Sinica: Chinese Phrase of the Week

"In the bag" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 26 Apr 2026 10:08:48 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “in the bag” (探囊取物 tàn náng qǔ wù)

Context

The second Beijing Human and Humanoid Robot Half Marathon took place on April 19 in Yizhuang (亦庄), a district in the southeastern suburbs of the capital.

102 teams competed in the race, with over 300 robots from 26 brands running alongside human competitors on the same course.

The winner was a surprise to many, and a new entrant this year: Lightning (闪电). Built by smartphone manufacturer, Honor (荣耀), Lightening completed the race in 50 minutes and 26 seconds, smashing the human world record for that distance, and beating last years’s best time of 2 hours 40 minutes by two thirds.

Second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth places were also taken by Honor-made robots. Which is a stunning achievement considering the firm’s robotics division was only established less than a year ago.

Although Honor’s dominance on the podium did come as a surprise to many, it was not such a shock to the Honor team. They went into the race with confidence as Lightning had already broken the human record in the pre-race dry run, and that wasn’t even at feel speed:

After the robot from Honor shattered human records while “holding back” during pre-race testing…
The team knew the race was in the bag.
在开赛前一周的全要素路测中，荣耀机器人“收着跑”仅发挥七八成功力，就打破了人类最好半马纪录，团队内部当时就觉得，夺冠已是“探囊取物”。

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What it means

“In the bag” is our translation of a classical Chinese idiom which translates directly as “explore” (探 tàn), “pouch” (囊 náng), “take” (取 qǔ), “object” (物 wù).

Literally it means “reaching into a bag to retrieve something”. It describes a task so easy it requires no effort at all.

The phrase originates from the New History of the Five Dynasties (新五代史), a historical text compiled in the 11th century by the Song Dynasty scholar and statesman Ouyang Xiu (欧阳修), one of the most celebrated writers and officials of his era.

The story behind the idiom dates to the Five Dynasties period (907–960 CE), a turbulent era of shifting kingdoms in China. A scholar named Han Xizai (韩熙载) was fleeing the Central Plains after his father was killed by the emperor. Fearing he would meet the same fate he sought refuge in the southern kingdom of Wu.

Han’s close friend Li Gu (李榖) came to see him off at the border. As he departed, Han boasted to his friend, if the kingdom of Wu appointed him as prime minister he would lead troops back north and pacify the Central Plains.

Li Gu replied to his friend with equal confidence:

“Yes, but if the northern states appointed me as their chancellor…
Conquering the southern kingdoms would be as easy as retrieving an item from a pouch.”
中国用吾为相，取江南如探囊中物尔。

Neither man’s ambitions came to pass.

Han Xizai never rose to power in the Kingdom of Wu. Passed over by the court, he retreated into a life of wine and revelry. Li Gu did go on to become a military commander, leading successful campaigns against the southern kingdoms. But chancellor he never became.

The idiom, however, survived them both. Later generations distilled the exchange into the four-character phrase said by Li Gu: “easy as retrieving an item from a pouch” (探囊取物).

In modern Chinese, it’s used to describe any task that feels easy or like a foregone conclusion. Something accomplished with such ease that the outcome was never really in doubt.

In English it can be translated as “a piece of cake”, or “easy as pie”. But in this context we prefer “in the bag” which carries the same meaning in English, and fits with the imagery of the original idiom story.

Which is exactly how Honor’s robotics team felt after Lightning broke the human half-marathon world record in the practice run. For them, winning the race itself the following day was pretty much “in the bag”.

And they were proved right.

Andrew Methven is the author of RealTime Mandarin, a resource which helps you bridge the gap to real-world fluency in Mandarin, stay informed about China, and communicate with confidence—all through weekly immersion in real news. Subscribe for free here.

Read more about how this story is being discussed in the Chinese media in this week’s RealTime Mandarin.

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"Mockupation" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 19 Apr 2026 10:46:05 GMT

Artwork for RealTime Mandarin by Zhang Zhigang

Our phrase of the week is: “mockupation” (假装上班 jiǎ zhuāng shàng bān)

Context

China’s job market has never been more competitive.

Youth unemployment is at around 19%, with a record number of “unfinished kids” (烂尾哇) chasing a shrinking pool of jobs. The gap between finishing university and finding work has become a painful process of “removing the long gown of Kong Yiji” (脱下孔乙己的长衫).

In tech, meanwhile, layoffs of mid-level and senior staff are on the rise, as their roles are “optimised” (优化) and they are “replaced and eliminated” (汰换) by AI.

It’s in this context that a surprising new trend has been emerging in China’s employment landscape. There’s no official English name for it yet. So we came up with one:

The pinnacle of professionalism might just be the ability to stay on duty when you have lost your job.
Their commitment has given birth to a new type of company that is popping up all across the country: Mockupation startups.
上班的最高境界是什么？或许是：现实已无班可上，内心却始终”在岗”。最近全国各地冒出来了一批新的公司：假装上班公司。

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What it means

“Mockupation” is our translation of a newly coined Chinese phrase which combines these two phrases: “to pretend” (假装 jiǎzhuāng), and “to go to work” (上班 shàngbān).

This phrase began surfacing in late 2024, as videos of people documenting their mock occupations spread across Chinese social media.

By early 2025 “mockupation companies” (假装上班公司) were springing up in cities across China.

They provide office space for people to be at their pretend jobs — who have been out of work, or never managed to find a job in the first place.

Mockupation companies look any normal office, but the people in there are not employees, they are paying to be there. A small desk goes for as little as 100 yuan a month, a larger one for 150.

For the people using these mockupation companies, they get structure, routine, and a psychological anchor of people “coming together to support each other” (抱团取暖).

Which, in the current job market in China, is a much needed relief from the otherwise grim outlook.

For some people, it’s got so bad it feels better to pretend like they have a job and avoid the social stigma of being out of work.

Which is why we translate this week’s phrase as “mockupation”.

"Dong Yuhui keeps getting away with it" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 12 Apr 2026 10:31:04 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “an abrupt end” (法不责辉 fǎ bù zé huī)

Context

One of China’s most famous livestream hosts, Dong Yuhui (董宇辉), is facing a consumer backlash.

In early April, a CCTV reporter exposed a health supplement sold by Dong called “Youthit” (优思益) — marketed as a premium Australian eye supplement made by a company called Yarra Vibe, priced at 293–434 yuan per bottle.

The reality was very different: made in China, and owned by a Chinese shell company registered at an Australian address that turned out to be a car repair warehouse on the outskirts of Melbourne.

Dong Yuhui’s channel, Time with Hui (与辉同行), was Youthit’s single largest sales platform with an estimated 40% of total sales, worth 10–25 million yuan ($1.4–3.4M USD).

In response to the controversy, Dong’s team was slow to respond, issuing three statements that didn’t address the problem.

And this wasn’t a one-off. Youthit was Dong’s third fake product controversy this year. Each time, Dong has used carefully worded language to distance himself from the offending product, and any liability.

That’s a problem for someone who built his reputation as a “cultural figure” (文化人). His fans trust him, and they pay a premium for what he promotes because of it.

Now that trust is being eroded.

And there’s a new idiomatic phrase to explain why:

Recently, the catchphrase “Dong Yuhui keeps getting away with it” has gone viral.
A play on the old adage “the law does not punish the masses”, the four-character phrase highlights the seemingly untouchable status of Dong Yuhui and his team amidst a string of recent live-streaming controversies.
最近，”法不责辉”成了网络流行语。这四个字借用了老话”法不责众”的壳，指向了主播董宇辉及其团队在多起带货争议中的处境。

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What it means

“Dong Yuhui keeps getting away with it” (法不责辉) is our translation of a new play on the classical Chinese idiom, “the law does not punish the multitude” (法不责众).

Breaking the meaning down: “law” (法), “does not” (不), “punish” (责), “masses” (众).

But in this new version, the final character “the multitude” (众) is replaced with Hui (辉) from Dong Yuhui’s name (董宇辉).

The original, “the law does not punish the multitude” (法不责众), traces back to the Qing Dynasty novel, The Little Five Heroes (小五义), by Shi Yukun (石玉昆), a storyteller and writer best known for his contributions to the chivalric fiction genre.

For hardcode Phrase of the Week fans, Shi Yukun is the originator of our two previous Phrases: "Arrive with excitement, leave in disappointment" (乘兴而来，败兴而归), and "There is no 300 taels of silver buried here" (此地无银三百两).

In one scene of The Little Five Heroes, a warlord forbids everyone in a village from drinking alcohol, warning that anyone in a caught will be beheaded. So someone comes up with a plan: first get fifty people to have a round, then recruit another fifty for a second round. The logic being the warlord can’t possibly execute all 100 of them. So everyone drinks, and walks away as if nothing happened.

In Chapter 38, the crowd reaches their collective conclusion:

“Everyone talked it over — the law does not punish the multitude — and they all left.”
大家一议论，法不责众，全走了。

This scene reflects the realities of imperial governance at that time.

Feudal law was often enacted against the interests of ordinary people. But if the authorities tried to punish large groups en masse, they risked open revolt. So officials often went for a pragmatic middle ground: let the crowd off, and make an example of the ringleader. So the many escape and the few at the top are punished.

It’s also worth noting that the “law” here has nothing to do with the legal system. It’s closer to a popular folk wisdom — an ordinary person’s understanding of how rules and consequences actually work.

In modern Chinese it can describe any situation where a large number of people break the rules or fail to meet a standard, but nobody ends up being seriously dealt with. In other words: when everyone is doing it, it becomes harder to hold any one person to account.

The original describes a crowd too large to punish, but the newly coined phrase describes one man who keeps escaping accountability — Dong Yuhui. Because, apparently, the rules simply do not apply to him.

And in China’s internet culture, that is damaging. Which is why we translate this new idiom, “the law does not punish the Hui” (法不责辉), as “Dong Yuhui keeps getting away with it.”

But for how long?

P.S — Want to read more about how this story is being discussed in the Chinese media?

Tune into this week’s RealTime Mandarin.

And if you want to go deeper into Dong Yuhui’s career, I have great news for you!

We’ve been tracking him since the beginning:

With this latest development, could Dong Yuhui’s career be coming to an end?

My guess is this is the first hint at that.

Because when the Chinese internet invents critical idiom about influencers, it normally signals the beginning of the end.

As Austin Li found in 2021 with the invention of ‘Austin Li’s uncontrollable success’ (琦虎难下).

What are your thoughts?

"An abrupt end" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 05 Apr 2026 10:02:55 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “an abrupt end” (戛然而止 jiá rán ér zhǐ)

Context

On March 24, education influencer Zhang Xuefeng (张雪峰) died suddenly in Suzhou from cardiac arrest. He was only 41 years old.

For readers of Sinica Phrase of the Week, Zhang Xuefeng is a familiar name. He is one of China’s most recognisable internet celebrities, and has made a name for himself as a “gaokao college application planning advisor” (高考志愿规划师).

Zhang capitalised on his fame and built a successful education business. Many criticised him for “making money off people’s anxieties” (靠焦虑来赚钱). But for millions of parents he offered a lifeline to navigate the pressures of academic results, university choices, and graduate employment.

His sudden death came as a shock to many, as one commenter put it:

Some mourned the loss of a straight shooter who dared to speak the truth.
Others were struck by how his life was brought to an abrupt end.
“So it turns out people don’t only die when they’re old. People can die at any moment.”
有人惋惜世上少了一个敢讲真话的硬骨头；也有人被这种“戛然而止”击中——“原来人不是到老了才会死，人是随时都会死的”。

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What it means

“An abrupt end” is the translation of a classical Chinese idiom, whose individual characters mean: “a sound that stops unexpectedly” (戛然 jiá rán), “and thus it stops” (而止 ér zhǐ).

The idiom originates in the Comprehensive Meaning of Literature and History (文史通义), a major work of literary criticism written by Zhang Xuecheng (章学诚), a prominent historian and philosopher of the Qing Dynasty.

In a chapter titled Ten Flaws of Classical Prose (古文十弊), Zhang uses the phrase to describe the dramatic rhythmic effect a skilled writer can achieve:

“Great writing follows a path that is as mysterious and masterful as those of the gods.
It arrives like a sudden bolt of lightning, and it ceases with an abrupt, sharp silence.
Has there ever been a truly great work that did not possess such power?”
夫文章变化，侔于鬼神，斗然而来，戛然而止，何尝无此景象？

Zhang was explaining the most powerful prose keeps a reader off balance, by throwing in surprises, and cutting out just as sharply. So here the idiom carries it’s literal meaning — a sudden, abrupt stop in mid-flow.

Over the years it’s use extended do describing anything which comes to an abrupt end. In modern Chinese, the idiom most commonly appears as an adverbial describing the moment something unexpectedly ends, such as a life.

In the context of Zhang Xuefeng’s sudden death, the idiom describes how a life was tragically brought to an end so abruptly, and underscores how shocked people are by his death, and the fragility of life.

“A mantis trying to stop a chariot” — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 29 Mar 2026 10:03:11 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “a mantis trying to stop a chariot” (螳臂当车 táng bì dāng chē)

Context

Rumours that iFlytek (科大讯飞) and NetEase (网易) — two of China’s biggest tech companies — are planning large-scale layoffs have been circulating on social media since the middle of March.

Both companies have denied the rumours. But nonetheless the news has hit a nerve with many people who work in the tech sector. Because they fear their jobs will be replaced by AI.

Parallels were drawn in media discussions between tech employees today and the Luddites — textile workers in early 19th century Britain who faced being replaced by machines that were faster, cheaper, and never needed to sleep.

Their resistance was ultimately futile. And some fear the same fate awaits China’s anxious tech workers today — a sentiment captured perfectly by a classical Chinese idiom:

“History books wrote them off as a joke: a bunch of backward elements afraid of progress, a mantis trying to stop a chariot.”
历史书把他们写成笑话：一群害怕进步的落后分子，螳臂当车。

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What it means

“A mantis trying to stop a chariot” (螳臂当车) is a very old idiom.

The individual characters mean: “mantis” (螳 táng), “arms” (臂 bì), “block” (当 dāng), “chariot” (车 chē).

It’s origin is the Zhuangzi (庄子), the foundational Daoist philosophical text compiled in the 3rd–2nd centuries BCE, attributed to the philosopher Zhuangzi (庄子). In Chapter 4, In the Human World (人间世), a wise man warns a student against taking a dangerous post at the court of a volatile prince. He uses a cautionary tale:

“Do you not know the story of the praying mantis?
It stretches out its arms to stop the chariot with all its might, unaware that it is not up to the task.”
汝不知夫螳螂乎？怒其臂以当车辙，不知其不胜任也。

He describes how when a mantis sees a chariot bearing down on it, the insect raises its forelegs in defiance, believing that show of aggression will stop the much larger chariot barrelling towards it — which of course it can’t.

The wise man’s point is simple: know what you are up against before you act.

In modern Chinese, the idiom is often used in combination with another four-character phrase:

A mantis trying to stop a chariot — blind to its own limitations
螳臂当车，不自量力

It describes someone who overestimates their own strength. Unlike a brave underdog, the mantis is a fool about to be crushed.

In this week’s source article, the writer uses it to describe how history judged the Luddites — dismissed as backward reactionaries who tried to hold back the unstoppable tide of industrialisation.

]Workers across China’s tech sector are feeling the same thing those textile workers felt two centuries ago. The changes brought about by AI are bearing down on them. They must adapt, get out of the way, or be crushed.

Because the chariot will not stop.

"Pitfall major" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 22 Mar 2026 11:02:22 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “pitfall majors” (天坑专业 tiān kēng zhuān yè)

Context

The Communication University of China (中国传媒大学) says it’s discontinuing 16 of its undergraduate degrees.

According to the university’s party secretary, Liao Xiangzhong (廖祥忠), traditional subjects like translation, photography, visual communication design, arts management, and comics are to be axed.

The story exploded on social media. An open letter written by some students at the university was shared tens of thousands of times online. In the letter they asked:

“Will our diplomas still be recognised? What will happen to our remaining classes?”
毕业找工作，用人单位看到我们专业没了，会不会觉得我们是“被淘汰的人”？

Communication University responded, saying it’s not just cancelling these 16 subjects; it’s adapting what it teaches to fit changes in technology and the world of work. So the axed subjects will be merged into other degrees.

But that’s little consolation for students currently in those degrees, or those considering them in the near future:

“It’s foreseeable that in the next round of university curriculum reforms, majors that are overly technical or too narrow in scope risk becoming the new ‘pitfall majors.’”
可以想见，在新一轮的高校专业改革中，那些过于工具化，过于单一的专业，恐怕就会成为新的”天坑专业。”

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What it means

“Pitfall major” is a four-character phrase which translates directly as “sky pit” (天坑), “specialised field” (专业).

In British English, we would translate it as “dead-end degree” — a university degree that leads to low pay, harsh working conditions, or poor job prospects.

In Chinese, “sky pit” (天坑) means sinkhole. China has some of the world’s most dramatic sinkholes, particularly in Chongqing and Guangxi, where the earth drops away into vast, seemingly bottomless caverns.

The character “pit” (坑) is also Chinese slang for “deceiving” someone or “getting them into trouble”. So in this context, the phrase “sky pit”, or “pitfall”, carries both of these meanings.

The phrase “pitfall major” (天坑专业) first gained traction on Chinese internet forums in the early 2010s, where students began ranking degrees by how bad their career prospects were.

The original big three “pitfall majors” were biology (生物), chemistry (化学), and environmental science (环境科学), fields that require years of postgraduate study but offer limited job opportunities. Education influencer Zhang Xuefeng (张雪峰) later expanded this to four, declaring that materials science (材料科学) belonged in the same category. These big four became known by the shorthand expression “生化环材”.

Graduates of these subjects find themselves in a cycle of low pay and limited job prospects. They spend their entire careers “climbing out of the pit” (爬坑), a phrase describing someone trying to make the best of a bad academic choice.

As China’s job market became increasingly competitive and “involuted” (内卷) — a term we’ve covered before — the number of degrees defined as “pitfall majors” expanded beyond the sciences, to law, philosophy, history and beyond.

Now, with AI beginning to reshape the world of work, the axing of traditionally popular arts degrees by Communication University is a sign of how far the “pitfall major” label has travelled.

"Raising the lobster" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 15 Mar 2026 11:03:09 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “Raising the lobster” (养龙虾 yǎng lóng xiā)

Context

OpenClaw is one of the most discussed topics on Chinese social media at the moment.

It’s an open source AI agent which helps users build teams of AI assistants. These assistants can manage real-world tasks like sending emails, managing calendars, and running social media accounts.

Developed by Austrian programmer, Peter Steinberger, OpenClaw launched in late 2025. By January 2026, it had caught on in China. Tencent Cloud and Alibaba Cloud launched setup services to help non-tech-savvy users install the AI. ByteDance and Alibaba’s Qwen followed. And on March 6th, nearly 1,000 developers and AI enthusiasts gathered outside Tencent’s headquarters in Shenzhen for a free installation event.

Short videos of people running their AI agents have flooded flooded social media feeds as the craze jumped from the tech world into the mainstream.

And with it came a new phrase:

“From coders to regular users, the whole country is obsessed with ‘raising the lobster’.
The OpenClaw craze is absolutely everywhere on Douyin right now.”
抖音上，”全民养龙虾”的短视频刷屏，从程序员到普通用户，几乎全社会都参与其中。

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What it means

“Raising the lobster” is a newly coined expression which means training your OpenClaw AI assistant. Breaking it down: “to raise or keep” (养 yǎng), as in raising children, keeping pets, or nurturing habits; and “lobster” (龙虾 lóngxiā).

The lobster connection starts with the name and the logo. The project was originally called Clawd — deliberately similar to Anthropic’s AI, Claude. When Anthropic pushed back over the trademark, developer Peter Steinberger kept the lobster theme through a brief rename to Moltbot, before deciding on the name, OpenClaw. The red cartoon lobster stayed as the logo throughout.

In China the lobster theme stuck, so the Chinese name became “crayfish”, or literally “small lobster” (小龙虾 xiǎo lóngxiā). Running your own OpenClaw became “raising a lobster” (养龙虾 yǎng lóngxiā).

The idea of “raising” implies how users need to feed their AI agents with tokens, train it with new skills, and monitor and improve performance. The AI requires ongoing attention like a pet which needs “feeding” (喂饲料) and “training” (调教), which are both essential phrases in the process of “raising the lobster”.

And this is exactly what so many people are doing in China right now — “raising their lobsters” (养龙虾). As well as this three-character phrase, there are also other common versions, like the shorter “lobster raising” (养虾), and also “lobster farmer” (养虾人).

So, now you know the best conversation-starter when you’re catching up with family, friends, or colleagues in China:

“Are you raising the lobster?” (你养虾了吗？)

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"The real culprit" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 08 Mar 2026 11:01:31 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “The real culprit” (罪魁祸首 zuì kuí huò shǒu)

Context

China’s smartphone prices are rising, with increases set to be the biggest the industry has seen in five years.

All major brands have said prices will increase from this month, by anywhere from 1,000 to 3,000 RMB for mid-to-high-end models.

This sudden surge in prices is being driven by the massive investment in data centres to increase AI computing power across China. The industry-grade chips needed for these facilities are more profitable than smartphone chips. So as demand from the AI sector has exploded, the supply of chips for consumer electronics, such as for smartphones, has tightened and pushed prices up.

The AI computing arms race, it turns out, is now hitting consumers where it hurts most — in their wallets. And Chinese media has a phrase for exactly what’s to blame:

“The real culprit behind rising phone prices: skyrocketing memory chip costs.”
罪魁祸首：存储芯片疯狂上涨。

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What it means

“The real culprit” is the translation of a common four-character idiom. The individual characters mean “crime” (罪), “chief” (魁), “disaster” (祸), and “head” (首). It refers to the person or thing most responsible for a crime or disaster.

The phrase originates from a Ming Dynasty play, The Jade Ring (玉玦记), written by Zheng Ruoyong (郑若庸), a leading dramatist of his era. The Jade Ring is a chuanqi (传奇), which is a form of drama popular during the Ming Dynasty that involved elaborate singing, typically weaving together romance, tragedy, and the supernatural.

The idiom appears in a scene in which a wronged soul who was murdered returns from the dead to seek revenge, saying:

“Although it was the procuress who killed me, Juannu is the real culprit behind it all.
So I will go after her.”
“虽是虔婆杀我，娟奴是祸首罪魁，追了他去。”

The procuress (虔婆) was the brothel madam who controlled the women inside, and committed the actual murder. But the ghost's anger targets Juannu (娟奴) — the manipulative woman who set the fatal chain of events in motion. The procuress wielded the knife, but Juannu bore the deeper responsibility.

Centuries later, Lu Xun (鲁迅) — arguably modern China's most important and influential writer — used "the real culprit" (罪魁祸首) to describe those blocking the spread of new culture and modern thought in China.

In modern Chinese, it’s a common idiom when discussing the true source of a disaster or negative situation.

So with the sudden rise in mobile phone prices, it’s the memory chip market, fuelled by the AI hardware boom, that is the real culprit behind consumers paying more for smartphones.

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"Deeply unsettling" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 11:02:48 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “Deeply unsettling” (细思极恐 xì sī jí kǒng)

Context

On February 9, technology company ByteDance released Seedance 2.0, the latest version of its AI video generator.

But just two days later, the Seedance portal for uploading photos was locked and beta access on the mobile app was revoked.

A review video of Seedance 2.0 posted by Tim Pan (潘天鸿), CEO of tech review channel Mediastorm (影视飓风), went viral on the same day.

In the video, Tim uploads a single static photo of himself into Seedance with a simple prompt.

Within seconds, an AI version of Tim appeared on screen and began to speak — identical to the real Tim in every way, with the same voice, tone, and mannerisms.

Tim also discovered:

“What makes it even more deeply unsettling is the perspective.
The photo provided only showed the front of Mediastorm’s office building. Yet the AI-generated content automatically panned to the back of the building, rendering the car park in perfect detail — exactly as it appears in reality.
This means the AI isn’t just processing the image provided. It has a fundamental understanding of the entire physical space.”
更细思极恐的是视角。上传的照片只是公司大楼的正面，但 AI 自动生成的运镜，居然准确地绕到了大楼的背面，画出了停车场的细节，与现实丝毫不差。这意味着 AI 不是在处理图像，它是在理解物理空间。

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What it means

“Deeply unsettling” is a four character phrase which translates directly as “careful” (细), “thought” (思), “extreme” (极), “fear” (恐).

It’s an idiom-like phrase which is a common internet slang term. The meaning is best understood as: “the more carefully you think about it, the more terrifying it becomes.”

The phrase first appeared online around 2012 on microblogging platform Weibo. It was propelled into mainstream use in 2013 in a viral glossary of 49 of the hottest Chinese internet slang terms at the time.

Its author described the surprising impact of the list as “I don’t understand it, but it’s amazing” (不明觉厉) — another classic internet phrase which is still used widely today.

The phrase “deeply unsettling” (细思极恐) is often used in the context of breaking news to describe moments when a seemingly unremarkable story reveals something much darker on closer inspection. It’s when the implications of something are more disturbing than the thing itself.

Which is exactly why it fits this context so perfectly. Tim’s showcase of Seedance 2.0 is at first glance impressive. But it also forces a bigger realisation: anyone with a smartphone can now create convincing deepfakes at virtually no cost. Jobs in the film industry face an existential threat. And the consequences for IP infringement are only beginning to be understood.

The more you think about it, the more deeply unsettling it becomes.

Do you agree?

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Read more about how this story is being discussed in the Chinese media in this week’s RealTime Mandarin.

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#265: Seedance 2.0 release causes anxiety in China's film industry and beyond

On February 9, technology company ByteDance released Seedance 2.0, the latest version of its AI video generator…

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"Turning the smile upside down brings success to the Year of the Horse" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 22 Feb 2026 11:01:36 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “Turning the smile upside down brings success to the Year of the Horse” (马倒成功 mǎ dào chéng gōng)

Context

“Crying Horse” (哭哭马) is a red toy horse with a downturned, sad-looking mouth. It should have been a “Happy Horse” (笑笑马), but a worker in a Yiwu factory that made the festive toys sewed it on the wrong way up — so it looks like it’s about to burst into tears.

Unaware of the mistake, the factory distributed a small number of the faulty toys, which made their way into shops. A shopper in Hangzhou posted an image online, comparing the horse’s mournful expression to how he feels on his way to work on a Monday morning.

The post went viral, and Crying Horse sold out instantly. The Yiwu factory saw sales surge 300% in just three days, had to open 12 new production lines to cope with demand, and now has orders backed up until March.

And Crying Horse is now one of this year’s defining Horse Year memes. So internet users got to work on the wordplay, with a fresh take on a traditional Horse Year idiom:

“Some netizens said that regular toy horses all look the same, while this Crying Horse with its unintended frown is the limited handmade edition carries a symbolic meaning:
‘Turning the smile upside down brings success to the Year of the Horse’.
Some people even projected onto it the image of a stubborn, downtrodden office worker.”
有网友说正常小马千篇一律，“手工限量版”的哭哭马恰恰寓意着“马倒成功”，还有人把它代入了倔强打工人。

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What it means

“Turning the smile upside down brings success to the Year of the Horse” is a playful twist on the classical Chinese idiom, “the arrival of horses brings instant success” (马到成功).

The original is used to wish someone swift success. The kind that comes the moment you show up, before you’ve even broken a sweat. Think of it as the Chinese equivalent of “you’ve got this.”

It’s also a staple of festive greetings at the start of the Year of the Horse, for the obvious horse-related pun.

The idiom’s origins are debated, but the most likely source is a folk legend about Emperor Qin Shi Huang (秦始皇). In 220 BC, the year after unifying China, the emperor travelled to the Mountain of Rongcheng (荣成山), a promontory on the eastern tip of Shandong province, traditionally believed to be where the sun rises first in China. He travelled there to pay homage to the sun and bring good fortune to his new empire.

Along the way, he heard that a colourful mottled stone had been left behind by the goddess Nüwa (女娲) when she patched the sky. So he led his vast army along the specially constructed royal road to pay his respects to the stone.

After returning, things did go smoothly and the realm was at peace. To celebrate, the emperor ordered his officials to compose poems. The court alchemist Xu Fu (徐福) wrote:

“Ten thousand horses and soldiers rode the royal road; Upon Emperor Qin’s prayer to the stone, great victory was bestowed.”
万马千军御驰道，始皇拜石得成功。

But his effort failed to win the emperor’s favour.

It wasn’t until the Yuan Dynasty, roughly 1,500 years later, that the playwright Guan Hanqing (关汉卿) recognised the gem hidden in this story. Drawing on the legend of “the Qin Emperor worshipping the stone” (秦皇拜石), he coined the idiom “the arrival of horses brings instant success” (马到成功).

Over the centuries this idiom became an everyday blessing — the equivalent of wishing someone “all the best” as they start something new. Today it’s one of the most common New Year wishes, especially at the start of the Year of the Horse.

This Horse Year, the idiom has taken on a new meaning thanks to Crying Horse. Netizens swapped one character — "arrive" (到 dào) — for "invert" (倒 dào). Both sound identical, but the swap changes everything, giving the four-character phrase a meaning perfectly suited to this moment: viral success for a sad-looking toy horse whose popularity came about precisely because of its defect.

Which is why we translate the new idiom as: “Turning the smile upside down brings success to the Year of the Horse” (马倒成功).

"Dimensional wall" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 15 Feb 2026 11:02:03 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “dimensional wall” (次元壁 cì yuán bì)

Context

Alibaba’s AI agent, Qwen (千问), has been making headlines with the launch of its “Spring Festival 3 Billion Giveaway” (春节30亿大免单) campaign, offering unlimited free bubble tea vouchers.

This allowed users to order a drink through a simple prompt to Qwen, which would then claim the voucher and process it through its Alipay integration without having to jump between multiple apps.

The campaign covered over 300,000 bubble tea stores nationwide. Within hours of launch, Qwen crashed due to overwhelming traffic, and a massive 10 million orders were completed in just 9 hours.

Two weeks earlier, on January 15th, Alibaba announced that Qwen now had integrations with major platforms across its ecosystem including Taobao Flash Buy (淘宝闪购), Fliggy (飞猪), Damai (大麦), Freshippo (盒马), Tmall Supermarket (天猫超市), and Alipay (支付宝).

This means consumers can now buy things with a single prompt to Alibaba’s AI agent. It’s the beginning of a shift in how AI is used in daily life, captured in this popular internet slang phrase:

Beyond the chatbot: Qwen breaks the AI “dimensional wall.“
The core challenge facing the AI industry today is not technology itself, but how to translate virtual intelligence into real-world application.
从聊天到办事：千问拆掉AI的”次元壁”。当前AI产业面临的核心挑战，并非技术本自身，而是如何将智能转化为真实场景中的执行力。

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What it means

“Dimensional wall” (次元壁 cì yuán bì) is internet slang describing the barrier between the virtual world and the real world.

The phrase originally emerged from Japanese ACGN culture (Anime, Comics, Games, Novels) to describe the gap between anime and manga fans, and mainstream society.

In anime, “2D” or “nijigen” (二次元) refers to the fantasy worlds created in two-dimensional media like anime and manga. And “3D” (三次元) refers to real life, the physical world we live in.

The “wall” (壁) between them separates anime and real life.

In the 2010s, as video games like Honor of Kings (王者荣耀) achieved massive commercial success in China, the “dimensional wall” (次元壁) took on new meaning. It came to represent the boundary between niche geek culture — gaming, anime, manga — and mainstream society.

But that niche exploded. By 2016, China had 250 million nijigen fans. By 2023, that number hit 500 million, with the market growing from $2.6 billion to $30.5 billion. So what was once fringe became mainstream.

In China, anime conventions began “breaking the dimensional wall,” bringing virtual characters into physical spaces. Shopping malls deployed anime aesthetics to drive foot fall. And the “goods economy” (谷子经济) — one of 2025’s top buzzwords which we translate as “anime merch economy” — emerged around anime merchandise.

Today, the phrase “dimensional wall” (次元壁) has evolved again. It now describes any barrier between virtual and real, such as AI entering daily life.

So when Qwen moves from chatting to ordering your bubble tea — that’s breaking down the “dimensional wall” between the virtual and real worlds.

"A snake swallowing an elephant" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 08 Feb 2026 11:01:44 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “a snake swallowing an elephant” (蛇吞象 shé tūn xiàng)

Context

China’s Anta Group (安踏集团) announced on January 27, that it would acquire a 29.06% stake in German athletic brand Puma SE for €1.5 billion ($1.8 billion). The transaction makes Anta the largest shareholder in Puma.

In China, industry analysts have mixed views about the deal.

Some see the Anta-Puma pairing is seen as strategically complementary. Geographically Puma is strong in Europe and Latin America but weak in China and North America, where Anta has deep operational experience and distribution networks. Puma is also strong in some product categories where Anta has gaps, like football (soccer), motorsports, running, and basketball.

Some investors are also concerned that Anta has taken on too much risk by financing the deal from its own cash reserves, using a colourful Chinese phrase to make the point:

With an acquisition price tag exceeding 10 billion RMB, the market is closely scrutinizing Anta’s financial health.
After all, the 2019 deal where an Anta-led consortium acquired Amer Sports for approximately €4.66 billion was widely characterized as “a snake swallowing an elephant.”
斥资超百亿进行收购，市场非常关切安踏的财务健康状况。毕竟，2019年安踏牵头财团对亚玛芬体育约46.6亿欧元的收购，就曾被外界形容为一笔“蛇吞象”交易。

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What it means

“A snake swallowing an elephant” (蛇吞象) is a three-character idiom.

The phrase originates from the Classic of Mountains and Seas (山海经), an ancient Chinese text of mythical geography compiled around the 4th century BC. The authorship is unknown, though it’s believed to have been compiled by multiple authors over several centuries, with contributions attributed to the mythical emperor Yu the Great (大禹).

The original passage is from Classic of Mountains and Seas reads:

“The Ba serpent devoured an elephant, and only after three years did it spit out the bones.”
巴蛇食象，三岁而出其骨

The Ba Serpent (巴蛇) is a mythical being that inhabited the waters of southwest China and was said to be so enormous it could swallow elephants whole, digesting them over the course of years.

Over time, the phrase evolved from describing a supernatural creature into a cautionary idiom about human behavior. By the Ming Dynasty, it had crystallized into the popular saying:

“The human heart is never satisfied, like a snake trying to swallow an elephant.”
人心不足蛇吞象

The phrase was popularised by Ming Dynasty scholar, Luo Hongxian (羅洪先), in his poem Awakening Song (醒世歌). It refers to how greed and ambition can drive people to reach for far more than they can reasonably handle, often leading to their downfall.

Today, the three-character phrase can carry two meanings: the first is “insatiable greed”, like someone whose desires exceed all reasonable bounds. Or more commonly in business contexts, it can mean “a minnow that swallows a whale” or “biting off more than you can chew” — an ambitious but potentially reckless undertaking where a smaller entity attempts to acquire or control something far larger.

When observers labeled Anta’s 2019 acquisition of Amer Sports as a “snake swallowing an elephant” they were questioning whether Anta had the management capacity, international experience, and operational sophistication to successfully absorb and operate a portfolio of premium Western outdoor brands.

The skeptics were proved wrong. Anta’s disciplined approach to brand management, particularly with Arc’teryx, has made the Amer Sports deal a case study in successful cross-border M&A. The “snake” not only swallowed the “elephant” – it thrived on it.

Now, with the €1.5 billion euro Puma stake, even though Anta is now much larger and more experienced, some observers are asking the same question: Has Anta bitten off more than it can chew?

"Execution range" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 01 Feb 2026 11:03:09 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “execution range” (斩杀线 zhǎn shā xiàn)

Context

The story of the sudden death of a 32-year-old software programmer in Guangzhou has been trending on social media feeds over the last two weeks.

His name was Gao Guanghui (高广辉). He worked for a major tech company, CTVE (视源股份) a major tech company listed on the Shenzhen Stock Exchange.

Gao actually died on November 29 last year but the story has only recently gained media attention.

The night before he died, Gao had worked overtime until 10pm. The following morning, which was a Saturday, he woke up early telling his sleeping wife he needed to finish some urgent work.

His wife got up shortly after to find him collapsed in his chair. She called an ambulance and tried to help him downstairs. On his way down, Gao collapsed again in the lift. Before losing consciousness, he asked his wife to bring his laptop so he could carry on working.

He was pronounced dead at 1pm that day. His wife is seeking official recognition that Gao’s death was due to overwork at CVTE.

The case sparked widespread discussion online about China’s brutal work culture. One commentator in a now-censored article used a recently coined slang phrase to describe the grim nature of work culture:

A while back, everyone was discussing the “American execution range.”
The idea that once you lose your jobs, can’t afford medical care and go bankrupt consequently, you then get “physically eliminated” by the system in the US. Many people reposted it with a sense of schadenfreude: “Thank goodness it’s not us.”
But now if you look at this 32-year-old programmer, you’ll discover an even more brutal truth:
You don’t need to end up on the streets to be eliminated.
前阵子，大家都在讨论“美国斩杀线”。说美国人一旦失业、看不起病、破产，就会被系统“物理清除”。很多人转发的时候，带着一种隐秘的庆幸：“还好不是我们。”可现在你再回头看这个 32 岁的程序员。你会发现一个更残酷的事实：你不需要流落街头。

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What it means

“Execution range” (斩杀线 zhǎn shā xiàn) is a three-character phrase which started out as a gaming term.

Originally from video games like World of Warcraft (魔兽世界), “execution range” refers to the critical threshold where an enemy’s health drops low enough to be finished off instantly with a single attack. It’s the moment a player can be executed with no escape.

The term evolved across different games. In League of Legends (英雄联盟), the champion Pyke has an ultimate ability where the execution range can stack infinitely—meaning he can eventually execute enemies at full health. In card games like Shadowverse (影之诗), players calculate “kill windows” to determine when their combo can finish an opponent.

The phrase became a mainstream expression in late 2025.

It first went viral from a video on video streaming platform Bilibili, in which the creator (牢A) uses it to describe American society. The state propaganda machine picked up on its popularity, and it became an official way to comment negatively on middle-class Americans who lose their jobs, can’t afford medical care, go bankrupt, and fall within a financial “execution range.”

Cross that threshold, and there’s no coming back — a financial and social tipping point that could ruin middle-class families.

Early translations of the phrase by Chinese state media label it as “kill line”. But we disagree with that translation. It’s lazy and makes no sense. As illustrated by a Chinese journalist's question about America’s “kill line” to U.S. Treasury Secretary, Scott Bessent, at the World Economic Forum in Davos recently. He didn’t understand the question. And, according to Mr Bessent, nor did she.

In the American context, the “ALICE line” (asset limited, income constrained, employed) comes closest to what “execution range” has been repurposed to mean.

But we’ve decided to stick with the gaming terminology!

Now, in this latest evolution, the phrase has taken on a mocking tone of Chinese society. Because while official channels have seized the opportunity to highlight China’s advantages over the US, the public debate has inevitably drawn parallels with the economic woes faced by Chinese people.

China too has its own “execution range”: its brutal work culture.

"Empty nest youth" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 25 Jan 2026 11:02:33 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “empty nest youth” (空巢青年 kōng cháo qīng nián)

Context

In early January, a new app called Are You Dead? (死了么) became an overnight sensation in China.

The app topped Apple’s App Store paid downloads chart for several consecutive days from January 10.

It has one simple function: Users enter their name and the email address of an emergency contact. Then they “check-in” (签到) daily by clicking a large green button on screen inside the app. If they miss two consecutive check-ins, the app automatically sends an alert email to their emergency contact.

Are You Dead? has struck a nerve with many young people in China. In an interview, one of the cofounders explains their target demographic:

“Our target users are primarily women over 25 who live on their own in first and second-tier cities.
We chose this group because the “empty nest youth“ phenomenon is now very prominent—more and more young people who moved to big cities for work are living alone”
我们的用户定位主要是一二线城市25岁以上的独居女性。会选这个群体，是因为现在空巢青年的现象很突出，就是在大城市打拼、独居的青年越来越多。

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What it means

“Empty nest youth” (空巢青年 kōng cháo qīng nián) is an internet buzzword.

It describes people in their 20s, who have moved far from their hometowns and families, are living independently in big cities, usually in rented accommodation, who are isolated, and have limited emotional support.

Breaking the phrase down into its two constituent parts, it translates as: “empty nest” (空巢), “youth” (青年).

The phrase borrows from the common expression, “empty nest elderly” (空巢老人), who are older people whose children have left home, and now live alone.

“Empty nest youth” first appeared in 2016, in the promotional materials for the Hong Kong horror film Delusion (妄想症). Although it was a niche film, the marketing campaign, and especially the phrase “empty nest youth” resonated with a much wider audience, mirroring “empty nest elderly” but with a tone of self-mockery.

The phrase continued to be popular long after Delusion had left the big screen.

Part of the reason the phrase caught on is the numbers of solo-dwellers in China are increasing. In 2013, 14.6% of Chinese households were single-person. By 2017, over 58 million people lived alone. By 2018, that figure had jumped to 77 million adults living solo, with nearly 20 million aged 20-39.

Big cities offer more job opportunities and better salaries, so young people leave home to pursue better prospects. But for most “empty nest youth,” the city can be a lonely place.

Which is exactly what the Are You Dead? app has tapped into.

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"Marriage nagging" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 18 Jan 2026 11:30:26 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “marriage nagging” (催婚 cuī hūn)

Context

On the evening of December 10, 2025, news broke that Wei Huan (魏欢), a 28-year-old teacher in rural Henan, had taken her own life.

She jumped to her death from her bridal suite window the day before her wedding.

Moments before taking her own life, Wei posted on social media about the intense pressure she’d faced from her family for over 10 years to get married. In her parents’ view, she said, her biggest value to them was to get married.

What Wei described in her final words resonated with many women facing similar expectations as they near their late twenties, with discussions continuing in the weeks since:

Born in the country and educated in the city, many women return to their small-town roots only to be hit with an onslaught of marriage nagging, which has become the defining struggle for them.
生长于县乡，走出到城市读书又回到县城工作，随后面对扑面而来的催婚压力，这是许多县城女性正面临的境遇。

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What it means

“Marriage nagging” (催婚 cuī hūn) literally means “urge” (催), “marriage” (婚).

It’s when parents and relatives pressure unmarried young people—especially women—to get married. Women who reach 27 and remain unmarried often face relentless pressure from family.

While the term is modern, the practice has ancient roots.

To marry you, and therefore marriage pressure, became official policy in China in the Western Zhou Dynasty over 2,000 years ago. During the Spring and Autumn period (770-476 BCE), the State of Yue (越国) held parents criminally responsible if their children didn’t marry. The Han Dynasty (206 BCE-220 CE) imposed a five-fold poll tax on unmarried women over 15. The Jin Dynasty (266-420 CE) forced 17-year-old unmarried women into government-arranged marriages. The Tang Dynasty (618-907 CE) made local marriage rates part of officials’ performance evaluations. And the Song Dynasty (960-1279 CE) lowered the legal marriage age for women to 13.

This expectation is deeply embedded in Confucian values. Mencius famously said:

“There are three unfilial acts, and having no descendants is the worst”
不孝有三，无后为大。

These expectations create intense generational conflict today.

The older generation grew up with traditional values: marriage brings financial security (both long-term and short-term via betrothal gifts). And children are considered a pension plan when they grow up and start earning.

But post-90s and post-00s generations grew up amid constant modernisation, enjoying independence and wealth previous generations never experienced. For educated young women with jobs and financial independence, the clash is acute.

In rural areas and county towns like where Wei Huan lived, early marriage is the norm and competition for matches is intense. An unmarried woman in her twenties stands out, and can be seen as an embarrassment to her family.

The pressure comes from all sides: parents who threaten consequences, relatives who accuse her of being “unfilial” (不孝), and a community that sees independence as defiance.

Wei Huan’s tragic death is a reminder of the devastating consequences when such intense pressure meets unwillingness to comply.

The tragic death of Wei Huan is a stark reminder of how serious the consequences can be of these cultural expectations for women in China today.

"Kudos to me" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 11 Jan 2026 11:02:41 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “Kudos to me” (爱你老己 ài nǐ lǎo jǐ)

Context

Just as we were putting the finishing touches to our top buzzwords of 2025 list, another new buzzword was taking off.

It started to emerge on social media feeds in late December, with young people sharing moments of enjoyment while eating alone.

Nothing fancy. Just mostly young people enjoying simple, everyday meals and treats.

But the captions are what stand out.

Reading the text which goes with these images, you would assume that there’s at least two people involved — a couple, a family, or a group of friends. But there isn’t — there’s only the person posting.

Some have called this the warmest internet trend of last year. And maybe this is already an early contender for a top buzzword of 2026.

Either way, it seems bigger than just a passing online fad. Because this new slang word expresses the feelings of many young people in China today:

“Traditional social norms say ‘you must be good enough to deserve love.’
But young people are reinventing the narrative using phrases like ‘kudos to me’ to remind themselves: I deserve to be loved for who I am.”
传统的社会规训告诉我们”你足够优秀，才值得被爱”，而年轻人们通过“爱你老己”等新叙事暗示自己：因为我存在，所以我值得。

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What it means

“Kudos to me” (爱你老己) is new internet slang term. Translated directly, it means “love you” (爱你), “dear” (老) “me” (己).

The phrase started out as a gaming slang, and is a famous line from the game, League of Legends (英雄联盟), spoken by the character, Sett: “love you, mom, see you tomorrow” (爱你老妈，明天见). It evolved into a playful sign-off between players in the game.

The phrase first started to go viral in late November, in a video of a content creator saying:

“I said I wanted to eat the pomelo but couldn’t be bothered to peel it.
After hearing that, I immediately peeled it and gave it to myself.
Kudos to me and see you tomorrow.”
我说想吃柚子但不想剥，我自己听完马上给自己剥好送给自己了，爱你老己，明天见。

Since it started to gain popularity, young people in China have been using it as a way to express being kind to themselves through small actions like ordering extra bubble tea (“one for me, and one for my dear self”), or for self-comforting after setbacks.

One popular variation is:

“My dear self is the only person who, if they have 100 yuan on them, will actually spend all 100 yuan on me.”
老己是唯一一个身上有100块，真的会给我花100块的人。

And a poetic adaptation of the phrase has also being doing the rounds on social media:

“My dear self supports my lofty ambitions, so I reward my dear self with riches.”
贤己扶我青云志，我还贤己万两金。

The mergence of “kudos to me” is a consequence of a shift among attitudes of young people in China.

According to online commentary around the meaning of this phrase, many people in China feel they’ve been conditioned to think that love and self-worth are linked to achievement and external validation.

This latest addition to the Chinese internet slang lexicon gives permission to be ordinary, and imperfect. And that’s perfectly fine!

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"An inside job" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 04 Jan 2026 11:00:47 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “An inside job” (监守自盗 jiān shǒu zì dào)

Context

The Nanjing Museum is at the centre of a major scandal involving missing national treasures, fake identities, and allegations of systematic theft spanning decades.

The story centres around Spring in Jiangnan (江南春), a painting by Ming master Qiu Ying (仇英), which appeared at a Beijing auction in June 2025 with an estimated price of 88 million yuan ($12.1 million USD).

That piece was one of 137 artworks donated to the Nanjing Museum by wealthy collector Pang Laichen’s (庞莱臣) family in 1959.

In late December, a whistleblower report alleged that former director Xu Huping (徐湖平) orchestrated the sale of thousands of valuable artefacts as fakes over decades, selling them at rock-bottom prices to a store he controlled, then reselling through his son’s Shanghai auction house at full price.

Records show Spring in Jiangnan was sold as a fake in 1997 for just 6,800 yuan.

As the scandal unfolded, another name emerged: Xu Ying (徐莺). Coincidentally sharing the same family name as Xu Huping, she has claimed to be a Pang family descendant since 2014, with the older Xu’s endorsement. Online commentary describes her as the “Miss Dong” (董小姐) of the museum world.

The story has struck a nerve in China, where large-scale theft of national treasures has always been a sensitive topic:

The online fury captures the mood of the era: beyond the loss of national treasures, it’s the sense of an inside job that shatters public trust when the supposed custodians steal what they’re meant to protect.
网友的愤怒，正是这个时代人们的心声。我们不容忍的，不是仅国宝流失，更是守护者监守自盗的信任崩塌。

And with that, we have our Sinica Phrase of the Week.

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What it means

“An inside job” can also be translated as “theft by a custodian,” which is a classical Chinese idiom (监守自盗 jiān shǒu zì dào).

Literally, the four characters mean: “guard” (监 jiān), “watch over” (守 shǒu), “self” (自 zì), “steal” (盗 dào).

It describes when someone in a position of trust who steals the very thing they’re supposed to protect.

The earliest written record of this term appears in the Book of Han, Records on Criminal Law (汉书·刑法志), a historical text compiled in the 1st century CE during the Eastern Han Dynasty.

The relevant excerpt reads:

“Those who guard county official property yet steal from it themselves will be treated with utmost severity: regardless of prior sentencing or lesser punishments, they will be put to death publicly.”
守县官财物而即盗之。已论命复有笞罪者，皆弃市。

The most famous historical example comes from Han Dynasty official Tian Yannian (田延年), who served as Grand Minister of Agriculture around 70 BCE. While supervising construction of Emperor Zhao’s mausoleum, he requisitioned 30,000 ox-carts from civilians to transport materials.

Tian reported to the court that each cart cost 2,000 wen (文), copper coins used as currency in ancient China. His total reported budget was 60 million wen. But he actually paid cart owners only 1,000 wen per cart, which was half the reported price.

Tian embezzled the remaining 30 million wen in state funds, roughly equivalent to a small prefecture’s annual budget. When the case was exposed, Tian Yannian committed suicide.

So “theft by a custodian” implies large-scale, systematic corruption. It’s a serious allegation describing not just theft, but betrayal of trust.

In the Nanjing Museum scandal, this idiom captures exactly what sparked such fury online. National treasures were donated to the museum for preservation, but this former director allegedly sold them through family-controlled channels for personal gain.

In English, this might be translated as “embezzlement by a custodian” or “theft in office.”

But we prefer “an inside job” which captures the fundamental betrayal perfectly.

"Out-of-touch middle-aged men" — Phrase of the Year

Andrew Methven — Sun, 28 Dec 2025 11:22:43 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week — and the year — is: “out of touch middle-aged men” (老登 lǎo dēng)

Context

In this last Phrase of the Week of 2025, we’re not only explaining our favourite phrase from the last seven days.

We’re announcing our Phrase of the Year!

This is drawn from my top 12 phrases from 2025 published yesterday.

For Phrase of the Year, we’re looking for something special. It must meet these criteria:

Newly invented or popularised in the last 12 months
Has become truly mainstream and used in daily life
Represents a bigger trend or shift in China today

To put it another way: the qualified Phrase of the Year must have come about in the 12 months, and is here to stay. Like our Phrase of the Year from 2024, “workhorse” (牛马).

From our shortlist of favourite phrases from 2025, there were a few strong contenders. But there was also a clear winner, which we first discussed in October this year:

For the ordinary working-class, this billionaire’s attempt to “keep it real” and play the victim felt more like a cringeworthy performance by an out of touch middle-aged man.
Awkward, and inauthentic.
对于工薪普通人来说，富豪这波“接地气”卖惨，更像一场老登的表演秀，没有真诚，只有不适。
Duìyú gōngxīn pǔtōng rén lái shuō, fùháo zhè bō “jiē dìqì” mài cǎn, gèng xiàng yì chǎng lǎodēng de biǎoyǎn xiù, méiyǒu zhēnchéng, zhǐyǒu búshì.

And with that, let’s get stuck into our Sinica Phrase of the Year!

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What it means

“Out-of-touch middle-aged man” is how we translate the internet slang “laodeng” (老登).

The direct translation makes no sense: “old/always” (老 lǎo) + “climbing” (登 dēng).

The phrase comes from the Northeastern Chinese dialect, where deng (登) is a derogatory term for a man who behaves inappropriately or sleazily. Together with the character “old” (老), the phrase means “sleazy old man,” normally said with a rolling northern “er” sound: lǎo dē’er (老登儿).

A year ago, few people knew this term, or they might have assumed it meant President Biden (拜登 bài dēng), whose online nickname is “laodeng” (老登).

But in recent months, internet users redefined this niche dialect phrase to mean: “middle-aged or older men who are successful but arrogant and disconnected from reality.”

The phrase has exploded in popularity, with high-profile male celebrities getting slammed as laodeng. Notable examples include Xiaomi (小米) founder Lei Jun (雷军), Xibei (西贝) restaurant boss Jia Guolong (贾国龙), and my personal favourite, and the most out-of-touch of them all, fireworks artist Cai Guoqiang (蔡国强).

Variations of laodeng are already proliferating online: “out-of-touch-middle-aged-man-ism” (老登文学) describing the broader trend, “out-of-touch-macho films” (老登电影) which are male-dominated chauvinistic movies, and “middle-aged man vibes” (登味), which made it into one of China’s top buzzwords of the year lists.

So laodeng ticks all the boxes: it’s newly popular and has gone mainstream this year. And it represents a bigger shift in China today. Younger people have had enough of the traditional male strongman leader, while stereotypes of older women are also changing, but positively, as explained in the phrase, “the era of middle-aged women” (中女时代) — another top buzzword from 2025.

So, “out-of-touch middle-aged men” as a phrase is there to stay.

That’s why laodeng is our Phrase of the Year for 2025!

Why not drop it into your next Chinese conversation and impress with your amazing and on-trend language skills?!

Upgrade my Mandarin now!

"If … is basic, then … is over the top" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 21 Dec 2025 11:01:08 GMT

Our phrase of the week is: “If … is basic, then … is over the top” (... 基础 jī chǔ，... 不基础 bù jī chǔ)

Context

As 2025 draws to an end, three “Top Ten Buzzwords of the Year” lists have been published in China.

These buzzwords are viral phrases which started online over the last year.

Some of them have become genuinely popular, and are now mainstream expressions used in daily life. To get the full breakdown of those lists, and what phrases are really “hot” in China this year, you can tune into the most recent issue of RealTime Mandarin:

China’s official top phrases of 2025

For this penultimate Phrase of the Week of the year, we decided to focus on one “buzzword” from the 2025 lists. And it’s the only phrase which appeared in all three official lists, so there’s a good chance this phrase is here to stay.

Here it is in action:

“If I booked cheap flights, then I’d treat myself to luxury hotels.
I scored budget airline tickets for $200, so I splurged on a five-star beachfront resort.”
机票基础，酒店就不基础——我花200美元买了廉航机票，然后住五星级海景酒店。

And with that, we have our Sinica Phrase of the Week.

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What it means

This is actually a sentence template where you fill in the blanks with whatever fits your life.

The direct translation of the structure is: “If … is basic, then … is not basic” (基础 jī chǔ，... 不基础 bù jī chǔ). In actual usage “not basic” can be translated as “over the top”.

This structure started out being used by fashion influencers to describe outfit choices. The typical expression would be: “if the top is basic, the the bottom is not basic” (上身基础，下身就不基础) which means to to mix simple (“basic”) and statement (“not basic”) pieces.

But the phrase quickly evolved beyond fashion.

It’s now used as a self-deprecating take on life’s contradictions. It captures the ironic contrast between what people economise on versus what they splurge on — a way to laugh at your own financial choices.

In the example above, the “basic” spend is on “cheap flights”, but the essential “not basic” spend is splashing out on a “luxury hotel”.

This sentence structure is now widely used online and in daily life. So you can put it to action straight away!

Here are some examples:

“Earning a minimum, but spending maximum” (工资基础，消费不基础)
“Christmas gifts on a budget, but holiday vibes on steroids” (圣诞礼物基础，假期体验不基础)
“I don’t have much saved, but I sure know how to spend” (存款基础，购物不基础)

As you can see, the translation of “basic” and “not basic” totally depends on the context.

So… what are your “basic” and “not basic” lifestyle choices?

Why not create a sentence using this Phrase of the Week and try it out in your next Chinese conversation!

Get fluent now!

"Hengshui model" — Phrase of the Week

Andrew Methven — Sun, 14 Dec 2025 11:01:11 GMT

Artwork by Zhang Zhigang for RealTime Mandarin

Our phrase of the week is: “Hengshui model” (衡水模式 héng shuǐ mó shì).

Context

Hengshui High School is one of China’s top schools, located in Hengshui (衡水), a third-tier city in rural Hebei Province.

At its peak in 2019, 275 Hengshui students were admitted to China’s top two universities, Tsinghua (清华) and Peking University (北大), out of just 279 total spots allocated to all of Hebei Province.

The school is famous for its military-style approach, with students studying 14.5 hours daily. Teachers work under intense pressure: salaries are tied to class performance posted on notice boards, and 8% are removed annually for underperformance.

In recent years, admissions to top universities have collapsed, with just 45 Hengshui students admitted to Tsinghua and Peking in 2025, a fifth of its 2019 numbers.

This fall resulted from policy changes restricting cross-district recruitment students starting in 2018. The 2021 “Double Reduction Policy” (双减政策) further levelled the playing field, and by 2024, cross-district recruitment was banned entirely.

This ended Hengshui’s practice of cherry-picking the province’s most talented students, prompting some in the media to ask:

“What happened to Hengshui High School?
How did the once-glittering Hengshui model suddenly lose its magic?”
衡水中学怎么了，曾经金光闪闪的衡水模式怎么突然失去了魔力？

And with that, we have our Sinica Phrase of the Week.

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What it means

The “Hengshui model” (衡水模式) refers to an ultra-intensive, exam-focused education system pioneered by Hengshui High School. “Hengshui” (衡水) is the school name, and “model” (模式) means “pattern” or “system.”

It began in 1992 when Li Jinchi (李金池) became principal of what was then an underperforming county school near the bottom of Hebei Province’s rankings. Li introduced military-style discipline and relentless exam drilling. By 1995, it had transformed into a full-time boarding school. By 2000, it topped Hebei’s exam rankings—a position it’s held ever since.

The term “Hengshui model” emerged in Chinese media around the early 2000s as the school’s success attracted national attention. Initially celebrated as proof that a poor, rural school could compete with elite urban institutions through discipline and hard work, schools across China began replicating its methods.

But Hengshui soon evolved into a ruthless business—the “super school” (超级学校) model, headhunting elite students from across Hebei and beyond, offering scholarships to the brightest. Elite students produced elite results, attracting more families willing to pay high fees to send their kids there.

Critics argue the model inflicted huge damage on China’s education ecosystem.

Others say the kerfuffle around the Hengshui conveniently distracts from real unfairness in the system between rural and urban schools in China — students in Beijing, for example, receive proportionally many more Tsinghua and Peking spots than all of Hebei Province combined.

While many also believe that this brutal approach is the best way to keep the system fair, with performance judged on merit, and success determined by objective exam scores rather than connections or wealth.

Either way, “Hengshui Model” always gets a strong reaction!

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