Influencers with millions of followers were shut down not for criticizing the Communist Party—but for failing to praise it.
by Tan Liwei
Netizens will remember October 2025 not for a new tech launch but for the moment the Chinese internet learned that being “not enthusiastic enough” is now a punishable offense.
In a dazzling display of digital discipline, the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC) has banned three of the country’s most popular influencers—Zhang Xuefeng, Hu Chenfeng, and Lan Zhanfei—from all major platforms. Their crime? Apparently, failing to radiate enough sunshine.
Zhang Xuefeng, a beloved university entrance exam tutor with an estimated 30–40 million followers across Douyin, Bilibili, Kuaishou, and Weibo, was the first to vanish. Then came Hu Chenfeng, a lifestyle guru known for his brand critiques and “too honest” livestreams. Finally, Lan Zhanfei, a travel vlogger and former gamer, was wiped from Douyu and beyond. The bans came so fast, netizens dubbed them the “three closures in a row”—a phrase now trending in hushed tones.
The CAC’s latest “Clear and Bright” campaign, launched in September, aims to eliminate online content that “maliciously incites” polarization, pessimism, anxiety, and other negative sentiments. In other words: if you’re not smiling, you’re suspicious.
According to the CAC’s own bulletin, the forbidden behaviors include:
“1. Inciting antagonism between groups
2. Spreading panic and anxiety
3. Inciting online violence and hostility
4. Exaggerating pessimistic sentiments.”
Translation: Don’t talk about stress, don’t mention unemployment, and definitely don’t compare Apple to Android (as Hu Chenfeng did) unless you’re praising Huawei.
Hu Chenfeng was accused by Zhejiang’s Propaganda Department of wielding “three hidden arrows”: worshipping foreign brands, exploiting youth anxiety, and distorting values through emotions.
Zhang Xuefeng’s ban hit hardest. Known for his blunt advice to students and critiques of the education system, he was a rare voice of realism in a sea of curated perfection. His disappearance sent shockwaves through China’s youth, many of whom relied on his guidance. But realism, it seems, is now a form of pessimism. And pessimism is now a form of dissent.
Lan Zhanfei, once a professional gamer turned travel vlogger, was known for his laid-back style and honest reflections. His ban was less about what he said and more about what he didn’t say. In today’s climate, silence is suspicious. Neutrality is negativity. And not clapping loud enough is practically treason.
The rules are vague, the enforcement arbitrary, and the goal unmistakable: fear. Platforms now scramble to delete anything that might be interpreted as “gloomy.” Influencers second-guess every word. And users? We scroll in silence, wondering who’s next.
In a country where youth unemployment is rising, mental health is fragile, and social pressure is relentless, banning influencers for being “not cheerful enough” feels like punishing the thermometer for the fever.
But don’t worry. The internet is now “clear and bright.” Just don’t ask where everyone went.
