Welcome to Elephants' Diet, a column where Elephant Room's writers share their media diet on China-related topics -- quality content from beyond the Room! 👀
June, 29th, 2025--
The $2.2 Million Virtual Affair: on the dark side of China’s underground live-streaming ecosystems—shattered families, legal powerlessness, and the high cost of virtual validation. Written by Weiwei Xiao from Guyu:
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Ou Qing took her husband Chen Ping and live-streamer Lili to court. In 2022, she accidentally discovered that her husband had tipped over 16 million yuan (≈$2.2 million) on a live-streaming platform, nearly bankrupting their family, most of which was spent in Lili’s livestream room. She sued both, attempting to reclaim their marital assets.
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This was a novel case in the era of live-streaming, distinct from traditional "extramarital affair" disputes, as the relationship between Chen Ping and Lili appeared confined to that of a "top tipper (榜一大哥)” and a showroom hostess (秀场主播).
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It’s difficult to precisely define what a showroom livestream (秀场直播) is. Platforms classify it as a live-streaming space where performers showcase talent, looks, and interaction—no shopping links, no product promotions, no fixed prices. What’s "sold" here is closeness to the hostess. Not a literal transaction, but a virtual intimacy built through tipping, quantified on platforms as fan rankings.
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Tracing each side of this case reveals a modern marital dilemma—where emotional connections are commodified, and the making (and unmaking) of a "top tipper" who squandered not just wealth but his family.
How did it all happen? And when a husband tips away millions, why must his wife share the cost? Where does that leave her?
June, 20th, 2025--
“Funerals” for Buses: Chinese urbanites are documenting final rides, recording engine sounds, and preserving memories of a transit era disappearing under a rapid shift to EVs -- a beautifully bittersweet story from Sixth Tone.
Voices from "bus fans," reported by Sixth Tone:
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“When they disappeared, it felt like all my emotional anchors were gone,” says 46-year-old Ye Ming, a graphic designer from the southwestern Sichuan province. “Everything I loved just ended abruptly.”
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“Buses are part of a city’s history,” says Wu Haoxiang, a software engineer in his 20s from Shanghai, who collects tickets and scale models of his favorite vehicles. “Remembering them is a way of holding on to the past.”
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“If you think in terms of progress,” says Ye, “this is just part of history, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. One day, buses were still shaping history. Next, they became history themselves.”
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“There was sadness, a kind of quiet melancholy,” Ye said. “But mostly, it was that powerless feeling. In a fast-moving country like ours, you never know (when the next phase will arrive).”