Liu Yuning’s Digital Rise: How a Fan‑Driven Phenomenon Redefines Chinese Pop Culture and Soft Power in 2025
Liu Yuning — the voice behind China’s newest wave of digital stardom — has been a fixture on Chinese social media this summer, and his trajectory offers a vivid snapshot of how fan culture, new‑media platforms and soft power intersect in modern China. On August 17, 2025, the singer‑actor’s Weibo feed lit up with posts celebrating the “817 Love Project,” a fan‑organised homage to the anniversary of his debut. The day also highlighted his latest on‑screen turn as Wei Shao, a character that has quickly become a meme‑stock in the same circles that chant his name during live broadcasts.
17 August 2025
A week earlier, Liu’s own studio released an official statement on Weibo, underscoring the momentum around his recent projects. One of those projects — the thriller “The Prisoner of Beauty,” now streaming on WeTV — has drawn a surge of interest from viewers who discovered the star through his earlier music videos and livestreams. A second viral moment came in the form of a “Sunflower Growth Diary,” a series of short clips that document Liu’s daily routine and have been shared widely across the platform, further cementing his image as both entertainer and everyman.
The modern Liu Yuning is the product of a story that began nearly a decade ago, when he co‑founded the band Modern Brothers (摩登兄弟) with A Zhuo (阿卓) and Da Fei (大飞). The trio first made a splash on the YY live‑streaming platform in March 2015, a move that presaged the seismic shift in China’s entertainment industry toward direct‑to‑fan digital content. The band’s early livestreams amassed a staggering 62.3 million views for a single broadcast, a figure that still reverberates in industry circles as a benchmark for fan‑driven traffic generation.
What makes Liu’s rise particularly noteworthy is not merely the raw numbers, but the way his fanbase has turned those numbers into a sustainable economic engine. Observers note that Liu’s followers often describe the experience of supporting him as “winning the lottery,” a metaphor that captures both the exhilaration of being part of a hot trend and a deep‑seated sense of personal connection. This dynamic has propelled a relentless cycle of “copy traffic and pile up hot searches,” a phrase that encapsulates the modern Chinese fan economy: a blend of authentic devotion and savvy digital amplification.
Beyond the spreadsheets, Liu’s presence signals a broader transformation in how Chinese artists build and maintain relevance. The pivot from traditional television and radio platforms like YY and Weibo places the creator in direct dialogue with an audience that is both demanding and generous. In Liu’s case, that dialogue is grounded in a perceived sincerity that fans claim cannot be manufactured. He has become a living counterpoint to the cynicism that can accompany viral fame, with his comments and performances often lauded for their “genuine heart.” This authenticity, or at least the perception of it, fuels an online community that rallies around hashtags such as #刘宇宁直播# and celebrates milestones with the fervor of a grassroots movement.
The social ripple effects of that community are equally striking. The “817 Love Project” and the “Golden Age – Liu Yuning Color Theme Joint Production” are not mere fan clubs but coordinated cultural events that weave personal affection for the star into collective expressions of identity. Fans exchange verses that blend admiration for Liu’s acting chops — “Ning Shao ~ Wei Shao ~ Of course I prefer Ning Bao’er” — with playful internet slang, turning each broadcast into a shared ritual. Such gatherings offer participants a sense of belonging, especially among younger Chinese who, like many of their global peers, seek community in digital spaces.
While Liu’s career has, thus far, steered clear of overt political statements, his ascent does not occur in a vacuum. The Chinese media landscape is heavily regulated, and any entertainer of Liu’s reach inevitably navigates a complex environment of content guidelines and soft‑power considerations. His widespread appeal contributes, albeit indirectly, to China’s cultural export strategy, presenting a modern, charismatic face of Chinese pop culture to overseas audiences via platforms like WeTV. Moreover, the very scale of his fan mobilisation—marked by coordinated hashtags, trending topics, and massive view counts—offers a case study in how large‑scale digital collectives can be both a resource and a signal for the state’s monitoring of public sentiment.
The public mood surrounding Liu Yuning is unmistakably upbeat. Sentiment analyses of his Weibo feed reveal a chorus of congratulations, elation, and forward‑looking optimism. Comments like “the happiest 817, it’s so good to have you tonight!” and “our love is eternal” populate the timelines of his most recent livestreams, while newer fans are drawn in by the promise of a “boundless future” that many associate with the mythical Qingluan — a herald of good fortune. Such language underscores not just admiration for his talent but a deeper investment in his trajectory, as if his personal milestones were shared community achievements.
In sum, Liu Yuning epitomises the new archetype of Chinese celebrity: a musician‑turned‑actor who harnesses live‑streaming platforms to cultivate a fiercely loyal fanbase, leverages that loyalty into measurable economic impact, and inadvertently becomes an ambassador of contemporary Chinese culture. His latest projects, from the cinematic intrigue of “The Prisoner of Beauty” to the humble chronicle of a sunflower diary, continue to galvanise a digital audience that values authenticity as much as it values visibility. As the summer of 2025 draws to a close, Liu’s fans remain poised, ready to celebrate each new release, each fresh meme, and each shared moment — a testament to the power of genuine connection in an era increasingly dominated by algorithmic attention.