Agency’s Sudden Password Reset of Zhao Lusi Fan Club Sparks Fan Uproar and Highlights Power Imbalance in China’s Entertainment Industry

The move did not come out of the blue. The day before, members of Zhao’s fan club took to Weibo to accuse Yinhe Kuyu of “exploitation”—a vague but potent charge that suggested the agency was squeezing the artist and her supporters for profit or exerting undue control over promotional activities. After the complaint went viral, Yinhe Kuyu responded not with a public statement but with a backstage maneuver: it reclaimed the accounts, reset the passwords and, according to dozens of fan screenshots, left the clubs unable to log in.

Online reaction was swift and overwhelmingly hostile. The hashtag #银河酷娱修改赵露思后援会密码# amassed millions of views within hours, with fans posting messages that mixed disbelief, anger and a sense of betrayal. Phrases such as “无法登陆” (unable to log in) and “被修改” (was modified) cropped up in endless threads, while others warned that the agency had “直接踢掉” (directly kicked off) the fan community. A recurring sentiment was that Yinhe Kuyu had overstepped its bounds, treating a fan‑run organization as nothing more than a corporate asset that could be reclaimed at will.

Even as the backlash grew, a minority of voices floated a counter‑narrative, suggesting the agency might have been acting to protect Zhao Lusi herself from a fan‑club that had, in their view, become a liability. The speculation did not gain traction, but it underscored how little transparency surrounds the internal power dynamics of China’s star‑making machine.

Industry observers say the incident throws into sharp relief a set of structural tensions that have long simmered beneath the glossy surface of China’s “fan economy.” First, it starkly illustrates the asymmetry of power between management companies and the fan groups that shoulder much of an artist’s public‑relations work. Contracts between talent and agencies often include vague clauses about “fan‑club management,” leaving room for agencies to claim ownership of social‑media accounts that were originally set up by volunteers. After the password change, legal experts warned that fans who have invested time, money and emotional capital into the clubs could have a legitimate claim to property rights, or at least to a share of any revenue derived from the accounts.

Second, the episode may prompt artists and their teams to renegotiate the terms of fan‑club stewardship in future deals. “If agencies can simply seize a fan club overnight, it forces a rethinking of how we structure these relationships,” said Li Wei, a Beijing‑based entertainment lawyer. “We are likely to see clauses that protect fan‑generated assets, or at least require mutual consent before any account changes.”

The public outcry also reflects an emerging consciousness among Chinese fans about their own rights. Many expressed a newfound willingness to organize collectively and demand accountability, echoing a broader trend of fan activism that has, in recent years, pressured companies to improve transparency around revenue sharing and promotional tactics. Some commentators warned that the intensifying friction could spill over into commercial ramifications: sponsors may hesitate to align with a brand perceived as antagonistic to a star’s most vocal supporters, potentially denting Zhao Lusi’s marketability.

Beyond the entertainment sphere, the incident has sparked debate about the regulatory environment for China’s cultural industries. The government, which has been tightening oversight of the sector to curb “excessive commercialism,” may see this clash as evidence that more robust guidelines are needed for agency‑fan club interactions. Analysts suggest that ministries could soon issue directives mandating clearer contract language and dispute‑resolution mechanisms to avoid similar flashpoints.

Finally, the episode has raised concerns about the safety of under‑aged fans. Zhao Lusi’s following includes a sizable teenage demographic, and the sudden loss of access to official fan‑club channels raises questions about how minors are protected when platforms they trust are taken over without warning.

In the wake of the password saga, Yinhe Kuyu has remained silent, while Zhao Lusi’s personal accounts have posted only a brief, neutral statement thanking fans for their “understanding.” The silence has done little to quell the anger, and the hashtag continues to trend, serving as a digital litmus test for how much leeway an agency can claim over the communities that help build a star’s brand.

What began as a technical password reset has thus morphed into a broader discussion about control, transparency and the evolving power balance in China’s entertainment ecosystem. Whether this episode will lead to concrete contract reforms, stricter regulatory oversight, or a new wave of fan‑led advocacy remains to be seen, but it has already signaled that the days of unchallenged agency authority over fan operations may be numbered.