“First Cut the Beloved”: How a Viral Meme Mirrors China’s Youth Trade‑off Between Love and Success

The lexical roots of the expression are unmistakably pragmatic. In Mandarin, 上岸 (shàng àn) – “to come ashore” – long served as a metaphor for escaping the precarious life of a “sea‑turtle” (a graduate stuck in a low‑pay job) and securing a stable shore‑side position, whether that be a university seat, a government post or a well‑paid corporate job. 先斩意中人 (xiān zhǎn yì zhōng rén) adds a ruthless punch: “first slay the person you fancy.” Put together, the phrase suggests that when the tide of personal success finally reaches you, the first order of business is to sever ties with a partner who might have once been a comfort but now threatens to drag you back into the current.

In its earliest usage the saying functioned almost as a resigned piece of self‑help. A student who finally passed the civil‑service exam might joke that they had to “leave the boyfriend/girlfriend behind” in order to devote themselves fully to the grueling preparation. Online gamers have co‑opted the same logic, describing a scenario where a player, after achieving a top ranking, “betrays” a close in‑game friend in order to maintain the new elite status. The underlying assumption – that love and ambition are mutually exclusive – is a reflection of the intense pressure that China’s education and employment systems exert on young adults.

The phrase entered mainstream consciousness in early 2024 when it was attached to the breakup of popular comedian Wang Hao and his long‑time girlfriend, the television presenter Guan Le. Wang, a fixture on the sketch‑show circuit and a regular on the hit variety program “Happy Camp,” saw his profile surge after several viral performances in 2022‑23. At the same time, Guan, who had been dating Wang for several years, was still building her own career, primarily as a host on regional television.

When the couple announced their split in March of this year, netizens immediately began to label the episode with the 上岸先斩意中人 meme. The narrative that took hold was simple: Wang had finally “reached the shore” of fame and stability, and in doing so had “cut off” the one person who had shared his hardships. The implication was that his newly acquired status rendered Guan a distraction, or at the very least an unaligned partner in his upward trajectory.

Social media reactions were swift and largely sympathetic to Guan. Users posted heartfelt comments about how she had endured “the pain of being abandoned once Wang succeeded,” while simultaneously praising her post‑breakup achievements – notably her invitation to perform at the Spring Festival Gala and her participation in the competitive reality show “Sisters Who Make Waves.” A growing contingent of commentators went as far as to call Wang a “catalyst” for Guan’s rise, suggesting that the breakup may have inadvertently freed her to pursue higher‑profile projects.

Yet the conversation was not uniformly accusatory. Some observers invoked the classic Chinese saying 能共苦不能同甘 (“can share hardship but not prosperity”) to underscore a perceived double standard: Wang had apparently been content to weather lean years alongside Guan, but once the tide turned in his favor he withdrew. Others pointed out that the details of the split remain opaque; a few netizens argued that both parties bore responsibility, noting that Wang’s ambiguous interactions with another actress, Shi Ce, during the months preceding the breakup raised questions about his commitment.

The episode, however, is more than tabloid gossip. It illustrates how 上岸先斩意中人 has become a cultural barometer for larger social anxieties in contemporary China. The phrase encapsulates a growing pragmatism – even cynicism – in personal relationships, where material security and career advancement are increasingly weighed against emotional bonds. The underlying sentiment resonates with a generation that grew up under relentless academic competition and now faces a hyper‑competitive job market. With housing prices soaring, the “shore” represents not only a stable job but also a pathway to home ownership and financial independence. In that context, a partner who does not match or complement that trajectory may be seen as a liability rather than a source of support.

Gender dynamics add another layer of complexity. While the saying is technically gender‑neutral, the public debate surrounding Wang and Guan hints at a double standard. Women in China are still expected, in many circles, to prioritize family and relational harmony, even as they pursue professional success. When a man is perceived to “upgrade” his romantic prospects after achieving success, it can be framed as a natural, even aspirational, move. Conversely, when women are the ones who experience the “cutting off,” the reaction often carries a tone of sympathy and moral outrage, as observers perceive an injustice in the power imbalance.

The phrase also touches on the broader tension between individualism and collectivist values that have long defined Chinese society. Traditional Confucian ideals emphasize loyalty to family, respect for long‑term commitments, and a view of success as a shared, rather than solely personal, achievement. The rise of 上岸先斩意中人 suggests a shift toward a more self‑centered calculus, where the pursuit of personal stability can justify the dissolution of intimate ties. This shift is reflected in how consumer habits are evolving: as “shore‑reached” individuals gain disposable income, they gravitate toward luxury goods and status symbols, while industries that depend on long‑term partnership consumption – such as wedding planning or family‑oriented real estate – may feel the pressure.

From a political perspective, the phrase offers a subtle window into social stability concerns. The Chinese government continues to promote the “Chinese Dream” – a narrative of personal hard work leading to national rejuvenation – while simultaneously championing family harmony and social cohesion. A popular meme that glorifies breaking up for the sake of career advancement runs counter to the harmonious, collectivist image the state wishes to project. Though not overtly political, the sentiment behind 上岸先斩意中人 could be read by policymakers as an indicator of growing individualist pressure that, if unchecked, might exacerbate social stratification and generate discontent among youth who feel forced to choose between love and livelihood.

In the wake of Wang Hao’s breakup with Guan Le, the phrase has solidified its place in Chinese internet lexicon as more than a punchy idiom. It embodies the lived experience of a generation caught between relentless competition and the desire for personal fulfillment. Whether applied to a student abandoning a high‑school sweetheart after passing the postgraduate exam, a gamer betraying a teammate after clinching a top rank, or a celebrity whose newfound fame precipitates a public split, 上岸先斩意中人 captures a paradox of modern China: the same drive that can lift an individual to the “shore” can also erode the very relationships that once anchored them. As the conversation continues to swirl online, the phrase will likely remain a touchstone for debates about ambition, loyalty, and the cost of success in an increasingly fast‑paced society.