A Dead Dynasty, A Live Debate: Why 17th-Century History Is Roiling China’s Internet

To understand the dynamic of China’s contemporary internet, one cannot ignore the case of “Chigua Mengzhu” (吃瓜蒙主, literally “Melon-Eating Commentator”).

In late 2025, this female “knowledge sharer” on Douyin (China’s TikTok) skyrocketed to fame precisely through the controversy she sparked. Her short videos dissected Chinese history and classical literature, such as Dream of the Red Chamber红楼梦, with bold and unconventional theories. Her central claim—framing the great novel as an allegory for mourning the fallen Ming dynasty (悼明之作), the last Han Chinese-ruled imperial house—instantly polarized the online community. Supporters were enthralled by her engaging, “secret-revealing” narrative style, while mainstream scholars dismissed it as historical fantasy.

Dream of the Red Chamber is a cultural cornerstone in China, where any novel interpretation guarantees attention. Wrapped in the guise of “fresh scholarship” and amplified by viral curiosity, this “Ming Mourning Theory” rapidly escaped the confines of her comment section. The discourse soon escalated, with some voices blaming the Qing dynasty—historically China’s most Sinicized minority-led dynasty—as the root of modern China’s historical setbacks. Even the cultural symbol of the “Man-Han Imperial Feast” (满汉全席) was reinterpreted with a wild analogy: “the Manchu consuming the Han.”

The Chinese internet, never short of creative satire, quickly responded. Many netizens pointed out the absurd extension of this logic: by its standards, even Disney’s Zootopia could be labeled a “Ming lament,” as the protagonist’s Chinese name, “Zhū Dí” (Judy), is phonetically close to the Ming emperor Zhu Di.

Merchants from Taobao even crafted the police cap from Zootopia to resemble the style of a Ming Dynasty imperial crown

The official response was swift. An article from the Zhejiang Provincial Publicity Department, titled “Beware of the ‘1644 Historical View’ Disrupting Our Rhythm,” criticized such narratives for “deconstructing the continuity of Chinese history” and undermining the legitimacy of China as a unified multi-ethnic nation. Shortly after, Chigua Mengzhu’s account stopped updating and disabled all comments.

Typically, at this stage, such a controversy will quell soon. This time, however, the effect was the opposite. After falling silent, her follower count surged dramatically, surpassing five million. This inverse reaction prompts another question: Why would a modern public rally with such intensity around a narrative fixated on a feudal dynasty that fell four centuries ago?

In my view, the answer has little to do with history itself. The phenomenon is better understood as an eruption of conservative cultural identity politics, fueled primarily by contemporary socioeconomic pressures. To engage with it on purely historical grounds is to miss the point entirely.

We can observe a parallel in the current US. A core grievance of the MAGA movement is the perception that establishment narratives unfairly blame “white” identity for all societal problems while attributing progress to others. Coupled with deindustrialization, this fosters a belief that globalization and immigration have diminished their opportunities and, more crucially, their pathways for upward mobility.

A similar logic of dislocation is at work here. As China’s society encounters new developmental bottlenecks—with the high-growth era’s abundant opportunities receding and pathways for social mobility appearing more constrained—questions of equity and recognition become central. For those who feel disadvantaged or left behind, the demand for fairness transforms into a fundamental expectation: that one’s identity and contributions be respected. In this context, some gravitate toward embracing a broad, hollowed historical identity—a form of cultural politics that acts as a vessel for broader frustrations about one’s position and prospects in a rapidly changing society.

My favorite theory posits that China compressed two centuries of development into four decades; consequently, it must also digest two centuries’ worth of social contradictions within the same compressed timeframe. Fairness sits at the heart of these accumulated tensions. When the pace of growth decelerates and the “pie” is not expanding as rapidly, conflicts over its division—and over symbolic recognition—intensify.

This is why a lengthy rebuttal of their wild fictional claims would be somewhat futile. Even if successfully debunked, the underlying social emotion would not vanish. It would simply find another outlet, resurfacing during the next controversy in a new guise.

Nevertheless, the official stance demonstrates that rejecting a populist slide into divisive ethno-nationalism remains a foundational principle in China. As Zhejiang Provincial Publicity Department wrote, the institutional forces committed to upholding a “tolerant, integrative account of the Chinese nation’s history—one that decisively moves past simplistic dichotomies like 'Sinicization' versus 'barbarization,' or 'conquest' versus' subjugation.” This situation also serves as a crucial reminder: while emotion can be resistant to facts, without a widely perceived and functional framework of fairness, facts and reason will struggle to find fertile ground.

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