Author: David Bandurski

Now Executive Director of the China Media Project, leading the project’s research and partnerships, David originally joined the project in Hong Kong in 2004. He is the author of Dragons in Diamond Village (Penguin), a book of reportage about urbanization and social activism in China, and co-editor of Investigative Journalism in China (HKU Press).

A Big Test for AI in China

Held over three grueling days every June, China’s high-stakes college entrance examinations rattle the nerves of students and parents across the country. Now, efforts by aspiring college students to harness artificial intelligence to ease the pressure and improve results are rattling the nerves of the authorities — perhaps an inevitable turn in the era of AI for a rite of passage with ancient roots.

Last Friday, three Chinese government agencies announced a coordinated crackdown on AI-generated misinformation and fraudulent schemes targeting the gaokao (高考), China’s make-or-break university entrance exam that every year determines the futures of more than 13.3 million students.

The enforcement action comes amid increasing signs, the authorities say, that AI tools have become central to how students prepare for the rite-of-passage exams, which were first introduced in 1952, three years after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. The exam was intended as a more meritocratic reincarnation of the centuries-old keju (科举), or imperial examination, that had qualified scholars in imperial China to serve in official bureaucratic roles — but was abolished in 1905 with the fall of the Qing dynasty.

Excerpt from the handscroll Viewing the Pass List, likely the work of a painter from the late Ming dynasty. SOURCE: Wikimedia Commons.

Over the past two years, as AI tools have become readily available and China has touted AI as an area of priority, including in education, AI has become integral to students’ test preparation strategies. Since 2023, Chinese students have increasingly turned to generative AI platforms to write practice essays. Users have also tested ChatGPT, DeepSeek and other models on actual exam prompts.

The tri-ministerial campaign targets several violations, including the use of artificial intelligence tools to fabricate exam leaks and generate fake answer keys. The campaign specifically mentions also the spread of disinformation designed to exploit desperate families — who are willing to pay sometimes exorbitant prices for any imagined advantage. Some social media accounts and private tutors have claimed in recent weeks to have access to “top secret” information sourced from teachers who help set the papers, according to Friday’s government announcement.

Authorities have reportedly been alarmed by a rising online market of so-called “AI-enhanced” mock exams. Sellers of these exams online have claimed they are able, using AI, to forecast up to 80 percent of the actual test questions that can be expected.

Experts have dismissed these AI-based claims as deceptive. “It’s not that AI or tutors are accurately predicting questions, but rather that the gaokao follows certain patterns,” said Chen Zhiwen (陈志文), a member of the National Education Examination Steering Committee, in an interview with Shandong’s commercial Qilu Evening News (齐鲁晚报). He described the AI-driven prediction trend as a “marketing gimmick.”

The involvement of three government agencies in the latest crackdown — the Ministry of Education, the Cyberspace Administration of China and the Ministry of Public Security — points to the sensitive social and political nature of the annual exams. Those creating and spreading online rumors (编造, 故意传播虚假信息罪), disrupting public order (寻衅滋事罪) or circulating false exam content will face severe legal penalties, the authorities warned.

The legal framework makes clear that exam-related AI fraud now carries the same weight as traditional crimes against social stability.

These latest regulations speak to the leadership’s deep ambivalence toward AI as both an immense promise and a looming complication. The government has moved to integrate AI closely with the education system down to the primary level, and some universities, including Shanghai’s prestigious Fudan, are already moving to emphasize AI over traditional subjects in the humanities. But there is anxiety at the same time that AI could discourage critical thinking among new generations of students — and clearly that AI could undermine the integrity of the annual examinations that are promoted as the chief measure of merit in Chinese society.

Invasion of the Robots

For the Chinese Communist Party, achieving the objective of external propaganda is sometimes about spreading the word about the glories of Xi Jinping Thought, or the supposed benefits of the Belt and Road Initiative — and sometimes it’s about sensational robot boxing matches.

Last Sunday, the China Media Group (中央廣播電視總台), the state-run media conglomerate directly under the CCP’s Central Propaganda Department, staged what it claimed was the world’s first humanoid robot boxing competition, featuring G1 robots from Hangzhou-based tech firm Unitree throwing punches and executing kicks in one-on-one matches broadcast live by China Central Television.

The spectacle, the latest in a series of sporting robot events put on by state media, was about more than raw entertainment. Why robots? Because robots embody futuristic appeal. They are more visual and more marketable than the latest AI model grinding out text or video. They naturally generate viral content that travels across social media platforms and news outlets without appearing like overbearing state propaganda. The objective is simple tech showmanship, advertising China’s supposed technological prowess in newly attractive ways, both to Chinese and to audiences overseas.

While the impact of such campaigns is difficult to measure, their viral nature pegs them as natural candidates for reposting. Across the internet this week — shared by personal social media accounts and bona fide news outlets like the BBC, NBC and Al-Jazeera — the spectacle of battling robots titillated global audiences.

Media everywhere took the bait, paving the way for yet more soft state propaganda featuring robots doing incredible deeds.

Taking the Bait in Taiwan

The pattern of spectacle was repeated in the case of Taiwan, with one important difference. Coverage across the Taiwan Strait of the robot antics on CCTV fed immediately into state media propaganda about Chinese economic and tech prowess — and the inevitability of unification. Never mind that Taiwan is home to the world’s most advanced chips behind a whole range of industries, including robotics.

Several pan-blue Taiwanese media outlets provided enthusiastic coverage of the CMG robot tournament. CTi News (中天新聞台), the social media account run by the often blatantly pro-China Want Want Holdings-backed China Times (中國時報), TVBS News (TVBS新聞台), ETtoday and other largely pan-blue outlets — leaning, in other words, toward the opposition KMT and its more supportive stance toward China — all reported enthusiastically on what they characterized as a breakthrough moment. “Human fighting is very common, but this might be the first time we have robots in the ring,” said an over-excited report from Da Ai Television (大愛電視), a network founded by a Buddhist charity organization in Taiwan, which added that the event was “expected to become an important milestone in smart robot applications.”

Chinese state media then amplified this Taiwanese coverage as evidence of cross-strait admiration — not just for China’s advertised technological prowess, but also for its “leaping development.”

CTi News, an online account for the Taiwan-based television network that lost its license in 2020, covers the CMG robot boxing event as news on May 26.

In a May 26 report by CMG’s “Look at the Taiwan Strait” (看台海) program, the broadcaster highlighted how “Taiwan compatriots see the rapid development of the mainland motherland” through CMG’s media technology innovations. The report quoted Chen Wencheng (陈文成), described as a Beijing University Taiwan teacher, as saying that many young Taiwanese “yearn for mainland technology and products.” They hoped, he said, that CMG could hold similar competitions “on Taiwan island” so that “compatriots on the island can directly experience innovative achievements in robotics industry development.”

Chen, who in the past has said that “mainland democracy is democracy that truly serves the people,” is affiliated with the All-China Federation of Taiwan Compatriots, a state-sponsored organization currently led by Zheng Jianmin (郑建闽), who serves as deputy director of the Overseas Chinese Affairs Committee of the CCP, which operates under Beijing’s United Front Work Department.

The Pursuit of “Cuteness”

CMG’s robots may be battling for supremacy in the ring, but the broader goal beyond the ring is to attain the “cuteness” (可爱) Xi Jinping referenced in a May 2021 collective study session of the CCP Politburo. In that address on international communication capacity building, Xi called for China to project a “credible, lovable, and respectable” image to the world — a mild corrective departure from the aggressive “wolf warrior” diplomatic style that had dominated Chinese foreign relations for several years to that point.

The timing was no coincidence. China’s international image had suffered significant damage amid rising tensions with Western nations over Hong Kong, Xinjiang, and the COVID-19 pandemic response. Xi’s call for “cuteness” represented a strategic pivot toward what Chinese officials describe as a more “humble and modest” approach to international engagement, while maintaining firm positions on core issues.

Culture and technology are regarded as key areas in which to engage foreign audiences. While China’s official messaging may at times, as necessary, be firm on key positions, those positions can often be better conveyed through soft content that achieves a sharp purpose.

As one Chinese government document on building China’s international image notes, the goal is to “construct multi-channel, three-dimensional international communication patterns” that showcase China’s technological achievements while demonstrating the superiority of its political system. Robot competitions serve this dual purpose perfectly — they appear apolitical while subtly reinforcing narratives about Chinese innovation and government effectiveness.

Taiwan’s elementary school team that won 2025 Robofest in the US. Not enough drama for you?

In an interesting contrast to the sensationalism of CMG, several other Taiwanese media, including the government-run Central News Agency and the pan-green Liberty Times, featured their own robot competition story this week. But the focus in this case was far more down to earth as they reported on elementary school students from Chiayi County’s Chailin Elementary School who won the world championship at the 2025 Robofest World Robotics Competition in Michigan.

No robot battles. Just inquisitive kids preparing their minds for the future, with battery packs, wheels and basic components.

Whatever the case in terms of China’s real preparedness and leadership when it comes to technology, the CMG propaganda formula appears set for expansion. The network plans additional robot competitions, including football and basketball tournaments. Robots are invading China’s media across the board, as evidenced in regular features like this one in yesterday’s Southern Metropolis Daily — an entire page, with a robot right at center, about investments by Chinese internet giants in embodied intelligence companies.

The enthusiastic coverage of CMG’s latest spectacle by global media outlets as well as pan-blue media in Taiwan suggests that this “cute” approach to sharp power could be effective in ways that are difficult to measure — particularly as related clips and memes fire across social media platforms.

A Taiwan Slip on Chinese Television

It was meant to be a stiff and routine recitation of the official news — just like every other newscast China Central Television anchor Hu Die had delivered in her 17-year career. But a simple slip of the tongue brought a landslide of repercussions for Hu, who joined the state broadcaster in 2008 after winning its prestigious host competition the year before.

The slip occurred on Tuesday this week during a CCTV-13 newscast on the “Focus On” (共同关注) program, which occupies a prime evening time slot, as Hu recited harshly-worded criticism from China’s Taiwan Affairs Office (TAO) of Taiwan President Lai Ching-te’s (賴清德) May 20 anniversary speech — which in fact avoided clear provocation and offered a measured view of “a Taiwan of the world.” TAO spokesperson Chen Binhua (陳斌華) had responded to Lai’s speech by stressing the leadership’s standard formulation that unification cannot be obstructed, regardless of the position of Taiwan’s government and people.

Relaying Beijing’s position that unification is inevitable, Hu Die said first that “the two countries cannot be obstructed” before stumbling through a correction and concluding that “the motherland will eventually be unified.” Captured in screenshots and video shorts, the momentary lapse spread like wildfire on social media platforms inside and outside China.

Searches for “Hu Die” on Weibo immediately suggest “Hu Die’s verbal gaffe” as a keyword. But search results cannot be found.

Within hours of the broadcast, video clips of Hu Die’s remarks disappeared from CCTV’s website. The authorities also moved swiftly to expunge all versions of the broadcast online and across social media platforms. The swiftness of the effort to restrain all mention of the incident online reflects the extreme sensitivity of the Taiwan issue, which is one of several hard red lines for China’s heavily controlled media.

Users on Weibo entering “Hu Die” in the search field today will immediately see the search option “Hu Die’s verbal gaffe” (胡蝶口误), suggesting this has been a popular search term over the past 72 hours. Results, however, are not available.

Hu Die has not updated her personal account on Weibo since the incident, her last available post dating back to May 9.

Cross-strait messaging is a huge priority for China’s leadership and has its own sprawling apparatus beyond CCP-run central state media. China Taiwan Online (中国台湾网), for example, is a full-fledged website dedicated to Taiwan news, culture and exchange. The site’s ICP registration links it to Beijing Cross-Strait Cultural Exchange Co., Ltd. (北京海峡文化交流有限公司), a company held by another enterprise, Jiuzhou Cultural Communication Center (九州文化传播中心). This entity is in fact a state-run institution (事业单位) under the Taiwan Affairs Office of the Central Committee of the CCP (中共中央台湾工作办公室).

The ICP license for Tiawan.cn traced through to the CCP’s Central Committee and the Taiwan Affairs Office.

All media in China are bound by the political principle of “correct guidance of public opinion” (正確輿論導向), dating back to June 1989 and the aftermath of political protests that year and their brutal crackdown in Beijing. Central state media, such as China Central Television (CCTV) and the government’s Xinhua News Agency, serve as the vanguards of this policy and are held to the strictest standards.

The timing of Hu’s monumental error — for that is how CCTV’s management and the authorities are sure to regard it — proves especially sensitive given escalating tensions between China and Taiwan under Lai’s presidency. The CCP leadership in Beijing views Taiwan’s ruling Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) and its leader as dangerous forces of separatism, and it has

intensified military pressure around Taiwan since Lai’s inauguration. China conducted major military exercises following Lai’s inauguration speech in May 2024, and has since maintained elevated levels of military activity in the Taiwan Strait.

It remains to be seen what the snafu will mean for Hu Die, a 42-year-old anchor from Shaanxi province who has built a reputation as one of China Central Television’s most trusted faces, hosting such flagship programs as “Morning News” and serving as a chief on-camera reporter.

Respect for the Hero

Earlier this month, state media across China went into overdrive to share the heart-stopping story of how Bupatam Abdukader, a 24-year-old female police officer in Xinjiang, had descended 40 meters into a narrow well to rescue a toddler, after attempts with conventional rescue equipment had reportedly failed. Dramatic video footage from the scene showed the officer stepping forward toward the perilous shaft, barely 40 centimeters wide, as she removed her jacket and said: “I’m thin, let me go down!” 

Cue the tales of heroism and self-sacrifice, standard fare for official rescue reports in China’s tightly controlled media environment, which tend to play down questions of readiness and responsibility. State media related how Bupatam, who is from Luopu County in the region’s Hotan Prefecture, had battled oxygen and tight confines — maintaining consciousness through deep breathing techniques — to bring the small girl up from the muddy bottom of an abandoned well. “When I touched the child in the well, she grabbed my finger. Her hand was so cold, yet so strong,” she recalled emotionally to the reporters waiting above ground. “I had only one thought, to get the child up first.”

As the dramatic rescue footage captured attention across the country, including video footage showing Bupatam as she finally emerged, covered head-to-toe in mud, local officials made the most of the opportunity. They presented the officer with a reward of 10,000 yuan and nominated her for the county’s “Model of Bravery” (见义勇为模范) honor. 

But as admiration for her heroism spread across Chinese social media, the conversation shifted rather suddenly to questions about Bupatam Abdukader’s employment status. In media reports, she was referred to generally as a “female auxiliary officer” (女辅警), making clear to the news-reading audience that she was a member of the “auxiliary police” (辅助警察) — meaning that rather than being under formal hire, she was support personnel for the regular police force, receiving inferior pay and benefits. 

A screenshot from a video posted by Jimu News shows the moment Bupatam Abdukader removed her uniform to prepare to descend into the abandoned well.

Why, netizens wondered, should someone who had displayed such immense courage receive fewer benefits and less compensation than her formally employed counterparts?

Typically, unlike formal police officers with what are known as “established positions,” or bianzhi (编制), auxiliary officers receive lower salaries, reduced benefits, less job security, and fewer promotion opportunities despite the fact that they do the same work and face the same risks. 

China’s two-tier system for police and rescue work has frequently become a point of social debate. One of the most egregious examples came to the fore nearly 10 years ago as a fire at a chemical storage facility in the city of Tianjin erupted as a massive explosion that killed 173 people. Many of the dead were firefighters later found to have been auxiliaries under part-time contracts

As the officer’s heroic act in Xinjiang made the headlines, netizens pounced on the opportunity to reopen the longstanding debate about the gap between “official” and “auxiliary” status. “She should be given a formal position!” wrote one user. Another asked directly: “Why not give her a permanent position?”

On April 24, just over a week after the rescue, local authorities announced she would be “exceptionally promoted” from seventh to fifth rank within the auxiliary system. The announcement seemed only to throw the gap into sharper relief. While significant, the promotion maintained the officer’s auxiliary status rather than granting her formal employment.

As public pressure mounted, the Xinjiang government made an announcement through its official “Xinjiang Release” (新疆发布) account on social media channels in which it sought to rationalize the process of converting auxiliary hires to formal positions. Such a transition, it said, needed to follow strict procedures, including civil service examinations, merit-based special recruitment, and targeted recruitment programs.

“Bupatam is undoubtedly a hero,” the statement read, “but compared to the beautiful wish for ‘special handling,’ strictly following legal regulations for ‘conversion to permanent status’ requirements and serious, prudent merit recognition is what represents fairness and justice to all formal police officers and auxiliary police like her who fight on the public security front in various fields, selflessly protecting people’s lives and property.” In other words, the decision to keep Bupatam and others like her in “auxiliary” status, according to the statement, was about “system design.” And ultimately, the procedural approach prevented “favoritism and corruption to the greatest extent.” 

In many respects, the statement was a distraction from the obvious. As state media are well aware, the highly discriminatory nature of China’s two-tiered employment system has been repeatedly and conclusively documented — and even, despite the country’s highly controlled media environment, talked about. 

Six years ago, a report in China Comment (半月谈), an official journal under the government’s Xinhua News Agency, found significant pay disparities between auxiliary and formal hires. The latter were generally paid three times more for a marginally larger workload. And despite the fact that they remained essential, China Comment found that auxiliary officers experienced a profound lack of belonging (归属感) and social recognition, ultimately undermining the stability of the workforce and the effectiveness of the public security system.

This time around, mindful perhaps of the potential volatility of growing public calls to improve the status of an ethnic Uighur auxiliary officer, China Comment got behind authorities in Xinjiang. The journal praised the official response as exemplary crisis management that balanced institutional constraints with public sentiment, noting how it demonstrated that officials could find “the greatest common denominator” when navigating the tension between emotional appeals and regulatory frameworks. Echoing this sentiment, the state-run China Central Television commended the way officials, as it said, “did not avoid public expectations” but “explained facts and reasoning” while maintaining “respect for the hero.” 

The mini storm of discussion prompted this month by the heroics of Bupatam Abdukader reveals how a story of dramatic rescue — or any story, in fact — can quickly transform into a platform for broader social debates about equality and fairness. But it equally reveals how rapidly and effectively such debates can be managed by the state, using the means of restraint and amplification at its disposal.

At its core, Bupatam’s story is about a gap in visions of what heroism means, and how it should be rewarded. While public sentiment called for the officer’s brave human acts to be rewarded with real and tangible benefits, and the dignity that comes with truly equal status, the authorities managed to contain her within the Party’s limited vision of heroism. In that vision, the hero’s extraordinary sacrifice works only to serve and preserve the system — even if that system is premised on the most ordinary perpetuation of inequalities.

AI Moves to Page One

Sitting back in early January with the latest edition of Guangzhou’s Southern Metropolis Daily, one of the country’s leading metro newspapers, daily news readers were treated to a splashy page-one story about how China’s national plans for artificial intelligence development — known as “AI+” — were being unleashed in every sector of the economy and society. But the cover, importantly, was itself proof of how AI is transforming another crucial sector: the media.

The cover featured a striking figure 8 — or infinity symbol — in gradient colors of teal, orange, and yellow, floating above a miniature cityscape. Around this mathematical representation of limitless potential were arrayed digital icons depicting various sectors transformed by AI: doctors consulting computer screens, autonomous vehicles, smart classrooms, and connected urban infrastructure. At the bottom of the bright page, down below its characteristic masthead — and its motto, “Making China’s Best Newspaper” — were the words “created with JimengAI.”

The cover signaled an important departure for a newspaper that for decades had been known for its bold front-page graphics and striking photojournalism. It is certainly just the beginning of a trend that will reverberate through China’s media sector. The country’s newspaper industry in particular has faced major challenges in recent years, with sharp declines in print circulation and the closure of 55 newspaper titles in 2023, pushing outlets to cut costs and accelerate digital transformation. 

Talk of AI-led transformation in the media sector goes back at least six years to 2019, when surveys showed that 73 percent of Chinese journalists expected significant impacts on their profession due to AI technology. Meanwhile, state-run research institutes advocated strategically integrating AI across “news collection, production, distribution, reception and feedback” to comprehensively enhance “public opinion guidance capabilities” — in other words, to improve the party-state’s capacity to control information.

The cover signaled an important departure for a newspaper that for decades had been known for its bold front-page graphics and striking photojournalism.

In recent months, as developments in AI have accelerated, there have been rising concerns about the future of the journalism profession in China — which has already been jeopardized, something far less talked about, by stringent political controls under Xi Jinping. When AI can ask questions, correct grammar, find information, and even write articles, many wonder if journalists will become obsolete. Writing earlier this year in China Youth Daily (中国青年报), a paper under the Chinese Communist Youth League that from the 1980s through the 2000s was known for its sometimes breakout reporting, journalist Zhang Tiankan (張田勘) voiced the hope and the anxiety: “Machine and robots free people from heavy physical labor and boring work, to do more important work, or let people become supervisors — and this beautiful prospect has today been partly realized,” he said. “But other worries have also arisen.”

Et tu, Graphic Designers?

It remains to be seen what the changes at Southern Metropolis Daily will mean for its visual designers and photojournalists. But the paper, which has been known through the years for its sometimes stunning page ones, has clearly not given up on its visual team entirely. 

Since January the newspaper has continued to feature strong news photography on the front page, such as its vivid full-page images during the Myanmar earthquake last month, or its stark cover back on April 5 showing then just-removed South Korean president Yoon Suk Yeol in profile. 

Still, one wonders if the writing is on the wall. 

Since the start of the year, a total of 36 front pages at the Southern Metropolis Daily have been generated with the help of AI, accounting for 35 percent of total covers. The vast majority of these have been produced by staff with the help of Jimeng AI, an AI image generation tool developed by Faceu Technology, a subsidiary of ByteDance — meaning these visuals were brought to you by the same company that gave the world TikTok. 

Other images are produced using YuanBao AI (元宝AI), an AI assistant developed by the technology giant Tencent. A few were also made using Doubao AI (豆包AI), another Bytedance creation that until the DeepSeek burst onto the scene was regarded by some as the country’s number-one chatbot, with more than 60 million active monthly users by November 2024.

On average, Southern Metropolis Daily is producing two to three AI-generated front pages per week. One perhaps revealing gap occurred from March 5-11, corresponding with the “two meetings” of China’s parliament and political advisory body. During that period, none of the covers in the newspaper dealing with the political meetings in Beijing were generated using AI. In fact, they retreated into conservatism, using all-red backgrounds and stiff images from the Great Hall of the People. Even as the paper strained at its chains to provide visual interest, it was clear that the aesthetic from on high was all about sticking to the austere.

The transition to AI is certainly the order of the day, and media across the country will continue to harness the technology to save time, cut costs, and remain on the cutting edge. But for media whose role is focused through the lens of Chinese Communist Party control, certain optics will remain impervious to change. 

Don’t expect AI-generated images of Xi Jinping — authorized ones, at least — any time soon. 

China’s Monologue Machine

In the latest iteration of the leadership’s efforts to expand local-level involvement in the national project of global propaganda, Wangcheng District in Changsha, Hunan province’s capital city, has established the region’s first county-level international communication center, which the state-run China Daily says will “tell Wangcheng’s story” as well as convey the wisdom of Chinese leadership and development to the world.

The new hub offers a glimpse not just into the strategies of China’s leadership to advance the country’s “global discourse power” — but how such strategies may be seriously misguided, even foolish, as they unfold from the heights.

Located on the northwestern outskirts of Changsha city, Wangcheng is a rapidly industrializing district known for its historical ceramic production at Tongguan Kiln, the Lei Feng Memorial Hall (commemorating the model soldier celebrated in Communist Party lore), and several ancient towns along the Xiangjiang River. Once primarily agricultural, the district has been absorbed into Changsha’s expanding urban area since its conversion to district status in 2011.

The CCP’s mythologized selfless soldier, Lei Feng (雷锋), is claimed by Wangcheng District. But can his image translate into global soft power? SOURCE: Wikimedia Commons.

The Wangcheng International Communication Center (望城国际传播中心) was unveiled on Tuesday in a ceremony attended by the deputy director of Changsha’s propaganda office under the local Chinese Communist Party leadership, Yang Yi (杨溢), and Chen Kuang (陈旷), a district member of the CCP committee. At the launch event, officials said the center aims to “bring Wangcheng to the world and let the world understand Wangcheng.” They described the center as an “upgraded new media communication system” focused on “integrating resources and innovative communication.”

International Communication Centers (国际传播中心), or ICCs, have proliferated across China since 2018 as part of a broader program under Xi Jinping designed to modernize the Party-led system for global propaganda. The initiative gained momentum following Xi’s May 31, 2021 call at a Politburo study session to revolutionize Party-state communication with the goal of making China “credible, lovable and respected” (可信 | 可爱 | 可敬). This push was given further momentum after the Third Plenum in July last year, where Xi made what state media described as “important deployments” regarding “constructing a more effective international communication system” (构建更有效力的国际传播体系).

At the local level, these ICCs have intersected with a decade-long program under Xi to digitize and modernize Party-run “mainstream media,” preparing them to lead domestic public opinion — and now, international public opinion — in the 21st century.

Schools Become Recruitment Centers

As local and regional leaders have leapt to obey Xi Jinping’s instructions on international communication, one key issue local ICCs have faced is a lack of requisite talent. Communicating effectively requires a range of skills and savviness that are often scarce in China’s highly controlled and oxygen-deprived media space, and also a more international knowledge and outlook. Local leaders have increasingly tried to fill this gap by enlisting the country’s universities.

The launch in Wangcheng included the formation of “international communication volunteer teams” (国际传播志愿小分队) from three local colleges: Hunan Information Vocational Technology College, Central South University of Forestry and Technology’s Foreign Affairs School, and Hunan Foreign Trade Vocational College.

The government appointed what it calls the first batch of “Wangcheng International Communication Recommendation Officers” (望城国际传播推荐官) who will reportedly “showcase Wangcheng’s ‘ancient charm’ and ‘new trends'” to international audiences. Hoping to leverage the ICC to promote local culture and tourism, officials announced five “premium interview routes” — essentially, maps for promotion tours — that comprise more than 20 locations of interest. Not surprisingly, the list included the district’s Lei Feng Memorial Hall (雷锋纪念馆).

The center says it will use its “regional advantages,” including culture, to “display a real, multidimensional, and comprehensive Wangcheng to the world” through what officials term a “1+3+N” international communication model — one center, three workstations, and multiple college volunteer teams.

Xi Jinping’s vision for global propaganda and public opinion dominance in the 21st century is built on a basic, and deeply flawed, assumption that voices can communicate effectively if only they are mobilized politically.

Models like the “1+3+N” have multiplied across the country. Just one administrative level up, at the Changsha International Communication Center, the formula is “1+2+9+N,” describing a system of one city-level center, two sub-centers, nine district-level centers, and a range of “cooperation units” such as schools, think tanks, overseas liaison offices (海外联络站) and so on. In such formulas, “N” has become a variable describing the real extent to which this renewed national push for global influence has enlisted all aspects of Chinese society, both at home and abroad.

“N” speaks to what the leadership clearly regards as a primary strength of the international communication center push — the collective might of people and institutions across sectors. But it also stands in for one of the key vulnerabilities of this latest effort: its often haphazard and scattershot approach.

Xi Jinping’s vision for global propaganda and public opinion dominance in the 21st century is built on a basic, and deeply flawed, assumption that voices can communicate effectively if only they are mobilized politically. In an era of boundless information, however, the approach does little to account for audience preferences or interests, lacking meaningful feedback mechanisms. To the extent that “N” represents conscripting local and international students, enterprises, and other social actors, it also underscores the significant trade-offs the leadership demands to amplify its message — essentially requiring society to redirect resources and attention away from core missions toward politically-determined communication goals.

War Games

On Tuesday, China’s military released a propaganda video called “Vanquishing Evil” (降妖除魔) that framed military exercises encircling Taiwan in a show of military force as a blockbuster of mythic dimensions. Complete with video game references, the propaganda spot, promoted widely by state media, made it all seem like a testosterone-fueled game for adolescents — rather than drum-beating about aggressive actions that could set off a deadly regional conflict.

Staged by the Eastern Theater Command of China’s People’s Liberation Army, the video — released as China announced joint military drills in waters around Taiwan — employed supernatural imagery from the Chinese classic “Journey to the West” (西遊記) to depict the military operations as an epic battle morally justified.

Screenshot of a version of the PLA video on China Central Television, with an inset (by CMP) of the video game from which the animation footage seems to have come.

Slicing through bellicose montages of naval vessels, jetting aircraft, descending parachutes, and hustling ground forces, were title cards with martial arts terminology — overlaying video of the mythological Monkey King (孫悟空), the chief protagonist of the above-mentioned novel. These appeared to have been lifted directly from a popular video game, “Black Myth Wukong” (黑神话:悟空), which last year became the first major Chinese game to achieve breakthrough success in the West.

In Taiwan, meanwhile, audiences were not enjoying the theater.

Taiwan’s Presidential Office responded swiftly to the PLA’s exercises, with spokesperson Kuo Ya-hui (郭雅慧) saying that President William Lai (賴清德) had directed national security and defense agencies to monitor the situation closely. “In the face of external threats, our government will continue to defend our democratic and free constitutional system,” Kuo said. “We have the confidence and ability to safeguard national sovereignty, protect people’s safety, and maintain social stability.”

The PLA video made the rounds on midday news shows across Taiwan, and the country’s Central News Agency quoted China’s Global Times newspaper as saying that “the film seamlessly connects Sun Wukong’s demon-slaying abilities with the PLA’s powerful combat capabilities, highlighting the PLA’s aim to fight against and eliminate independence movements.”​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Propaganda from the Eastern Theater Command of China’s PLA depicts Taiwanese President William Lai as a parasite, a frequent recent line of attack.

In recent weeks, Taiwanese President William Lai has faced a torrent of criticism from China after he characterized Beijing as a “hostile foreign force” (外部敵對勢力) during a March 13 national security meeting. This rhetorical escalation came alongside Lai’s announcement of plans to restore military trials​​​​​​​​​​​​ amid a surge in Chinese espionage cases, with official data showing 64 people in Taiwan were indicted for spying for China in 2024 (three times that in 2021).

China’s official state media have portrayed Lai as a “parasite” gnawing away at Taiwan’s well-being and future — another theme featured in propaganda from the PLA’s Eastern Theater Command on Tuesday.

The PLA video’s five title cards all draw from “Journey to the West” mythology, repurposing supernatural abilities from China’s literary heritage as modern military capabilities. The first, “Vanquishing Evil” (降妖除魔), frames military action as a sacred duty to eliminate demonic forces, while the last, “Immobilization Technique” (定身术), represents the ability to paralyze an opponent’s defenses through electronic warfare and precision strikes.

While Beijing frames its military posturing as fantasy-inspired heroism, Taiwanese citizens face the sobering reality that these metaphorical “demon-vanquishing” techniques represent actual missiles, blockades — and presumed plans for invasion. The gamification of conflict may entertain mainland audiences. But across the strait, the consequences could not be more real.

Pen Names, Stern Warnings

A forceful warning against wasteful government investments intended for local authorities appeared on Sunday in a central-level newspaper dedicated to economic policy. Though the source of the message was masked in one sense by an official pen name, its import was nonetheless unmistakable — revealing a key fact about how China communicates policy priorities.

The commentary, published in the Economic Daily (经济日报), a newspaper directly under the State Council, highlighted concerning evidence of declining investment efficiency as Beijing pushes to stimulate domestic demand. The article noted that China’s incremental capital output ratio — which measures how much new investment is required to produce each additional unit of GDP growth — has deteriorated from 2.84 in 2008 to 9.44 in 2023, higher numbers indicating worsening efficiency.

These numbers suggest that China now requires more than three times the capital investment to generate the same economic output as 15 years ago. This, the commentary suggests, pointing a finger at local governments, indicates serious structural inefficiencies in how capital is being deployed across China’s economy.

The article appeared under the byline “Jin Guanping” (金观平), a homophone for “Economic Daily’s observational commentary” (经济日报观察评论), signaling that this represents an institutional position rather than an individual author’s view. In all likelihood, “Jin Guanping” commentaries are penned by a “writing group,” or xiezuozu (写作组) at the newspaper, with senior editors and possibly officials reviewing and approving the final text before publication.

“Some localities blindly launched vanity projects to pursue short-term political achievements, causing large amounts of capital to flow into inefficient projects,” the commentary said. It castigated local governments for pursuing what it called “grandiose plans”  (大手笔) that had resulted in “massive debts” (大笔债) — and, in the end, yielded little in terms of economic benefits.

Finance Minister Lan Fo’an (蓝佛安) revealed in November that local governments had accumulated 14.3 trillion RMB (1.97 trillion dollars) in hidden debts by the end of 2023, according to Hong Kong’s South China Morning Post.

What’s in a Pen Name?

The “Jin Guanping” byline has frequently been used for commentaries at the Economic Daily, pointing to consensus viewpoints in the central government. On average, the byline appeared for 13.3 articles per month in the newspaper over the past year. What distinguishes Sunday’s commentary, however, is its cautionary tone. It directly criticizes wasteful projects with terms like “grand gestures” (大手笔) and “large-scale debt” (大笔债), and it warns that such cases bear “profound lessons” (教训深刻). 

This practice of using “homophonous pen names” is an internal coding system within China’s official state media. The pen names, even as they seem to disguise the source of the messaging, often work as signals indicating the institutional weight behind particular messages. As we have previously noted at the China Media Project, these propaganda labels “form an internal system of not-so-secret codes by which those in positions of power, both departments and individuals, can voice their official positions and put their stamp on a course or policy.” 

The practice of using official pen names dates back decades in China. During the Cultural Revolution, radical factions used pen names to signal political attacks. In more recent times, pen names have regularly appeared in Party-state media such as the flagship People’s Daily. For example, the pen name “Zhong Sheng” (钟声) — a homophone for “Voice of China” — is used to mark important commentaries on international affairs where the leadership wishes to register its view, often critical, of foreign countries without direct attribution. The pen name “Guo Jiping” (国纪平), a homophone of “important international commentary,” is used on occasion to mark international affairs commentaries that represent the central CCP consensus.

By parsing these coded bylines, observers can better understand not just what is being communicated, but who might be communicating it and how seriously the message should be regarded within China’s complex political-economic system.

The appearance of this stern warning under the “Jin Guanping” byline at this particular moment suggests heightened central government concern about local investment practices as China struggles to revive economic growth. 

A River Crisis Prompts Rare Coverage

According to rare reports today from Chinese media, an environmental crisis is unfolding along a stretch of the Leishuei River in Hunan province that impacts the prefectural city of Chenzhou (郴州), home to more than four million people. Abnormal concentrations of thallium — a highly toxic, colorless heavy metal that causes organ damage and cancer through water contamination — have reportedly prompted the city to activate a Level IV emergency response, and residents are stockpiling drinking water.

In neighboring Guangdong province, the Southern Metropolis Daily (南方都市报), a commercial newspaper published under the state-run Nanfang Daily Group, splashed the crisis across its front page today, with the headline: “Thallium Abnormality in Hunan’s Leishuei River.”  

The front page of today’s edition of Guangzhou’s Southern Metropolis Daily.

According to reports from both the Southern Metropolis Daily and Caixin Media, the crisis began nearly a week ago, on March 16, as automatic monitoring stations along a section of the river between the cities of Chenzhou and Hengyang, population 6.6 million, showed abnormal thallium levels, “causing trans-municipal pollution and threatening downstream water safety” (造成跨市污染,威胁下游饮水安全).

Jimu News, an online official outlet from Hubei province, immediately to the north of Hunan, reports that both Chenzhou and Leiyang cities have established emergency command centers to address abnormalities in local water quality in the Leishuei basin. Local officials have insisted that drinking water remains safe in the area impacted by the abnormal readings. However, Shanghai’s The Paper said in a report this afternoon, adding wider context to the breaking story, that abnormal thallium concentrations had been detected in 17 out of 22 drinking water sources along the Xiangjiang River in Hunan province, a separate basin, since 2020 — pointing potentially to wider and more longstanding public health risks.

It was only yesterday that that local government in Chenzhou finally acknowledged publicly through its government website what local officials had been responding to for a week: “Water quality in some sections of the Leishuei basin has shown abnormalities.” This public statement came seven days after automatic monitoring stations first detected abnormal thallium levels on March 16, and six days after Yongxing County activated its Level IV environmental emergency response, the Southern Metropolis Daily reported.

Caixin Media reports on the Hunan thallium story through its English account on X this afternoon.

New Messages from China’s Ancient Capital

In a city where Buddhist rock carvings have gazed over the Yellow River valley for more than a millennium, local officials are now on their own sacred mission — to join the Chinese state in amplifying its message to the rest of the world.

On Wednesday this week, Chinese Communist Party officials gathered at the offices of the official Luoyang Daily (洛阳日报) to inaugurate the city’s new Luoyang International Communication Center (洛阳国际传播中心), the latest addition to China’s expanding network of provincial media hubs designed to “tell China’s story” to international audiences. For Luoyang — an industrial center in central China’s Henan province that served as imperial capital during multiple dynasties — the new center aligns ancient heritage with contemporary propaganda objectives.

The state-run China Daily newspaper reported that the center will “integrate government, media, academic institutions and social resources to build a comprehensive, multi-level international communication system.” The paper, which is itself a key external propaganda organ published by the Information Office of the State Council — essentially the same office as the CCP’s Central Propaganda Department — called the initiative “an important platform for Luoyang to promote high-quality development of international communication and enhance international discourse power” (提升国际话语权).

Since 2018, and accelerating since 2023, the Chinese leadership under Xi Jinping has called on provincial and city-level governments to join the national push to raise the country’s “discourse power” — hoping to close what it sees as a gap with the influence of the West — by launching local “international communication centers,” or ICCs. These are meant to leverage the resources of local media groups and propaganda offices, along with partnerships with universities and other entities, to promote Chinese cultural, economic and political influence.

A new crop of official ambassadors for Luoyang. Wild guess: These are foreign students recruited for a photo opp. SOURCE: China Daily.

Alongside the launch of the Luoyang center, officials announced the formation of the “Luoyang International Communication Alliance” (洛阳国际传播联盟), which according to official reports comprises more than 100 members from various sectors with overseas experience. The Luoyang ICC has also signed cooperation agreements with four local universities, including Henan University of Science and Technology — presumably to develop content and recruit talent for international messaging efforts. Foreigners from a number of countries, including the United States, the United Kingdom, Russia, Belarus, South Korea, and Morocco, were present at the launch ceremony, promoted as “Luoyang International Promotion Ambassadors” (洛阳国际推荐官).

Whether these provincial centers will significantly influence international opinion remains to be seen. State media reports, including from China Daily, claim that since preliminary operations of the Luoyang ICC began in December 2024, the center has “actively expanded overseas communication channels” and produced more than 600 articles and videos — content that reportedly attracted attention from China’s own Foreign Ministry. Aside from occasional announcements about the ICC’s formation posted on Instagram and Facebook by the state-run China News Service, however, we could find no evidence of any meaningful international impact.