The world is constantly changing. Amidst wars and political issues which may appear unaffecting to us in Hong Kong, there are still many seemingly small things around us that are also worth looking into, helping us maintain a sense of normality.
The Periscope section of the issue dives deep into how the affected feels about and reacts to the U.S.’ s attacks. While some may be happy about Trump’s actions, others think otherwise.
On the other hand in the Our Community, People and Lifestyle sections, Varsity reporters explore tourism, fan culture and other topics in Hong Kong, mainland China, and Vietnam.
Particularly, employment in these three locations, or the lack thereof, is covered to show how parallel to the bigger political problems, people are also struggling to secure livelihoods and find meaning in life.
This Varsity issue aims to bring attention to the people’s resilience, which persists beneath the messy political narrative, and to remind readers that even as the world shifts, the search for stability, purpose, and connection remains constant.
Alexa Lau
Chief Editor
The world seems increasingly small as we consistently receive instant, dire news about what is going on on the other end of the world.
Barely one week in working on this Varsity issue, we received news that the US had launched an attack on Venezuela. Halfway in the issue, Iran was struck.
The sheer brutality of the attacks contrast with the constant bombarding headlines make the entire situation seem unreal.
As I was working on the cover page of this issue, it occurred to me that Trump could not really grasp the reality of his actions as well. To him, the invasions are just childish conquests. But there is nothing childish or naive about the impact he brings.
As you can see in our stories, there are conflicting views on Trump’s invasions, but one thing that is certain is the shock of seeing the most powerful man in the world wielding his power to do anything he pleases just because he can.
Resistance seems impossible in the face of such brutal strength, but staying informed is a form of resistance in and of itself.
We hope these stories, including the stories of refugees finding solace in making food in their new homes, rappers expressing their feelings amidst the unemployment wave, you can fight the feeling of overwhelming dread, and see that community is possible, anywhere you are.
Pauline Yau
Chief Editor
As a new year brings about new challenges and instability, it is important for us to stay connected with the world and never lose hope. The world keeps spinning no matter what, and all we can do is keep moving forward.
This Varsity edition reminds readers of just that.
Reporters have covered stories from around the globe about the province reforms in Vietnam that are affecting civil workers throughout the country, the increasingly toxic fan culture in Mainland China, and Chinese tourists visiting Myanmar despite a high-level outbound travel alert.
We hope that this issue can remind readers to broaden their outlook on the world and remember the power of staying informed. Even small actions can make a change. Through perseverance, we remain strong.
Valentina Chesneau Rodrigues from Venezuela, is happy to see the U.S. intervention and President Nicolas Maduro, whom she believes is a criminal, being removed from the country.
Born in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela, but living in Mexico now, the 22-year-old student does not view the U.S.’s operation in Venezuela as a military attack.
“In Venezuela, where there is no democracy, accepting someone else’s help is the only way to bring changes to the country, and yet it was necessary,” she says.
In January, the U.S. launched a military strike in Venezuela and captured incumbent President Nicolas Maduro and his wife.
Because of the political situation in her home country, Rodrigues left Venezuela with her family and moved to live in Mexico City when she was nine.
But even now, she can recall a big protest against the Venezuelan government when she was only eight. She remembers planes flying over Caracas at 3 a.m. and how people’s daily lives were impacted.
“We could not find daily supplies in the supermarket, even though we had the money to pay for them in Venezuela. Rice could be out of stock in the supermarket for two weeks,” she says.
The student says that there are very few opportunities in Venezuela, given the rooted military, economic, and political spheres there.
“Job opportunities were few, and education in Venezuela was poor. Teachers were looking for better opportunities and moving to other places. It was difficult to find people to replace the vacancies; there used to be lots of missing classes,” she adds.
Rodrigues’ relatives still live in Venezuela, but she cannot ask them for their opinions regarding the capture of their president.
“Police check their phones every time they go on the street. The existing regime in Venezuela prohibits phone calls, posts, texts or any type of communication in which people say a word against the president or the regime,” she explains.
She notes that U.S. companies began exploring for oil in Venezuela in the early 20th century.
“We do not care if the US wants our resources or not. Without the help from the U.S., we would only have petroleum underground and no possible way of using it,” she says.
Till now, the Venezuelan student has no plan to return to her home country. Currently living in Mexico City, the student is afraid that Mexico is going to become “the next Venezuela”, because the Mexican government is an ally of the Venezuelan regime.
“News [outlets] in Mexico are very keen on supporting Nicolas Maduro,” she explains.
Salvador Iglesias, a 22-year-old Mexican journal editor from “El Heraldo de México”, opposes the U.S.’s actions in Venezuela.
“They only wanted to capture Maduro to put pressure on the Venezuelan government for selling their oil to the United States; they do not care about the people and democracy,” Salvador says.
He believes that the U.S. operation is a violation of the sovereignty of Venezuela and a violation of international law.
“These actions are not done to help Venezuelans and will not solve their problems. Donald Trump cannot ignore international laws and conduct military actions in foreign lands in South America or anywhere else,” he says.
Salvador understands people like Rodrigues who welcome the U.S.’s intervention. “I know people from Venezuela who are settled now in Mexico. These people are hopeful for a change in their country despite remaining the same even after the U.S. invasion,” he adds.
Timeline of the Attack on Venezuela
He notes that Mexicans are divided about the U.S.’s action, exactly like how the country’s news outlets reported.
“Some outlets managed by the Mexican government show support for Nicolas Maduro, mentioning that he was kidnapped by the United States. Still, other media remain neutral or oppose the regime openly,” Salvador says.
The United States has often offered help to Mexico’s president, Claudia Sheinbaum, to attack drug cartels in Mexican territory, but Salvador says the proposed U.S. actions will not help.
“The drug trafficking issue in Mexico is so big and complex that it can be controlled but not solved in the near time,” he adds.
“The United States can’t threaten [to enter] Mexico the same way as they did in Venezuela; both Mexico and Venezuela are rich in oil, and that’s what Trump wants,” Salvador says.
In the wake of the conflict between the U.S. and Venezuela and Iran, Salvador criticises international organisations like the United Nations as deficient.
“Yes, Venezuela is run by a dictatorship and the same thing goes to Iran, but the United States are far from being the good guys in history,” he says.
“It is ridiculous how international organisations are reacting to these events; there is a clear bias towards the United States and their allies,” Salvador adds.
Danielle Espinoza, a 24-year-old student from Chile, agrees that the Trump administration cannot be trusted to govern Venezuela, and taking the dictator out of the country does not give actual freedom or democracy to the country.
“I think the U.S intended to impose ideology and power in the world, at the same time, taking away the natural resources in Venezuela,” he says.
As a South American, Espinoza thinks the dictatorship in Venezuela should be overthrown in the same way Chile did in the past, and that change must come from within the country and be driven by its own people.
Chile gained democracy in 1988 when Chileans voted out dictator Pinochet in a national referendum after years of protests and strikes.
Chile is in the southern part of South America, and Venezuela is in the northern part. Even though Chile and Venezuela are far apart, the Chilean student still worries about the future of their country.
“The U.S. keeps Venezuela’s president as a way to expand its empire. They may invade Chile, just like Venezuela, and take away our resources,” Espinoza says.
Hong Kong’s higher education attracts a rising wave of Vietnamese students.
By Spring Cam
University student Bui Ngoc Tram, who first thought she would be a minority on a Hong Kong university campus, is surprised to find that there is a rapidly growing community of Vietnamese students pursuing tertiary education in Hong Kong.
“Before coming here, I only contacted one or two seniors. I did not expect that there were nearly 50 other students in my batch studying in Hong Kong. I meet at least 10 Vietnamese students every day and four are doing the same major as mine,” the global economics and finance major student says.
She believes studying in Hong Kong can help her develop a career in the global business industry.
The Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK)’s partnership with the Fung Global Institute offers business students like her connections with people working in several multinational corporations.
“Last semester, a guest lecture by a former HSBC economist walked us through how US-China trade tensions are affecting Vietnam’s export sector. It is really helpful as a real-time analysis, rather than textbook theory,” the year two student says.
Through CUHK’s Economics Society, Bui has also attended gatherings where she met analysts from Goldman Sachs and BlackRock and exchanged contacts with them to stay connected for mentorship and future career opportunities.
“I would not have such opportunities if I studied in Vietnam, since the universities’ business network for students in our country is still limited and only reserved for a few top students,” Bui says.
“I am applying for summer internships now. I hope that I can get into HSBC or a regional bank. I want to earn as much as possible to have a high-quality and fulfilling life. My global career may start here, Hong Kong, then maybe reach Singapore or London,” she adds.
Bui shares that working for a big corporation such as HSBC has always been her dream, especially in a global financial and business hub like Hong Kong.
“The salary in Hong Kong is 10 times higher than in my home country. If needed, I will take on two or three more jobs to afford living here,” she says.
The 20-year-old student is one of about 300 Vietnamese students studying at universities in Hong Kong in the school year of 2025-2026, according to the Vietnamese Students Association in Hong Kong. The number has risen significantly from fewer than 30 in 2022 to 302 in 2025.
The growth comes after the Hong Kong government doubled the admission quota for non-local students from 20 per cent to 40 per cent at publicly funded universities starting the school year of 2024 and 2025, a policy measure that was announced in the Hong Kong 2023 Policy Address.
Bar graph of the Number of Vietnamese Students in Hong Kong in 2022-2026
Students mainly are recruited from Belt and Road countries, including Vietnam and mainland China.
The Hong Kong government also promotes the HKSAR Government’s Belt and Road Scholarship, which covers full tuition for outstanding students from partner regions. The government has injected HKD $1 billion (US $127.95 million) into the Government Scholarship Fund to increase the quota of the Belt and Road Scholarship by 50 per cent from the 2024/25 academic year.
At CUHK, scholarships for Vietnamese undergraduates have jumped from 30 in 2022 to nearly 110 in 2025, while the number of Vietnamese students studying at the University of Hong Kong (HKU) increased from six in 2023 to 19 in the 2025-2026 academic year.
Other public universities in Hong Kong have also seen significant growth in the number of Vietnamese students. There are 31 Vietnamese undergraduates at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, while the Hong Kong Polytechnic University (PolyU) also recorded a notable increase from 1 in the 2022-2023 school year to 17 in the academic year of 2025-2026.
Duc Manh with Vietnamese peers at the Hong Kong Polytechnic ty (Photo Courtesy of Nguyen Duc Manh)
The Vietnamese student community in Hong Kong has formed its own network, hosting events such as the annual Tết (Lunar New Year) celebrations, Vietnam National Day, cultural exchange fairs, welcome party for freshmen, ASEAN-Vietnam Students Meetup, and career networking meetings with Vietnamese professionals working in Hong Kong’s finance and tech sectors.
Nguyen Duc Manh is another Vietnamese student studying logistics in Hong Kong. The PolyU student is attracted by Hong Kong’s global logistics industry.
“Hong Kong is a renowned logistics hub for goods transshipment and an international finance centre. So, studying here provides a comprehensive, front-row perspective on how this industry operates, which is very much related to my study,” he says.
Nguyen shares that the language barrier is not the biggest obstacle, even for those who do not speak Cantonese.
“Hong Kong people that I have met up to now are very open-minded and progressive. Even when I meet someone like the janitors or security guards who cannot speak English, they still greet me with hospitality and communicate with me by smiles and gestures,” he says.
On 27 August 2025, a few days after his arrival, Nguyen joined the 80th anniversary of Vietnam’s National Day hosted by the Vietnam Consulate General in Hong Kong, as a student helper alongside other Vietnamese students from eight publicly-funded universities.
“I arrived in Hong Kong not knowing anyone in my university. I thought I would have to figure everything out on my own. I met dozens of Vietnamese students from different universities at the event. We have shared the same feelings of experiencing language barriers, adapting to a different education system, and missing home. I have friends I can call for help, or just to grab a coffee and speak Vietnamese with,” he says.
Nguyen Vu Dan Phuong, a student from HKU, also shares that she chose to study in Hong Kong as she wants to stay and work in the city after graduation.
“The (Hong Kong) Monetary Authority just launched an AI roadmap for banks. With AI adoption in Hong Kong banking jumping from 59 per cent to 75 per cent in three years, employers are now looking for graduates who can do coding and commercials at the same time,” she says.
Vietnamese students of the 2024-2025 academic year with their Consulate General during the University of Hong Kong Entrance Scholarships Award Ceremony 2025 (Photo Courtesy of Nguyen Vu Dan Phuong)
The Business Analytics student finds public service in the city outstanding, citing the MTR and government services as examples.
“But housing cost here is an issue that I need to think about whether I should stay to work or return home after graduation,” she says.
Professor Victor Lau Kwok-chi of the Faculty of Education at CUHK says that students may have overestimated the living expenses in Hong Kong.
“Students from the top universities can easily gain a starting salary of HKD $20,000 (US $2,560) a month. That is enough to cover all the fees and save for future housing. The 10 to 15 per cent tax of Hong Kong is comparatively low, especially when you compare with Western countries where the taxes could rise up to 40-50 per cent,” he says.
Lau also notes that the rise in international students is less about economic interest and more about politics. The Hong Kong government, he says, aims to strengthen ties with other countries, especially close neighbours in Asia.
“Almost all Asian students receive full-tuition scholarships funded by the government, so there is no economic profit here. The biggest goal might be internationalisation,” he says.
He thinks this trend may not last.
“About 40 per cent of non-local students is already too high. Scholarships are expected to be reduced in the coming years after they have gained enough global attraction. After all, education is a kind of industry,” he says.
Uprooted by provincial merger in Vietnam, civil servants and families struggle to adjust.
By Ni Lin
Civil servant John Nguyen has been relocated to a new workplace under a national reform that reduces the number of provinces from 63 to 34 for better governance in Vietnam.
“I chose to work in the public sector because I wanted a stable life and time to take care of my family. But after the provincial merger, my life and the lives of my colleagues have been turned upside down,” Nguyen says.
The 50-year-old officer has spent his entire life in the Binh Phuoc Province, 120 km from Ho Chi Minh City, where he has worked as an official at the provincial People’s Committee for over 10 years.
The merger of Binh Phuoc and Dong Nai into a single new Dong Nai Province is part of a national reform. Nguyen only has three months to handle changes brought by the government policy.
Nguyen shares that he has to wake up at 3 a.m. to commute from his home in Binh Phuoc Province to his new office after spending a weekend at home with his family.
Government signs and agency plates are updated to reflect new names and addresses following the administrative merger. In the photo: The Binh Phuoc Ward Comprehensive Service Center.
The shuttle operation began in July 2025. It is still ongoing. Each week, 32 buses transport about 1,400 provincial civil servants between Binh Phuoc and Dong Nai. The 90-kilometre trip takes about 120 minutes each way.
The father of two has moved to a place that is closer to his new workplace alone, leaving his wife and two young children, aged 13 and seven behind. He stays at his dormitory during weekdays.
“I can only move to the new location myself, leaving my family behind because of a tight budget. The government subsidy is not enough,” he says.
Nguyen points out that he is given a relocation subsidy of VND 8,000,000 (US $304) a month.
“To rent a flat for four and cover moving costs for my family, I need at least VND 250,000,000 (US $9,507). My monthly salary is VND 10,000,000 (US $380). I do not have enough savings,” he says.
“My children are 13 and seven years old. I have to pay for their school fees, food, and healthcare. My parents also depend on me. There is nothing left at the end of a month,” he shares.
His wife now runs the family alone. She works as an accountant, earning about VND 14,000,000 (US $532) per month. Since the couple are both working parents, the children must take a shuttle bus service to get to school, as nobody can drop them off.
The school bus service costs the family about VND 4,000,000 (US $154) per month – a quarter of their household income.
At his new workplace, Nguyen shares a dormitory room with five other colleagues.
They cook in a pantry in the office because there is no kitchen in their dormitory, and they have to do their laundry back home every weekend.
“I have no choice. I want to keep my job, but I feel like I don’t belong here. My quality of life is much worse than before because I can’t be with my loved ones,” he says.
The civil servants’ families are also badly affected by the relocation exercise.
Alice Tran, a high school student whose family has been relocated from Binh Phuoc to Dong Nai, is also struggling with her new school life.
Alice Tran’s former high school in Binh Phuoc, before moved to Dong Nai.
“Every day, I go to class, and then I go home. I don’t really have friends here.
I do not get along with my schoolmates when doing group work. A few classmates even treat me differently because I’m the new girl,” the 16-year-old student says.
“They exclude me from casual conversations and make subtle remarks about my old school. I am not invited to join after-class activities either,” she says.
“I just message my friends to stay in touch with them. It’s the only thing that makes me feel better,” she adds.
A total of 52 provinces and cities are undergoing the restructure, affecting 937,935 people, including 37,447 managerial and leadership cadres, 130,705 civil servants, and 769,783 public servants.
Political journalist Rachel Le points out that the provincial merger has affected the lives of public servants, causing frustration among the public officers and their families.
“Government officers have to be relocated far from home. The new workplaces and accommodation are often worse than before,” she says.
“This creates a gap between professional expectations and the stressful reality, affecting their morale. When officials lack stability in their personal lives, they feel unsettled, and that anxiety affects their work,” she adds.
The journalist points out that the core of the issue lies in policy intentions that do not match up with real-life experience.
According to the 2022 SCOLI (The Spatial Cost of Living Index) report, while Binh Phuoc had the second-lowest living costs in the southeast region of Vietnam, the cost of living in Dong Nai is much higher.
“The cost of living, especially in newly formed central urban areas after the merger, is typically higher. So it is inevitable that they feel upset,” she says.
Under rising unemployment pressure, Gen Z rappers in mainland China are turning their job-hunting struggles into music that resonates with a generation on edge.
By Susan Sun
While many of his former classmates are preparing to find a job, Zhang Xianhui is trying to build a career in rap.
Zhang reveals that in 2022, he failed Gaokao, the National College Entrance Examination in China, and received only an offer from a vocational school.
His teachers urged him to retake the exam, but he felt that the school had already given up on students like him. “Some teachers treated us like troublemakers because we weren’t top scorers. It felt like we were already written off,” Zhang says.
Zhang began writing music seriously after hearing《工廠(Factory)》by 河南說唱之神 (God of Henan Rap), a song about the drift of small-town youth to uncertain futures.
The music video has garnered more than 13 million views on streaming platforms, becoming a social phenomenon among job-market-weary listeners.
The song has also swept major awards at the 3rd Wave Music Awards, taking home top honours including Best Rap Song, Best Single Production, and Best Music Video.
“That song made me realise rapping can tell the truth about people like us. It gives me the courage to write about my own failures,” Zhang says.
Zhang Xianhui doing recording and mixing at his rented house. (Photo courtesy of Zhang Xianhui)
One of his most shared songs《逃離(Escape)》was written shortly after he was turned down for a warehouse job in February 2025. He expresses his frustration through the song:
“If you aren’t born with a key, you knock till your fists bleed. Bosses say work hard, but they want a family tree. Diplomas weigh less than a father with power I hustle alone, counting rejection by the hour.”
The song quickly drew 10,000 views, and comments began piling up, mostly from other young men who described themselves as “factory workers”, “delivery boys”, or “vocational school students”.
One comment under Zhang’s TikTok post says, “bro, you wrote what I didn’t dare to say at home.” Another says he cried on the bus reading the lyrics, “it made me realise that I’m not the only one who feels shut out before even getting to the door.”
Zhang now has over 7,200 fans on Bilibili, a commonly used video-sharing platform in China. Some listeners shared their own job-hunting experiences under the video.
Citing a comment which says she has submitted 80 applications and only got one interview, Zhang feels like reading his own story.
The 21-year-old rapper earns around RMB ¥4,000 (US $550) a month from his part-time delivery work and music streams, while the median salary of fresh university graduates in major cities is around RMB ¥6,000 (US $820) in 2025, according to several provincial education bureaus. His parents are worried, but Zhang insists that rapping is the only thing that matters to him.
“When I perform in bars and live houses, I feel like I am being heard, and comments saying that my lyrics sound like their life keep me motivated,” Zhang says.
China’s job market remains gloomy for young people. According to the National Bureau of Statistics, in late 2025, the urban unemployment rate of those aged 16-24 stayed above 14%, which is one of the highest unemployment rates since the mid-2010s.
Unlike Zhang, another rapper, Feng Zhiming is kindling his rap career while studying computer science.
The 23-year-old university student performs at bars two nights a week and creates music pieces in his dormitory.
“My parents believe a degree equals stability, but half my seniors with degrees can’t get jobs,” he says.
Feng mentioned that one of his friends in his major who graduated this year spends months sending out more than 60 application letters, but no one replies.
“He said he feels like his four years of university are nothing to employers,” Feng says, “to be honest, watching him makes me panic. If someone with good grades couldn’t even get a single job interview, how about the rest of us?”
However, this anxiety fuels Feng’s music. His latest song,《别擔心 (Don’t Worry)》, resonates with many graduates.
Feng writes the song after comforting his mother on the phone, telling her that everything is fine, while hiding the fact that he has lost his internship opportunity.
“Many of my peers only share good news and hide the bad news from our parents. We don’t want them to be upset, but the reality bites,” Feng says.
Feng Zhiming’s first performance in live house. (Photo courtesy of Feng Zhiming)
He now earns around RMB ¥1,500 (US $205) a month from live streaming on his TikTok account and performing in bars.
Feng says many students send him messages saying the lyrics of his songs mirror hardship in their lives.
“Our generation faces too much pressure, and the biggest motivation is having people who understand me through my songs,” he says.
Joseph Louis Travis, lecturer at the School of Journalism and Communication at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, says many Chinese youth are becoming rappers to express deeper economic anxiety.
“Many students choose majors based on what they’re told is ‘safer,’ not what they love. But when even practical degrees no longer guarantee work, young people start questioning whether sacrificing passion is worth it,” he says.
Travis notes that music offers youngsters a rare sense of agency through his research, which focuses on youth culture and creative labour. “When you’re boxed into studying something you don’t enjoy, creative work becomes a place to reclaim excitement and meaning,” he explains.
He also mentioned that digital platforms have lowered the entry barrier for young rappers but have not offered enough financial benefits. “Visibility improves online, but stability doesn’t. Independent musicians must still perform in clubs, build networks, and promote themselves on their own,” he says.
He adds that Chinese rap operates within commercial and political boundaries distinct from its U.S. origins, shaping what artists can express and how they navigate the industry.
“For decades, the formula was study hard, get a degree, and find a stable job. That formula isn’t working for everyone anymore. These musicians show us a generation searching for meaning and visibility in a future that feels increasingly uncertain,” he says.
Former actors turned livestreamers struggle in a crowded, regulated market.
By Coco Zhou
Cindy Sun* quit acting for full-time e-commerce live streaming in 2019 after COVID-19 stopped mainland China’s TV drama production and left her out of work.
She used to be busy for three months a year, only filming one drama, but now she has a packed daily schedule: selecting and testing products, making short videos and live streaming for up to eight hours. She now returns home sometime after midnight.
“It took me three years to groom my social media account to two million followers on Taobao Live platform with an average of 30,000 concurrent viewers in my livestreams and per-show sales ranging from two million to three million RMB (US$278,000 to US$417,000),” the beauty and skincare products seller says.
Sun now live streams for about three products a week and spends an hour or two on casual live streams, chit chatting with her fans and strangers to build her fan base.
“I really love my job and enjoy sharing my daily life and new products. But the industry is becoming more competitive. It’s been getting harder and harder to make a living these past two years. Gone are the days of easy growth,” the 45-year-old woman says, citing that more players have joined the field.
Sun conducting a goods promotion live stream. (Photo courtesy of Cindy Sun)
The total number of live streamer accounts reached nearly 193 million, up about 7.2 per cent year on year, with 13 million new accounts created in 2024, according to the China Online Performance Industry Development Report (2024-2025).
“My livestream data has dropped sharply. I used to have an average of 10,000 to 20,000 concurrent viewers, and the Gross Merchandise Value (GMV) was at least one million RMB (US$144,200) per stream. I could get about RMB ¥120,000-150,000 (US$17,400-21,750). Now, my average concurrent viewership is just 2,000, with average per-session sales of RMB ¥300,000-500,000 (US$ 43,260-72,100) and profit has dropped by at least 30 per cent, to RMB ¥60,000-80,000 (US$ 8,688-11,584) per session,” the former actress says.
Sun also points out that judging from her livestream performance, viewers’ willingness to spend has weakened.
“People prefer saving money than making impulsive or excessive purchases now. In the past, products were sold out in an instant, often facing a shortage of supply, but now I have to do more marketing to boost sales,” the live streamer says.
The trend is reflected in the latest economic data. China’s 2025 retail sales growth slowed to 3.7 per cent, compared to 4.6 per cent in 2024, according to the National Bureau of Statistics. The bureau also reports that new home prices across 70 major cities dropped 2.7 per cent in December 2025, the sharpest fall in five months.
This downward trend extends to other celebrity streamers like Eva Cui*, who sells nourishing and health products online.
She is now filming an internet drama with her team, while she conducts live streaming twice a week with a meet and greet-session with her fans during filming breaks.
Cui admits that her true passion is acting, but she has to make more money with live streaming. She says the film industry now lacks investment even for producers with good scripts.
“I still can’t let go of acting. Live streaming is for the sake of making a living,” the former actress says.
“Actors can make use of their publicity to capture viewers’ attention and that makes it easier for them to promote brands and sell products to make a living,” she adds.
But Cui and many other live-streamers now face stricter regulations from the Chinese authorities, which introduced new measures to monitor and regulate e-commerce and live-streaming sales in December 2025.
According to the new regulations, live streamers are banned from using medical terms, exaggerated expressions, such as terms like “best” or “recommended by scholars”. Violators face penalties including account suspension and fines up to 100,000 RMB (US$14,410).
“I have to memorize a long list of forbidden words and repeat the warning ‘this is a health supplement, not a drug when doing live streaming,” Cui says.
Cui and her team make pre-show preparations for live commerce. (Photo courtesy of Eva Cui)
On July 31, 2024, “online host” was officially recognised as a new occupation and included in the national occupational classification system.
According to labour survey data released by the National Bureau of Statistics, the unemployment rate of young people aged 16 to 24 climbed to 17.8 per cent in July 2025, and the number of college graduates is expected to hit a record 12.7 million in 2026.
The industry’s growth has also created job opportunities for young people. The Research Report on the Development of China’s Online Audio-Visual Industry (2024) shows the live streaming industry directly or indirectly supports over 100 million jobs, with 43 per cent of workers aged 18 to 25.
Apart from mid-aged actors, amid a tight job market, young creators are also actively embracing live streaming as a viable career choice.
Becky Wang* joined the live streaming industry in 2025. She is combining an acting career with live streaming to sell makeup products.
“It’s better than doing acting alone which does not pay much. Acting and live streaming work well together, helping boost my fame and income,” the 24-year-old girl says.
After graduating from Beijing Film Academy, Wang joined several short-drama projects.
“Short drama projects have a low budget. I can get up to RMB ¥50,000 (US$7,174.58) for a skit. Each drama has 20 to 30 episodes, each about 15 minutes long, but getting such opportunities is harder and harder. The competition is too fierce,” the former child actor says.
Wang points out GMV per show can only reach RMB ¥ 20,000-30,000 (US$2,869.8-4,304.7) without deducting commissions and returns, and the profit per show is about 2,000 RMB (US$286.98).
Wang recording a short video to explain and promote the product. (Photo courtesy of Becky Wang)
Professor Lin Jian of the School of Journalism and Communication at The Chinese University of Hong Kong says these sweeping regulatory changes raise qualification thresholds for being live-streaming hosts.
“In sensitive sectors, such as health products, pharmaceuticals and medical aesthetics, the crackdown on traffic-driven, results-obsessed and borderline irregular live streaming practices is leading the industry toward a future built on compliance, professionalism and trust,” Lin says.
“The stricter regulations, which emphasise live streaming marketing standardisation, help to protect the legitimate rights and interests of consumers and operators, and foster the healthy development of the industry,” he adds.
Lin observes in the current economic and regulatory climate, making quick money through live-stream e-commerce is no longer realistic.
“Live streamers should grow their accounts steadily, foster strong fan bonds, maintain a pragmatic attitude, and improve their sales expertise. Only then can they break through in this saturated market,” he says.
Young people overspend on idols and face online attacks in a toxic fan culture.
By Cassie Wang
Spending four-fifths of her monthly allowance on chasing idols, Kuang Zife admits it is excessive.
As a business management student at the University of Southampton in the United Kingdom, Kuang receives RMB ¥25,000(US $3,622) a month. But in a bid to show support for her favourite Thai actors, Jimmy and Ohm, she spends more than RMB ¥20,000(US $2,872) a month on meet-and-greet events and gifts.
Twice a month, the 20-year-old university student buys a six-minute session to chat with her idols, while a two minutes session costs RMB ¥2,000(US $287). She even flies to Thailand five times within half a year.
Kuang attending the face-to-face signing session with Jimmy and Ohm in Thailand.
Believing that spending large sums on idols can demonstrates loyalty and love, Kuang admits she has such a distorted concept of being a loyal fan that she even gives extravagant gifts.
“At first, I wouldn’t give them very expensive gifts. Most of the gifts I gave are dolls, usually priced around RMB ¥200(US $29). But in November 2024, everyone at offline fan meetings started to compete to give luxurious presents to our idols,” Kuang says.
In December 2025, Kuang gave Jimmy and Ohmgifts worth nearly RMB ¥10,000 (about US $1,436) during an autograph signing session in Bangkok. These gifts included a Chanel necklace, Ralph Lauren clothing, and other items she hoped her idols would wear one day.
Gifts sent by Kuang to Jimmy and Ohm.
“Fans competing with each other to see who gives the most expensive gift and who pays for longer signing sessions is the norm in fan culture. Those who spend more money are more likely to be remembered clearly by our idols, and everyone wants to be the one closest to them,” she says.
“I know it’s a toxic culture, but I have to play the game. It is a way to defeat other fans whom I don’t like, or it is a matter of losing face,” she adds.
Because Kuang spends more money on Jimmy and Ohm and interacts with them more frequently, other fans launch personal attacks against her on the Chinese social media platform Weibo, sarcastically calling her a “female celebrity”. Some criticise her for being a snarky attention seeker, saying she acts superior just because she spent more money.
The attacks spills over to her personal Weibo and Xiaohongshu accounts.
“I can feel that I am being monitored every day. My Weibo account gets visits from the same people every day, even though they aren’t my followers. On Xiaohongshu, my videos are reposted almost instantly after I upload them, yet no one gives me a like. I know it’s those who dislike me doing this,” she says.
Kuang says fans hate each other because they compete to be the most special one in the idols’ hearts, including herself. She spends time comparing the different feedback her idol give her and the comments makefor other fans.
“I have given so much to them, I want to have a special place in their hearts and be treated differently,” she says.
Chaos involving online fandoms in China has become a public concern. In 2020, the Cyberspace Administration of China launched the Qinglang campaign to curb online fandom activities and tighten control over the Chinese internet environment.
The campaign is still ongoing now, focusing more specifically on restricting fundraising, cyber violence, and personal attacks within fandoms.
Another university student, Liao Yiwei, who studies at the University of California, Santa Cruz, has found herself impacted by intense public opinion within her idol’s fandom.
Liao says that there are rules fans must obey in their own circle. For example, fans cannot take pictures of their idols when they are off-duty as they will be accused of being stalkers.
In July 2025, after much hesitation, Liao took pictures of her idols at Incheon Airport. “I ended up not posting the pictures I took on social media, because I am afraid of being accused.”
Fan clubs also have rules regarding merchandise that fans can sell and buy among themselves. In 2024, Liao needed to pass a qualification check from a fan club, which required her personal information including name, ID number and even spending records on fandom activities to prove that she was a genuine fan and gain the right to sell.
She was able to sell a cotton doll of her idol, Sunoo from ENHYPEN, to other fans. But she was later bombarded with complaints because she concealed that she was only 17 years old at that time, while the fan club does not allow people under 18 to sell fan merchandise.
Liao takes charge of the cotton doll production and sales.
“Although I handled the sale of these cotton dolls properly without any problems, when it was found out, I received a lot of criticism in the comment sections of my Weibo and Xiaohongshu posts, as well as in the WeChat group created to handle after-sales issues for this item,” she says.
In seven WeChat groups, Liao received thousands of messages in a single day, and this lasted for a week. Messages scolding her, saying that she had “scammed” others and “is unbelievably foolish”.
“During that period, I couldn’t sleep well and was very anxious. Even by the end of 2025, I was still constantly worried about being attacked in the groups and was extremely frightened when going online,” Liao says.
“I asked myself why I needed to prove myself to someone who is also a fan. Even this time my sale was not profitable. My pricing was entirely based on balancing the costs,” she adds.
Now Liao has stopped participating in any fan club-related activities as she feels more comfortable supporting her idol on her own.
Professor Lin Jian of the School of Journalism and Communication at the Chinese University of Hong Kong points out that the conformity effect is common in communities such as fandoms.
“These communities tend to develop their own norms, where members with higher cultural capital gain authority and enforce rules on others. Especially in anonymous online environments, the majority who remain silent in real life are more willing to express their feelings online. These voices are amplified on social media, leading to more extreme discourse in fandoms,” Lin says.
Lin also notes that when tackling disputes in fandoms, online platform operators act passively.
“While responding to government calls to suppress toxic fan culture, they also benefit from the data traffic such discourse generates. Campaign-style regulation is insufficient, and more legally based governance is needed to effectively manage online communities,” he says.
Chinese travellers are returning to Myanmar despite the country’s online reputation as a “paradise for scam syndicates”.
By Zhengyang Zhou
When Jin Zexuan, an automotive marketer from Shanghai, tells his colleagues he is travelling to Myanmar, they respond, “You’re gonna be taken to a scam centre as soon as you land, and I will not believe a word you message me.”
On December 21, 2025, Jin flew to Yangon for a 10-day visit. It was one of several unconventional destinations he had travelled to, including Bangladesh, Cambodia and Iran.
On Chinese social media, however, Myanmar is often associated almost entirely with scam syndicates. The country is widely seen as a “paradise for scam syndicates”. According to estimates from the International Criminal Police Organization, hundreds of thousands of people have fallen victim to human trafficking and ended up in scam centres.
One high-profile case surfaced in January 2025, when Chinese actor Wang Xing was captured by a scam syndicate in Myawaddy, Myanmar, after being lured to Bangkok for a fake acting job.
But Jin is still determined to go after reading RedNote posts saying cities in central and Southern Myanmar cities, such as Yangon, Bagan, and Mandalay are relatively safe for travellers. These cities are controlled by Myanmar’s junta government, a military force that overthrew the country’s democratically elected government. Northern Myanmar, by contrast, is associated with scam hubs and collusion with ethnic insurgents.
While travellers are unlikely to be taken to scam centres when visiting the southern major cities, daily life has been shaped by the turmoil that follows the civil war beginning in 2021. Yangon has been under curfew until last December, when the military government set out to “improve economic, social and religious matters” before elections. Foreign visitors cannot buy local SIM cards before arrival, and the gap between the official exchange rate and the black-market rate can be as high as twofold.
But this is not too much of a problem for Jin after looking through travel advice on RedNote. After landing, Jin takes a cab straight from the airport to Grandma’s House (WAI PO JIA), a restaurant opened by a middle-aged Chinese man in Yangon’s Chinatown, to exchange money at a black-market rate and buy SIM cards.
His first impression of Yangon is that it is more modern than he had imagined. “The road from the airport to the city was quite fancy, but the driver told me it was built to impress foreign officials,” Jin says. “But all other roads in Yangon are quite rundown. Colonial buildings are falling apart. The walls were peeling.”
“You can see the raw vitality there, which cannot be found in touristy cities like Bangkok,” he adds.
On the last day of his trip, he met a group of underground music artists in Yangon through social media. They ended up hanging out and talking until late at night. According to Jin, the group found a way to channel their creativity and artistic expression under curfew, using karaoke venues as live music spaces.
“You can engage in genuine conversations with people and see that they are fighting for self-expression under oppression. Whereas many tourist cities feel like a big marketing scheme trying to sell you the exact same thing,” Jin says.
Jin is not alone. Searching “Myanmar Travel” on RedNote, one can find many posts sharing travel experiences and tips. Many of them debunk the irrational fear toward Myanmar, stating cities like Yangon, Bagan, and Mandalay are safe and praising Myanmar’s rich tourism resources and its kind local people.
Screen cap from RedNote of people sharing travel experiences in Myanmar.
Tian Zenghui, a 33-year-old restaurant owner from Beijing, shares Jin’s adventurous spirit. She has visited North Korea, Cambodia and Laos and prefers distinctive cultural landscapes to shopping and city lights. Last November, she visited Yangon and Bagan for 11 days.
Tian is interested in Buddhism and traditional architecture. Bagan, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, has long been on her travel list.
“I found it fascinating that those ancient temples didn’t just turn into pure tourist attractions like Angkor Wat in Cambodia. People still go there to worship after more than 1,000 years,” Tian says.
She says Myanmar has retained much of its cultural distinctiveness. In the streets, she sees many people wearing longyi and htamein, the traditional Burmese wraparound garments worn by men and women.
“People in Myanmar are very peaceful. Every morning, I saw the receptionist at my hotel reading Buddhist mantras,” she says.
People praying in front of a Buddha in Bagan. (Photo courtesy of Tian Zenghui)
Transportation between cities, however, is one of Tian’s frustrations. “The bus that travels between Yangon and Bagan takes ten hours, which is very uncomfortable, but on the other hand, flights are infrequent and expensive,” Tian says.
News about people being lured into scam compounds does not alarm her as much as it does many people online. She says she has been following news about Myanmar and has spoken with locals to understand its political situation.
“I knew some Burmese students back in college, and they told me Northern Myanmar had been in active conflict for years. It is quite different from junta-controlled areas,” Tian says.
Kevin Yong, a Malaysian-Chinese owner of a hostel in Yangon that opened in 2019, has lived in Myanmar for around 10 years. He says the scam operations feel quite far away from his daily life.
“I learned about it on the news like everyone else. It’s pretty far away from our daily life and northern Myanmar almost feels like another country. Since the junta took power, northern Myanmar has become much harder to access, and you can’t really travel there now,” Yong says.
Yong says his hostel enjoyed strong business shortly after opening and attracts guests from around the world. At times, it was completely full. Then Covid-19 broke out in 2020, and all international commercial flights landing in Myanmar were suspended.
After the pandemic, tourism began to recover globally, but Yong says this did not happen in Myanmar because of political and economic instability that followed the 2021 military coup.
“We were still holding on when Covid-19 hit because business was really good in the months before. But then in 2021 the junta took over, and everything kept going downhill,” he says.
The civil war, which broke out shortly after the military seized power, had killed over 6,000 civilians by early 2025, according to the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners. It has left Myanmar in deep political and economic turmoil to this day.
Basic utilities such as electricity and water also have become unreliable. “Sometimes the water would be cut off without notice. We are in the hospitality business…we can’t just tell our guests they can’t shower,” Yong says.
During the country’s democratic transition in the 2010s, tourism grew rapidly and reached 4.7 million tourists in 2015, according to the World Bank. The number then dropped to 0.9 million in 2020 following the pandemic.
Yong says his hostel now receives fewer than a third of the guests it did in 2019. He also has begun to notice signs of burnout in himself and has decided to step back, leaving day-to-day operations to his business partner.
“It’s a survival game now. We are just waiting to see if things will get better.”
Specializing in Myanmar studies, Professor Zhong Xiaoxin at Yunnan University sees the “Myanmar phobia” on Chinese social media as a result of “information asymmetry”.
“People weren’t paying attention to Myanmar for a very long time, and when news about scam centres came up, it became over-dramatised,” Zhong says, “because what people say on social media goes for virality instead of reality.”
Having done extensive field work in Myanmar for a total of 30 months, Zhong keeps in touch with many locals, including one who previously worked at a scam centre in Myawaddy.
The professor says the scam centres in northern Myanmar emerged around 2015. At that time, the syndicates do not have to worry about labour shortages due to considerable revenue. After borders close in 2020, they begin to struggle to find enough people, “so they wouldn’t let people go so easily”.
“Some claims are clearly exaggerated. For example, organ trafficking is highly unlikely in those scam centres because it requires advanced technology,” Zhong says.
For Zhong, Myanmar’s image on the internet is a perfect example of an echo chamber. People who think Myanmar is extremely dangerous and people who actually travel to Myanmar are exposed to very different information, and “the chambers don’t communicate”.
“It makes views polarised”, Zhong says, “even if someone actually saw videos shot on the streets of Yangon saying it’s safe, they would probably be gonna say ‘Are you trying to trick me into going there?’”
For travellers who have already decided to visit Myanmar, “setting aside the stereotypes about Myanmar and getting a real taste of what Myanmar is like,” Zhong suggests.
Local population and business declined after Vietnam’s provincial merger in 2025.
By May Chan
Civil servant Tuyen Hung had built a stable life in Vinh Phuc, a province 63 km away from Hanoi in northern Vietnam. She is now being deployed to a new city which is 40 km away from her home, as the central government is redrawing the national map by merging provinces.
Tuyen has lived in Vinh Phuc with her husband and two children for years. Her husband was a teacher while the children all went to nearby schools.
“I never expected to start all over again in a new city. Now, my husband needs a new job while the children have to switch schools,” the mother says.
In June 2025, Vietnam launched a historic administrative reform that reduced its 63 provinces to 34. The move aims to cut government positions from 420,000 to 290,000 to fight corruption among local authorities. The new measure is expected to save VND 190,500 billion (US $7.3 billion) for the national economy, according to the Vietnamese government.
Following the reform, the former Vinh Phuc province was merged into the new Phu Tho province. The administrative capital has now shifted from Vinh Yen, a city located in the heart of Vinh Phuc, to a citywhich is 40km away—Viet Tri. More than 2,200 civil servants and their families are being relocated to the new capital, including Tuyen’s family.
When Tuyen returns home to collect her belongings, she finds the town has changed. “The main streets, where many shops and markets are located, used to be jammed with commuters and shoppers every day. Now they are almost empty,” the 39-year-old woman says.
Vinh Yen before and after reform in 2025, the main streets are almost empty.
Tuyen points out that many residents are thinking about their future, especially the young who are looking for entertainment and job opportunities.
“A smaller population means a decline in business, such as restaurants or entertainment. Public resources for education, social service and facilities might be cut down,” she says.
“Even the weekly musical show in our city square, which had been going on for six years, was cancelled. Young people don’t want to stay in a declining town,” Tuyen adds.
According to government statistics, with a population of 1,221,803, Vinh Phuc’s net migration rate fell to -1.7 per cent in 2024.
As people move away, local businesses are feeling the pain.
Nguyen Ha Anh, who has run a barber shop in Vinh Yen for 12 years, says her profits have dropped by 50% since the merger began in June 2025.
Her shop is situated near several government offices, and about 70% of her clients are public servants. Regular customers visited her shop every one or two weeks and they knew each other quite well. Some even used to visit daily for a hair wash.
“But around August 2025, they started dropping by to say goodbye. It is sad to see them go, and I also feel worried about how to run my business in the future,” the shop owner says.
Ha Anh’s barber shop on Sunday. There was only one customer at the time.
To cut costs, Nguyen had to let go of her only assistant.
“Other shops also have suffered losses. I’m lucky that my shop has a convenient location. The situation is even worse for those in quieter areas,” she says.
Nguyen observes throughout Vinh Phuc, “For Rent” signs have become a common sight.
In a less populated neighbourhood, grocery store owner Jane* closed her two-decade-old business four months after the merger was announced.
“After the reform was rolled out, many have left my neighbourhood. By October 2025, I only had five to 10 customers a day,” Jane recalls.
Now she is looking for a new job. “My brother in Viet Tri can secure me a job there, but I’m not ready to leave. I was born here,” she says.
“Finding a job in Vinh Phuc will be hard, though, with businesses closing and little demand for workers of my age,” the 43-year-old woman adds.
Throughout Vinh Yen, “For Rent” signs have become a common sight.
Nguyen*, a Vietnamese political journalist, says turning the area into an industrial development might be the long-term solution to revive the affected community.
She notes that major investors such as Honda, Toyota, and Piaggio are already operating here, with more than 480 foreign-invested projects.
The new Phu Tho leaders aim to leverage this, Nguyen observes. In June 2025, they proposed a development plan positioning the former Vinh Phuc region as an industrial hub. This strategy is expected to attract more industrial investors to the area, with China’s Songshan Lake Group already proposing a VND 62 trillion (US $2.4 billion) high-tech industrial park.
“If more industrial sites are developed, they will provide jobs to retain local residents and may even attract newcomers seeking opportunity,” Nguyen says.
Professor Song Ruifeng of the General Education China Programme from The Chinese University of Hong Kong points out that the reform highlights the complex reality of a nation-scale policy.
“All such decisions are trade-offs. Vietnam’s actions must have been based on a sophisticated calculus, and there will certainly be benefits. The remaining issue is whether the losses of those affected will be sufficiently compensated,” Song says, adding that it is not only about financial compensation, but also about whether new opportunities will be available.
“Crises may be opportunities for innovation if they bring reflections and transformations. For the country, local communities should also be seen as a priority for real growth,” Song adds.
In light of US invasion of Venezuela, Panamanian students offer insight in a South American context.
By Eileen Chen, Nova Linh Tran& Irina Zhang
Since the U.S. launched an invasion in Venezuela in January, South Americans have been observing the development in Venezuela carefully. People in Panama, one of Venezuela’s neighbouring countries, which restored consular services in Venezuela last June, have been closely monitoring the situation.
Daniel Harari, a Panamanian student, closely follows the political shifts in neighboring Venezuela. “I believe that in Venezuela’s case, there was no other way,” Harari shares.
He notes that despite mass protests years ago, the people were unable to unseat the government due to “rigged elections”. Consequently, the involvement of external forces—specifically from the United States—is viewed by many in his circle not as an unwelcome intrusion, but as a vital catalyst for liberation.
“I don’t necessarily watch traditional news channels but listen to the direct lived experiences of my friends.” Harari says he often bypasses mainstream news channels in favor of speaking with people “closer to the action,” as he remains skeptical of the surface-level narratives presented by many media outlets.
These personal connections have shaped a perspective on regional stability that leans toward optimism despite historical complexities. “I’m involved and very aware of everything that’s happening,” Harari shares, noting that his primary information comes from sources he has known his whole life and trusts as reliable.
“I believe what’s happening is a very good thing. I felt happy for my Venezuelan friends, because they were very happy as the old regime is being brought down,” he says, adding that he does not fear further escalation.
Harari views the removal of the previous dictatorship as a gateway to regional prosperity rather than a violation of sovereignty. Many of his friends who fled the violence and corruption of the old regime are now preparing to return. “They’re happy they can return to a country with no violence, no corruption, and business opportunities,” he adds, noting that there is “no suppression at all” felt from the current transition.
This optimism is rooted in the practical benefits of a stable Venezuela for the rest of Central America. Panama’s proximity—just a short flight from Colombia and the South American markets—makes Venezuela a prime location for future investment.
“Hopefully, when Venezuela recovers, it will impact my daily life in a good way. I wish to do business there, as there is a large population, which means a lot of money and opportunities to enter a new market that I couldn’t before because of all the corruption in Venezuela. But now that the corruption is gone, there’s a huge upside of opportunities opening up,” Harari says, eyeing future entrepreneurial ventures.
Alberto Cohen, a Panamanian exchange student at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, shares a similar sentiment of happiness and relief for the invasion, “It was about time… it was a long time coming,” describing the capture of Nicolás Maduro after years of dictatorship.
“Venezuelans have been fighting for years for this. It was something they could not imagine happening.”
He describes the U.S. intervention in Venezuela as widely supported among people he knows, arguing that prolonged political repression left few alternatives.
While acknowledging concerns over legality and geopolitical interests, he maintains that many in the region prioritise outcomes over process, especially given what he sees as the failure of international organisations to act.
“It was not the most legal way…but it was the only way,” he says, adding that there was “zero chance” of change without external force.
At the same time, he frames his views through Panama’s own experience of U.S. intervention in 1989. He notes that the invasion left lasting trauma, but argues that it ultimately contributed to the country’s long-term stability and development.
The U.S. intervention of Panama aimed to dethrone Panama’s then ruler, who was wanted by U.S. authorities for drug trafficking. Over 500 Panamanians were killed during the invasion, including 202 civilians.
“In Panama, it was different as there were civilian casualties, and people still talk about that,” he says. “But over time, the country stabilised and rebuilt itself, and I believe the same will happen with Venezuela.”
This comparison shapes his broader perspective on foreign intervention, which he sees as controversial but, in certain contexts, necessary.
Cohen suggests that experiences in Latin America inform a more pragmatic view, even as debates over sovereignty and external influence remain unresolved.
