out by the author or other readers, they feel humiliated and start complaining in retaliation. Certain types of readers will heap fulsome praise on an author who writes an article they agree with, but if that same author writes something they disagree with, they’re quick to accuse the author of "selling out." It’s instructive to look back at the timeline of these readers’ comments: you’ll find not only a diversity of opinion among different readers, but sometimes even “a split opinion” by a single reader. [Chinese]

The following is a (non-comprehensive) list of some “soft censored” sensitive-word combinations related to the recent Sino-American and Sino-Russian summits, according to a tool developed by Citizen Lab. Searches for these terms or combinations on various platforms are subject to varying degrees of censorship, in most cases returning only results from Chinese government websites or state-media outlets.

On the Sino-American summit:

Trump + China visit + protocol/standing (特朗普 + 访华 + 规格)
Trump + China visit + itinerary (特朗普 + 访华 + 行程)
Trump’s China visit itinerary (特朗普訪華行程)
Trump + China visit + arrangements (特朗普 + 访华 + 安排)
Xi-Trump summit + Trump (習特會 + 特朗普)
Trump + China visit + agenda items (特朗普 + 访华 + 议题)
Trump visits the Temple of Heaven (特朗普参观天坛 / 特朗普參觀天壇)
Trump China visit welcoming ceremony (特朗普访华欢迎仪式)
Trump arrives in Beijing (特朗普抵京)
Welcoming US President Trump’s visit to China (欢迎美国总统特朗普访华)

China + policy + Trump (對華 + 政策 + 川普)
Trump + China + policy (川普 + 對華 + 政策)

classic + Trump (經典 + 特朗普)
Trump + classic (特朗普 + 經典)

state banquet + Trump (國宴/ 国宴 + 川普)
Trump + state banquet (川普 + 國宴/ 国宴)
dinner banquet + Trump (晚宴 + 川普)
Trump + dinner banquet (川普 + 晚宴)
state banquet + exposed/leaked (國宴 + 曝光)

U.S.-China heads of state + talks (中美元首 + 會談)
U.S.-China leaders’ meeting (中美領導人會晤)
Trump-Xi secret talks (川習密談)
U.S.-China leaders’ talks (中美领导人会谈)
U.S.-China leaders’ small-group meeting (中美领导人小范围会晤)
Foreign Ministry Q\&A on Trump’s China visit (外交部就特朗普访华情况答问)

Will the CCP really + peacefully coexist with the U.S. (中共真会和美国 + 和平共处)
The US and China should be partners, not rivals (中美应该成为伙伴而不是对手)
Charting a Correct Path of Coexistence Between the Two Great Powers (走出一条中美大国正确相处之道)
U.S.-China relations can only improve, not worsen (中美關係只能搞好不能搞壞)
U.S.-China leaders exchange views on major issues (中美领导人就重大问题交换意见)
U.S.-China Relations Build on the Past and Open Up the Future (中美关系继往开来)
China welcomes the U.S. strengthening mutually beneficial cooperation with China (中方欢迎美国对华加强互利合作)
New positioning of U.S.-China relations (中美关系新定位/中美關係新定位)
Constructive, strategic, stable U.S.-China relations (中美建設性戰略穩定關係)
Stable U.S.-China relations are a boon to the world (中美关系稳定是世界的利好)
The respective successes of the U.S. and China are mutual opportunities (中美各自成功是彼此的机遇)
U.S.-China relations build on the past and open the future (中美關係繼往開來)
The correct path for U.S.-China co-existence (中美正確相處之道)
Trump’s Return to Beijing: A Game Within a Game (川普再临北京的局中局)

On Taiwan:

U.S. + Taiwan policy + Xi (美國 + 對台政策 + 習)
China visit + Taiwan question (访华 + 台湾问题)
The U.S. side must handle the Taiwan question with the utmost prudence (美方务必慎之又慎处理台湾问题)
Foreign Ministry responds on the Taiwan question (外交部回应台湾问题)
Stabilizing U.S.-China Relations Depends on Handling the Taiwan Question Well (台灣問題處理好了中美關係就能穩定)
Maintaining Cross-Strait Peace and Stability Is the Greatest Common Ground Between the U.S. and China (維護台海和平穩定是中美最大公約數)

Trade Negotiations, Boeing Order:
Boeing + order + China (波音 + 订单 + 中国)
Trump China visit + Boeing (川普访华 + 波音)
trade negotiations + Trump (贸易磋商 + 特朗普)

Iran War, Trade with Iran:
Iran + Trump (伊朗 + 特朗普)
Trump + Iran (特朗普 + 伊朗)
Chinese enterprises + Iran (中國企業 + 伊朗)

Detention of Ezra Jin Mingri, pastor of Zion Church:
Jin Mingri + Zion [Church] (金明日 + 锡安)
Jin Mingri + pastor (金明日 + 牧師)

On Elon Musk, his son, and the Chinese tweet:
馬斯克 + 中文 + 兒子 — Musk + Chinese [language] + son
馬斯克 + 兒子 + 虎頭包 — Musk + son + tiger-head bag
馬斯克 + 中文 + 發帖 — Musk + Chinese [language] + post

Referencing both summits:
Putin + Trump + visit to China (普京 + 特朗普 + 访华)
U.S.-Russia heads of state + visit to China (美俄元首 + 访华)

On the Sino-Russian summit:
Jointly Steering New-Era China-Russia Relations Toward Continuous New Achievements (共同引领新时代中俄关系不断取得新成果)
China-Russia Relations Continue on the Right Track (中俄关系继续沿着正确轨道不断发展)
Strategic Guidance for China-Russia Relations in the New Era (新时代中俄关系的战略指引)
Russian President Putin to visit China (俄罗斯总统普京将访华)

If you see a tortoise perched on top of a utility pole, there’s no way it climbed up there itself. It fundamentally lacks the capacity to do so: someone else must have placed it there. But it can’t get down on its own, either, so all it can do is wait to topple off. [Chinese]

The account was subsequently banned, and all of its content deleted. The video was widely and immediately interpreted as a reference to Xi, his perceived lack of qualification for his role—he has often been referred to as "the junior highschooler" in a somewhat uncharitable jab at the interruption of his formal education by the Cultural Revolution—and his steady dismantling of established conventions for orderly leadership succession. The meme recirculated in other forms, however, including a video pairing the original audio with a static generated image of the scenario it described. Many of the comments heaped praise on the analogy and its author, while others analyzed the tortoise’s predicament, possible solutions, and the tortoise’s longevity and potential heirs or successors:

信任: When rank exceeds virtue, calamity must follow.

U夹克星: Those born under a bad star spread devastation in their wake.

清半夏: Even high-voltage electricity won’t kill it?

岁月无声: It couldn’t normally have got up there. It must have struck a deal with the Immortals [Party elders]. The pandemic makes this very clear. [Here, "pandemic" 疫情 yìqíng is referred to by its pinyin initials, "yq," to avoid scans for sensitive keywords]

美丽传说: Would it survive the fall?

于 腾跃: Can we swap it for another one?

prince: It couldn’t get up there itself;
It must have been lifted.
Now it’s up there, unsure what to do,
And starts blindly flailing.

穹隆山人: If it wanted to get down, it’d find a way.

静水深流（敬畏金融）: The tortoise is yelling, "We’re out in front, way out in front!"

东风5c: Grind its bones and scatter the ashes.

🥷✱: Could it lay an egg up there?

荒原: It’s also possible that some other tortoises put it up there.

老酒坊: It’s not that it can’t get down, it just doesn’t want to. 😂

.: Do turtles use Douyin?

小阮: Turtles can live to 100. A scary prospect.

热心市民 李先生: But surely it chose to go up there?

芮昌盛玖十三: Every utility pole has one.

云朵: It’ll wear itself out eventually, nod off against the high-voltage line, and get burned to a crisp.

润锋饸饹面: It’s counting on Western medicine to save it, pathetic.

點石成金: Another name for a tortoise [乌龟 wūguī] is wangba. [王八 wángbā, used in several vivid Chinese insults]

遼寧號: It won’t fall on its own, but it’s pretty exposed up on that perch, someone will knock it down eventually.

沐沐: Tortoises live a long time.

用户 8879442378435: Its support base of second- and third-generation tortoises put it up there.

浮城: Someone put it up there, so someone has to take it down.

乘风的沙: Once the weather clears, it’ll topple.

一鸣..: False idol 🤣🤣

杭州翻新改色王师傅: When you outclimb your ability, the fall will be hard, just wait and see. [Chinese]

Some comments, translated here without endorsement, made sarcastic reference to recent precedent in Venezuela and Iran:

风尘: We need a targeted U.S. strike to eliminate it.

一身反骨: You know why 🔫s are banned? If we had 🔫s we could shoot it down.

广州鲸咚电器: If you don’t have the right tool to hand, all you can do is count on the folks from the next village to help out.

用心珍惜: Only a B2 can fix this 2B [idiot]!

你猜: Only a bald eagle can get it down 😁

大肉丸子君: What do you mean, can’t get down? A targeted strike would do it 😮

星汉灿烂若出其里: A 🦅 could grab it and drop it from high altitude, smashing its shell to bits.

余生长假: A drone could sort it out 🥹🥹🥹

铝单板，铝方通厂家: An F35 could get it down. [Chinese]

Another Douyin video showed a pig in a similar pole-top predicament. A caption reads: "Who is it? How did it get up there? How is it still clinging on up there?" According to an unconfirmed claim on X, the person who originally posted it was detained for 15 days and ordered to delete it.

Chinese children, dressed in retro Red Army uniforms, at a celebration in Vladivostok prior to May 9 “Victory Day.”

Vladivostok, still referred to parenthetically on Chinese maps by the older name 海参崴 (Hǎishēncǎi), was once part of vast swaths of Outer Manchuria ceded by the Qing Dynasty to Tsarist Russia in the 1858 Treaty of Tianjin and the 1860 Convention of Peking. Following that transfer of territory, ethnic Chinese residents of the area suffered persecution that persisted even into the Soviet period. In the “Great Purge” of 1937-1938, for example, as many as 10,000 ethnic Chinese fled, disappeared, were sent to the gulag, died of overwork, or were executed. In 2009 and 2010, a highway construction project in Vladivostok unearthed a mass grave containing the historical remains of numerous Chinese who had been executed.

Many Chinese bloggers and commenters argued that in this context, it was deeply offensive to allow Chinese schoolchildren to be used as “props” in a Russian military parade in Vladivostok. Some critics described the spectacle as “dancing on their ancestors’ graves” and “forgetting where they came from.” As one widely circulated analogy phrased it: “It’s like if someone broke into your ancestral home, confiscated the house, and banished your ancestors, but generations later you decide to foot the bill to send your kids to the marauders’ commemoration.”

After a report by Xinhua’s Russian-language service confirmed that "young people from Yiwu, Zhejiang province" were among the participants, Chinese online sleuths pieced together clues to identify Maple Leaf School in Yiwu, Zhejiang province, as the likely organizer. In a now-deleted article, WeChat blogger Nande Jun wrote, “If this decision was made by a principal or leader, I would like to ask: Is that motto inscribed on your school wall—‘Never Forget Our National Humiliation’—just there for decoration?” In another deleted piece, former journalist Huang Zhijie, via his Wechat account Youyou Luming, expanded on the theme of wounded national dignity: “The previous generation was already humiliated, and now we’re sending the next generation over there to be humiliated too?” At the WeChat account 大江报馆 (Dàjiāng bàoguǎn, “The Great River [Yangtze] Gazette”), Gui Hong wrote a scathing takedown of using little kids to propagate a narrative of uninterrupted Sino-Russian friendship: “This bunch of six- and seven-year-olds, forced by grownups into military uniforms and sweating as they marched in formation, probably couldn’t even tell you when the ‘Great Patriotic War’ happened. But still, the little tykes were conscripted to serve as a ‘diplomatic image filters’ and ‘hostages for peace.’”

Even state-media outlet People’s Daily spoke out against the children’s participation in the parade. The People’s Daily “Safe Campus” section published an article that posed the question: “Who Are Chinese Children Cheering for on the Streets of Vladivostok?” Almost as soon as the piece was published, however, it was deleted by the outlet, with no explanation given. CDT has archived several WeChat posts, all of which were later censored, about the People’s Daily piece and its deletion. Blogger Mu Bai mentioned the People’s Daily piece in connection with two of his posts, critical of having Chinese students join in the parade, that were deleted after he became the target of a “complaint campaign” by a group of administrators and parents from the Maple Leaf School. Blogger Xu Peng, on his History Rhymes WeChat account, discussed the People’s Daily deletion and the heavy online censorship of the Vladivostok parade scandal. He also cautioned parents to think carefully before sending their kids on these sorts of propaganda trips, lest it tank their children’s future plans to study abroad in democratic countries.

In a slightly different take that was also scrubbed by platform censors, WeChat account He Liuwei argued against the practice of using schoolchildren to greet and offer flowers to visiting political leaders, including Donald Trump. “The spectacle of minors being trotted out to ‘adorn the lapels’ of political figures turns my stomach, and that reaction didn’t start with Trump,” wrote the author. “When I was a child I thought it odd, but by middle school (this was during the Cultural Revolution), I found it nauseating. Even back then, I told myself that if I ever had a child, I would never allow her to be selected for that ‘honor.’"

Many of the Vladivostok-themed deleted pieces we archived in May discussed double standards regarding former Chinese territories now occupied by Russia, and those occupied by Japan or other nations with whom the PRC has a frostier diplomatic relationship. Among the themes emphasized by online commentators were historical memory, historical nihilism, patriotism, the “national humiliations” of the past, and the elision of certain historical enmities to better align with the Party line on Sino-Russian “friendship with no limits.”

“When First-Graders Set Foot in the ‘Ruler of the East,’” a deleted long-form article from WeChat account 新观察笔记 (Xīnguānchá bǐjì, “Journal of New Observations”), references the history of Vladivostok and the colonial connotations of the name, which the author explains means “Lord of the East” or “Ruler of the East.” The author quotes this analogy: “It’s like someone telling you to your face, ‘Back then, I stole your house and changed the street address to MY HOUSE,’ and you nod and say, ‘That’s a nice name. It’s got a real sense of historical significance.” A portion of the article is translated below:

Now imagine the opposite scenario. What if there were a city in China named after one of the colonial-era Great Powers? Or what if one of the great powers of today were home to a city named "Vanquish Japan," and they invited Japanese elementary school students to attend a military parade dressed in old Japanese Imperial Army uniforms? Just imagine the public reaction—you can be certain it would be very different from the kid-glove treatment we give Russia.

[…] Today, 160 years after the fact, [unequal] treaties can go unmentioned, historical enmities can be set aside, and it’s fine to say that we should focus on the future. But standing in the middle of a city whose name means “Ruler of the East,” listening to declarations like "Our heroes fought for your children!" feels a bit like this: several generations after your family was dispossessed of their ancestral home, the descendants of the occupiers invite your kids into their yard and dress them up in old military uniforms to help celebrate their historical "victory." Call it what you will—friendship, exchange, or internationalism—but in this case, language obscures more than it reveals.

[…] It’s a truism that diplomacy requires pragmatism. International politics isn’t an ethics class, and realpolitik will always trump sentimental considerations. In the current geopolitical landscape, the strategic value of close Sino-Russian relations and coordination is self-evident, no one would deny that.

But being pragmatic doesn’t mean being craven.

[…] The term "double standard" couldn’t be more apt here. Ponder this simple question: If a Western nation were still holding military parades in a city ceded from China, and inviting Chinese children to attend and help commemorate a "just war" totally unrelated to that city’s cession, how do you think the Chinese public would react?

I don’t think I need to spell it out; you know as well as I do what the reaction would be. On some historical questions, our reaction is knee-jerk, a conditioned response. But when it comes to Russia, there are suddenly all sorts of justifications: “it was understandable,” or “grounded in practical interests,” or “it’s time to turn the page on that history.” That’s not diplomatic caution, it’s a double standard. These two very different reaction systems operate in parallel and no one thinks it strange, but it is our "dual-SIM" mentality that gives rise to such absurdities. [Chinese]

Another censored article referencing double standards in historical memory (and strongly condemning past Russian depredations) comes from WeChat blogger Mu Bai: “To the Organizers Who Sent Elementary School Students to Vladivostok’s Victory Day Celebration—Have You No Shame?” A brief excerpt:

We often call for others to “remember history” and “not let our national humiliation be forgotten,” but the reality is that not many young people, it seems, remember the evil country that did the most harm to China.

As such, I would like to ask: Which country occupied and partitioned the most Chinese territory, slaughtered the most Chinese people, and caused Outer Mongolia to split off from China? Which country was constantly stirring up trouble and harassing the People’s Republic of China during its most challenging early years? Which country used nuclear coercion against our nascent, struggling nation?

How many of this generation know that Lake Baikal, the world’s largest freshwater lake by volume, is the place where Su Wu once herded sheep, a story you studied in school? It is Russian territory now.

If these things are not remembered, history becomes meaningless. [Chinese]

Nor is this the first time that the topic of historical memory about Vladivostok has encountered censorship on the Chinese internet. In a deleted post from May of 2024, WeChat account Sichuan River Tales featured a screenshot of a poster from a Chinese travel agency advertising a package tour to that city, and asked: “Should We Really Be Flagrantly Promoting Tours to View the Military Parade in Vladivostok?" A portion of that post is translated below:

In light of this history, some have questioned whether it is appropriate to travel to Vladivostok to attend the [May 9 Victory Day] military parade. They point out that when two young Chinese women danced in the street wearing Japanese kimonos, they were met with public outrage, whereas there are now tourism posters exhorting Chinese people to travel abroad to experience a foreign military spectacle on what was originally Chinese territory. This contrast is difficult to reconcile.

A photo circulating online shows several Chinese students displaying a Chinese flag atop Mount Fuji, an act that resonated with many in China. Therefore, some feel that Chinese tourists visiting Vladivostok should also display Chinese flags to express their love for the motherland, and that such courage would be commendable. [Chinese]

A travel company poster from two years ago, promoting a four-day tour to view Vladivostok’s May 9 Victory Day Parade, features ranks of smiling, blue-uniformed, rifle-toting soldiers.

Lastly, a now-deleted article from WeChat account Atypical Buddhist, “Someone Please Save Those Chinese Elementary School Students in Vladivostok,” discusses the history of Vladivostok, how it became Russian territory, the persecution of ethnic Chinese that followed, and the dangers of historical nihilism and “selective editing” of history. The author saves their strongest criticism for those who would leverage Chinese schoolchildren as political pawns and allow their minds to be warped by militaristic displays celebrating a one-sided view of history. The piece ends with a paraphrase of the famous last line (“Save the children …”) of Lu Xun’s 1918 short story “Diary of a Madman”:

We’re always saying we ought to remember history, and that we shouldn’t fall into historical nihilism, and that forgetting history is tantamount to treason. So when we send our schoolchildren to be used as backdrop scenery at a site of our national humiliation, what does that do to their impressionable young minds? Does it imbue them with a sense of “co-prosperity,” of shared glory?

Children are taught to remember some of the humiliations inflicted on their ancestors, but to forget others. Such selective editing of historical memory is a kind of sin. One moment we’re told to bury the hatchet, the next we’re told to never forget the humiliations our nation suffered. This back and forth “sit-up approach” to history leaves people deeply confused.

[…] But children lack this capacity [to judge for themselves how to reconcile history with the present moment]. Ritual works by leveraging atmosphere, symbols, and collective spaces to subtly shape our emotions and memories. Uniforms and orderly ranks of marchers serve to further immerse us in the “monumental” occasion, the environment exerting a subconscious influence and obviating our need to think. Children understand none of this, yet it pulls them into a visceral state of reverence and solemnity that allows certain objects and images to be imprinted onto their minds. In these children’s memories, Vladivostok will forever be associated with victory and friendship, erecting a psychological barrier against the humiliations of the past.

[…] It is the responsibility of educators to spare children from having to perform “historical sit-ups,” to ensure they have sufficient access to information, and that they are able to think independently. But instead, they’ve sent our kids to Vladivostok to take part in a military revue, to serve as props, and to have others’ ideas implanted in their subconscious. Do we really want them to inherit the “Soviet fetish” of their grandparents’ generation? Someone, please … save the children. [Chinese]

Below is a list of key topics and some related deleted articles from CDT’s summary of deleted content for April 2026. Between April 1-30, CDT Chinese added 28 new articles, primarily from WeChat, to the archive. (Note that the dates refer to when an article was published on the CDT website, not when it was deleted from Chinese social-media platforms.) Topics targeted for deletion in April included:

• Online pushback to MSS claims that “hostile foreign forces” are paying Chinese online influencers to incite slackerism (“lying down”) among Chinese youth
• The trial and guilty plea of Xu Jiayin, founder of collapsed property developer Evergrande
• The erosion of campus media, epitomized by the purging of the archives of Beijing Normal University’s long-running journal “Capital Scholar”
• A woman in Shenzhen was strip-searched and detained for five days by police after she complained about a man smoking at a bus stop
• Feminist blogger March vulcanus announces WeChat account closure
• A man reportedly attacked passersby with a knife in Shenyang, Liaoning province, killing as many as six people and injuring a dozen others, but there was no official statement issued
• Beijing’s population of people aged 20-29 has declined from 4 million to just over 2 million in the last decade

Online pushback to MSS claims that “hostile foreign forces” are paying Chinese online influencers to incite slackerism (“lying down”) among Chinese youth

In late April, the Chinese Ministry of State Security (MSS) published an article accusing unnamed “foreign organizations” of trying to brainwash Chinese youth into “lying flat” (also “lying down” or “slacking off”), a meme-fueled lifestyle trend that eschews the rat race for a simpler, slower-paced, less ambitious life. The piece was met with intense backlash online, as comments sections on Weibo, WeChat, Douyin, Kuaishou, Zhihu filled with responses challenging the framing and factuality of the MSS article, and pointing out that the slackerist movement is being driven by domestic socioeconomic forces such as high unemployment, unrelenting competition, excessive overtime and “996” schedules, weak labor-law enforcement, and declining social mobility.

CDT Chinese editors archived several deleted articles on the topic, and noted that many online comments were censored, and that Weibo appeared to have banned the hashtag #Lying Flat once again. CDT also documented the closure of WeChat account 野柚的显微镜 (yě yòu de xiǎnwēijìng, "wild pomelo microscope") after it published an article criticizing the MSS for “reopening the wound” of the death of educational influencer Zhang Xuefeng. One Zhihu comment, later deleted, made this point: “It’s not ‘lying flat,’ it’s ‘being flattened.’ The phrase ‘lying flat’ is just a modern incarnation of ‘let them eat cake.’ I’m allowed to call myself a slacker if I want, because it’s an outward expression of my optimistic attitude, but when state media or commercial media accuse young people of slacking off, it’s an insult.”

A deleted article from Peng Yuanwen, a veteran journalist who has reported extensively on rural issues and farmers’ pensions, offered a different perspective by asking “why even 70-year-old rural residents can’t afford to slack off.” Peng notes that many impoverished older migrant workers can’t afford to retire, yet face age-related hiring discrimination, prompting some to dye their hair to look younger or use forged documents to conceal their age. He discusses a proposal that would allow migrant laborers to continue working after the current cut-off age of 60, and argues that while it is a step in the right direction, raising rural pensions across the board would be more helpful. Another deleted piece, from WeChat account Youthology, cites statistics that bear out widespread age discrimination against workers over the age of 35, and the double burden of gender and age discrimination that affects women.

The trial and guilty plea of Xu Jiayin, founder of collapsed property developer Evergrande

In a trial in Shenzhen in mid-April, Xu Jiayin (Hui Ka Yan, in Cantonese), the founder of collapsed real-estate conglomerate China Evergrande Group, pleaded guilty to eight charges including the misuse of funds, fraudulent fundraising, and illegally taking public deposits. Xu, whose verdict and sentencing will take place at a later date, could face life imprisonment.

Intense public interest in the trial led to a resurgence of social media content about the financial woes, unfinished projects, and questionable business practices of the real-estate sector in China. CDT Chinese editors archived four deleted posts on the topic: two were about property developer and SOHO founder Pan Shiyi, now based in New York, who broke several years of social media silence to post some thoughts on the “Ponzi scheme” nature of the Chinese property market. The other two censored pieces voiced strong suspicions that Xu Jiayin and Evergrande were aided and abetted by many other powerful interests, but that this will be swept under the rug. “Where Did Evergrande’s 2.4 Trillion Yuan Go?” from WeChat account 装看见 (Zhuāng kànjiàn, "Pretending to see") argues that Evergrande’s colossal debt of 2.4 trillion yuan didn’t just materialize overnight, and dissects the era that made such excess possible.

In another now-deleted article, “Xu Jiayin Pleads Guilty, but Did He Really Manage To Dig That 2.4 Trillion Yuan Pit All by Himself?” current-affairs commentator Xu Peng highlights the stark contrast between a small group of politically well-connected individuals who struck it rich during China’s property-development heyday, and the millions of ordinary citizens who accumulated unprecedented levels of mortgage debt, or even lost their life savings due to unfinished housing projects, cratering real-estate prices, and other knock-on effects of the Evergrande collapse:

The charges against Xu—illegally taking public deposits, fraudulent fundraising, illegal lending, illegal use of funds, fraudulent issuance of securities, violations regarding the disclosure of pertinent information, embezzlement, and corporate bribery—are primarily economic crimes, which frankly are unlikely to result in a death sentence. At most, he might be sentenced to life in prison.

[…] But if you dig a little deeper, you will find that this matter is far from simple.

An individual can steer the direction of a company, but no single person could possibly pile up 2.4 trillion yuan ($350 billion U.S.) in debt all by himself.

Lurking behind the scenes are too many uncomfortable truths that can never be fully examined.

Perhaps many years from now, when people look back on this chapter, they will call it “the most insane period in Chinese real-estate history.” [Source]

The erosion of campus media, epitomized by the purging of the online archives of “Capital Scholar,” Beijing Normal University’s long-running student media outlet

In April, Beijing Normal University student media outlet 京师学人 (Jīngshī Xuérén, "Capital Scholar") had its WeChat public account deregistered and its archive of over 600 articles purged. It was but the latest blow in a decade-long erosion of campus media due to numerous political and commercial pressures, the decline of journalism as a profession, the rise of short video and algorithmic content recommendations, and changes to campus life that were accelerated by the COVID-19 pandemic.

CDT English has published a two-part translation of an essay about the history of “Capital Scholar” and what it reveals about campus journalism as a whole. “The Decade-long Death of a Campus Media Outlet,” from WeChat public account "Swimming Across by Moonlight," describes 2016-2018 as the heyday of campus reporting, 2019-2022 as a period of tightening controls, 2023-2025 as “suffocation,” and 2026 as “cancellation.” A portion of CDT’s Part One translation is excerpted below:

Space always disappears from the edges inward.

In 2020, a certain well-known disaster [the start of the COVID pandemic] accelerated this process. The campus installed a system of turnstiles, and entry and exit became subject to approval. The Beijing Municipal Education Commission advanced a policy of "semi-closed campuses" for colleges and universities, with "no leaving campus unless necessary," and no one from off-campus was allowed to enter. Many campuses adopted strict entrance-control measures, requiring students and faculty to show ID to enter or exit, and it became almost impossible to conduct newsgathering off-campus.

Newsgathering grew increasingly difficult for that campus outlet. Outsiders couldn’t come onto the campus, and moving from one campus to another required prior approval. Their office space was repurposed, and regular meetings drifted from place to place like an unmoored boat. The poems, quotes, and headlines of celebrated articles that had adorned the walls disappeared under a new coat of paint.

As physical spaces were being sealed off, layer by layer, the boundaries of speech were silently closing in as well. Pitch approval and interviews were increasingly hard to obtain, and one after another, the corners in which raising questions had once been possible disappeared. [Source]

A woman in Shenzhen was strip-searched and detained for five days by police after she complained about a man smoking at a bus stop

In April, CDT editors archived at least three censored articles about an incident in Shenzhen in which police retaliated against a woman who complained about a man smoking at a bus stop. After the woman asked the man to stop smoking, the conflict escalated into an argument, the woman extinguished the man’s cigarette by flinging a beverage at it, and the man responded by picking up the bottle of liquid and throwing it in her face. Both parties contacted the police, and the woman was brought into the police station, made to change clothes, subjected to a strip search, and berated by officers who seemed sympathetic to the smoker and intent on humiliating the complainant. The woman, a blogger, later published a detailed account of the incident online, sparking debate about police misconduct, the rights of non-smokers, Shenzhen’s new anti-smoking regulations, and even the role of China’s tobacco monopoly and the tobacco tax.

The first archived post, from WeChat account La Jeunesse, is titled “Shenzhen, Please Don’t Condone This Intimidation of 1.1 Billion Non-smokers.” The author is highly critical of the illegal strip-search conducted by the police, and argues that Shenzhen’s new regulations against smoking in certain public areas (which just went into effect last month) cover bus stops and deserve to be vigorously enforced, and that concerned citizens have a role in supervising this enforcement.

The second archived piece is a long article from WeChat account A Cup of Starlight, No Sugar, which takes the police to task for violating the law and advises readers on how to defend their rights in such a situation. The author mentions that in addition to being strip-searched, the woman was held in administrative detention for five days—during which time she was constantly monitored, even while using the restroom—and coerced into signing a settlement agreement, whereas the man received no punishment at all. Posing the question, “Is the cost of upholding justice really so high?” the author writes:

When law-abiding citizens face onerous consequences such as detention and personal humiliation when they attempt to dissuade others from engaging in illegal or uncivilized behavior, it seriously undermines their sense of justice and social responsibility. In the future, who will be willing to take the initiative to stop uncivilized behavior and maintain public order?

Law enforcement officers’ abuse of power and disregard for legal provisions not only damages public trust in law enforcement, but also undermines the very authority of the law, thus eroding the public’s faith that they live in a society governed by the rule of law. [Chinese]

The incident also drew attention to the health effects of smoking and second-hand smoke, to the privileged position of the state tobacco monopoly, and to tobacco taxes and what they actually fund. A now-deleted article from journalist Peng Yuanwen (whose latest WeChat account also appears to have been suspended, possibly as a result of publishing this article) argues that the state doesn’t really have an incentive to crack down on smoking, because tobacco tax revenues are so lucrative and needed to fund the national government pension system. Peng refutes the often-used argument that “China’s tobacco tax funds our national defense”—because China’s state tobacco monopoly contributes 1.54 trillion yuan (nearly $227 billion U.S.) to the treasury each year, close to the amount of China’s national defense budget—by pointing out that this is also the amount the government spends annually on pensions for public-sector employees (1.58 trillion yuan in 2024). Peng notes that a draft national smoking-control regulation explicitly banning smoking at outdoor public-transit stops was submitted for review in November 2014 but is still pending, over eleven years later. This regulatory paralysis is offered as the deeper reason public opinion sided so strongly with the woman who threw her drink at a man smoking at a Shenzhen bus stop: people are fed up with the government’s failure to act, and when official power does nothing, the public sympathizes with individuals taking matters into their own hands. The piece closes on a humorous note: the next time a smoker claims his habit contributes to national defense, the author writes, tell him his tobacco taxes are actually subsidizing the generous pensions of government employees, while his own parents in the countryside are living on paltry rural pensions of less than 200 yuan ($30) a month. The tone of Peng’s and other censored articles were notably different from coverage in Chinese state media: a March 26 piece in China Daily featured the rather misleading headline, “Smoking dispute resolved amicably in Shenzhen.”

Feminist blogger March vulcanus announces WeChat account closure

Feminist blogger 三月vulcanus (Sānyuè vulcanus, "March vulcanus") announced that she would abandon her current WeChat account 三月云 (Sānyuè yún, "March Cloud") after a series of temporary suspensions. A new account, 三月云烟 (Sānyuè yúnyān, "March Clouds and Smoke") has been set up, but remains inactive apart from a single-line greeting. The account’s reincarnation comes in the context of sustained pressure on online feminist voices, including a mass ban on the eve of this year’s March 8 International Women’s Day.

CDT published a full translation of March vulcanus’ now-censored farewell letter, a portion of which is excerpted below:

I received another seven-day suspension from March 21 to March 28. During that time, not only was I unable to post or reply, but it was impossible to follow me, and my account didn’t even appear in search results.

What’s even more ridiculous is that, if I paste a screenshot of the platform ban notice in here, it won’t let me publish this post either.

At the same time, they carried out massive and unwarranted deletion and suppression of my posts. I’ve published 147 in total, but how many can you see on my main page? Only 36.

There’s not even a fraction left.

[…] What does the future hold? How will I keep on writing my posts? How will I keep sharing them? I’m still not sure if there’ll come a day when I’m back to full strength, and I can’t make any promises. But in this moment, I also realize: women will always find a way. [Source]

A man reportedly attacked passersby with a knife in Shenyang, Liaoning province, killing as many as six people and injuring a dozen others, but there was no official statement issued

There was heavy online censorship of reports, videos, and comments about an April 4 stabbing spree in a busy commercial district in Shenyang, Liaoning province that may have killed between four to six people and injured a dozen others. No official statement was issued, but the attack was reported on by Hong Kong, Japanese, and some other overseas media. People who claim to have witnessed the attack said it seemed to be indiscriminate, and reported seeing dead and injured people lying on the ground. Some reports said the killer jumped from a building, while others said he may have been arrested by police. Given the lack of an official statement or local media reporting on the attack, it is impossible to say how many were killed and injured, what happened to the perpetrator, or what may have motivated him.

CDT Chinese editors archived one very short deleted article from WeChat account Eggbot about the Shenyang attack, and observed online censorship of sensitive word pairs combining the term “indiscriminate attack” with references to the locations of recent reported attacks in Shenyang, Beijing, Fangshan, and Chengdu, respectively.

There continues to be frequent online censorship of reports and debate about indiscriminate “revenge on society” attacks, which are sometimes referred to in Chinese as “Xianzhong attacks,” after 17th-century rebel Zhang Xianzhong, who led a ferocious peasant rebellion during the Ming-Qing transition period. In 2021, CDT flagged “Xianzhong” as one of the most censored words of the year; in 2024, CDT editors chose the victims of such indiscriminate attacks as our “People of the Year.” In October of 2025, there was public outcry after authorities in Shiyan, Hubei province delayed releasing a statement about a “Xianzhong” attack in which a man drove his car into a crowd of schoolchildren and parents, injuring about two dozen, some seriously. Local and national media declined to report on the attack, and the Shiyan Evening News attempted to deflect responsibility by claiming “Our hands are tied, too.” This drew a flood of angry responses from the online public, one of whom retorted: “‘Our hands are tied, too.’ Oh, isn’t that nice! Then what’s the point of you?”

Beijing’s population of people of young people from ages 20-29 has fallen from 4 million to just over 2 million in the last decade

One of the last censored articles to be added to the CDT archive in April was a piece from WeChat account Fuchengmen Courtyard No. 6, titled “Beijing’s Young Population Falls by Half in Ten Years: Why Is This City Unable to Retain Young People?” Commenting on the dramatic decline of Beijing’s young adult population from roughly 4.6 million in 2015 to under 2.5 million in 2024, the author argues that Beijing has lost its competitive edge in attracting young talent primarily due to a slowdown in tech startup activity and private sector growth, combined with prohibitively high housing costs that put home ownership out of reach for the capital’s young workers. Some of the blame also falls on Beijing’s notoriously rigid household registration (hukou) system, which grants only about 6,000 talent-track hukou slots annually (compared to Shanghai’s roughly 300,000), thus incentivizing talented young professionals to relocate to more welcoming cities such as Shenzhen, Hangzhou, or Chengdu. If these trends continue, the author warns, Beijing’s young population could fall below one million by 2030, threatening the city’s economic primacy. The piece calls for loosening hukou restrictions for private-sector workers and recalibrating the city’s governance approach to be more welcoming to young people.

In China, the drumbeat of nationalistic sentiment has intensified with time. Negative push alerts about Japan from news outlets and social media filled my smartphone screen as relations became more tense. In a museum playroom, a preschool aged child lectured my children and me about how terrible Japan was.

It wasn’t only directed at Japanese. The space for connecting with certain international cultures has shrunk significantly, even when it comes to something relatively innocuous as embracing Western cultural exports.

[…] China has also built a high-tech propaganda machine, filled with messages describing the outside world as dangerous, including the U.S. I noticed that Chinese news apps were often fast to send news alerts about killings or plane crashes, so long as they happened overseas. When bad things happened in China, the news apps were often mum.

[…] As a journalist, I felt the wariness building up. I covered science and technology, and over the years, various topics started to fall under the national security umbrella, including semiconductors and data. Some Chinese people who used to share their perspectives cut off contact with me. When China-Japan ties worsened, some Chinese people I was speaking with asked me to stop reaching out, citing worsening relations, or abruptly ceased communication. Increasingly, in interviews with Chinese companies with U.S. footprint, executives were doing gymnastics to avoid discussing any geopolitical topics. [Source]

The Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s Allyson Horn reported in March on the growing difficulty of speaking on the record with delegates at the National People’s Congress.

CDT has translated numerous examples of Chinese online commentary on official warnings about the dangers of other countries (and even their websites), versus China’s supposed safety. Yanzhong Huang commented in a New York Times op-ed this week that these narratives are contributing to a "dangerous overconfidence":

Traveling across China this spring, I am hearing this narrative everywhere. After one particularly gruesome variation on the “kill line” meme made the rounds recently, my family members in China said they feared for the safety of our relatives in the United States. I hear about students who once dreamed of studying in America now enrolling elsewhere, worried about U.S. crime and poor job prospects.

[…] This belief is partly a defense mechanism to help Chinese people cope with their own problems: a slowing economy, a collapsing property market, high unemployment and a widespread sense of uncertainty. A Beijing taxi driver captured this uneasy mix of anxiety and swagger last month. After venting to me about the problems China’s people face, he added, “At least we have a minimum safety net here. Better than falling below the kill line in America.”

Insular, nationalist voices are amplified more than ever. Zhang Weiwei, a university professor who served as Deng Xiaoping’s interpreter and has millions of online followers, absurdly claimed in a viral video in January that China is the only country in the world whose people eat well. [Source]

Kubota’s departure is just the latest of many, as Eliot Chen reported at The Wire China this week:

Six years after a U.S.-China tit-for-tat cycle of journalist expulsions decimated the foreign correspondent corp in China, the situation remains dire. Through attrition and at least one expulsion, U.S. bureaus are losing reporters, and Beijing has not approved their replacements.

The result is that, even as the leaders of the world’s two largest economies meet next week, it has become harder than ever to get a full picture of what is happening in China — a problem that shows no signs of abating.

“The U.S. has never had so few foreign correspondents in China at any period since diplomatic relations were normalized in the 1970s as now,” says Ian Johnson, a longtime China reporter who was expelled in 2020. “Two correspondents among the big three newspapers [the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post] is a completely outrageous situation.”

[…] “I was almost going to put out a piece about how China is winning the Iran war, but then I went to Guangdong and learned just how much people were really struggling,” [one] correspondent says, adding they saw how manufacturers there were struggling with higher costs. “Telling that story… that’s what journalists with visas can do. That’s what’s important.” [Source]

Hong Kong’s former status as a relative sanctuary has continued to erode, meanwhile. Reporters Without Borders’ World Press Freedom Index last week ranked Hong Kong and China respectively 140th and 178th out of 180 countries and territories, noting that Hong Kong has dropped 122 places over the 25 years of the Index’s history. Last month, the organization highlighted the detention and deportation from Hong Kong last November of French journalist Antoine Vedeilhe, "at least the thirteenth journalist to have been targeted by the territory’s authorities since the National Security Law was enacted in 2020."

The post below is the second half of journalist Peng Yuanwen’s account of a recent livestream conversation with rural public-benefit activist Zhou Jian. Peng, a regular presence in CDT’s 404 Deleted Content Archive, recently received the award for best commentary in the grassroots Journalists Home News Prize founded by recently detained investigative reporter Liu Hu. The jury cited more than 30 of Peng’s pieces on rural pensions, crediting them for some of the issue’s currently high public profile. Zhou began working in rural poverty alleviation and development after the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake, and co-founded the Beijing Gan’en Philanthropic Foundation in 2012. He discussed his work in a 2021 essay for Made in China Journal. In their recent conversation, Zhou set out to answer what Peng described as his one core question: "How far apart, really, is rural reality from city-dwellers’ impressions?" The first half, published previously, challenged the purported benefits of rural land ownership and self-sufficiency, as well as the notion that life is much cheaper in the countryside. The second, translated below, discusses the limits of traditional frugality and the dibao social safety net. It investigates the political and social forces obstructing communication between countryside and city, and explains how Zhou, Peng and others are working to restore it.

5. Do elderly rural residents not spend much because they’re frugal?

This is another of urbanites’ common arguments still sometimes used by “Three Rural Issues” experts to argue against the necessity of increasing pensions: elderly rural folk are used to frugality and don’t like to spend money, having escaped infection by the “virus of consumerism.” If you give them money, they’ll just hoard it, so it won’t meaningfully stimulate domestic demand.

Uncle Zhou’s answer to this argument hits the nail on the head: “They have no disposable income, they can’t even stay afloat, how can you expect them to spend on consumption?”

He went on to lay out an extremely simple argument: If you give an elderly villager 200 yuan [about $30 U.S.], of course he’ll save it … because he might need 500 yuan saved to cover a single stay at the county hospital. Give him 2000 yuan, then he’ll dare to spend a bit. It’s not that rural folk aren’t consumers by nature: it’s that they’re given too little, only enough to save for emergencies, nowhere near enough to spend freely.

Elderly rural people aren’t at all averse to spending or improving their own lives. Uncle Zhou asked many older people how often they eat meat. The answer was that they usually don’t: eating meat is reserved for weddings and funerals, when they can grab a couple of extra bites at the banquet. This isn’t a matter of simple living; it’s about suppressing desires in response to absolute poverty.

On the issue of daily expenses, Uncle Zhou says much the same as Zhao Yushun. First are medical insurance premiums, which now amount to 400-500 yuan [about $60-75] per year, and are mandatory. Second comes daily medication for chronic health conditions like high blood pressure or diabetes. These require long-term treatment but, depending on the household’s financial situation, those who can’t afford it may have no choice but to go without. Third are social obligations such as weddings and funerals. These are “basic operating costs” in village society, and for many elderly rural folks they’re also rare chances to experience something better.

These expenses combined far exceed the basic [monthly] pension allowance of 163 yuan [about $24].

6. "It’s fine, they’ve got dibao." But there are catches.

City-dwellers have yet another argument in reserve: they have dibao in the countryside—if they can’t make ends meet, they can apply for that.

Uncle Zhou says this is a huge misconception. Many urbanites hear that dibao in Beijing is over a thousand yuan, and in Shanghai it’s 1500 [about $220], and assume that the same level applies nationwide. In fact, in most regions dibao is capped at 500 or 600 yuan [about $75-90], and the criteria for eligibility are completely absurd.

First, your savings cannot exceed a certain amount. In some regions that limit is as low as 5,000 yuan [about $735], and if you have more than that you don’t qualify. Next, children’s earnings and property can be assessed as the parents’ “income”: if they have a son living in the city who bought a car to drive for [Uber-equivalent] Didi, the parents can’t get dibao, because "the household owns a car."

Here we have a logical paradox with Chinese characteristics: when the children pay taxes, they can deduct a certain amount, up to a cap, per person for the support of elderly parents, but when the parents receive benefits, their children’s total assets are factored in. You’re an individual until it’s time to share the financial burden: then you’re part of a family.

More importantly, we all know that city-based children aren’t necessarily able to support rural parents. How much of a monthly 10,000-yuan paycheck [about $1,470] will be left after urban mortgage payments and childcare? But the system doesn’t care: it just converts this straight into a couple of thousand yuan a month of "invisible income" for the elders, and excludes them from dibao as a result.

Many countries don’t run the numbers this way. Take America: even if Elon Musk earns ten billion dollars a year, his mom could get American "dibao" as long as her income was low and she didn’t live with him.

And none of that even takes into account the problem of favoritism in the dibao screening process.

7. Why don’t city-dwellers understand the countryside?

I’ve long wondered why it is that city-dwellers misunderstand the countryside like this. Is it just ignorance, or are they thinking with their backsides instead of their heads—basing their conclusions on where they happen to be sitting?

I think it’s a bit of both, but Uncle Zhou’s response is very direct: "Vested interests. There’s no other way to put it. They don’t know because they don’t want to know. They exist on a more privileged plane, and don’t want to look down."

He cites an example: Every time the topic of educational equity comes up, as soon as there’s talk of dropping Beijing and Shanghai’s special treatment in the college entrance exams, all the Beijing-based experts and scholars calling for educational equity immediately fall silent, because if the walls come down, their own kids might not make the cut. Everyone’s a paragon of justice and ethics until their own interests are at stake.

But, as Uncle Zhou points out, there’s another level to this beneath that of self-interest: the more fundamental problem is the lack of channels for accurate information. The poorer you are, the fewer ways you have to speak out. Elderly villagers lack formal education; they can’t write or make speeches. Their stories don’t make it into the media or broader public consciousness. It’s as if they don’t exist.

What’s even worse is that in today’s “short video” era, the countryside is more "consumed" than "portrayed." What the camera focuses on is the vlogger himself, helping an old person with a gifted bag of rice. It’s the inspirational story of "kind-hearted person changes someone’s life," a staged performance that appeals to urban viewers by making them feel virtuous. Meanwhile, that elderly person still has another 360 days of the year to get through after the camera has stopped rolling.

8. What is public-benefit work? Helping people see one another.

Uncle Zhou’s been doing public-benefit work for a decade, but not in the same way as the vast majority of public-benefit organizations I know.

His organization will install street lamps, but require the local villagers to raise 20% of the funds; they’ll help a village school buy curtains, but insist that the school handle negotiations itself, instead of taking care of everything for them. A lot of people don’t get it: if the recipients are that poor, why make them chip in?

Uncle Zhou explained what I think is a very important point: the fundamental basis of public-benefit work is respect for people. As soon as you involve the local people, they gain ownership of the matter, instead of remaining recipients of charity. That village you pushed to raise 20% may, in the course of that fundraising, reconnect with people who left it many years ago. That elementary school on the Yunnan border got back in touch with former sent-down youth in Shanghai who are now providing them with assistance, letting Uncle Zhou step back.

Sociologist Fei Xiaotong talked about village, school, and clan ties as the three energy meridians of Chinese social relations. Uncle Zhou’s public benefit work essentially follows these three channels to restore lapsed connections, helping people who have left the countryside rediscover the villages that nurtured them—not to pressure them into returning or feeling guilty, just to get them to extend a helping hand to those back home.

"What does our public-benefit work do? It inspires people, and rebuilds them—rebuilds them and their social relationships with others. If no one else is willing to help, why don’t we just band together and support each other?”

9. Atomization is the product of other people’s deliberate intent

Toward the end of the livestream, Uncle Zhou said something that I think was the core of the whole conversation:

"Rural people’s invisibility isn’t because no one else is looking, it’s because people who are suffering are not allowed to be seen—because that would disrupt ‘harmony.’"

In our society today, extremely intractable forces are at work to isolate us from one another. Elderly villagers are on one island, their children working in the cities on another, and every young person who had no choice but to buy at the top of the property market and shoulder a 996 workload to cover the mortgage on another. This atomization didn’t happen by chance, but to a certain extent, by design. Isolated people are powerless to do anything but internalize their suffering.

Uncle Zhou’s work, and my own writing on farmers’ pensions, have essentially the same goal: to make people realize they’re not alone. To make children in the cities realize that they and their parents who stayed in the countryside are one family, the two hardest-pressed generations of our times; to make people who left the countryside realize that they are never truly cut off from their roots, nor should they be. To rebuild a community, however small, from these isolated individuals.

Uncle Zhou does this in the public-benefit field. I do it at my keyboard. Zhao Yushun and Yuan Zhenzhen do it out among the fields. We need more people doing this work.

I’ve always said that those of us children who came from the countryside must speak up for ourselves. Now I want to add a corollary: we must first recognize one another. [Chinese]

Late one night in April 2026, someone posted online: "That campus journal’s Weibo and WeChat accounts both got deregistered."

More than 600 articles spanning 20 years were wiped out with one keystroke. The post got more than 300 comments: "Who’s going to give me back my lost youth?" "That was the first place that made me want to become a journalist." "All that news the students worked so hard at, gone. What will we show new students now?"

From "hotpot" to "deregistered" in ten years. This isn’t just the story of a single campus media outlet; it’s part of a journey that many of us shared.

2016-2018: Hotpot

It’s 2016. We’re in the offices of Xueren, at N University.

The 48-page glossy full-color print edition is fresh from the presses, and still smells of ink. Its opening message is just six characters long: "To enduring insight." That year, WeChat public accounts were still exploding. At an editorial meeting, they decided to turn it into a digital, new-media publication. Z, the editor-in-chief, said to his fellow students, "This place is a hotpot. Anyone who dips themselves in it will carry its flavor away with them."

That year, the Chinese University Media Union published its Campus Media Development Report. Their data showed that more than 80% of campus media outlets had already begun the process of convergence. Traditional formats were contracting, while new media was expanding. This change wasn’t just happening at N University, it was the challenge facing a whole generation of those in campus media.

At pitch meetings, the students would argue over what to cover. Some of them focused on conditions for delivery workers—that piece "Squat, Wait, Ride, Return: The Daily Routines of Two Delivery Drivers" was later picked up by some bigger platforms. Some tracked the fates of retired athletes; some dug through archives looking to unearth the story of why an unpopular field of study got axed; others discussed the problem of inadequate on-campus first-aid facilities.

"No one gave us assignments, there were no KPIs," a former staffer recalled. "If we found something interesting and meaningful, we’d go cover it."

Back then, the campus still had newsstands. According to a survey, more than 80% of students supported having newsstands on campus. But things had already begun to change: some of the campus newsstands had been replaced with snack kiosks or fruit stalls.

In those days, idealism still burned bright. Students still believed in the power of words, and in "striving to capture complex truth in elegant prose." Campus media outlets weren’t just publicity channels, they were more like training grounds for observing the world and recording its details.

Graffiti on the wall of Xueren’s former office. These include the slogan, “To enduring insight”; the comment “turn off all the lights, eternity can’t knock us down”; and the name Jingshi Xueren in large characters with a large red 拆 chāi character in a red circle, signifying imminent demolition

2019-2022: Closure

In 2019, the Shengshiqing Bookstore received an eviction notice.

This more than twenty-year-old academic bookstore had once been one of the most important cultural landmarks in N University’s neighborhood. Scholars and professors alike admired the owner’s tasteful selection. If you told him about your academic focus, he could give you a more detailed reading list than your own academic advisor. Regular customers included professors of film and literature, linguistics scholars, and a film director who’d often come to browse the shelves.

The store officially closed its doors in March 2021. The owner posted a handwritten note on the glass door: "The bookstore may fade, but the memory remains. May culture flourish, and life be peaceful."

Then came the clean-up of the East Gate’s Snack Street. After summer break in 2019, returning students realized that the whole street was sealed off. Next to say farewell was Moxiang [Ink-scent] Bookstore, a used bookstore hidden in a hutong by the North Gate that specialized in literary and historical classics and lasted for nine years before finally closing its doors.

Space always disappears from the edges inward.

In 2020, a certain well-known disaster [the start of the COVID pandemic] accelerated this process. The campus installed a system of turnstiles, and entry and exit became subject to approval. The Beijing Municipal Education Commission advanced a policy of "semi-closed campuses" for colleges and universities, with "no leaving campus unless necessary," and no one from off-campus was allowed to enter. Many campuses adopted strict entrance-control measures, requiring students and faculty to show ID to enter or exit, and it became almost impossible to conduct newsgathering off-campus.

Newsgathering grew increasingly difficult for that campus outlet. Outsiders couldn’t come onto the campus, and moving from one campus to another required prior approval. Their office space was repurposed, and regular meetings drifted from place to place like an unmoored boat. The poems, quotes, and headlines of celebrated articles that had adorned the walls disappeared under a new coat of paint.

As physical spaces were being sealed off, layer by layer, the boundaries of speech were silently closing in as well. Pitch approval and interviews were increasingly hard to obtain, and one after another, the corners in which raising questions had once been possible disappeared.

From the bedside of his dying mother, a former editor-in-chief wrote an article reminiscing about his time at the university. Its title contained the word "Neverland," the home of Peter Pan, a place where you never grow up. He recalled his experience, as editor-in-chief, of having to personally delete a newly published article, then rushing off the campus on his bicycle and sobbing uncontrollably. By then, the changes had already begun.

But at least the account was still there, and its archived articles still online.

You could still dig out an old piece late at night and send it to a friend, saying: "Look! Here’s something I wrote back then."

“We are all part of a ‘manufactured’ generation. Many of the bitter details in the human lives we document are really extreme versions of what we’re all experiencing. The facts and feelings we’ve recorded are all more meaningful with hindsight than we realized at the time. We have limited influence, but if we’re willing to give our all to keep creating and sharing sincere work, this must be the greatest support and honesty we can offer the world. Jingshi Xueren, we look forward to all your contributions.”

2023-2025: Suffocation

2023 brought a structural overhaul. That campus media outlet, previously an independent operation, was folded into the school’s official new media matrix. The WeChat public account was no longer updated, but the archive was still there.

The "Three Reviews, Three Proofs" system also landed heavily at major universities that year. A succession of universities including Shanxi University, Fuzhou University, and the Minzu University of China issued notices requiring that all work units strictly implement "Three Reviews, Three Proofs" on published information, adopt a workflow of "tiered review before publishing," and employ unified management of all campus media based on "one standard, one yardstick, one bottom line" to further standardize newsgathering, editing, and publishing processes. Guizhou Normal University, Hubei Second Normal University, and others issued measures for managing new media outlets on campus, requiring close attention to online public sentiment and prompt reports to work unit leaders and Party committee propaganda departments of any major incidents, urgent information, or information that could prove harmful to the school’s reputation.

At the same time, fundamental shifts were also taking place in the WeChat public accounts ecosystem. The average “open rate” for public account posts in 2016 was around 8%; by 2025, this had fallen to about 1%. Pushing content to subscribers became less effective, algorithmic recommendations carried growing weight, and the relationship between authors and subscribers was steadily being eroded. The impact of short video was even more direct: the average Douyin user was getting through 200 clips a day, and WeChat’s own founder admitted in an internal meeting that short video had bitten a large chunk out of other online products, and would eat into the time spent on longer videos, games, and other online content.

One former staffer recalled this process: "The moment the account was closed, I already felt inwardly that that quirky little organization was dead and gone."

"Quirky" … that’s exactly the right word. It evokes a kind of temperament: not playing by the normal rules, staying curious about the world, and remaining patient in the face of complexity. An increasingly standardized management system had less space for this kind of temperament.

In 2022, the LAKER’S bar outside N University’s West Gate had relocated for the second time. The first time had been because of climbing rent; the second was because of "business restructuring." Its new site was further from the university, and students went there less often. The bar owner said: "Students these days don’t even drink anymore, they just scroll through short videos."

Indeed, short video had already displaced deep reading as the primary means of consuming information. The open rate on that campus media outlet’s posts kept falling. The editorial department talked about a "pivot," but nothing ever came of it.

The demise of campus media wasn’t just about problems within campus media itself. It was the product of combined factors in general public discourse, macro-level policy, and media technology. With ever-tighter review and censorship processes, algorithmic recommendations supplanting subscriber relationships, and short video cutting attention spans to mere seconds, how can an in-depth report with weeks of work behind it compete with a fifteen-second wardrobe-switch video in the flood of information?

At the same time, the appeal of the journalism and communications major itself was waning. Its overall graduate employment rate for 2023 ranked in the bottom quartile of all majors; the proportion of graduates finding jobs in that particular field was 19.42% in 2021, falling to 11.01% by 2025.

The death of campus media is the result of this logic, pushed to its natural conclusion.

In the spring of 2024, Xueren held its final event: its "Closing Down Exhibition." On the empty space south of the school gymnasium, tables were set up to display printed back-issues, reporting notes, and photos. Not many people came to see them; most who did were former staffers who’d already graduated.

Controversy over the journalism and communications major drew broader attention that year. A famous graduate-admissions advisor, now sadly departed, said that "If my kid insisted on studying journalism, I’d punch his lights out." This remark went viral on social media. A survey showed that only 40% of journalism and communications graduates would pick the same major again, given the chance. The declines of professional journalism and campus media are two points on the same trajectory.

Quite a few student clubs ceased operations that year. The space for diversity was contracting—not just physical space, but discursive and practical space, as well.

But let’s step back for a moment.

At least the ruins were still standing. The archive was still there.

You could still pass by, point it out to those who’d come later, and say: "This used to be …." [Chinese]

Part two will follow shortly.

A statement issued on May 1 by the RightsCon and AccessNow teams explains why they “believe foreign interference [by China] is the reason RightsCon 2026 won’t proceed in Zambia or online”:

At 9:33pm Lusaka time, on April 28, a national public holiday, local state-owned media announced that the government had “postponed” RightsCon. Our team was shocked: despite an established partnership and previously open lines of communication, a decision was made by the government without consultation or formal notice. We had no prior knowledge of the publication of the news article, nor any opportunity to comment.

[…O]n April 29, we finally received a letter over WhatsApp from the MoTS. This was our first official, written communication from the Ministry. According to the letter, the postponement was “necessitated by the need for comprehensive disclosure of critical information relating to key thematic issues proposed for discussion,” which would be “essential to ensure full alignment with Zambia’s national values and broader public interest considerations.”

The statement, although seemingly an invitation to negotiate, still lacked any concrete information as to why the government decided to announce they were postponing RightsCon. What the government wanted from us in order to lift the postponement was conveyed to us informally from multiple sources: in order for RightsCon to continue, we would have to moderate specific topics and exclude communities at risk, including our Taiwanese participants, from in-person and online participation.

[…] This was our red line. Not because we were unwilling to engage, but because the conditions set before us were unacceptable and counter to what RightsCon is and what Access Now stands for.

[…] We see this unilateral decision, and the way it was taken, as evidence of the far reach of transnational repression targeting civil society, and effectively shrinking the spaces in which we operate. At a time when this sector is already under immense financial and political strain, what we and our community forcefully experienced is unprecedented and existential. [Source]

At Wired, Vittoria Elliott and Zeyi Yang reported on some of the conference’s planned panels and participants, and on the chain of events that led to “the Chinese government [getting] the world’s largest digital rights conference canceled”:

RightsCon 2026 was set to feature several panels on China’s international influence, including about how Beijing exports digital authoritarianism and spreads disinformation in regions like Africa, as well as discussions on Chinese cyberattacks and the global spread of its censorship and surveillance technologies.

[…] On April 27, […] Access Now “became aware that the in-person participation of people from Taiwan had caught the attention of the Government of the People’s Republic of China. In turn, Chinese authorities were, apparently, trying to influence the Zambian government’s approach to Taiwanese participants’ movement across the border,” says [Arzu Geybulla, the co-executive director of Access Now]. “Soon after, the Zambian government publicly referred to ‘diplomatic protocols’ and ‘pending administrative and security clearances’ of participants as reasons for their disrupting RightsCon.”

Open Culture Foundation, a Taiwanese nonprofit organization that was scheduled to attend RightsCon this year, says that it was warned by Access Now that Taiwanese citizens may have problems entering Zambia due to possible concerns from the Chinese Embassy. They were told to pause their travel plans while the host coordinated with Zambian officials.

[…] An employee of another human rights organization, who asked not to be named for security reasons, tells WIRED that after RightsCon was officially postponed, they were told by one of their grant funders that the Chinese government had been pressuring the Zambian government for days over the presence of a Taiwanese delegation at the conference. [Source]

A piece from Human Rights Watch on the cancellation featured reactions from researchers, civil society groups, and activists in the fields of human rights and digital rights:

“The Zambia government’s flimsy reasons for postponing RightsCon suggest that the government wanted to control the summit’s human rights agenda,” said Idriss Ali Nassah, senior Africa researcher at Human Rights Watch. “The authorities should fully explain the last-minute cancellation, which is a serious loss for the promotion of human rights.”

Civil society groups have criticized the action. A statement by the Net Rights Coalition and more than 130 digital rights stakeholders said that the postponement and effective cancellation of the event raises concerns about closing the civic space in Zambia.

[…] “By shutting down RightsCon, the Zambian government is shutting down discussions and opportunities to strategize and connect on some of the most crucial human rights issues of our time,” said Deborah Brown, technology and rights deputy director at Human Rights Watch. “It’s a terrible blow to the digital rights movement in Zambia and globally.”

[…] A civil society activist involved in the RightsCon organizing committee in Lusaka told Human Rights Watch that the postponement came after the Chinese government had expressed displeasure to Zambian authorities about invited participants from Taiwan. A Zambian media outlet similarly reported that Zambian authorities were uncomfortable with the participation of “Taiwanese delegates who would potentially speak against China at a venue donated by the Chinese government.”

The Mulungushi Conference Center, which was to host the summit, was refurbished in 2020 with funding from the Chinese government at a reported cost of US$60 million. Zambian authorities at the time described the support as a “gift from […] China” with “no strings attached.” [Source]

Article 19’s Michael Caster discussed the cancelation and its implications at TechPolicy.press:

Precisely because China’s attack on RightsCon stems from its attempt to block Taiwanese participation, global civil society should redouble efforts at engagement and empowerment of Taiwanese civil society through inclusion at global gatherings. Like-minded governments should furthermore ensure diplomatic support. This is as much about demonstrating solidarity with Taiwan as it is about acknowledging Taiwanese civil society has a unique contribution to make with its experience identifying and responding to distinct information and digital threats from China.

China was able to exert pressure on Zambia to take this unprecedented step toward canceling a major international conference in part because China’s influence on the continent has expanded in the absence of adequate rights-based alternatives. Contesting China’s adverse influence in Africa, and around the world, cannot rest merely on criticizing its assault on human rights but must also come with positive and accessible rights-based solutions to real digital development needs. The world’s remaining liberal democracies must expand their efforts to meet the moment, or risk ceding more of the globe to Chinese-style authoritarianism.

And because China’s assault on RightsCon is further emblematic of its broader efforts to influence global digital norms-setting, responding to this incident additionally demands that like-minded governments reiterate their support for multistakeholderism. It calls for redoubling political and diplomatic commitments to human rights-based governance and safeguards, especially in emerging technologies. [Source]

As noted above, the Zambian government has received funding and assistance from the Chinese government in the past. Only a week before the RightsCon cancellation, China inked an agreement with Zambia to provide grant funding for a number of cooperative projects. “The signing of this agreement is an important manifestation of China’s sincere support for the Zambian people,” said Han Jing, China’s Ambassador to Zambia, during a signing ceremony held with Zambian Finance Minister Situmbeko Musokotwane. Several days earlier, Taiwan reported that Beijing had intervened to prevent Taiwanese President Lai Ching-te from visiting the southern African nation of Eswatini, the only African nation that maintains formal diplomatic relations with Taiwan. As reported by Gerald Imray of the Associated Press, “Lai’s trip was called off after the Indian Ocean islands of Madagascar, Mauritius and Seychelles were pressured by China to withdraw permission for Lai’s plane to fly over their territory.”

CDT has covered many past incidents of transnational repression and pressure campaigns by China, including the increasing use of government-backed “puppet NGOs” to monitor and intimidate human-rights activists critical of the Chinese government from testifying at the United Nations; the forced closure of the IndieChina film festival in New York City in 2025; the censorship of parts of an exhibition critical of “the global machinery of authoritarian solidarity” at a prominent art gallery in Bangkok, Thailand in 2025; a long-running campaign to pressure French museums into erasing and Sinicizing Tibetan culture; and other cases such as the forced deportation of Uyghurs from Thailand, and targeting Chinese students overseas for their speech or activism.

The MSS article was widely republished under various headlines and promoted by state-media outlets such as Xinhua, China News Service, China Central Television (CCTV), and China National Radio (CNR). It also spread across Chinese social media, including Weibo, where the hashtag #Foreign Organizations Bankroll Influencers to Promote Slackerism rose to the top of the trending search list. On sites and platforms such as Weibo, WeChat, Douyin, Kuaishou, Zhihu, and others, the piece was met with a collective eyeroll, as comments sections were flooded with responses from readers challenging the framing of the MSS article, questioning the existence of these “hostile foreign forces,” and pointing out that the “lying flat” movement grew out of frustration with domestic factors such as high unemployment, unrelenting competition, excessive overtime and “996” schedules, weak labor-law enforcement, and declining social mobility. Some commenters noted a whiff of desperation in the MSS article, and wondered if the Chinese authorities, thrown into a panic by seemingly intractable economic problems, had resorted to “shooting at ghosts,” i.e. blaming unnamed enemies for their own woes. (Earlier this month, the MSS published another fairly alarmist article, "Seeing Through the Spy ‘Playbook’ in Spring Recruitment," which warns recent graduates to be alert to foreign intelligence operatives and agencies attempting to "disguise themselves as legitimate companies or research institutions" during spring hiring season.)

CDT Chinese editors have compiled some of the recent comments on the MSS post from Weibo, Kuaishou, and X, a selection of which are translated below. Among the themes are skepticism that unnamed “hostile foreign forces” are to blame for China’s domestic structural or economic woes; jokes about bosses and others in their daily lives being covert foreign forces; humorous requests for stable, lucrative jobs “within the system”; and confusion over mixed messaging that seems to forbid both “lying down” and “rising up” to take a stand:

Weibo commenter from Guangdong: Don’t try to blame "foreign forces" if young people are "lying down"; that won’t solve the problem. Instead, consider when "lie-downism" first became popular. The phrase "six wallets" cropped up around 2018, when government experts were actively encouraging young couples to pool their savings and their parents’ and in-laws’ savings (i.e. "six wallets") to buy homes. If young people took a step back and realized this meant draining the savings—and the future—of their entire family to buy one measly house, you can see why they’d consider "lying down" a more sensible option, right? The "six wallets" theory is just one of many factors contributing to lie-downism.

雷诺2023: Obviously, anyone who decides not to get married or have kids has been bewitched by hostile foreign forces.

椌蕪花園理髮店: Sounds like a good deal, actually. If someone’s willing to subsidize you to slack off, why wouldn’t you take them up on it?

黑风大王生气气: First specify who you’re talking about. Firing at imaginary enemies is meaningless.

SKrAs299792458: Come on, if you’re trying to scare us, you can do better than that!

大岛元太: I suspect my boss is a “hostile foreign force,” because we work ourselves to death every day, but we’re still broke. Clearly, our spymaster boss is using this tactic to incite employees to slack off, the diabolical fiend.

有味的光: Turns out that hostile foreign forces are pretty dull. Their nefarious plots are the same lame, boring things I get up to.

mikuoa: Give everyone a two-day weekend, an eight-hour workday, and the full “five social insurances” plus the “housing provident fund.” Enforce the Labor Law properly, and those hostile foreign forces will be speechless.

用户7969870671: O Great Organization, you had me at “slacking off.” Now, where do I sign up?

ke_cheng23602: "Foreign organizations" is a catch-all term, a basket you can stuff anything into. Weak economy? Blame foreign organizations. Low birth rate? Pin it on those foreign organizations. Low marriage rate, high divorce rate? Darn those hostile foreign organizations. Everything’s their fault.

POI_KakuSAMA: "Lying flat" [躺平, tǎngpíng] clearly impinges on the sacred name of the current Emperor. Such a taboo word must be sanctioned. The Emperor must always stand firm, and never lie down. [The second character (平, píng, meaning “flat,” “even,” “level”), is also the last character in Xi Jinping’s name (习近平, Xí Jìnpíng). In Chinese imperial culture, using the characters in the ruling Emperor’s given name in certain contexts was considered taboo.]

XIAOQINGMANTAN: If you don’t want your “oxen and horses” to lie flat, you need to actually provide jobs for them. Is there anyone who’s unaware of the dire employment situation in China right now?

lingjlng2: This is pretty funny. The poor little spin doctors can’t even keep their stories straight anymore. 😂

jenner70873905: Hostile foreign forces: "Apparently everyone’s on our payroll, which basically amounts to no one being on the payroll."

sfflwbd: Fine, we won’t slack off anymore. Tomorrow we’ll rouse ourselves and go demand some accountability from corrupt officials.

云千河: I don’t want to be a slacker. I want a government job where I can “put down roots at the grassroots level.” [a reference to a phrase used in the MSS article.]

慈悲心肠: I want to be a public servant so I can Serve the People.

Frebel_L: If everyone slacked off, who’d be left to exploit?

youran8964: The CCP is terrified that if the “chives” start slacking, they won’t be able to chop them down any more.

wurenhua: The CCP can slack off, but the Chinese people aren’t allowed to.

没有粗面x: The “oxen and horses” would rather daydream than keep their noses to the grindstone, and all of our problems are caused by outsiders.

gfwsucks: Since we aren’t allowed to lie down, does this mean we can stand up and storm the barricades? [Chinese]

In addition to the voluble online backlash to the MSS piece, CDT editors have observed some online censorship of the topic. Weibo appears to have banned the hashtag #Lying Flat once more; it had been subject to temporary bans in the past. CDT has also documented the closure of WeChat account 野柚的显微镜 (yě yòu de xiǎnwēijìng, "wild pomelo microscope") after it published an article criticizing the MSS for “reopening the wound” of the death of educational influencer Zhang Xuefeng. Zhang, who died of a heart attack last month at the age of 41, was widely known for his relentless work ethic, penchant for long-distance running, and habit of getting by on only three or four hours of sleep a night. In many ways, Zhang epitomized both the highs and the lows of contemporary ambition and striving. Another article recently added to CDT’s archive, from WeChat blogger Mu Qi Says, cites statistics from the International Labour Organization (ILO) showing that the average annual number of working hours per person in China is 2,548 hours, the highest among the OECD nations. Mu Qi argues that Chinese people have never really “slacked off,” and in fact, they should be encouraged to work fewer hours and enjoy the fruits of China’s past economic growth and “demographic dividends.”

The “lying flat” or “lying down” movement, which first became popular in 2021, has been the target of government criticism and suppression before. In May of 2021, a “lie-downism” Douban group with close to 10,000 members was banned; a month later, a censorship directive ordered e-commerce platforms to stop selling merchandise featuring slacker-themed memes or slogans. In 2023, after an official campaign attempted to counter slacker sentiment by touting the “Red Flag Canal Spirit,” unemployed and underemployed Chinese young people were unimpressed and unconvinced: some countered that they “weren’t so much lying down as finding it impossible to get ahead.” Against the backdrop of persistently high youth unemployment, officials banned a number of popular “lying down” influencers and vloggers in the summer of 2025.

The post below is the first half of journalist Peng Yuanwen’s account of a recent livestream conversation with rural public-benefit activist Zhou Jian. (Part two is now online.) Peng, a regular presence in CDT’s 404 Deleted Content Archive, recently received the award for best commentary in the grassroots Journalists Home News Prize founded by recently detained investigative reporter Liu Hu. The jury cited more than 30 of Peng’s pieces on rural pensions, crediting them for some of the issue’s currently high public profile. Zhou began working in rural poverty alleviation and development after the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake, and co-founded the Beijing Gan’en Philanthropic Foundation in 2012. He discussed his work in a 2021 essay for Made in China Journal. In their recent conversation, Zhou set out to answer what Peng described as his one core question: "How far apart, really, is rural reality from city-dwellers’ impressions?"

At 9:00 last night I did my second livestream, with guest Zhou Jian, known online as "Uncle Zhou." He blogs as "Uncle Zhou Walks the Countryside," and is chairman of the Beijing Gan’en Philanthropic Foundation. We’re both originally from Sichuan, and got to know each other through the rural pensions issue. After our first meeting, we decided to do a livestream together. We ended up chatting until nearly midnight last night, and only wrapped up then for the sake of viewers who’d have work the next day.

I particularly wanted to talk to Uncle Zhou because he’s been to places I never have: he’s visited nearly 3,000 villages in 150 of China’s impoverished counties, conducting in-depth interviews with some 2-3,000 rural people. I have more faith in people like him and Zhao Yushun and Yuan Zhenzhen from "Chronicles of True Encounters" than in "Three Rural Issues" experts who go on about the "protective dual urban-rural system" or the rural-development crowd with their claims of "revitalizing the countryside."

I had only one core question in this conversation: How far apart, really, is rural reality from city-dwellers’ impressions?

1. Do farmers "own land" that they can fall back on?

This is an unavoidable question, because in the eyes of many urban residents, farmers’ "land ownership" is a huge advantage. I asked Uncle Zhou: In all the many places you’ve been to, and among all the many farmers you’ve met, have you ever come across a family that got rich from working the land?

His answer was extremely direct: "Not one. I’ve been to more than 150 counties, and never even heard of a farmer who’d managed to do that. Basically, the whole income from farming covers only a part of their living costs—it’s nearly impossible to generate cash income beyond that. That is, in the countryside today, a family that doesn’t have anyone bringing in income with migrant work elsewhere will most likely be on welfare."

This is at heart because the rate of increase of production and labor costs in recent decades has outpaced that of grain prices many times over. Uncle Zhou added that when they abolished agricultural tax in 2006, one important reason was that the combined salaries of the tax collectors were greater than the revenue that it generated. In other words, the value of agricultural production had fallen so far that it couldn’t even pay the tax collectors, yet there are still people saying farmers can pull a fortune out of the soil. What kind of sense does that make?

Take Sichuan, where the paddy field per capita may be less than a mu [about a sixth of an acre]. Even by the most optimistic estimates, you’d be lucky to earn 800 yuan [about $120 U.S.] from two annual crops after seed, pesticide, fertilizer, and machinery costs. A family plot of two or three mu might bring in one or two thousand yuan [about $150-300] a year. That amount "means you can catch a cold a few times, or buy a couple of months’ medication for high blood pressure or diabetes, and it’s all gone."

And that’s for those who can still farm. But the farmers’ pensions issue we were discussing is about the elderly, not able-bodied people of working age. This is a key point that many urban residents, consciously or not, overlook. So I asked Uncle Zhou: "Can these elderly people still do the work?"

"It’s not a matter of whether they can do it or not," he answered. "They have no choice but to do it, because a month’s pension won’t even cover the most basic necessities. If they don’t farm, what will they eat? It’s a matter of life and death."

He went on to describe a long list of common health issues he’d seen among the rural elderly: an excess of chronic conditions like high blood pressure, heart disease, arthritis, and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Minor ailments go untreated, and major ones are simply endured. When they can’t be endured any longer, you go to hospital; the doctor takes a quick look, and if they say it’s gotten serious, you go home to wait for death. He met a Five Guarantees recipient [food, clothing, medical care, housing, burial expenses] from Zhongjiang, Sichuan last year who cut his toe on a piece of glass. His medical insurance would have covered hospital treatment itself, but he couldn’t afford food or travel costs, so he just cut the toe off with a kitchen cleaver. A living, breathing human treating his own body like expendable parts. Later, he fell ill again, spent two days on an IV drip, and died the day after returning home.

City-dwellers think the rural elderly can live off the land. The reality is they don’t have the physical strength for farm work.

2. Farmers "have land," but it’s not really theirs.

Beyond the fact that, as we’ve seen, you can’t make a living from farming, there’s a still more fundamental issue: legally speaking, farmers don’t actually own their land.

Uncle Zhou explained a property rights issue that a great many people don’t have a clear understanding of. After 1949, land was appropriated from wealthy landlords and redistributed to farmers, but the collectivization movement that began in 1953 put farmland under collective ownership. After Reform and Opening, the "village group" became the smallest unit of rural land ownership, but these village groups don’t even have legal standing as entities; they’re artificial grassroots organizations that are actually run by the village committees. So legally speaking, farmers only have usage rights to the land, not ownership rights, still less full rights to dispose of the land as they see fit.

This means that farmers have no say in cases of land expropriation; they can’t borrow a cent using the land as collateral. You’re using a bowl passed to you by others, which can’t be passed on. The minute you lose your connections with the village collective, the bowl’s taken back.

What’s even more absurd is that state subsidies don’t go to individual farmers, but only to large-scale operations. Uncle Zhou met one farmer who’d originally had a private plot that was part of a larger field. When that field was consolidated into a bigger operation, his plot went with it. The only way the old man could eke out a living was by moving the wall of his courtyard a metre and a half [five feet], opening up a little patch of land between the wall and the road where he could grow vegetables.

So subsidies are out of reach [for small farmers]. In many areas, the subsidies have a minimum threshold, and only large operations qualify.

Urbanites think farmers’ land ownership is a special privilege, but in fact "their" land doesn’t bring in any money, doesn’t get them any subsidies, and isn’t really theirs at all.

3. Homestead land is a plus, right? But the downside is location.

Another thing city-dwellers often envy is the rural homestead. In a country where land is owned by the state, and most urban residents can only buy apartments, having your own patch of land seems like an enormous perk.

Uncle Zhou’s response is straightforward: "A rural homestead isn’t worth a fart."

Anyone who’s bought property in the cities can understand his reasoning: location is invariably what determines property value. A 50-square-metre [538-square-foot] apartment inside Beijing’s Second Ring Road is simply a different kettle of fish to a villa in Sichuan’s Daliang Mountains. I can’t understand why city-dwellers treat "location, location, location" as the golden rule when they buy homes, but as soon as talk turns to rural homesteads, they suddenly forget this basic common sense.

What’s the use of a homestead in a mountain village where the ambulance wouldn’t come even if you had the cell signal to call it? Uncle Zhou’s mother-in-law lives outside the Fifth Ring Road [of Beijing], and even she always complains about the distance, saying "I’d be a goner before the ambulance got out here." As for a housing plot in a rural village, do you really want to retire somewhere where you can’t even call an ambulance?

All that aside, you don’t have full property rights to the homestead. It can’t be inherited, and if you sell it you can only sell the structure itself, not the land beneath it. This kind of "ownership" is more like a temporary residence permit.

4. The countryside’s low cost of living? Maybe it’s cheap because it’s flooded with fakes.

Another talking point in urban fantasies of the countryside is that "rural prices are low; living there is cheap."

Uncle Zhou topples this argument with his own personal experience. He saw a lot of market data for electronic goods while working at CCID some years back, and concluded that manufactured goods sold for lower prices in big cities, where there were price wars. Smaller markets saw fewer sales, businesses had no incentive to compete, and consumer prices are inflated by various layers of taxes and transportation costs. By way of example, he cited the purchase of new curtains for Wenquan Elementary School in Yunnan’s Mengla County. When volunteers checked the price, they found it "too expensive," and challenged the principal. Deeply aggrieved at this, the principal urged them to talk directly to the supplier. The supplier walked them through the numbers: At each step of the way from Shanghai to Kunming, from Kunming to Xishuangbanna, from Xishuangbanna to Mengla, and from Mengla to their own town, there were new shipping costs and taxes. After those four legs of the journey, the cost was more than 50% higher than it would have been in Shanghai.

That’s the case with genuine goods. What about counterfeits?

Uncle Zhou said that rural areas have long been a dumping ground for counterfeit and substandard goods, and that small village stores are flooded with shanzhai versions of all kinds of products from big brands. From goods that won’t sell in the cities to government project procurement, anything that can be bundled off to the countryside, is. "They’ve really become the intermediaries of this economy—anything that can’t be sold, anything that should really be written off, they’ll happily accept it all."

This includes the livestream commerce that’s booming at the moment, which has an inferior class of goods for rural customers. As we discussed in my last livestream with Zhao Yushun, the system will send lesser-quality "B"-grade items to customer addresses that it identifies as rural, because rural consumers have less awareness of their rights and nothing to compare against.

The conclusion is very simple: in the countryside you can choose between paying more than urbanites for the same thing, or paying less for an item of lesser quality. The supposed "low cost of living" is a myth. [Chinese]

Part Two continues here.

On March 31, China’s State Council released the new regulations regarding industrial and supply-chain security, followed by the April 7 publication of new restrictions regarding sanctions, export controls, and data disclosure requirements by overseas governments. (For more detail, see China Law Translate’s full-text translation of the 18-article “State Council Provisions on Industrial and Supply Chain Security” and the 20-article “PRC Regulations on Countering Improper Extraterritorial Jurisdiction by Foreign States.”)

Bloomberg News provided more detail on new regulatory measures, their potential penalties, and how these might be meted out:

The latest measures build on China’s existing legal tools to retaliate against external threats such as sanctions. They’ve also sparked concerns that doing business in or with the world’s second-largest economy could become riskier for multinational firms.

[…] One set of regulations, which took effect at the end of March, is focused on protecting sectors critical to China’s national and economic security, while also reinforcing its central role in global supply chains. Government agencies have been empowered to launch probes and retaliate if a country, region or international company adopts measures deemed discriminatory against China and a threat to supply chain security.

Another set of rules, rolled out in early April, is designed to counter what the government calls “improper extraterritorial jurisdiction by foreign countries.” The idea is that other nations are enforcing measures such as sanctions, export controls and data disclosure requirements beyond their own borders, potentially hindering Chinese companies.

In both cases, penalties can be applied not just to organizations but to individuals as well. Punishments include restrictions on imports, exports and investment in China, fines, asset seizures, visa cancellations and curbs on people’s ability to leave the country. [Source]

Reporting for the Wall Street Journal, Chun Han Wong and Yang Jie explained how the regulations could place American and other Western companies operating in China in an awkward position—obliged to comply with U.S. trade restrictions on China, yet also exposed to pressure, punishment, or even expulsion by the Chinese government:

The Chinese regulations feature vague provisions that make it hard for foreign businesses to judge what would trigger Beijing’s reaction—which may be part of the point. The lack of specificity leaves “open the possibility that several legitimate commercial decisions could be interpreted” as threatening Chinese supply chains, the European Union Chamber of Commerce in China said.

The rules require Chinese companies and research institutions to step up security protocols governing key technologies and data. And they hinted at a tighter leash on foreigners who analyze Chinese business, saying officials should police misconduct involving “information-gathering activities related to industrial and supply chains” in China.

On Monday, Beijing published another set of regulations against those who assert “unjustified extraterritorial jurisdiction” over Chinese entities and people.

Under these 20-point rules, offending foreign organizations and individuals would be added to a “malicious entity list” and face penalties including entry bans, expulsion and asset seizures. These rules also applied broad definitions on the kind of actions that would trigger punishment. [Source]

A piece from AFP highlighted reactions from business groups such as the American Chamber of Commerce (AmCham) in China and the European Union Chamber of Commerce in China (EUCCC):

The regulations, released on April 7, allow Chinese authorities to take measures against foreign companies or individuals that "harm China’s industrial and supply chain security".

The rules appeared aimed at stopping companies from removing China from their supply chains, AmCham China’s president Michael Hart said on Thursday.

[…] The European Union Chamber of Commerce in China (EUCCC) criticised the provisions as "unclear and vague" earlier this month, saying their implementation "increases the risk of doing business in or with China".

[…] "The threat that individual employees could be punished through exit bans is concerning," the EUCCC added. [Source]

CDT editors have observed that discussion of the new regulations appears to have been restricted on platforms such as Weibo and Zhihu, with relatively few public comments. Chinese social media users on some overseas websites described the regulations as akin to “barring the door to beat the dog”—that is, entrapping foreign companies and investors in order to coerce them into certain desired behaviors. Others warned that the new rules could well prove counterproductive by discouraging foreign investment, accelerating capital flight, and “throwing the economy into reverse gear.” Still others noted that the new rafts of regulations, coupled with recent crackdowns on VPN use, made a mockery of the Chinese government’s stated commitments to "expanding high-standard opening-up" and "optimizing the business environment."

Below are some online comments, compiled by CDT editors from Weibo and X, nearly all questioning the wisdom of the State Council’s attempts to exert such stringent control over foreign companies operating within China’s borders. Some commenters made pointed reference to Xi Jinping as “Accelerator-in-Chief,” i.e. a leader who seems dead-set on running China into the ground:

TAOwilltalk: Nobody’s going to dare invest in China now, and they’ll scare off the ones who already did.

huabuguo43: Kidnapper sez: “Thanks for the ransom, bud, but you’re not going anywhere."

BGates69218: Way to send foreign investors running for the hills. And talk about a master accelerationist: apparently the Chinese economy isn’t collapsing fast enough, and he wants to speed things along so we can catch up with North Korea.

Death8964: Every single time, they always manage to pick the worst possible policy. The "Accelerator-in-Chief" title is well-deserved.

200cattieswheat: How is this not a fuckin’ shakedown?

ping47341: Trying to manipulate corporate behavior by destroying market fundamentals is never a winning strategy. All it’ll do is make everyone hold their noses and steer clear of you from now on.

用户6318682028: Complete idiots. They haven’t even figured out who needs who more, and they’re just talking out of their asses.

Vorathen: Hahaha, every investment promotion officer in the country just shit themselves. Who the hell would want to invest now?

poppy208209: They used to say "clear the cage to make room for bigger birds." Turns out they emptied the cage, alright—all the birds flew the coop!

2073egun: In economic terms, it’s a trade barrier. In political terms, it’s a closed-door policy. In terms of bullshit, it’s just a clown show for the bozos at home. [Chinese]

the skyscraper never finished. Tianjin, China, by Lei Han (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

At Reuters, Clare Jim reported on the court proceedings, which lasted only a day and a half, and what they bode for Evergrande’s creditors and customers:

While the indictment of the billionaire founder of what was once China’s No.1 property developer would mark an end to his rags to riches story, it is unlikely to bring much solace to Evergrande’s domestic and foreign creditors.

Evergrande has defaulted since 2021 on most of its $300 billion in liabilities, in troubles emblematic of China’s property sector woes that have long dragged on economic growth.

Founder Hui Ka Yan "pleaded ​guilty and expressed remorse" in trial proceedings on Monday and Tuesday against him and Evergrande, the court said in a posting on its official ​WeChat account.

[…] "The chances are extremely ​high that Hui will receive life sentences, given the amount of money involved, the number of victims, and the associated financial risks and social impact are almost unprecedented in China," ‌said Xinpeng ⁠Zhu, a lawyer at Shanghai Rongying Law Firm, who represented investors in Evergrande’s debt.

"The court’s ruling will serve as an answer to the prevailing sentiments in society and a means of easing public anger." [Source]

Despite the low-key nature of the trial, it has attracted intense public interest on Chinese social media, and brought renewed attention to the financial woes, unfinished projects, and questionable business practices that have plagued the real-estate sector in China. Property developer Pan Shiyi, who cofounded SOHO China with his wife Zhang Xin in 1995 (the pair stepped away from their company in 2022 and now live in New York City), recently resurfaced on WeChat after three years of radio silence to post some thoughts on the “Ponzi scheme” nature of the Chinese property market. That post, archived at CDT, was later censored across numerous Chinese social media platforms. A related post from WeChat account Beast Office, “Pan Shiyi Tests the Waters,” was also censored online but added to our archive.

CDT Chinese editors have archived four recent articles about Evergrande and Xu Jiayin’s trial, and several related to Pan Shiyi’s surprise reappearance on Chinese social media. Of the four pieces about Evergrande and Xu, two point out that there were many other individuals complicit in Evergrande’s malfeasance but that they will likely go unpunished, insulated by their high-level connections. Portions of these are translated below.

In “Xu Jiayin Pleads Guilty, but Did He Really Manage To Dig That 2.4 Trillion Yuan Pit All by Himself?” from WeChat account History Rhymes, current-affairs commentator Xu Peng highlights the stark contrast between a small group of politically well-connected individuals who struck it rich during China’s property-development heyday, and the millions of ordinary citizens who accumulated unprecedented levels of debt, or even lost their life savings due to unfinished housing projects, cratering real-estate prices, and other knock-on effects of the Evergrande collapse:

The charges against Xu—illegally taking public deposits, fraudulent fundraising, illegal lending, illegal use of funds, fraudulent issuance of securities, violations regarding the disclosure of pertinent information, embezzlement, and corporate bribery—are primarily economic crimes, which frankly are unlikely to result in a death sentence. At most, he might be sentenced to life in prison.

[…] But if you dig a little deeper, you will find that this matter is far from simple.

An individual can steer the direction of a company, but no single person could possibly pile up 2.4 trillion yuan ($350 billion U.S.) in debt all by himself.

Lurking behind the scenes are too many uncomfortable truths that can never be fully examined.

Perhaps many years from now, when people look back on this chapter, they will call it “the most insane period in Chinese real-estate history.”

Some became spectacularly wealthy, while others “pooled the contents of six wallets” [referring to a married couple who purchase a house by combining their savings with the savings of both sets of parents] for a mortgage they’ll be paying back for the next thirty years.

Thus did Xu Jiayin become the most “representative” person in this period of our history.

Now he has pleaded guilty, and it remains to be seen how the court will sentence him. [Chinese]

An article from WeChat account 小干体 (Xiǎo gàn tǐ), run by a family heritage researcher who blogs about various societal topics, is titled “Xu Jiayin’s Eight Unpardonable Crimes.” The author writes that Xu’s guilty plea, the brief one-and-a-half-day trial, and the lack of publicity that preceded it suggest that a deal was reached beforehand: Xu would take the fall, but countless others who were complicit in and profited from Evergrande’s corporate malfeasance would remain unknown and unpunished:

The trial was scheduled to last two days, yesterday and today. Yet by midday, it was announced that proceedings had reached a conclusion this morning.

Thus was a case of great magnitude disposed of in a mere day and a half.

Furthermore, Xu Jiayin entered a guilty plea and expressed remorse before the court—a clear sign that a deal had been reached beforehand, and that the trial itself was merely a procedural formality.

What’s more, there hadn’t been the slightest whisper of the proceedings before the hearing commenced, which further confirms that the more hushed-up things are, the bigger the crimes.

All things considered, I stand by my earlier view, expressed in my article "Evergrande’s Party Committee Committed Serious Errors," that Evergrande’s in-house Communist Party Committee failed to properly discharge its oversight duties, which led to that “outstanding senior cadre” [Xu Jiayin, who was both the Chairman and Communist Party Secretary for Evergrande] committing such unpardonable errors.

I expect that the many others who gorged themselves at Evergrande’s trough will be let off lightly. After all, they were merely accessories [to Xu’s crimes], and thanks to friends in very high places, they are untouchable. [Chinese]

WeChat account 摩登中产 (Módēng zhōngchǎn, Modern Middle Class) published “The Era Writes an End to Xu Jiayin,” an in-depth look at how Xu’s life, education, work, and fortunes in many ways paralleled China’s overall national trajectory. The author peppers the piece with fascinating details about Xu’s early life, relentless work ethic, and the overwhelming ambition that brought him enormous success, but culminated in his downfall:

He revered the rules, broke free of them, and eventually wrote his own. Supremely confident in his own calculations, Xu never realized that he himself was nothing more than a variable in the larger calculus of an era.

Under that calculus, he studied tirelessly by the dim light of a kerosene lamp, proudly watched the Chinese women’s volleyball team [win the 1981 Women’s Volleyball World Cup] and cheered the “revitalization of China,” strode across the factory floor full of youthful vigor and ambition, skillfully cornered the property market, and dreamed of leaving a legacy for the ages, until his runaway greed landed him behind bars.

He always believed he was the author of an era, but in the end, it was the era that wrote an end to him. [Chinese]

A piece titled “Where Did Evergrande’s 2.4 Trillion Yuan Go?” from WeChat account 装看见 (Zhuāng kànjiàn, "Pretending to see") argues that Evergrande’s colossal debt of 2.4 trillion yuan didn’t just evaporate; it was systematically extracted in four main ways. First, the author claims, Xu Jiayin and his family siphoned off over 50 billion yuan (over $7.3 billion U.S.) in dividends between 2009 and 2022, transferring the funds to offshore accounts and family trusts, and purchasing luxury properties, private jets, and yachts with the proceeds. Second, vast sums were burned by Evergrande’s reckless diversification into money-losing ventures such as football clubs, electric vehicles, mineral water, and entertainment. Third, the company fell into a debt spiral, forced to take on ever more expensive new debt simply to service the older debt. And fourth, writes the author, Evergrande engaged in systematic fraud by overstating revenues, issuing bonds under false pretenses, and misappropriating funds to put up a false front even as it was nearing collapse. The author then turns to examine the era that made such excess possible, arguing that Xu and many of his peers misguidedly chalked up the windfalls they earned during China’s property boom to their own personal genius. The article contrasts what it describes as Xu’s hubris and recklessness with the prescience and pragmatism of SOHO property-developer Pan Shiyi:

From 2019 to 2020, Evergrande overstated its revenues and profits, fraudulently issued bonds, engaged in illegal lending, misappropriated funds, illegally accepted deposits, and committed fundraising fraud.

The proceeds were used to mislead [investors and regulators], pay bribes, fill funding shortfalls, and maintain a facade of prosperity. In the end, it all turned into bad debt, uncollectible debt.

Those were the jubilee years for real-estate tycoons, whose stubborn faith that property prices would only continue to rise led them to relentlessly leverage and expand the scope of their businesses.

Taking money from the bank, buying land and building houses, pocketing the cash but keeping the debt on the balance sheet—those who played the game this way chalked it up to their personal talent and ability.

But the reason they were able to make money so easily back then wasn’t because they were particularly capable; they simply benefited from the era’s favorable conditions.

In 2021, risks began to surface in the real-estate industry, but few wanted the merry-go-round to stop. For one thing, it was easy money, and for another, no one believed that the risks would ever actually materialize.

Some people are confident that they will have the last laugh, whereas others, even at their earnings peak, are already planning their exit strategy.

I thought of Pan Shiyi, who belongs to the latter category. He started selling off his properties in 2014, and eventually cashed out 30 billion yuan. When he left the country, his money left with him.

When it comes to making money, Pan Shiyi is extremely clear-headed. He knows it’s best to stop while you’re ahead and cash out your winnings.

Pan Shiyi’s clarity is partly down to his wisdom in choosing a good wife. Without Zhang Xin, Pan Shiyi wouldn’t be where he is today.

With extraordinary foresight, the couple began planning their strategy in 2005, and completed it in 2021, a full 16 years later.

It’s also possible that Pan may have been influenced by [Hong Kong property magnate] Li Ka-shing. When Li began divesting [from China] in 2013, Pan Shiyi followed suit and began selling off his own properties in 2014.

In 2015, the refrain “Don’t let Li Ka-shing run away!” might not have set off alarm bells for anyone else, but it spurred Pan Shiyi to hurry up and sell, sell, sell.

Li Ka-shing’s adage, "Never try to earn the last penny," is a potent warning against unchecked greed. [Chinese]

The legal status of VPNs and other circumvention tools is less clear-cut in practice than the article suggests, with enforcement having tended to focus heavily on service providers rather than users. The reference to people held in Southeast-Asian scam compounds is notable: Chinese authorities have faced some criticism for failing to do enough to combat these criminal enterprises. Here, the "Great Firewall" is presented as a protective measure that those lured into the compounds had deliberately rejected. The enthusiastic use of so-called "scare quotes" is also a prominent feature of the article, and of official messaging as a whole.

Some martial embellishments aside, the article is typical—in fact, it closely parallels a 2021 post from a WeChat account affiliated with the PLA Daily. The timing of this iteration may be notable, however: it coincided with signs of escalation in official efforts to fight "wall-scaling," as well as other ominous developments including moves by Apple to more effectively confine PRC-based users to its Chinese app store, and reports of a sharp drop in activity among Chinese-language communities on X, which has remained an important platform for PRC-based wall-scalers.

The world’s so big! I want to go see it all. Gaming is more fun on overseas servers! I want to go play on them. There are so many great online resources overseas! I want to go search through them. Foreigners are so friendly online! I want to go chat with them. Foreign websites are awesome! I want to go take a look. How can I do this? By "scaling the wall." Public security warning: Hold it right there! You’re breaking the law.

Article 6 of the [1996] Interim Provisions of the People’s Republic of China on the Administration of International Networking of Computer Information Networks states: "computer information networks directly connecting to international networks must use entry and exit channels provided by the Ministry of Post and Telecommunications’ national public telecommunications network. No work unit or individual may independently establish or employ other channels for cross-border network connections. Relevant rules in the Party’s internal disciplinary regulations and related statutes also expressly prohibit Party members and cadres from engaging in the unlawful act of "scaling the wall."

But what is "scaling the wall"? The "wall" in question refers to the "National Public Network Monitoring System" (GFW), commonly known as China’s national firewall. "Scaling the wall" or "net-breaking" refers to users employing virtual private network (VPN) technology to evade state network oversight, breaking through the firewall’s IP blocks, content filters, DNS hijacking, traffic restrictions, etc. for activities such as accessing overseas websites in violation of national law. More simply, "scaling the wall" means using special tricks to bypass domestic internet restrictions and access blocked or otherwise restricted foreign websites. Deliberate or not, it constitutes an illegal act.

Why is "scaling the wall" prohibited? Just look at the news. In February 2025, Chinese and Thai police successfully rescued 61 victims, including 39 Chinese citizens, who had been lured to scam compounds in Myanmar. Most of these victims had illegally "scaled the wall" with VPNs to register on foreign social media platforms like Telegram, where they were lured abroad by fake ads promising "high-paying customer support work in Thailand, with flights reimbursed." Upon reaching the border, they were trafficked to scam compounds in Myanmar by snakeheads, held captive, tortured with electric shocks, and forced to defraud their own families.

Broadly speaking, there are three main dangers in "scaling the wall." First, one can easily fall into "political traps." As China’s international status has risen, nearly all foreign countries have websites specifically targeting Chinese citizens, publishing so-called alternative political history, shocking exposés, and exclusive scoops with ulterior motives. "Scaling the wall" to browse these sites, one can easily be led astray by reactionary discourse, decadent thinking, and erroneous ideology, and become a conduit for false views, a porter for disinformation, or even a mouthpiece for hostile forces, acting in ways that jeopardize national political security.

Second, one can easily be lured into "collusion traps." Due to the internet’s highly virtual and anonymous nature, and the continuous emergence of new "wall-scaling" tools, the net has become another key battlefront for recruitment and subversion by our enemies. State security departments have exposed many recent cases of foreign spies conspiring to steal our secrets, incidents in which our own people illegally "scaled the wall," were ensnared in traps that had been laid for them, and ended up falling into criminality.

Third, one can easily sink into "illegality traps." Foreign websites are saturated with obscene, violent, and vulgar content, as well as links to gambling, drugs, and money-lending sites. The moment you "scale the wall," you’re vulnerable to exploitation by foreign criminal elements and risk being drawn into activities that can lead to prosecution, such as online gambling, illegal money-lending, drugs, soliciting prostitutes, etc.

The consequences of "scaling the wall" and net-breaking can be severe. In legal terms, illegal "wall-scaling" may violate sections of the Criminal Law of the People’s Republic of China pertaining to the crimes of espionage or illegal provision of state secrets or intelligence; or may violate the Espionage Law of the People’s Republic of China or the Interim Provisions of the People’s Republic of China on the Administration of International Networking of Computer Information Networks, incurring a prison sentence or substantial fine. In terms of [Party] discipline, illegal "wall-scaling" is subject to punishment under the Regulations on Disciplinary Action of the Communist Party of China or the [PLA] Disciplinary Regulations. At the individual level, this kind of legal or disciplinary violation will become part of your personal record, a black mark that will follow you for your whole life, and may even exact a heavy toll at critical junctures in your children’s lives, affecting their eligibility to enlist in the army or qualify for the civil service exam or civil service employment.

The way to avoid the dangers of "scaling the wall" is essentially with "a wall in your heart": strengthen your awareness of enemy presence, maintain political vigilance, hone your ability to discern right from wrong, and never forget: "The internet harbors traps and harbors enemies, and is subject to politics and subject to discipline." The key is adherence to the rules: obey the laws and regulations, regulate your online activity, and strengthen your awareness of legitimate net use. Make sure to avoid clicking or visiting links from unclear sources; registering for, purchasing, or using "wall-scaling" extensions, tools, or software; downloading or using foreign software for registering social-media accounts or joining group chats; downloading or using game accelerators to play international editions of online games; using accelerators or search engines with network proxy functions; and investing or speculating in virtual currencies. Focus on consistency and persistence. Strengthen network management, and carry out frequent self-inspections: check your app lists for any "wall-scaling" software tools or foreign apps installed on your phone or computer; check game accelerators to see if there are connections to foreign servers; check email for records of overseas account registration; and conscientiously put a stop to all rule-and-regulation-breaking "wall-scaling" and net-breaking activity.

[Xi Jinping said,] "If you can’t pass the test of the internet, you can’t pass the test of our times." We must maintain a sober awareness that “gambling on not getting caught is never a safe bet.” And we must be especially vigilant against letting habit or complacency turn us into criminal victims or criminal accomplices. Don’t ignorantly or carelessly blunder into a trap, and ensure that in the great online tide, you stand firm instead of being swept off your feet. [Chinese]

I’ll get straight to the point: you can regard this post as a farewell letter from Sanyue Yun and her sisters.

I received another seven-day suspension from March 21 to March 28. During that time, not only was I unable to post or reply, but it was impossible to follow me, and my account didn’t even appear in search results.

What’s even more ridiculous is that, if I paste a screenshot of the platform ban notice in here, it won’t let me publish this post either.

At the same time, they carried out massive and unwarranted deletion and suppression of my posts. I’ve published 147 in total, but how many can you see on my main page? Only 36.

There’s not even a fraction left.

For unwavering perseverance and striving to speak out in every case, I’d like to thank myself. I’m also grateful to all you brave, insightful readers out there at your screens.

I’d be extremely grateful if my sisters who can spare the energy could help share my posts, and if those who can spare the money could hit the tip button at the end of the post.

In any case, please put yourselves first. We’re the ones who are the hope, the embers. I’m grateful to you just for reading this far. I’m beyond grateful to you, my sisters, for your goodwill.

Now, as this post draws to a close, I’ve been wondering how to end it. What does the future hold? How will I keep on writing my posts? How will I keep sharing them? I’m still not sure if there’ll come a day when I’m back to full strength, and I can’t make any promises. But in this moment, I also realize: women will always find a way. [Chinese]

Following a 15-day ban last August, Sanyue vulcanus wrote that she had frequently been tempted to close her account, citing past struggles with anxiety and ongoing exhaustion. The post also mentioned the lesser impact of constant threats and harassment from “tiánlì” 田力—a sarcastic online term for men comprising the dismantled components of the character 男 nán, meaning "man” or “male." "This isn’t the first or second time; I’ve had countless posts taken down one after another, and barely a tenth are now visible on my account page. But the tianli’s smears and incitement of antagonism always go untouched, and even get boosted by the platform. The very field we’re fighting them on is tilted in their favor." The reference to inciting antagonism turns the official accusation of "inciting gender antagonism," often aimed at feminist discourse, around on her attackers. This, and the double standards surrounding it, were discussed in a response to Sanyue Yun’s farewell post on the WeChat account Li Yueliang’s Notes:

I know some people will say "Her viewpoints were too extreme," "She incited gender antagonism," or "She had it coming."

I’d like to ask them:

Why is it "inciting antagonism" when a woman says "We’re treated unfairly," but a "legitimate grievance" when a man says the same?

Why is it that when women get angry, it’s interpreted as "extremism"?

Why is it that when women speak out, it’s perceived as "stirring up trouble"?

Sanyue Yun isn’t the first.

How many *feminist* accounts were reported, “bombed,” and disappeared before hers?

I’ve lost count.

Every time, it’s the same story:

She speaks out → someone feels uncomfortable → an angry mob reports her to the platform → the platform takes her content down → she disappears → everyone says “it’s about time someone dealt with her”

What is it we’re actually afraid of?

Women realising they’ve been treated poorly?

Women actually starting to hold people to account?

Women no longer accepting that "things have always been this way"? [Chinese]

In October, Sanyue vulcanus wrote about her efforts to pursue legal action against participants in these harassment and malicious-reporting campaigns against her. The post was deleted. The account then fell quiet for three months, leading to rumors that the account had been permanently banned, or even that the author had died, but it returned in January with an apology for the silence and an update on the Sisyphean legal process.

Sanyue vulcanus has also been vocal on topics such as the history of women’s rights in China, accusations of "gold-digging" over high bride-prices, women’s access to education, misogynistic online discourse targeting female college students, and last year’s sexual harassment scandal at Wuhan University and the expulsion of a female student from Dalian Polytechnic University for "undermining the national dignity" of China with "improper contact with a foreigner." On the latter case, Sanyue vulcanus commented:

There are no rights without obligations, and no obligations without rights. Rights and obligations must be reciprocal. If women are to be held responsible for upholding the “dignity” of the entire nation, then first please classify the manufacturing of substandard sanitary pads as "profiteering at the expense of the nation"; treat companies and individuals who engage in workplace gender discrimination as "agents of international espionage"; regard violations of women’s rights as an affront to the Chinese nation and the Chinese people; punish those who covertly videotape or photograph women as severely as those who leak state secrets; and treat the mandated divorce cooling-off period as a national disgrace on a par with the [1901] Boxer Protocol. Given that women are excluded from receiving their due share when the pie is being divided, how dare those tianli indulge in fantasies of forcing women to shoulder an unfair share of the collective blame? [Source]