In my time at Georgia Tech, I’ve participated in a wide variety of clubs. From rock music to origami, archery to anime, and video games to political activism, one of the most impactful clubs I’ve participated in is the Chinese Conversation Hour club, a part of the Chinese Student Association here at GT. The Convos club meets weekly, for around an hour, and typically comprises some short lecture about whatever aspect of Chinese culture the presenter wanted to talk about, followed by ~30 minutes of Chinese conversation practice, hence the name. After attending semi-regularly for around 2 years (and frankly not improving my Chinese enough in that time…), I’ve somehow been nominated for the position of club president. This is a small club and so the role doesn’t entail very much, but it’s still been a lot of fun being able to run the events and grow the club in, not entirety, but at least in the direction I wanted to see the club go in. We’ve been able to bring in many talented tutors in and develop a sense of community amongst the regulars.
I’ve had some really memorable Convos sessions, but by and large, the ones on slang tend to be my favorite. Don’t get me wrong, learning about Chinese food and historical culture has been interesting and a lot of fun (especially when snacks are involved!), but something about slang really gives you that sense of connection to the culture, wherein, if you can’t hold a conversation like a native, you can at least reference slang like a native!
The first one I’d heard, even before Chinese Convos, was 6 (六) as a reference to the hand sign for the number 🤙, referencing the modern surfer sign for ‘cool’. While the Chinese hand signs have a long and murky history, the modern meaning is, undoubtedly, modern, with many people responding to things with ‘666’ as shorthand for ‘cool’.
This example is, for many, common and easily memorable, which is just the right combination for slang to take off!
Which brings us back to the Convos sessions! Another term that stuck in my head the moment I heard it at the sessions is ‘3Q’, as a substitute for ‘thank you’, making use of the Chinese pronunciation for 3 (san1). I believe this term, along with many others, has its origins in Taiwan, but it finds use all over the internet now. Another counterpart to ‘3Q’ is ‘no Q’, for ‘no thank you’, playing along with the established pattern.
Another term that I first encountered at Convos: 懂的都懂 or dddd. This translates to “I understand everything“, or to its English equivalent, “say less”. It seems to have come from a TV program and a misunderstanding between a host and a fan, but has since come to be widely used online, representing a strong agreement, where more doesn’t need to be said. It’s also fun to type! dddd
Throughout all the internet slang I’ve seen, the most prominent feature seems to be its parallels to western slang, along with slang throughout the world: as an expression of youth culture, of individual and shared experiences, appreciating and highlighting the absurdities of daily life, no matter who or where they are.
Like most kids my age, I am interested in gossip. I love listening to gossip, talking about gossip, learning about gossip. Because of my nature, my mom constantly calls me a “吃瓜群众“ or the melon-eating masses. This is the Chinese equivalent to the “tea sippers” in American slang. I love this phrase, because it shows that humanity is united by their thirst for drama. In addition, the emotes that are made from these are incredibly funny. Therefore, I wanted to take this post to talk about its origin, usage, and various examples.
Origin
The origin of the phrase is likely stemmed from a forum phrase “selling melon seeds in the front row”. This is similar to how sometimes in American chat rooms when something interesting is happening, people would say “giving out free popcorn” or “popcorn for sale here” to show that people are here to watch a show. Melon seed are much like sunflower seeds, an easy snack that people in China like to eat while talking or watching shows. This phrase was later shortened to “eating melons in the front row”. This caught on with netizens, as they started saying that they were “eating melons” whenever something dramatic would happen.
Usage
The phrase is often used to describe people who are merely there to “watch the drama”, not to make a judgement or to participate in the event unfolding. The melon eaters are not biased, but rather watching it almost like a movie, with an outsider’s perspective. Sometimes, they will take up the proverbial sword and provide thoughts and opinions about the matter or even spread information. However, they do it in a more detached sense, as they generally do not have a personal motive in the fight.
In this increasingly online world, everyone is both a spectacle and a spectator. Almost anything that someone does can be found online in a few clicks. This is especially true for Chinese people, who even pay with their social media accounts via Wechat. The speed at which c-nets go through drama is incredibly fast, especially online. For example, when news about Kim Soo-hyun’s misdeeds came out and he held his infamous interview, the Chinese netizens ripped him apart, from his dramatic crying to his hairline (possibly a toupe) to his water drinking. They dug up dirt about his past and all of his old photos and mannerisms. The information spread quickly in Chinese media and he quickly became a meme that everyone dunked on. While there was a lot of people who disliked him due to his alleged misconducts, a lot of people watched on from the sideline, merely amused by the memes that came out of it, or even adding their own fuel to the fire with more spin off posts or videos.
Chinese People and Watermelons
China is the biggest producer of watermelon by large. In 2018, they produced 79 million tons of it, while 2nd place Turkey produced only 3.9 million. In addition, most of that is eaten domestically, and the supply is often still too that China needs to import them from other countries. Despite the fact that Watermelons are a foreign product, Chinese people have been eating watermelons for centuries. Historians believe that watermelons arrived during the Five Dynasties period. It is commonly found in China and relatively inexpensive to purchase. Chinese people eat every part of the watermelon. Aside from the red flesh, they also cook the rinds like a vegetable and dry the seeds to eat as a snack. That is to say, melons are a highly beloved fruit in China, therefore making perfect sense for people online to adopt it in internet slang.
Watermelons or Watermelon Seeds?
There is some debate about whether the saying relates to watermelons themselves or watermelon seeds. Both are universally loved by Chinese people and often eaten when people meet up or watch shows. Some argue for one, others argue for the other, but there is no definitive proof about which one is right. The forum saying seems to relate to watermelon seeds. However, the imagery tends to depict watermelons themselves.
Children of the Melon-Eating Era
There is a popular book called “Children of the Melon-Eating Era” by Liu Zhenyun , which focuses on three different characters who are down on their luck for various reasons. One of them, a road official in charge of construction, was criticized by the “melon-eating masses” after a photo came out of him smiling while watching a bridge that he was in charge of collapse. They also dug up photos of him wearing expensive watches, which later came out as evidence that he was being bribed to save money on these projects, which resulted in death from the mismanagement of funds. In this scenario, the melon-eating masses are good people who revealed a corrupt official’s plot by being internet detectives. However, later in the book, when everything regarding the corrupt politicians in China has come to light, no one online is talking about it because new headlines about a celebrity having an affair with a Thai ladyboy was now taking their attention. In this case, the masses have now swung on the other end of political correctness, showing how these netizens do not actually care about the topics they are talking about, more so just moving from one entertaining topic to the next.
Conclusion
In the end, the melon eating masses is a byproduct of ever increasing usage of social media and the online world. Everyone has become more detached from the community, seeking shallow excitement from online strangers’ dramas. While they can be a bringer of good, they can also be a harbinger of evil. Everything is a the whim of the people, who are safe stuck behind the comfort of their screens.
I’m sure most of us have heard the word otaku before. Whether it was from watching an anime or you somehow got called it back in high school or middle school… for some odd reason. Regardless whether or not you have heard of the word Otaku, what does it mean? Otaku means somebody who is extremely knowledgeable, skillful, or enthusiastic about anime, games, or manga/comic who doesn’t often go outside to have fun and prefers staying indoors staring at a screen. Essentially otaku is a way of calling someone a nerd or geek. It’s an insult. Simple as that, but how did it come to China? Are the meanings of zhai and otaku the same or different? That is what we are going to find out today so let’s go!
How did the slang otaku come into China? Well it began all the way in 1970 when a Japanese anime first appeared in China called “The Dragon Boy.” In 1980, this anime would later be aired in Hong Kong under a different name called “Astro Boy” being broadcasted on mainland China’s CCTV. During this time the main audience of anime were children and teenagers and when they perceived Astro Boy, they found it to be extremely enjoyable to watch and Astro boy became popular amongst the new generation.
Picture of the anime Astro Boy
The exposure to Astro Boy began the otaku culture in China. Astro Boy led to the import of Japanese otaku related goods such as Japanese video games, mangas, and new animes that are similar to Astro Boy. The popularity of Astro Boy led to the audience who were the first to be exposed to be known as the Zhai generation with the phrase 我很宅 (wo hen zhai; I’m so otaku) to become extremely popular. Thus Astro Boy created the Zhai generation.
Zhai and Otaku’s Literal Meaning and Modern Meaning
Picture of the character zhai
Zhai comes from the Japanese kanji “お宅” which means your house and the kanji taku is a direct translation to the character Chinese people know as zhai. Zhai’s direct translation in Chinese also means house. The usage of it was meant as an honorific and polite way of saying your home, in a way to compliment someone.
Otaku would later have a change in meaning when humorist Akio Nakamori used it to define people engrossed in Japanese pop culture, being used in a negative connotation. This usage started to become popular in the 1980s bringing life to the new slang.
Since Zhai and Otaku were written the same way, Chinese people started to connect Zhai with the slang Otaku rather than house which led to Zhai meaning what the slang means showing that both Zhai and Otaku are perceived the same way in their respective countries.
Perception of Otaku in China vs Japan
In Japan, otaku was seen as an insult. It was essentially used to describe someone who looks like a nerd. If they were skinny, frail, wore glasses, and had disheveled hair they’d be called an otaku whether they were engrossed in digital media or not. This led to a lot of young Japanese teenagers and children not wanting to be called an otaku due to its negative connotation which would lead to them being bullied in school or public with people around their age.
However, in China zhai became so popularized that it essentially defined a new generation of people known as the Zhai generation. These people were enthusiast of Japanese digital media and pop culture, leading to the import of Japanese goods to China catering to the generation of young Chinese citizens. Going back to Otaku becoming Zhai, the teenagers and children were so proud they would literally call themselves an otaku by saying “wo hen zhai.”The effect of otaku in China and Japan was day and night with Chinese people wanting to be called a zhai because everyone loved the content and media they were being fed wanting to be known as a zhai, while in Japan people would get harassed due to the negative connotation where otaku was used as an insult.
Zhai Today
Although Zhai had a positive connotation in China, it would later turn to become like otaku in Japan. Zhai would fall to have a negative connotation as people who were considered zhai would be stereotyped as a person who stays at home all day with 0 social life. This led to zhais being seen as people who have an unhealthy antisocial lifestyle making it difficult for them to have a normal social life in school. These stereotypes became a thing because since otakus don’t move around and only eat, sleep, and do otaku related activities, if their physical trait looks obese/overweight and they seem shy or timid people assume they’re a zhai.
As new anime came into China, these animes didn’t follow what Astro Boy was and was stereotyped as perverted due to the design of characters being… the ideal build. In an interview with Ding Xinghan, a self proclaimed Taiwanese otaku, he claims, “… on my way home from buying anime merchandise, some grammas and grandpas looked at me weirdly and commented how anime is very daring and perverted. When I heard that, I felt very self-conscious about myself,” (Ding Xinghan). With how Chinese media adopts their ideas from Japanese media, it led to a negative connotation being seen as either violent or sexual.
Although zhai is perceived the same way as otaku, the internet stays a safe haven for self proclaimed zhai to be themselves without being judged. And even if there is a negative connotation the usage of the slang has diminished. The community of zhais have become so large that there are the creations of large in person events for zhais to meet other people like themselves and be able to fully express themselves without being judged.
The story of “The Butterfly Lovers,” often referred to as “Chinese Romeo and Juliet,” is an infamous love story in China that demonstrates the strength of love.
The Original Story
This story follows two main characters, Zhu Yingtai and Liang Shanbo, schoolmates turned lovers in Ningbo City in the Zhejiang Province during the Eastern Jin Dynasty (266-420 AD). Zhu Yingtai was the daughter of a loving, wealthy family with an insatiable curiosity. During this time, women were expected to learn housewife skills, preserving education for men. Her family allowed her to cross-dress as a man and attend school, having everyone believe she was a man. In school, she met Liang Shanbo. They instantly hit it off, becoming best friends and spending every day together. Slowly but surely, Yingtai fell deeply in love with Shanbo.
Zhu Yingtai’s father betrothed her to Ma Wencai, another wealthy family in the city. Since she planned to be wed, she had to leave school soon, leaving Liang Shanbo. She did not want to leave without telling him the truth about her. The week leading up to her departure, she took a walk with him, referring to them as “Mandarin Ducks”, trying to get him to realize what she was trying to confess to her. Alas, he did not, and she told him that she had a sister identical to her that he would pair well with. Yingtai convinced him to come to her hometown to meet her “sister”, trying to confess her truth to him. On his way home from school, Shanbo realized what Yingtai was trying to tell him. Finding out this information, he realized that he loved her and did not want to lose her. Shanbo tried to gain Yingtai’s parents’ blessing for their marriage, but they would not allow it. Shanbo was not of wealthy status, causing their rejection of him.
Due to the disappointing news, Shanbo fell depressed and died from grief of not being able to marry his love. He asked to be buried by the road outside of Zhu Yingtai’s fiancé, forcing her to pass by his grave on the day of their wedding. On the wedding day, an intense wind and rain storm came over the city. As Yingtai passed his grave, she fell to her knees due to sadness. When she did this, a bright light appeared and the grave miraculously opened. Yingtai immediately jumped in, breaking all social norms and rejoining her true love. The storm reached its peak, with thunder and wind going crazy. After she disappeared, the storm calmed and the sun shined on the city once again. Two butterflies emerged from the grave, dancing around and never being separated since. They fluttered around the grave, symbolizing eternal love.
Passerby’s witnessing the transformation spread the story rapidly, allowing the audience to hear the timeless tale about true love.
The Love Eterne
The Love Eterne is a Hong Kong film released in 1963 and directed by Li Han-hsiang inspired by “The Butterfly Lovers.” It won “The Golden Horse Award for Best Director” and “The Golden Horse Award for Best Leading Actress.” Although it follows the typical plot of the original story of Yingtai cross-dressing as a man and falling in love with her lower-class schoolmate, it dives deeper into gender roles, feminism, and social constraints.
National Impact
The Love Eterne quickly became a box-office success in Taiwan. It provided a sense of Chinese cultural identity as the movie started to migrate to international audiences. Many Chinese citizens fled from mainland China due to political challenges taking place in the 1960s. This film allowed them to regain their sense of cultural identity from the glamorized, “dreamlike” representation of China in the film.
At this time, Hong Kong and Taiwan were trying to become sovereign nations from China. The Shaw Brother’s movies, like this one, promoted the Cold War ideals while China was being converted to Communism. It helped display the notion that Taiwan was the only place where true Chinese culture was represented with Confucian morals and traditional Chinese stories. This story was turned into a political strategy to prevent China from being taken over by the Communist regime. The Shaw Brothers served as Chinese exiles, like many in Taiwan and Hong Kong. Their success with this movie paved the way for the Taiwanese film industry, giving them a sense of national unity and cultural identity. It shifted their post-war identity, where the film industry displayed the political and economic state of their country after this movie was released.
This film converted many Taiwanese citizens into major fans of Ivy Ling Po. They appreciated that she could display the true meaning of Chinese culture through film. This was Taiwan’s and other Chinese exiles’ first films that could accurately depict true Chinese culture before they were pushed out by Communist regimes. Since this film was released during the Communist regime taking over China and forcing the Nationalists out, it gave them new hope for their new home and their cultural identity preservation. She received a Golden Horse Award and many gifts from fans for her work with this film.
Gender Roles
In the original story, Shanbo is depicted as only seeing Yingtai as a friend when she cross-dressed as a man to attend school. In, The Love Eterne, it is depicted as Shanbo being in love with Yingtai, thinking he is a man. It pushes the idea of homosexuality with Shanbo and Yingtai, a concept heavily despised during that period. This change reinterprets the main idea around the first half of the story. The original story is mainly about societal class dividing the two lovers from not allowing each other to be together. But, in the movie, it is reimagined that gender is keeping them apart instead. Shanbo, although is never stated, is openly in love with his male counterpart in school. It has been heavily debated between academics of Shanbo’s actual sexuality in the film. This movie gave the LGBT+ community new visibility on the main screen. During this time, they were facing many challenges, as LGBTQ was a taboo concept. The Love Eterne gave the community a voice and visibility on the screen. The Love Eterne turns the story more into a queer performance than the differences of class like the Communist regime once fought with the Violin Concerto of this story.
This film dipped into the idea of gender-fluidity as well. The actress playing Chu Yingtai was Ivy Ling Po. Men regarded her as a female while females referred to her as a male due to her cross-dressing in the film as Liang Shanbo. Although Director Li Han-hsiang has not directly spoken about why he chose to cast her, it is believed that it was a nod to opera performances where women were cast to play men and vice-versa. Shanbo’s voice turned into a light soprano, contributing to the gender blurring seen through this film. It dips into the idea that gender is a social construct, not a biological quality. This is seen in Ling Po’s performance as a man. Another thought is that it adds to the gender ambiguity already associated with this movie.
This movie contributes to female empowerment, with the two main roles being played by females. It is normally the opposite where males portray female roles as seen in Peking Opera. It displayed the success females can have on films, allowing more roles being offered to females afterwards. Due to the casting of this movie, it is considered a highly progressive movie in Taiwan, paving the way for female actresses in the film industry.
Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity
Judith Butler’s Theory about gender states that gender is not defined by a person’s biological anatomy, but by their everyday actions that contribute to their “gender performance.” This theory has been applied many times to both leads in this film. It is applied to Yingtai when she is cross-dressing as a man to attend, and it is applied to Ivy Ling Po in real life. As mentioned above, many viewers did not know how to refer to Po after the movie. Men regarded her as a woman, and women regarded her as a man. This film brings a new definition to gender that was not as present in the original story.
Conclusion
The movie adaption of “The Butterfly Lovers” reinterprets the story from societal class divisions to gender fluidity and ambiguity. The film turned a Chinese folktale into a sign of cultural identity for Chinese exiles, scared of what was next for their country. It gave them a new sense of nationalism for their country and paved the way for their film industry displaying the economic and political state of their country. This film restructured the main concern of the original story. At first, the story mainly focused on class division, but it was reconstructed to be about gender fluidity instead.
Romance of the Three Kingdoms is one of the “Four Great Classical Novels” of Chinese literature. It depicts the plots, deceptions, battles, and stories of the end of the Han Dynasty, when the land was divided and in constant conflict. The novel follows the advisors, emperors, military generals, and other leaders in this divided land as they maneuver around plots, assassinations, and power-hungry schemers as they try to unite the land.
Yu-Gi-Oh!
Yu-Gi-Oh! is originally a Japanese manga created by Kazuki Takahashi, which is the origin for the Yu-Gi-Oh! Trading Card Game after Konami, a Japanese gaming company, bought the license and rights from Takahashi. Since then, it has become one of the top 3 grossing Trading Card Games worldwide, up there with Pokemon and Magic the Gathering. Pokemon has its cards based off of the Pokemon videos games, and Magic the Gathering has its cards based off medieval fantasy, such as concepts from Dungeons and Dragons (D&D), a game owned by the same company. On the other hand, Yu-Gi-Oh!’s themes are seemingly random. For reference, below are two artworks from that same game.
Ancient Warriors
Sometimes, Yu-Gi-Oh! takes some of its card concepts from fictional stories, such as Romance of the Three Kingdoms. “Ancient Warriors” is a series of cards inspired from the novel that has each of its cards depict a character from the novel, or a significant event in the story. The Japanese name of the cards, “戦 火“, roughly translates to “Warring Flower”. Of the characters depicted in the cards, many aspects of the characters are actually referenced in one way or another in their individual cards. For example, characters from the Eastern Wu, such as Zhou Yu and Sun Quan, are depicted with a WATER-Attribute in the top-right. Similarly, those from Shu Han were depicted with a WIND-Attribute, like Zhang Fei and Guang Yu, and those from Cao Wei were depicted with a FIRE-Attribute, like Cao Cao and Zhang Liao. On the other hand, independent characters, like the warlord Dong Zhuo, are assigned the DARK-Attribute. Below are some examples of the more important characters in the novel in card form.
In the beginning of the story, the emperor of the Han Empire, Emperor Shao and his half-brother, were caught up in a rebellion by the Ten Attendants, a group of Court eunuchs. While they escaped with their lives, they were found by the warlord Dong Zhuo. Dong used the opportunity to seize control of Luoyang, the imperial capital, under the guise of protecting the emperor and his half-brother. Eventually, he gained more and more power and influence, casting out Shao and instilling a new puppet emperor, while oppressing the people of the nation for his gain.
“Ancient Warriors – Savage Don Ying” is based off of Dong Zhuo. As mentioned before, the DARK-Attributed listed on the top-right of the card denotes the nation that Dong Zhuo originates from – In this instance, since Dong Zhuo is an independent warlord, he is DARK-Attribute. Additionally, his tyrannical rule over the common people is also depicted in the first line of his card text – “While you control a Level 7 or higher “Ancient Warriors” monster, your opponent must pay 400 LP to activate a card or effect”. This is a reference to how he would oppress the people with taxes for his personal gain; however, in order to do so, he needed a puppet emperor in place, hence the requirement of “a Level 7 or higher “Ancient Warriors” monster”.
Because of Dong Zhuo’s tyrannical rule, there were many failed assassination attempts on him. One such attempt was made by Cao Cao, but unlike previous attempts, Cao Cao managed to escape with his life after the attempt. After this, he called upon the assistance of many other warlords in the land using a fake imperial order, uniting 18 warlords into a singular army to combat Dong Zhuo and overthrow him. Dong Zhuo lost the battles that followed and decided to flee after burning down Luoyang, after which the 18-warlord alliance disbanded due to a lack of proper leadership.
Cao Cao was from the Cao Wei kingdom, as referenced by the FIRE-Attribute on the top-right corner. Additionally, his first line of text makes him more powerful if you have another “Ancient Warrior” in play, referencing his leadership and heightened strength with allies by his side when he fought against Dong Zhuo with the 18 warlords, a contrast to Cao Cao’s assassination attempt on him, as he was alone at the time.
After fleeing from Luoyang, Dong Zhuo went to Chang’an with the remainder of his troops. However, Wang Yun, a minister of Chang’an at the time, was also plotting to assassinate Dong Zhuo. He took advantage of Dong Zhuo’s foul temper and used it as leverage for Lu Bu, Dong Zhuo’s adoptive son. Wang Yun convinced Lu Bu that Dong Zhuo did not truly care about his life, and that a blood relation did not exist between them since he was adopted. As such, Wang Yun convinced Lu Bu to betray Dong Zhuo and kill him.
The card “Ancient Warriors Saga – Deception and Betrayal” depicts Lu Bu’s defection from Dong Zhuo. This is actually represented in the effects of “Ancient Warriors – Rebellious Lu Feng” (the card representing Lu Bu”. The card, while powerful, has a downside to potentially give itself to the opponent if your opponent has a stronger card, representing Lu Bu’s tendency to betray his allies and how he was easily manipulated by Wang Yun.
This is just the beginning of the story of Romance of the Three Kingdoms; in fact, what was just covered is perhaps less than 10% of the complete novel. You can find a complete recollection of the story here, as well as its connections to its Yu-Gi-Oh! card counterparts and references here.
Browsing short-form video platforms like Youtube Shorts, Instagram Reels, or Tiktok in 2024, you might have stumbled upon the strange sight of Chinese young adults perched on their bed frames, calling out hoarse-voiced bird songs.
This trend, called 当鸟 (dāngniǎo) involves gripping a bed frame or other support with your fingers while your legs are tucked in front of you underneath an oversized shirt. This gives the appearance of your hands being bird feet and your legs ceasing to exist.
Accompanied by silly songs and off-key bird calls, the absurdist nature of this trend belies its true cultural relevance. Clues as to the meaning behind this meme can be found in one of the earlier and most popular renditions of this meme, posted on Douyin on May 15, 2024 by user 无所事事的π先生 (Mr. Do Nothing Pi).
The caption in Chinese reads: “I’m not studying anymore, I’ve become a bird,” while the English alternative caption reads “Screw it, I’m just gonna go with the flow.”
Mr. Do Nothing expresses his frustration with his studies, and ironically broadcasts his intention to seek a simpler life “going with the flow” as a bird.
当鸟 memes found its audience not only at home in China, but also abroad, where this strange manifestation of youth angst was reported in outlets such as the NYT and the Guardian as part of a larger trend of frustration with Chinese work culture among the nation’s youth.
The New York Times cited Dr. Xiang Bao of the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, who says that as the Chinese economy slows, its youth are seeing their future fade away and the promised fruits of meritocracy slip from their grasp. The resulting disillusionment has fueled a number of cultural moments which share a resemblance with 当鸟.
当鸟 in Context: Burnout and Disillusionment in Chinese Work Culture
One can’t discuss Chinese work culture without discussing the “996” schedule, used to describe working from 9 AM to 9 PM, 6 days a week. This is a practice especially prevalent at big companies that fuel China’s growing technology and financial services sector.
This grueling work schedule has combined with diminishing youth prospects to fan the flames of disillusionment. Chinese young adults today face higher home prices and lower homeownership rates, especially in large expensive metro areas like Shenzhen, where the average home costs 43 times median annual income.
The employment situation provides little comfort, with an economic slowdown and increasing competition in the job market leaving many college graduates unemployed. In fact, when the 16-24 youth unemployment figure reached a high of 21.3% in June 2023, western onlookers noted that the Chinese statistics bureau had ceased publishing the figure (it has since resumed, with an updated formula.)
There is a growing perception that regardless of how hard you work to earn an education or find a job, you’re going to be fighting an uphill battle through your whole life. It is against this backdrop that movements like “Laying Flat” 躺平(tǎngpíng), and “Display Rottenness” 摆烂(bǎilàn) have their roots.
Comparing with “Laying Flat” 躺平(tǎngpíng), and “Display Rottenness” 摆烂(bǎilàn):
躺平 speaks of relaxation and inaction as a means of rebelling against a society which valorizes sweat and hard work, but doesn’t seem to be giving much in return. 摆烂 actively endorses apathy, advocating for letting things degrade when you see issues, rather than expending your own energy to intervene.
Although the 躺平(tǎngpíng) and 摆烂(bǎilàn) movements mentioned previously share an end goal with 当鸟 of removing oneself from the endless grind of Chinese work culture, they have a distinctly nihilistic flavor. They advocate for rejecting that which society deems valuable such as hard work and material wealth, and even rejecting your perceived duty to perform your best in work and school contexts.
On the other hand, 当鸟 has a more aspirational air to it, with students embracing a moment of light-hearted, absurd joy as a means of combating the troubles of their life and imagining a simpler yet more meaningful existence.
The New York Times quotes an interviewed student Wang Weihan, who states that “Birds can fly free and aimlessly in the sky,” and that they portray “the innate desire within every person for freedom.”
Conclusion
Although this meme of “Becoming a Bird” 当鸟 has spread beyond its original purpose as an outlet for student anxieties, such as this child on Douyin presumably not besieged by the anxieties of Chinese work life, it is impossible to remove it from its original context.
Already, we’re seeing Chinese society tackling the issue of youth and labor disillusionment. Some large companies, motivated by the already toxic “996” culture mutating into “007” culture (in which you are are on call 24/7) have implemented mandatory time off and other policies that would have their employees work less.
As the Chinese government and Chinese society continue to navigate the 21st century, memes like 当鸟 and 躺平 serve as cogent and timely reminders to re-evaluate exactly how much should be sacrificed in pursuit of increased productivity and global competition.
In this interview, a man born shortly after the beginning of the Cultural Revolution recounts his research into the psychological factors behind whether someone would be able to survive or not through the suffering they endured. He arrives at a rather counter-intuitive conclusion: that it was not material conditions, but primarily the bond between husband and wife, and family writ large, that determined one’s ability to persevere.
He notes many cases of success, including the noted Wang Meng, who would go on to become a Minister of Culture for China later on in the late 1980s. He notes how, throughout his experience when sent away to Xinjiang, he was able to maintain his optimism through the support of his wife. However, I would like to add onto this portrayal of his experience. What his relative success shows is that having some kind of support structure, some kind of mental mechanism to cope with the harshness of life, he was able to find meaning through his suffering. In fact, later on, the basis for many of his most famous novels and short stories would come from his experiences during the Cultural Revolution, giving him the ability to not just survive, but even flourish long after his imprisonment ended, demonstrating the importance of purpose and meaning when surviving in light of dire odds.
On the other hand, he also recounts the example of Li Rui and the sense of alienation he must have felt during his experience. Going from being Mao Zedong’s personal secretary, he had the unfortunate fate of being banished to Anhui to undergo “reform through labor” for nearly two decades. Whereas his material separation from Beijing may have been startling on its own, it was his emotional separation from his wife that most characterized his dire circumstances, with his relationship transforming from one of mutual love and respect to enmity and distrust. From enjoying the emotional comforts of family, he now was labeled a “rightist” and denounced by his loved ones, sapping him of the psychological purpose to persevere through adversity. Ultimately, he would pass away in 2019, detached from his former family and censored by the very Party he had sacrificed his career for.
“Hope in Prison”
In this interview, a survivor of the Cultural Revolution describes his shock regarding the treatment of people during the 60s, and attempt to find meaning amidst what he saw as an otherwise senseless campaign. Unlike the previous interviewee, he notes how, upon being accused of being a spy due to his family’s Christian faith and overseas relatives, many of his siblings made a clean break with his father, taking an “evasive attitude” simply to preserve themselves. He recounts how, not sharing his siblings’ evasiveness regarding their father, he, too, was eventually imprisoned.
There, he experienced a complete alienation of his relationship with the outside world, finding no purpose in living in a world where he was not afforded the basic dignity, respect, or comfort others seemed to enjoy.
However, it was the kindness of strangers, including the company of one of his very captors and the support at work of people he thought of as dangerous convicts, that have him the motivation to live. Despite the bad hand society had dealt him, he nonetheless maintained his conviction that, even if the people around him were “bad guys,” they must have had some goodness in them.
Version 1.0.0
This reminds me of Viktor Frankl’s own reflections in his classic memoir Man’s Search for Meaning, where he describes how simply the hope of one day being free gave him the psychological will to continue living. In much the same way, this man’s embrace of hope over bitterness, of life over death, enabled him to persevere despite it all.
“God Smiled Upon Us”
Ending on an optimistic note, in this interview, a former Sent Down Youth sent to the countryside in the “Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside” movement speaks of the extraordinary role of luck in his ability to persevere through the Cultural Revolution. For him, the life in the grasslands, while certainly tough, was at least stable and away from the chaos exhibited elsewhere.
Working in the Inner Mongolian region of China, he was able to immerse himself in the nomadic lifestyle of its inhabitants, being able to satisfy his intellectual curiosity in a way that was inaccessible to many affected by the movement elsewhere. Despite having to “learn everything from the beginning,” he found meaning in what he saw as a “new and magical place,” maintaining optimism that he could “learn and master everything.” His unusually positive recount of his experience as a Sent Down Youth is thus an outgrowth of the sense of purpose and belonging he found in being able to explore a hitherto new land. This sense of meaning that allowed him to persevere, if not flourish, is so ingrained in him that he mentions how, to this day, he still visits the grasslands every year.
牛马 (niúmǎ) literally translates to “cow and horse”, two traditional beasts of burden which many young Chinese workers in modern times can relate to. It has become a popular internet slang term, used in a self-deprecating way by young netizens to describe themselves as overworked and undervalued in the workforce. This term reflects the feelings of helplessness and unimportance common among the young working class, where many have resigned themselves to a life of mundane labor with no real opportunity for change.
Origins and Evolution
Despite its recent rise to popularity in Chinese social media platforms, 牛马 has been used a metaphor for hard laborers since ancient times. One of the earliest recorded uses of 牛马 is in Shiji by Sima Qian all the way back in 91 B.C. In this historical text, he uses it to refer to farm workers who start their work days early and return home late. The term originally had a positive connotation, used to describe the hardworking nature of these laborers as well as illicit sympathy for these conditions. Over time, it came to encompass not just farmers but any kind of worker working long hours for inadequate compensation.
In recent years, 牛马 has gained traction on Chinese social media platforms such as Douyin, Weibo, and Zhihu. It is used by netizens in a satirical way to both joke about their unfavorable situation as well as criticize the system that forces them to work long hours. The slang is particularly common among people working in tech and e-commerce, and many memes focus on office workers rather than traditional blue collar laborers. These workers feel as though they are nothing more than cattle and horse, with large corporations working them from morning to night with little rest or pay.
牛马 spread very quickly due to the large number of users posting and sharing it through short videos, live broadcasts, and comments. The feelings of anxiety and fatigue from overwork were so prevalent among netizens that 牛马 was able to gain a large amount of traction in a short amount of time.
Cultural Significance and Online Uses
The impact of 牛马 lies in its duality as a symbol of both resignation and resistance. It captures the feeling of young Chinese workers who are stuck between wanting to escape this kind of lifestyle and wanting to climb the social and financial ladder.
Resistance
Many netizens use the term 牛马 as a form of resistance and criticism towards the hypercompetitive, unbalanced work culture prevalent in China. 996 culture is very common in tech companies in China, requiring employees to work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. 6 days a week. In order to get to the 72 hour work week without violating Chinese labor policies, employees must work voluntary overtime, which is basically forced through peer pressure and risk of being laid off.
By calling themselves 牛马, workers perform a sort of soft resistance where they acknowledge that they are being exploited and can put a name on what these corporations are using them as. Further, by making jokes about their situation and comparing themselves to working animals, they can bring to light the absurdity of these working conditions.
In this viral Douyin, the creator lists all the work benefits cattle and horses have over modern workers such as getting work off on rainy days, getting off work when the sun goes down, and having food accommodated. He then satirically asks, “How can you say you are 牛马?”.
Resignation
Many netizens have resigned to the fact that in order to achieve the quality of life they desire, working as a 牛马 is necessary. Thus, posting about it online is a sort of coping mechanism, where young 牛马 can find solidarity with other 牛马 on social media platforms by sharing memes and satirical jokes of their bleak situation. One Zhihu user jokingly posted:
“When a cow is tired, it knows to rest. When a 牛马 is tired, it will order coffee.”
Another netizen posted the following video on Douyin:
Workers see themselves as mere working animals to their employers, and their ID tags are akin to the yokes that cattle carry. Just like these cattle who are forced to work by their masters, young workers also see no reasonable escape from this lifestyle. One alternative to this lifestyle is the 躺平 (tǎngpíng) movement, which means “lying flat” and is characterized by young, burnt-out workers refusing the grind and pressure of long working hours. These people will work just enough to survive, rejecting overtime and accepting their place in the social ladder. However, factors such as job insecurity, social pressures, and disapproval of relatives make 躺平 undesirable for many young workers, leaving 牛马 as the best choice for them.
Conclusion
牛马 is very significant as a tool for young workers to band together and face the exploitation that they face from employers. It reveals a large problem of overwork and societal pressure that many young adults face in modern Chinese society. Perhaps these issues are rooted in ancient cultural values such as hard work, hierarchy, and duty. Beyond just the workforce, children in China are taught to exert themselves to the max and try to climb the social ladder from the moment they enter school. Exam scores and rankings are made public to students to enforce a sense of social standing, cram school culture forces many students to focus all their time on their studies, and the Gaokao enforces academic filtering to an extreme degree. These are all symptoms of the deeply ingrained belief that personal worth is tied to status and achievement, a belief that is enforced by both the government and long-standing cultural values. In this context, perhaps embracing the label of 牛马 is an act of silent rebellion among the youth against the system that made them into 牛马.
“The empire long divided, must unite; the empire long united, must divide. Thus it has ever been.”
Cover art for Total War: Three Kingdoms
Released in 2019, Creative Assembly and Sega’s 12th installment of the Total War franchise takes a new spin on a cornerstone of Chinese culture: the Three Kingdoms period and Luo Guanzhong’s historical epic The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
Originally written in the 14th century, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms dramatizes the fall of the Han Dynasty, the rise of powerful warlords, the founding of the Three Kingdoms, and the eventual reunification of China under the Jin Dynasty. As one of China’s Four Great Classical Novels, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms has transcended the bounds of culture and history, with adaptations and reimaginations in the form of films, spin-off books, and more.
Total War: Three Kingdoms allows players to experience the romance like never before. With character-based campaigns, real-time tactical battles, and pivotal decision-making mechanics, those who play can rewrite the story of the Three Kingdoms in completely new ways.
Origins: The Romance of the Three Kingdoms
Blending history, legend, and myth, the original novel recounts the chaotic Three Kingdoms period. Beginning during the fall of the Han Empire, the epic gives a dramatic, semi-fictionalized account of the roughly 100 years from 184 AD to 280 AD. We are introduced to iconic figures like Cao Cao, cunning strategist and leader of Wei; Liu Bei, the virtuous and benevolent leader of Shu; and Sun Quan, the pragmatic and cautious leader of Wu.
Depiction of Cao Cao, Liu Bei, and Sun Quan
The epic recounts the early rise of Dong Zhou, his betrayal at the hands of Lu Bu, and the Rise of the Three Kingdoms following Lu Bu’s defeat. Throughout the novel, Luo Guanzhong explores ideas of righteousness, honor, and the pursuit of harmony amidst an era of chaos.
Importantly, Guanzhong’s writing was also heavily influenced by Confucian ideals of morality and the Mandate of Heaven. Liu Bei is often portrayed as the rightful heir to rule the land because he is favored by the heavens. Cao Cao, despite his reputation as a cunning strategist and control over the emperor, is often portrayed in a negative light due to a “lack of virtue.”
Depiction of the pivotal Battle of Red Cliffs
Throughout the chaos of frequent battles and shaky alliances, the novel emphasizes loyalty as the highest virtue, righteousness over personal gain, and that cleverness alone isn’t enough; it must serve morality to earn the Mandate of Heaven.
Ultimately, the Three Kingdoms came to be united under the Jin Dynasty that sprang from Cao Cao’s kingdom of Wei.
Despite its cultural precedence, modern audiences may find engaging with the novel difficult. Spanning over 800,000 words, the romance can be overwhelming due to its assumptions of Confucian knowledge, court politics, and dynastic customs.
Total War: Three Kingdoms
Game engine media for Total War: Three Kingdoms
Luckily, Total War: Three Kingdoms provides an interactive way for modern audiences to engage with the classic story of the Three Kingdoms. Blending turn-based strategy with real-time tactical battles, the game allows players to step into the shoes of the warlords of the story, featuring Cao Cao, Lu Bu, Liu Bei, and many more playable leaders.
Character/Faction selection screen from Total War: Three Kingdoms
Just as the warlords of the period vied to unite China under their rule, players work to expand their territory through diplomacy, conquest, and alliance, all while managing the economy, resources, and characters of their empire.
Gameplay demo for Total War: Three Kingdoms
The game allows players to choose between two modes of play: Romance or Records. Based on the legendary and epic nature of Luo Guanzhong’s novel, the Romance mode portrays generals as superhumans with exaggerated abilities. The game takes the fantastical romance of the novel a step further, with characters engaging in epic duels, defeating entire armies, and acting as near-mythical figures.
Mode select for Total War: Three Kingdoms
On the other hand, the Records mode reflects the historical accounts of the Three Kingdoms period. This mode is both grounded and realistic, where generals act as regular units, and tactics and formations triumph over heroics and legendary feats.
Total War: Three Kingdoms launch trailer
Regardless of which path is chosen, the game immerses players in an interactive world rich with Chinese culture, with menu screens inspired by traditional brush painting, music evoking harmony and balance, and Confucian-inspired gameplay systems such as character traits and legitimacy. The game allows players to not just play as Chinese warlords, but lead according to Chinese cultural values.
Reshaping the Romance
Although Total War: Three Kingdoms honors both The Romance of the Three Kingdoms and the history of the Three Kingdoms period, it is not simply another retelling of the same story, but rather, a chance for players to forge a new narrative.
Cao Cao virtues/traits screen
Perhaps the most significant interpretive choice of the game is the reduction of the Confucian moral binary. This choice not only modernizes the story for a global audience but also invites players to expand upon the themes originally presented by Luo Guanzhong. Throughout their campaigns, players rethink what power, virtue, and legitimacy truly mean. The Confucian lens of the romance guided readers’ judgements, but in the game, characters are cast not in moral roles, but as leaders with agendas, strengths, and weaknesses.
Players have the opportunity to engage with moral ambiguity, deciding for themselves if power without virtue is truly hollow, if ambition is not simply corruption, but adaptation. Players will frequently be presented with choices of mercy or brutality, and violence or alliance. Through their choices in the game, players do not just read of betrayal, but commit it and come to justify it.
Rather than rewarding moral absolutism, the game invites ethical exploration, transforming a story of predestined virtue and villainy into an open-ended meditation on leadership, agency, and power.
Three Kingdoms Across the Globe
Peaking at 191,816 concurrent players on Steam Chats, Total War: Three Kingdoms was a global success, bridging Eastern Historical narratives and Western audiences. The game has brought one of China’s Four Great Classical Novels to the screens of players as a global interactive experience. Players are not just exposed to Chinese culture, but immersed in it through the progression and mechanics of the game. Through interpretive choices and flexible gameplay, Total War: Three Kingdoms has been solidified as a fantastic reimagination of The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, that has and continues to serve as a global conduit of exploration for Chinese literature, history, and philosophy.
鸡汤, known in English as chicken soup, is a Chinese slang for advice that does not solve a person’s problems but makes them feel better. It also references bite size content that tells the user that everything will be okay, and the problems will be solved, even if we don’t do anything. Simply put, it’s useless encouragement or comfort. Another meaning it has is sentences or phrases that makes people more optimistic.
“只要你努力，一切皆有可能。” (“As long as you work hard, anything is possible.”)
Origins
It originates from the 1993 book series, Chicken Soup for the Soul, that was filled with feel good and cheesy essays. The series was compiled by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen. It gained traction in the early 2000s, as Chicken Soup for the Soul was translated and widely read. The books were great ways for people to get anecdotes that comforted the reader. As more social platforms like Weibo, WeChat, or Douyin became commonly used, 鸡汤, developed into having a more negative connotation as it was the response to positive messages. Netizens used it more as a mocking phrase, suggesting positive statements were unrealistic and manipulative.
Usage and Further Interpretations
鸡汤 originally was used to express warmth, nourishment and healing, as that was what chicken soup felt like. On the internet, it became a metaphor first for messages that promoted positivity. Motivational messages felt like chicken soup, helping alleviate stress. Overtime it developed its now new meaning of “toxic positivity”. 鸡汤 is a used within online discussions and answers to statements that only give encouragement. Example: Person A: Hey, as long you are trying your best you can make it. Person B: Thanks for the chicken soup. Another way that it is used is 毒鸡汤, or poisonous chicken soup. It is used as a two-sentence combination where the first part is positive then leads to a negative sentence. 毒鸡汤 is also used as responses when someone gives a brutally honest advice that counters the frequently given motivational messages.
“阳光总在风雨后” (“The sun always shines after the storm”) “只要你坚持，没有什么是不可能的” (“As long as you persevere, nothing is impossible”)
These would at first be examples of possible 鸡汤 for netizens to obtain hope or emotional help in tough times, but 鸡汤 ending up being the response to these. Netizens became more skeptical of such idealistic sentiments. Rather than seeing these messages as helpful, people began to view them as shallow, manipulative, or even exploitative.
Cultural Significance and Social Context
The main cultural significance of “鸡汤” is deeply tied to the social and economic conditions during the time period facing contemporary Chinese youth. During the 1990s and early 2000s, these the working class or youth that have reached working age are experiencing the periods of rapid growth, urbanization, and intense competition. Despite growing up in a relatively prosperous society, they face surmounting pressure from family, employers, and the educational system. Many jobs have a developed a “996” work culture. Forced to work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. 6 days a week builds stress. This mostly likely lead to the first literal definition of the term. The working group found joy within the “鸡汤” messages. As the years go by, as jobs become scarcer, and obtaining a chance for a better school is limited, the future looked bleak to netizens. As the youth culture shifted from a positive view on the future towards a more skeptic and ironic view, the meaning of the words “鸡汤” flipped. A boss who tells employees, “Success comes to those who work the hardest,” while denying raises and pushing unpaid overtime, might be accused of feeding them “老板的鸡汤” (“the boss’s chicken soup”). It also acts as a meaning for emotional manipulation, demanding more while giving less. It fits into a larger ecosystem of slang and memes that reflect the lives of young Chinese citizens. Other terms like “内卷” (involution) describe the exhausting, unproductive competition in school and work, while “躺平” (lying flat) expresses a passive refusal to engage with unrealistic societal expectations. Together with “鸡汤,” these terms represent a quiet form of rebellion—language that exposes the gap between the realities of school and work in China with the social ideals implanted into them.
Appropriation, Commercialization, and Resistance
Commercialization of “鸡汤” was the development of the many emotional languages or slogans within companies and some that promote the unhealthy “996” work culture. Schools and workplaces often have posters or signs that emphasized hard work, self-sacrifice, and loyalty. Adverting campaigns and media would often use “鸡汤” to promote social harmony and downplay the inequality or collective struggle.
Resistance in this case, takes the form of parody and irony by turning the definition on its head. By using “鸡汤” quotes and mixing them with dark humor or absurd logic, “鸡汤” developed more of a negative meaning. This ironic distance matters. It suggests that young people today are no longer satisfied with shallow positivity. They desire authenticity, solidarity, and alternative narratives that answers to their pain, skepticism, and frustration. It also acts like a device that allows the youth to express and find comfort in others that are in a similar situation. That they aren’t the only ones faced with pressure that they will not achieve what they wish. In criticizing “鸡汤,” they are not abandoning hope itself, but demanding realistic answers and responses to the bleak future that they see.
