By Isa He

Rigid micro drama regulations may curb creative freedom.

As a crazy fan of micro dramas, Cai Hanjun, a 20-year-old university student, watches micro dramas on Douyin for about one to two hours every day.

Hooked to her phone screen, Cai loves micro dramas – vertically shot, minute-long episodes featuring frequent plot twists. She enjoys genres like romance, suspense, and comedy, with a particular preference for stories about reincarnation and revenge. 

“There’s one micro drama I really like, which is about a woman coming back to life and taking revenge on her husband who hurt her in her first life. It felt really satisfying and I was addicted to watching it,” the student living in Wuhan says. 

As of June 2024, the number of Chinese micro drama viewers reached 576 million, accounting for 52.7 per cent of the total internet users in the country, according to the China Netcasting Services Association (CNSA). 

In 2024, revenue from the micro drama market reached RMB ¥50.40 billion (US $6.93 billion), surpassing the box office of Chinese movies for the first time, according to DataEye, a digital research firm based in Shenzhen. 

The firm also estimates that the micro drama market will surpass RMB ¥100 billion (US $14 billion) by 2027.

Whilst the popularity of these ultra-short, binge-friendly micro dramas has been booming in recent years, they have also brought scrutiny from the government.

Since 2024, the National Radio and Television Administration (NRTA) has tightened regulations on micro dramas by introducing new rules on content review, theme direction, and platform responsibility.

On February 5, it released a notice that a classified and three-tiered review system based on production themes and budgets has been established.

Key micro dramas, with a budget of RMB ¥1 million (US $136,729) or more, or involving sensitive topics such as politics, military affairs, diplomacy, or national security, must undergo national-level review. 

Regular micro dramas, with a budget ranging from RMB ¥300,000 (US $41,018) to RMB ¥1 million (US $136,729), are reviewed by provincial-level radio and television authorities. 

Smaller productions with a budget under RMB ¥300,000 (US $41,018) are supervised by streaming platforms, which are responsible for internal content review, copyright compliance, and routine reporting to regulators.

Noting that the new regulations aim at fostering industry growth and ensuring stricter governance, the NRTA requires all micro dramas to hold an online drama distribution permit and display a government-issued license number. It also introduces a “white list” system banning unlicensed content from being promoted or monetised.

It adds that the new measures hope to prevent the industry from over-commercialisation and encourage content that aligns with public values and social responsibility.

Due to the regulations, Cai noticed that the type of “satisfying” dramas she likes has become harder to find. “I used to see a lot of dramatic plots. Now, it’s harder to come across them. It’s a bit disappointing,” she says.

“The shows I watch do have distorted values. And yes, some dramas could negatively affect people’s thinking. So maybe regulation is necessary,” she says.

But Cai does not like the government’s tighter control over micro dramas, as these policies dampen creative freedom. “It makes people feel restricted… I hope they won’t interfere too much so there is more creative freedom,” she adds.

When asked about her view on the three-tiered review system for micro dramas, she says, “As long as I’m not restricted, I want to be in the group that can watch everything.”

The industry regards the new regulations as a watershed that micro drama is shifting from rapid, unregulated growth to a stage of stricter policy guidance and compliance. 

Li Tao, the founder and CEO of Fengxing Culture, a micro drama firm in Xian, western China, sees the new regulations as a turning point, signaling both official recognition and rising expectations for the industry. 

Li points out that at the start, the industry grew wildly, resulting in many micro dramas with content being vulgar, violent, and other unhealthy values.

“It is only after the supervision of relevant departments and the introduction of relevant policies that the industry is gradually moving towards a more and more standardized direction and healthier development,” he adds.

Li notes that many micro drama production companies that fail to produce high-quality work have been eliminated by competition and market forces in the past two to three years.

He says his firm will strictly follow the policy requirements to create more content with correct values, correct guidance, and diverse topics, encouraged by the government.

Assistant professor Lin Jian of the School of Journalism and Communication at the Chinese University of Hong Kong reveals that the regulations are very much related to the political system in China.

“In China, cultural governance has been a significant part of national supervision. Because the Chinese government is a one-party system, it requires its society to be consistent with its ideology. It conducts a content review to ensure that the values are consistent with the mainstream ideology,” he says. 

“Since the market of micro dramas has grown rapidly in the past two years, many Chinese are exposed to them. And as a cultural product, it involves values and ideology, so government censorship will come in,” he adds.

Lin stresses that the industry has a wealth of experience in dealing with government regulations while maintaining freedom of creation, and supervision of micro dramas is much more complicated than that of films.

“Even though those regulation policies are now introduced, the production of content on the internet is freer compared to the production in traditional media. Wheth
er an internet company or a government department, they don’t have enough time, manpower, or capital to conduct a detailed review of every piece of micro drama content, unlike a movie review,” he adds. 

Stating that the three-tiered micro drama review system can enhance the efficiency of the reviewing process, Lin hopes that the review system can be better defined and polished. 

“It is necessary to regulate cultural content, especially the production of the so-called mass culture and popular culture. But the question is how you establish a transparent review system, the human factor of the current review system is still relatively large, and its boundary is not very clear,” he says.

Edited by Yika Ng

Sub-edited by Lunaretta Linaura

Dedicated secondary school students share their inspiring story of bodybuilding.

By Justin Tai

A rejection from a crush may lead to a broken heart. But to Huang Wang Yu, it can be a source of power in the gym. The teenager started bodybuilding to mend his broken heart when he was 15.

“Being rejected turns out to be a good thing that makes me embark on my fitness journey,” the Form Six secondary school student recalls with a smile. 

As the leader of the Bodybuilding and Fitness Society of Salem-Immanuel Lutheran College, Huang, now 18, has a six-day workout routine, in which he starts off with training his chest, followed by back on the second day and legs on the third. 

“Each exercise is repeated for four sets until I reach my limits, a cardio-session is also added in each workout, which lasts around one-and-a-half to two hours,” he shares.

The cycle repeats twice a week with just one rest day in between.

Apart from Huang’s daily workout routine, he does not let his guard down on his diet as the goal is to keep fit and lower his body fat.

“My diet is bland and boring, I’ve been consuming as little rice and oil as I can, and my diet is mainly composed of meat and vegetables,” he shares.

In July 2024, his school held an inter-school bodybuilding competition. The 18-year-old won second place.

“The feeling was so crazy, because I have never thought the show would stir up this much attention from the bodybuilding community and the media,” Huang shares.

Behind the stage was not all sunshine and rainbows.

“Four months before the competition were the most tiresome and difficult periods,” Huang recalls.

With strict diet discipline, he only ate boiled chicken breast and blanched broccoli, and the amount of carbohydrates could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

“I kept eating the same thing three times a day for three months straight, let alone the six-day weightlifting and cardio routine. It was a living death,” the bodybuilder sighs.

Besides Huang’s daily routine, he also had to keep up with his studies and prepare for exams.

“It was pretty hard for me. But I decided to focus more on the competition and put away my studies for a while,” Huang recalls.

To recover muscle and release stress, Huang cut the workout routine down to three days a week just before the competition, ensuring he was in peak condition.

Having fulfilled one of his bodybuilding ambitions through the competition, Huang sees it as the beginning of his bodybuilding journey.

“I will participate in bodybuilding competitions when I am in university and win as many awards as I can. I want to be a fitness coach or a personal trainer,” he says.

While Huang started bodybuilding for a romantic reason, his gym buddy Law Tsz Shing, who just wanted to kill time by doing workout, has evolved from a shy boy to a confident young man.

“I had so much spare time that I didn’t know what to do, so I thought working out would be great, I might as well improve myself,” the 18-year-old student, who started bodybuilding when he was in Form Four, says.

“I’ve been sticking to a five-day workout routine. A week starts off with chest, followed by arms, back, shoulders, and legs, I usually do four sets of twelve reps for each exercise,” he shares.

Like most beginners, Law did not have any clue of what to do at the gym. 

“When I first stepped in the gym, I felt uneasy because I didn’t know anything about fitness and weightlifting,” Law recalls. 

The shy teenager in the first three months of lifting was guided by Huang, who encouraged him to join the bodybuilding competition.

“I was so nervous about this, especially during the two weeks before the competition. It gave me so much pressure knowing that I would be half-naked and posing in front of a big crowd,” the secondary student, who came fourth in the contest, says.

Law has evolved from once a timid and skinny boy to a man standing up on the stage showcasing his muscles.

“I wasn’t as sporty as I am today. I was more academic-oriented and I played sports just to kill time, but now going to the gym has become a hobby,” Law shares.

“I never thought of becoming a professional bodybuilder anytime soon; lifting weights is simply an interest for me now,” the 18-year-old adds.

The transformation of these young men would not have been possible without Wong Chun Man, one of the masterminds behind the school’s bodybuilding society and competition.

Also, as a gym-goer himself, Wong believes the results of working out are much harder to achieve than solving a math problem.

“I believe students who are in the bodybuilding society are very persistent and aren’t afraid of hardships. Even if you keep working out tirelessly, you may not see changes instantly. Because it takes so much perseverance and time. But for studying, as long as you revise, you can quickly see improvements,” Wong shares.

“Students can learn this important life lesson of being determined, that you must put in great effort in order to have great results,” he adds.

He points out that encouraging students to work out also helps solve their sleeping problem.

Wong, the vice-principal, also believes it is challenging for the young generations to find a particular hobby or interest due to the era of smartphones.

“Using one to two hours of your day working out at the gym is far better than two hours of mindless scrolling on smartphones,” Wong shares.

“Seeing the way students enjoy a specific hobby other than playing smartphones and getting results from it is already a great success to me,” he adds.

As the bodybuilding competition has gained traction from the public, the vice-principal decides to organize the competition again this year on 9th July.

“We have invited all secondary schools in Tai Po District to take part in the event this time, including the alumni. We hope to promote this event on a bigger scale,” he shares.

Edited by James Cheang

Subedited by Daniel Koong

Students do self-study at Disneyland.

By Flavia Zhou

Disneyland, not a library, is the best place for Chan Bai to do self-study, especially when she has to revise for examinations. 

“If I go to the library or stay at home, I study the whole day. Sometimes I am tempted to scroll with my smartphone. It is good to change the venue for my study. I can take a stroll in the theme park when I want to take a break,” the Hong Kong university student says.

After learning from a classmate that many students do self-study there, Chan bought an annual pass in October 2024, which cost her HK $1178 (US $151.74). She visited the theme park three times that month to do her study. 

“I went to the theme park alone a day before the final exam for the first time in November last year. I finished doing some revisions at that time. I only had to go through all the materials again. I wanted to revise in a more relaxing environment. The area around Grizzly Gulch is my favourite spot,” the 22-year-old student recalls.

“It took me an hour to go to the theme park. I studied from 2 a.m. to 6 p.m. after lunch. Then I joined the Christmas events at 6 p.m. So it was a day of schoolwork and fun. I didn’t feel stressed even though it was exam week. I will go there again to study with my friends,” she adds.

The marketing student prefers reading class notes and PowerPoint files when doing self-study at the theme park.

“I usually sit in a spot where there are few tourists around. I can listen to Disney music playing at the park. My favourite song is Grizzly Gulch Daytime Music Loop. The whole experience is very pleasant,” she says. 

Another student Lee Jiu shares Chan’s feelings about studying at the theme park. 

“I usually go there when I have to do PowerPoint slides and project reports. It’s a very relaxing experience. But when I really have to stay very focused doing reading, then I do my study in a library,” says the 22-year-old student, who has been to the theme park for her schoolwork two times so far.

Lucky Nugget Saloon in Grizzly Gulch and Big Grizzly Mountain Runaway Mine Cars are her favourite spots for inspiration when doing proposals. 

“I like brainstorming for new ideas for coursework. I always do roller coaster rides to scream and relax, and then inspiration bursts,” the marketing student says. 

Lee enjoys studying at Disneyland so much that she wants to work in Shanghai so that she can bring her work. 

Ming Yue, a university student majoring in statistics science, also enjoys going to the theme park to study. Her favourite spot is RC Racer in Toy Story Land. She goes to Disneyland to study once or twice a month.

“I go to Disneyland to write essays or statistical analysis reports. I like staying at a resting area near Big Grizzly Mountain Runaway Mine Cars and the dining area or lounge area in World of Frozen. I go there after lunch and study, from 2 p.m. to 8 p.m.,” the university student says. 

“I can finish my studies and then have fun in Disneyland. This is better than studying in a library,” Ming says.

“Seeing visitors playing at Disney doesn’t bother me. Visitors there motivated me to complete my studies faster. I usually do thrill rides after finishing my studies before returning home,” the 21-year-old adds.

Edited by Zora Yan

Sub-edited by Bliss Zhu

Protesters who joined the White Paper Movement two years ago stay silent now.

By Della Qing

University student Skylar Ho avoids news about politics and social issues in China, despite having joined the White Paper Movement protests during the COVID pandemic.

“Nowadays, I read less news related to social issues. I do not look for news to read. I only read the news when I come across stories on Instagram. Then I still read the entire report carefully,” Ho says.

“I’m about to graduate. This semester I have no class. I feel like I’m living the life of a “lonely senior”. Every day I cook for myself. I am working on my dissertation. I read books, and watch movies and TV series. I also do exercise for an hour every night,” Ho adds.

In November 2022, thousands took to the streets across China to protest against the government’s zero-COVID measures. Students from different universities in Hong Kong gathered at the Chinese University of Hong Kong campus to protest. Holding white papers, students shouted slogans like “Long Live Freedom” and called for press freedom. Ho was one of them.

“I followed news about the pandemic and protests closely at that time. I read and reposted angry messages criticizing the lockdown policy in China on Instagram. I think at that time we were in a powder keg about to explode,” she recalls.

“When the protest started in different cities, I spotted many messages about young people holding white papers in the protest. We had the same feeling and our hearts were connected no matter where we were,” she adds.

Ho shares she stays silent most of the time now. 

“I’m now less passionate, brave, and idealistic than in 2022. The thought of ‘nothing can be changed’ haunts me, especially when the cost of speaking out is getting higher and higher. Considering the potential risks, I prefer to stay silent. But I’m still thinking about social issues, and I chat about these with my friends,” Ho says. 

“In China, the media is the mouthpiece of the government. I think the government is trying to edit people’s memory by preaching the fairy tale of prosperity and solidarity. They do not admit that they made tons of mistakes during the pandemic era, causing many deaths,” she sighs. 

Another postgraduate student Chloe Song, who also joined the Whiter Paper Movement protest shares Ho’s depressing feelings.

“I still remember the experience of being trapped in a lockdown in Shanghai. I felt so depressed that I couldn’t sleep all night. I cried when I was lying in my bed. It’s like I was sentenced to prison. I knew maybe someday I would be released, but I couldn’t help but dwell on the tragic fact that I was in prison,” she recalls.

Song still reads news to learn what is happening in the world.

“I think it’s understandable that Chinese media outlets remain silent on issues related to the pandemic now because they are subject to strict censorship. I think this shows there is no systematic change despite many speaking out during the White Paper Movement,” the business major student adds.

“I have been hiking with my friends in Hong Kong recently. So far, I have completed hiking MacLehose Trail. I feel that when I am walking on the trails, I seem to be closer to Hong Kong. Also, I can experience the joy of sports while doing so,” Song says.

“I talk about social issues with my friends. I think the most fortunate thing about coming to Hong Kong is that I have met some friends whom I can talk freely with,” she adds.

The 24-year-old student points out that the protest highlights the fact that the people have no say in public governance. 

“I don’t think that the zero COVID policy was lifted because of the protests. The movement failed to make changes on a national level. The social and political structure remains the same,” she sighs.

“I think leaving China is the best option, as there is no sign of change. Someone who was arrested during the White Paper Movement said to me: ‘Slaves cannot become citizens with civic awareness unless this generation of slaves fades’ after being released. This friend of mine has applied for political asylum in another country,” Song says.

Despite feeling hopeless about the future, the business major student also shares that she at least had the chance to speak up about social issues and has made friends with many like-minded people during the protest. 

“It was an unforgettable experience for me. If the movement happens again, I will still take part in it but will think twice about safety,” she says.

Another student, Finley Sun, is about to graduate and is worried about job hunting. 

“I still have a lot of things to do for my final year project and course assignments. I’m completely overwhelmed. I have no time to look for a job,” Sun says.

“I now focus on my own life. I mainly think about what to eat, when to meet my friends, when to turn in my homework, and how to plan my practice before the next running race. I still discuss social issues with friends sometimes, and I read and repost news on Instagram, but not as frequently as I did during the pandemic,” she adds.

Sun joined the protest at a Hong Kong university campus in 2022. She also held a piece of white paper in Prince Edward Station on 1st December 2022 with her friend, and they were intercepted by Hong Kong police.

“The police warned us saying we were involved in unlawful assembly. But later on, I checked the related ordinance, and I found out the law actually states the number of participants should be three or more. Obviously, we did not break the law. The police were just bluffing,” she says.

In January 2023, Chinese police officers visited her home in Mainland China looking for her. 

“But they didn’t pursue the case when they could not find me. I guess they saw my immigration record and thought I was home. After one or two weeks, my mom received a call from the police and asked her to have a chat with the officers,” Sun recalls.

“The police officers didn’t tell my mom about the details. I think they only knew my name and what I did, but they didn’t have any proof. So I just denied everything. They also did not further investigate,” she says.

“The police just took some notes and kept the arrests for 24 hours in detention. It was more like a warning. I will do it again if I am put in a similar situation. I can afford this cost, ” she says.

Sun flew to Kaohsiung and watched An Unfinished Film on December 30, 2024 alone. She cried at the end. This movie reminded her of the traumas she went through during the pandemic.

The film, directed by Lou Ye, a Chinese screenwriter and director, is a record of lockdowns that began in Wuhan in early 2020.

The film, which won the 61st Golden Horse Best Narrative Feature alongside Best Director, has not been released in China, and information about it is banned behind the Great Fire Wall in China.

“What impressed me most is that this movie is a collection of videos about the pandemic, which were posted by ordinary people and went viral online. They were deleted by authorities. At the end of the movie, there is a line saying ‘Thanks to all the people who filmed these untraced and deleted videos’,” Sun says.

Edited by Cathleena Zhu and Emma Wei

Sub-edited by Celina Lu

The Community Care Service Voucher Scheme offers seniors a new lease on life, blending care, connection, and independence.

By Belle Yip

Going to day care service three days a week, Sean Pui-kwun hopes to grow old in his own home with his family.  

“I don’t think I urgently need to live in an elderly home,” Sean says.

Once a taxi driver, Sean is now an 89-year-old retiree. He likes wandering around the community, but the strength of his legs is deteriorating gradually. Now, a 15-minute walk is his maximum.

An accident last year made Sean understand he should keep a close eye on his health. “I fell onto the ground when leaving my building. My elbows kept on bleeding that day. My wife and my daughters were frightened,” Sean recalls.

For about half a year after the accident, he needed the company of his daughters or his wife whenever he went out for a walk or lunch. “I thought I was a burden to my family,” Sean says, adding that having day care services has revived his life as his health has slowly improved.

The accident triggered his daughters to think of finding a day care centre for their father. The daughters helped Sean apply for the Community Care Service Voucher Scheme for the Elderly (CCSV) after being advised by a social worker.

Under the CCSV scheme, elderly can obtain services such as speech therapy, personal care or rehabilitation exercises provided by government-recognised organisations. The government subsidised day care and home care services based on household income. 

Sean pays  HKD$204 for each visit to the day care centre.  His family wishes the government could subsidise more.

Every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, Sean spends half of the day at Woopie Club (To Kwa Wan), a daycare centre in the community.

“I can still spend some time on the streets and have dinner with my wife after the centre visit,” Sean says. 

Sean loves hanging out in the centre to stay active. “I like doing calligraphy. The centre provides me with brush and ink so I can do some practice,” he says, adding that he also likes tossing bean bags and playing cards with other elderly. 

“It’s great for socialising and making new friends. And I feel there is something I can do and long for,” Sean says.

While Sean feels happy about his time in the day care centre, other family members share his joy and that makes the family become more harmonious.

“It’s all about having more me-time,”  Sean’s wife, Li Ching, says with a smile. 

Noting that day care services reduce unnecessary arguments, Li, in her late 70s, adds, “Life feels a bit lighter that way.” 

Yan Che-kai Brian, vice case manager of Woopie Club (To Kwa Wan), says the day care centre is just like a clubhouse for the elderly.

“They can hang out with each other to enjoy their retirement life. With similar ages, they can easily make friends with each other,” Yan says. 

The centre provides lunch and muscle-training exercises. The exercise is complementary to those provided by hospitals, which help speed up rehabilitation.

He adds that activities for the elderly are tailor-designed. Seniors with similar conditions and backgrounds have similar training. The importance is to train their cognitive ability. 

“Elderly women who used to be factory workers engage in related nostalgic therapy like gardening therapy and shoelace tying,” Yan says. 

Although many elderly people in the centre love its services, the number of centres providing the day-care service dropped after the regularisation of the scheme in 2023, according to Yan.

Yan explains that most elderly and their family members still hold the traditional belief that they prefer services like meal delivery and companionship services, and they are less interested in rehabilitative activities and cognitive training at day centres. 

Dr. Fong Meng Soi Florence, senior lecturer of Asia-Pacific Institute of Ageing Studies (APIAS), shares Yan’s observation. She points out that many elderly and their caretakers found the CCSV scheme too complicated. 

“They don’t know how to choose authorised service providers in the long list,” Fong says.  

Fong thinks it is important to educate caretakers. “Caretakers are the ones who make the decision,” she says. She points out the caretakers seldom study each provider when making a choice and not many social workers provide one-stop service for each case. 

As of January 2025, there are 297 Recognised Service Providers under the CCSV scheme as stated by the Social Welfare Department.  

Fong says some of the authorised providers may fail to provide services some elderly need and small-scale centres are unable to make money from admitting elderly under the scheme.

“With only five to six cases, the small-scale ones cannot bear the cost. They then turn to focus on other services that are profitable,” she says.

A survey conducted by the Social Welfare Department (SWD) reveals 16,402 elderly received CCSV until November 2024. Among them, only 68 per cent were using the service whilst the rest were not receiving any service at all. 

As announced in the latest Budget, the government will raise the number of CCSV recipients by 1,000 to 12,000 in total, involving an annual expenditure of about HK$900 million.

Fong welcomes the new move. 

 “The scheme is public service for the elderly in Hong Kong that allows them to age at home. Nothing can compare with the happiness of mingling with other elderly,” Yan says.

Edited by Celina Lu

Sub-edited by Angel Yu