Call for ban on turning daily life pictures into sexy images with AI

November 4, 2026

Women are unclothed in photos by AI app due to the lack of legislation

By May Khong

On 2026 New Year’s Eve, Julie Yukari, a musician based in Brazil, posted a photo of herself on X.

At first, only her friends liked the post. The next morning, she found it had gone oddly viral, with over one thousand likes.

“Then I received a comment requesting Grok to put me in a microkini. By the time I realized, several users had requested nude photos of me from Grok, which it generated,” Yukari recalls.

“They looked disturbingly real with my face there. I felt ashamed, scared, and desperate,” she says.

Yukari’s manipulated images had been generated using Grok-2, X’s AI chatbot, after the platform introduced the new image-editing features in late 2025.

Elon Musk’s xAI launched Grok in November 2023, making the chatbot available directly on X.

Elon Musk’s generative AI chatbot Grok

By tagging “@grok” in public posts, users can prompt the tool to generate immediate responses, including “put this woman in see-through bikinis” or “remove her clothes”.

In December 2025, Elon Musk shared a photo generated by the chatbot of himself in a bikini on X.

This led to explosive interest in Grok’s image-editing tools, especially its ability to “remove” clothing from people.

Requests to sexualize images of real people soon flooded the platform.

According to The New York Times, Grok posted more than 4.4 million images in just nine days after Musk’s post, 41 per cent of which contained women nudity.

The images were sent to Yukari’s mother, a patient recovering from cancer surgery who was then distressed over her daughter’s reputation.

The musician even quit her band for fear that her videos would be used for pornographic content, and the toxic comments on X negatively affected her mental health.

“Many people said I was only complaining because I am fat. Because of this, my self-esteem has drastically changed. I started therapy to deal with these traumas,” she says.

Yukari had tried X’s reporting tools from the start, with inconsistent results. X had initially rejected her reports, stating that the users prompting Grok had not violated its rules.

“But days later, some images vanished without explanation. They pretended they never messed with my photos, some of which are still available online,” she says.

While many victims deleted their social media accounts to escape the harassment, Yukari decided to continue posting photos and discuss the incident.

“I felt like if I quit, I would be penalized for something others did to me. The goal of those sexualizing women and children online is to make us stop posting by threatening us with their perverted means. They think we should be submissive, but I am not giving them what they want,” she says.

Other victims have taken legal action.

As of October 2026, xAI faces multiple class-action lawsuits in the United States.

Similar measures were taken by two Dutch victim support groups in March, who successfully required the court to impose a daily penalty of €100,000 until X removes the nudity function.

The outcry prompted authorities worldwide to react.

Grok and X had been blocked altogether in Indonesia and Malaysia, although the ban was lifted afterwards.

The European Commission, Ireland’s Data Protection Commission, and Britain’s media regulator Ofcom all launched formal investigations into allegations of user-rights violations by X.

Under increasing pressure, X announced a series of measures on January 14, 2026. The platform stated it would geoblock all Grok users from creating intimate images in restricted regions.

In what is called an “extra layer of protection,” the photo editing tool would be put behind a paywall.

But for many users, the announcement offered little comfort.

User Mary* on X says her photos continued to be manipulated.

“Even with extra protection, people still found ways around it,” Mary says.

As an artist who actively promotes herself on X, Mary used to share her photos with a wide audience.

She first ignored the outcry against Grok, confident that the new measures would protect her privacy.

But after X’s January announcement, her photos were still edited and circulated on the platform.

“One follower, whose account is based in an unregulated area, requested Grok to put me in see-through clothes right under my post. I was horrified as the chatbot still spat out these images,” the artist says.

According to Reuters’ investigator team, the chatbot can still generate non-consensual nude images in certain circumstances. With the right prompts, Grok will sexualize photos of real people even without their consent, they reported.

To Mary, X should do more to protect users. “If you geoblock sensitive imagery in one country but allow it in another, what’s the meaning? It feels like X is just doing the bare minimum to cover up the scandal,” she says.

Unlike Yukari, Mary has lost faith in social media. She blocked all previous followers and locked her X account.

“Before, X used to be a comfort space, but now exposure makes me feel vulnerable. I admire people who continue speaking up online for the victims, but for those not brave enough like me, it’s best to retreat and stay away from posting photos as much as possible,” she says.

Assistant Professor Oliver Chan Ngai-keung of the School of Journalism and Communication at Tthe Chinese University of Hong Kong points out that Grok clearly violates users’ rights of dignity and privacy.

“Yet, many existing legal frameworks were not built for AI. Current laws, like Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act in the US, have shielded platforms from liability for user-generated content. Platforms can claim the right, rather than the responsibility, to moderate content and users’ interaction,s.” Chan says.

“User data and engagement are central to the business model of platforms and generative AI tools, so they don’t have a strong incentive to moderate content pro-actively. These firms strategically position themselves as ‘neutral’ intermediaries to avoid liability,” he adds.

The professor argues platform companies must conduct AI impact assessments before product launches and face punishments when prevention fails.

“Governments need to ensure that when harm occurs, legal enforcement carries real consequences on developers, rather than placing the burden on victims to navigate AI tools’ reporting processes,” he says.

In Hong Kong, the Personal Data Privacy Ordinance (Cap. 486) protects against the collection and misuse of personal data, including images. If a deepfake is created using someone’s photo without permission, the victim may file a complaint with evidence.

At present, Hong Kong has no law specifically targeting the creation of indecent images of another person, although existing laws may apply to related offences.

*Name changed at the request of interviewee

Edited by Suzana Li

Sub-edited by Justin Tai

Calligraphy is the Heart’s Expression

November 3, 2026

Armless Chinese calligrapher Zhang Wenyou shares his journey with his brushes.

By Fami Nguyen

Using his mouth to hold the brush, armless Chinese calligrapher Zhang Wenyou devotes himself to copying scriptures and promoting Buddhism in Cheng Tian Chan Temple in Quanzhou, Fujian. He sees calligraphy not only as an art but also as a method of spiritual cultivation.

He believes that “Calligraphy is the heart’s expression, so all the strokes are from the heart.”

“When you write, the mind gradually focuses, worldly burdens fade away, and you naturally enter a state of joy.”

Zhang regards transcribing Buddhist sutras not as a task but as a spiritual practice.

Daily calligraphy practice at Cheng Tian Temple, Quanzhou. (Photo courtesy of Zhang Wenyou)

“If my mind is disturbed by other thoughts while writing, I will miss characters. The sutra will be incomplete if a single character is missing. Future readers could misunderstand the meaning. That is why, after finishing each volume, I proofread every character. If even one is missing, the entire volume has to be rewritten,” Zhang says.

His works have been exhibited in several national exhibitions, including in the First National Youth Calligraphy and Seal Cutting Exhibition, the First National Album Calligraphy Exhibition, and the Sixth Newcomers and New Works Exhibition of the Chinese Calligraphy Circle.

Building on his exhibition experience in mainland China, the calligrapher held his first solo exhibition in Hong Kong last year, titled 2025 Heart – Zhang Wenyou Calligraphy Exhibition, at S.H. Ho College, The Chinese University of Hong Kong.

Zhang Wenyou held his first Hong Kong solo exhibition, “Heart”, which opened on 18 February 2025 at S.H. Ho College, The Chinese University of Hong Kong.(Photo courtesy of S.H.H.O College, CUHK)

The 56-years-old artist began his journey with calligraphy at a young age, which brings hopes to the unexpected accident.

At the age of four, Zhang lost his arms due to an electrical surge when he climbed onto an unguarded electrical substation.

In a 1970s farming village, losing both hands meant losing the ability to labour.

“My parents went through a long period of pain and struggle. They could not see any future for me,” he recalls.

The idea of learning calligraphy came when Zhang realized calligraphy could be both an art and a means of livelihood.

This realization came as he watched villagers ask calligraphers to write Spring Festival couplets, which are auspicious phrases written in black or golden ink on red paper to express the new year. Zhang realized calligraphy could be both an art and a means of livelihood.

Zhang practiced calligraphy on his own without any formal instruction until he was 12, when he met Geng Chunlin, then chairman of the local Calligraphers Association.

Geng taught him to pursue the Wei and Jin dynasties’ style, particularly the works of Wang Xizhi and his son Wang Xianzhi, laying a solid foundation in classical calligraphy.

It took Zhang two years to master controlling the brush with his mouth.

“The teeth anchor a brush, but they must not clamp down too tightly. Or else my body stiffens up and affects the fluidity of each stroke I write,”

“Saliva is another obstacle. At first, it tends to flow uncontrollably. But my mouth’s sensitivity has gradually decreased. Once that issue is resolved, writing becomes feasible,”

“There were times I wanted to give up. But if I did give up, I would be giving up on life itself rather than just a skill. It was not just about giving up a skill,” he recalls.

Zhang writes a piece for S.H. Ho College at the High Table Dinner.(Photo courtesy of S.H.H.O College, CUHK)

Losing his parents when Zhang was 17 became the driving force for him to leave his hometown and travel across China in search of opportunities.

“The biggest challenge was survival. Very few people bought my work. Eating wind and sleeping in the dew was commonplace. But I still held firm to my beliefs and ideals,” Zhang said.

After years of dedication to calligraphy , his works have been exhibited both nationally and globally.

In 1997, the 27-year-old Zhang accepted an invitation from the abbot of Zhenru Temple to transcribe the 500-meter-long Lotus Sutra, one of the most influential and revered Buddhist scriptures, in small print, using gold ink.

Zhang’s sutra calligraphy. (Photo courtesy of Zhang Wenyou)

“If I write too quickly with the gold powder, it won’t adhere well. If I write too slowly, the strokes will lose their fluidity and become rough. I have to find the perfect balance,” the calligrapher shares.

In 2000, while residing at Zhenru Temple, Zhang was invited by Professor Zhang Zhenshan from the College of Architecture and Urban Planning at Tongji University, to inscribe “Peach Blossom Spring” on a stone in the traditional Chinese garden called “Qian Yuan” on the campus of Ruhr University in Germany.

“Through those exchanges, I came to understand that art knows no borders, and the capacity of the human heart has no limit, ”

“Only by embracing diverse cultures can I truly elevate my art, ” Zhang says.

For aspiring calligraphers, Zhang advises starting by imitating classic works of ancient masters to lay a solid foundation before developing one’s own style.

“The pinnacle of calligraphy is not imitating the ancients, nor is it creating one’s own unique style, but rather possessing both and not being both. Just like proverbs and idioms, initially it is the experience of one person, then the experience of generations of ancestors, and finally the experience of generations of descendants,”

“When there is no longer a distinction between oneself and the ancients, only then can calligraphy truly flourish,” Zhang adds.

Edited by Suzana Li

Sub-edited by Kathy Yee

Tarot, tell me what to do?

October 22, 2026

Young people in China turn to tarot reading and traditional divination for advice.

By Susan Sun

Yang Jiayi turns to tarot cards whenever she feels overwhelmed by making countless decisions about choosing courses, applying for internships and handling personal relationships in her university life.

She has spent more than RMB ¥5,000 (US $727) on tarot readings over the past year, paying between RMB ¥100 (US $14.5) and RMB ¥300 (US $44) for each session.

The 21-year-old student says she first turned to tarot in 2023, when she felt stressed about whether she should drop an elective course.

Yang sometimes draws a card before exams because she worries that she has not revised enough.

“Tarot doesn’t really give me answers, but it helps me slow down and think more clearly,” the accounting student says.

Yang does the same when she has relationship problems. She once pulled a card when deciding whether she should apologise to her boyfriend after a fight.

She says that the card did not predict anything but helped her reflect instead of reacting impulsively.

“I know it sounds silly, but it helps me calm down before responding,” she says.

For the past year, scrolling through tarot videos on Xiaohongshu and Bilibili before bed has become part of her nightly routine.

“Sometimes it feels like the cards understand exactly what I’m worried about, and it makes me feel less lonely,” she says, adding that many of her friends also rely on tarot for advice in their lives.

Interest in tarot and fortune-telling has grown sharply among young mainland users.

A national survey on cyber-mysticism shows that 36.4 per cent of Gen Z users choose tarot as their main spiritual service, according to a 2024 report by iiMedia Research.

The survey also finds that nearly three-quarters of respondents aged 18 to 30 turn to these practices to ease stress and anxiety, while about half seek advice on school, work or relationship problems.

On Bilibili, tarot-tagged videos have gained millions of views among users aged 20 to 29, according to platform statistics. Searches for astrology and metaphysics content also remain high on Xiaohongshu, based on publicly available platform data.

A 2024 survey by the Pew Research Center finds that 30 per cent of American adults consult astrology or tarot at least once a year.

Researchers say such practices appeal to young people when they feel overwhelmed and want quick emotional reassurance.

The growing demand has created job opportunities for young tarot readers like Wang Qianyu, 19.

Wang says he began reading tarot for friends during his final year of high school after learning the basics from online tutorials.

“At first it was just curiosity. Friends asked me to read cards for fun, and then more people started messaging me for help,” Wang says.

Wang now offers paid readings through WeChat and social media platforms, charging RMB ¥50 (US $7) to RMB ¥100 (US $14.5) per session, depending on the duration.

Most of his clients are students in their late teens or early twenties. They usually ask about exams, career choices and romantic relationships.

“Many feel lost about the future. They don’t always want answers—sometimes they just want someone to listen,” the student says.

Wang reminds clients that tarot should not be treated as a prediction of fate. He describes his role as helping people organise their thoughts rather than telling them what will happen.

“I always tell them the cards are only a reference, and they still need to make their own decisions,” he adds.

Wang says that the demand for his services shows how tarot reading has evolved into a small online service economy among young people.

Qing Feng Ming Yue, also known among students as Master Qing, has taught tarot reading for more than five years.

Qing says the number of students enrolling in her tarot courses has increased steadily in recent years, from fewer than 10 students in her first class to more than 100 students in total to date.

Her course costs around RMB ¥1,000 (US $145) for a series of lessons. Each class lasts about two hours and covers card symbolism, interpretation methods and ethical issues.

“Readers should avoid making absolute predictions or giving advice on medical or legal matters. Tarot should be used as guidance in reflection. It should not be used to control people,” Qing says.

She says some of her students offer reading services online as a part-time job, while others study tarot out of personal interest.

“The rising interest shows young people need emotional support when facing pressure from study, work, and relationships,” she adds.

Li Hang, a lecturer in Sociology at The Chinese University of Hong Kong, says the popularity of tarot among young people is not entirely new, but is part of a broader set of coping strategies.

“Fortune-telling has always been one of the more accessible ways to provide emotional comfort,” he says.

Similar to Feng Shui practices in China, tarot reading has developed into a small-scale service economy, particularly online. While he does not see commercialisation itself as a major issue, he warns that the quality of services can vary when intangible practices are monetised.

“When these kinds of intangible services become commercialised, the main concern is quality. Without clear standards, some service providers may exaggerate their interpretations or create unnecessary dependence, which can mislead users,” Li warns.

Edited By Akshat Jain

Sub-edited by Suzana Li

Run, The World – Editor’s Note

May 11, 2026

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.

Swara Sanket Kamble

Chief Editor

The Next Venezuela?

April 20, 2026

By Jóse Cervantes and Sonia Chang

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.

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.

Edited by Alexa Lau

Sub-edited by Mike Chu

Vietnamese Students in Hong Kong on the Rise

April 20, 2026

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.

Edited by Alexa Lau

Sub-edited by Isa He

‘My life has been turned upside down’: The Vietnam’s provincial reform

April 19, 2026

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.

*Names changed at the request of interviewees

Edited by Flavia Zhou

Sub-edited by Swara Kamble

No Job No Cap

April 16, 2026

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.

Edited by Winnie Li

Sub-edited by Christine Ge

Livestreamers face headwinds as boom times fade

April 16, 2026

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.

*Names changed at interviewees’ request

Edited by Jennifer Liu

Sub-edited by Flavia Zhou

Hate to Love You: Toxic Fan Culture

April 14, 2026

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.

“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.

Edited by Flavia Zhou

Sub-edited by Swara Kamble