Initium Media | Large-Scale Arrests of Haitang Web Novel Authors in Lanzhou: "Deep-Sea Fishing" Targeting the Marginalized and Powerless

Translated from 端傳媒評論｜蘭州大規模抓捕海棠網文作者：「遠洋捕撈」對準底層哀民

Commentary | Large-Scale Arrests of Haitang Web Novel Authors in Lanzhou: “Deep-Sea Fishing” Targeting the Marginalized and Powerless
By Li Meng, Watcher of Chinese internet culture and subcultures
Published on June 10, 2025

A series of crushing constraints and hardship eventually turned into dreams woven from words—worth just 0.1 Taiwan dollars per thousand characters. But in mainland China, being convicted and having a criminal record can destroy a person’s life.

“Deep-sea fishing” originally referred to trawlers sailing into remote oceans to haul in rich catches. In recent years, it has taken on a darkly humorous new meaning in mainland China: a metaphor for profit-driven law enforcement. Amid local fiscal crises, law enforcement agencies go after individuals and businesses outside their jurisdictions to fill financial gaps—often inflating the severity of alleged crimes. These agencies conduct cross-regional investigations, detentions, and trials that make it nearly impossible for targets to defend their legal rights.

Previously, “deep-sea fishing” mainly targeted private businesses and small entrepreneurs—those with money but without political connections, making them easy prey in a chaotic business environment. But with the collapse of major industries like real estate and infrastructure, local governments have lost crucial revenue. Many are now cutting public services or delaying salaries for government workers and teachers. In this context, state power has become the last tool for financial extraction.

In recent years, both the scale and frequency of “deep-sea fishing” operations have increased dramatically. A law firm report noted that since 2023, nearly 10,000 businesses in economically vibrant Guangdong have been targeted. This practice has worsened an already fragile economic environment and has sparked inter-regional judicial conflicts. It has drawn criticism from both domestic and international media—and even from state mouthpiece People’s Daily and delegates to the National People’s Congress. Still, no one has resolved the underlying fiscal problem, leaving “deep-sea fishing” an awkwardly accepted reality.

Since last year, the targets of this enforcement model have expanded beyond business owners to a far more unexpected group: young web fiction authors publishing on Taiwan-based site Haitang Literature City.

The Shrimp Among the Nets: Rent-Seeking at Multiple Levels

Heavy charges mask deep misalignments and absurdities.

Haitang Literature City is an online fiction platform run by Taiwan’s Longma Publishing. It features mostly R18 erotica for female readers, including (hetero)romance and danmei (BL). As mainland platforms have increasingly banned female-centric erotic content—forcing most writers to limit writing to “pure love” and avoid anything “below the neck”—mainland writers and readers have flocked to Haitang, whose servers are overseas.

The site is semi-hidden, clearly marked “No Minors Allowed,” and text-based only—an obscure, niche platform that readers rarely stumble upon accidentally. Yet in June 2024, police from Jingxi, a county-level city in Anhui, began arresting more than 50 authors publishing on Haitang. They were charged with producing and distributing obscene materials for profit.

Two payment agents who handled deposits and withdrawals were arrested for “aiding cybercrime.” Police reportedly presented full transaction records collected from these agents. The case moved quickly, with most defendants sentenced by December. Once authors and families took to the internet for help, holes in the case emerged. According to court documents, a witness named Wang Junyi allegedly accessed the site via a redirected ad link, spent 3.8 yuan (less than a dollar - Translator’s note), and discovered the site was full of pornography—prompting him to report it to Jingxi police.

However, a Wang Junyi also works for the Jingxi police station, raising suspicions. Furthermore, Haitang cannot be accessed via ads, nor can people in China make direct payments on it(It only accepts payments in New Taiwan Dollars - Translator’s note); readers in China typically purchase credits via third-party agents on Taobao. How this witness “accidentally” stumbled onto such an obscure site remains a mystery.

Police emphasized “illegal profits” in sentencing. They repeatedly stated that if authors returned their illegal earnings (royalties) and paid one to five times more in fines, they might be considered “cooperative” and receive lighter sentences. The eventual sentences suggest that money did help: prominent author Yuan Shang Bai Yun Jian(远上白云间) paid 1.84 million yuan (~255,800 usd) in fines and received a 4.5-year sentence—far less than the over 10 years her traffic and word count would have justified (based on current Chinese laws). In contrast, less affluent author Ci Juan(辭奺) was unable to raise funds and received a 5.5-year sentence, the harshest among the group.

If one dares speculate, the trial took place in Xuancheng, Anhui—a less-developed central Chinese region. Jingxi ranks lowest in fiscal income within Xuancheng, with only 938 million yuan(~130 million usd) total in 2024, including a mere 37,000 yuan in non-tax income (where fines are counted). Many believe that the Jixi police suddenly targeted a niche fiction website with limited social influence, staging a self-directed drama of mass arrests and harsh sentencing in order to extract heavy fines — the real “catch” they were after.

Because web fictions for female readers have enjoyed wide readership, and victims and families spoke out online, the case sparked public outcry. Yet criticism did not change the outcome—all adult authors received criminal records.

After the “deep-sea fishing” incident of 2024, the big fish were convicted and imprisoned. Haitang temporarily shut down, then reopened. Some authors resumed writing—as if nothing had happened. But this year, a darker sequel emerged: since April, authors across China, including some who had deleted accounts after the Jingxi arrests, were contacted by Lanzhou police. They were summoned for questioning and detention over the same charge: profiting from obscene material.

Hundreds of authors are reportedly affected, mostly small-time writers with little income, low readership, and only a few works. They were the “small fry” left behind in the previous raid—assumed safe, but now under Lanzhou Police’s net.

Beside harsh sentencing, police misconduct included: forcing readers from other provinces to pay their traveling fare to Lanzhou for questioning; failing to issue proper legal summons for cross-region cases; counting non-sexual chapters as obscene. Learning from the backlash against the Jingxi case, Lanzhou police split the operation across multiple bureaus, isolated suspects, shortened case cycles, and warned authors not to discuss their cases publicly—making it harder to mount legal defenses and increasing the pressure for the victims to plead guilty.

As of this writing, some authors have reportedly negotiated plea deals in exchange for leniency and have dropped legal counsel.

Crushing the Softest Targets

To those with power to define artistic value, the only explanation for these works is moral deviation: a twisted view of sex, stemming from a lack of “normal heterosexual life,” that results in “perverted” erotica.

Power targets the weak. “Deep-sea fishing” follows the same logic.

Legally, China’s current laws on online obscene content are outdated and irrational. Sentencing is based on a 2010 judicial interpretation: producing, duplicating, publishing, selling, or distributing obscene electronic content that receives more than 5,000 actual clicks constitutes a criminal offense; if the number reaches five times that amount, it is considered a “serious circumstance”; and if it reaches 25 times that amount, it is considered “especially serious,” and may be punished with over ten years or even life imprisonment.

Anyone with basic internet common sense knows this is absurd: clicks do not equal real number of readers. Automated traffic and repeat visits inflate numbers. “Especially serious” only requires 125,000 total clicks (25 times); according to the Lanzhou Police, where they totaled the chapter clicks, a 50-chapter story needs only 2,500 views per chapter for its author to face more than a decade behind bars.

This method has been challenged before in practice. In 2015, a verdict from the Haidian District People’s Court in Beijing on a case of “disseminating obscene materials” specifically pointed out the irrationality of this method of calculation:

“The court holds that, as a book, the content of the work in question is continuous and should be regarded as a whole, rather than treating each chapter as an independent unit. Therefore, according to the 2004 interpretation by the Supreme People’s Court and the Supreme People’s Procuratorate on certain issues concerning the application of law in criminal cases involving the production, reproduction, publication, sale, and dissemination of obscene electronic information via the Internet, mobile communication terminals, and voice services (《关于办理利用互联网、移动通讯终端、声讯台制作、复制、出版、贩卖、传播淫秽电子信息刑事案件具体应用法律若干问题的解释》), the actual number of clicks in this case should refer to the total number of clicks for the entire book, not the clicks for each individual chapter.”

One netizen joked, “Writing porn gets you a heavier sentence than rape.” While not strictly true, it points to a serious issue: violent sexual crimes like rape, assault, child abuse, or organized prostitution—which cause real harm—often benefit from judicial restraint. In contrast, erotic fiction writers face disproportionate punishment. Why? Because when it comes to ideology and thought, even small “wrongs” are treated as threats, while aesthetic or artistic value is dismissed entirely.

Technically speaking, writers on Haitang are not necessarily guilty. Article 367 of the Criminal Law in China stipulates: “Literary and artistic works with pornographic content that have artistic value are not considered obscene materials.” (This law may look surprisingly, well, bullshit, to western readers; It is what it is I don’t know what to tell you dog. - Translator’s note.) The Chinese National Press and Publication Administration has also made similar determinations. In other words, the criterion lies in whether the literary or artistic work has “artistic value.” While literature and art are highly subjective, there are nevertheless scientific and rigorous professional standards of evaluation, and a large number of trained professionals. However, in actual practice, the standard used to determine whether a suspected obscene or pornographic work has artistic value is a regulation issued in 1998: the Ministry of Public Security (the primary law enforcement agency in China - Translator’s note) approved that “the public security departments(a.k.a. police stations) above the county level are responsible for the evaluation work, but two politically and professionally qualified personnel must be assigned jointly; no other personnel may participate.”

The issue is whether the police can simultaneously serve as law enforcement and as forensic evaluators—can they be both the referee and the athlete? Furthermore, are police officers more qualified than professors specialized in Chinese or art, professionals in the arts industry, journalists, or experienced and ethical readers and viewers, to determine whether a work has artistic value? After all, based on various evaluation standards, the professional training of police officers does not include artistic appreciation.

In practice, this outdated standard has already led to misjudgments. One of the authors arrested by the Jixi police, known as “Each Crab Worse Than the Last”(一蟹更比一蟹強), stated that law enforcement and judicial personnel repeatedly interrogated her with remarks like: “What did you write? It’s perverted”, “Do you have a boyfriend? Do you have a sex life? Are you homosexual?” and “We’ve already been lenient with you.” In the Lanzhou case, authors also reported being asked by police whether they had boyfriends or sex lives.

In other words, from the perspective of the only group currently authorized to evaluate artistic value, the sole explanation for creating such works is the writer’s own twisted sexual perspective and the lack of a normal heterosexual relationship—which in their view results in the creation of deviant, obscene literature. They show no awareness that danmei literature and culture are already established fields within literary and cultural domains. In the ongoing Lanzhou case, some lawyers and literary scholars have submitted expert evaluations affirming the artistic value of the involved web novels. However, there has been no news of these being accepted by the Lanzhou police.

Haitang Literature: A Target of the “Clean Up the Internet” Campaign

To law enforcement, this fast-growing creative safe haven is a fattened pig ready for slaughter.

Moreover, Haitang Literature City, the platform targeted by the Jixi and Lanzhou police, was already a soft target in the female-oriented web literature scene—a direct victim of China’s “clean up the internet” actions.

Currently, the main female-oriented web literature platforms in China include Jinjiang Literature City, Changpei Literature, and Tomato Free Novels. Others like NetEase‘s Lofter and Aifadian focus more on fan culture and derivative works. These are all legally registered and profit-generating companies in China. They have actively participated in the government’s internet cleanup efforts, banning content involving pornography, politics, materialism, superstition, and illegal publishing.

In 2019, for example, Jinjiang was shut down for 15 days by the National Office Against Pornography and Illegal Publications(扫黄打非办), and one of its top authors, “Mo Xiang Tong Xiu,” was convicted for selling illegal pornographic publications. Reportedly, Jinjiang submitted a list of pornographic authors to authorities. Since then, mainstream platforms have limited romantic and sexual content to “above the neck” depictions (e.g., kissing). Explicit sex scenes cannot be directly described, so authors resort to metaphors, references, stream-of-consciousness, and poetic language to hint at them. Phrases like “the lamp fell to the ground,” “a butterfly’s wings lightly rested on the flower’s heart,” or “a burst of fireworks bloomed before their eyes” serve as cues for readers to imagine the sex.

However, in romance fiction, sex scenes are structurally important and eagerly anticipated by readers. Censoring them often leaves audiences dissatisfied. At the same time, these platforms have long established commercial operations, forming a robust ecosystem where platforms profit from IP rights, authors earn income from writing, and readers pay for access—defining the mainstream business model of Chinese web literature. For authors, making money from writing means more than financial gain; it signifies recognition and personal realization. Therefore after Chinese platforms were purged, many writers sought refuge in overseas-hosted platforms such as AO3, Suiyuanju, and Haitang Literature City.

AO3 and Suiyuanju are nonprofit, public-interest websites and cannot be accessed in China without a VPN, which limits their user base. Haitang, on the other hand, is more accessible and creator-friendly: users can register and access the site without a VPN, needing only an email address. There is little to no content censorship; authors can choose whether to hide each chapter behind a paywall or publish for free, control their writing schedule, and are not subject to algorithmic suppression like on commercial Chinese platforms. This makes Haitang one of the most open, free, and potentially rewarding platforms for Chinese web writers.

Yet to law enforcement, this fast-growing creative refuge is a prime target for crackdown. Unlike Jinjiang or Changpei, Haitang lacks backing from commercial capital or recognition from local governments as a major taxpayer (in China. It does pay tax in Taiwan. - Translator’s note). Nor is it like AO3 or Suiyuanju, which are pure hobbyist communities where no money were changing hands. Authors writing on Haitang are completely exposed, open to charges like spreading pornographic content, tax evasion, or illegal publishing. Following the Jixi arrests, Haitang went offline for some time. Many anxious authors and readers searched online for ways to delete their accounts, but the platform almost never responded.

A stark contrast: in late 2024, Jinjiang Literature City, based in Beijing, pushed back strongly against an interprovincial inquiry from the Zhejiang Consumer Rights Protection Committee(浙江消费者保护协会), protecting its authors from fines.

The Suffering of the Working Class

This isn’t a collective performance of victimhood. Erotic fiction—and most genre fiction— especially attracts creators from the working class because it’s simple, formulaic, accessible to newcomers, and can generate solid income.

What sparks righteous outrage is that when the hammer of the law comes down, it smashes those already the most fragile. The online writers crying for help are mostly young, socially inexperienced, economically vulnerable, and lacking in malicious intent—a quasi-underclass. Even among the high-profile fined authors—like “Far Above the White Clouds,”(远上白云间) “Ci Qian,”（辭奺） “Momo,” and “Open Mouth Eat Meat”（张嘴吃肉）—many have disclosed painful personal circumstances and appealed publicly to raise money for their fines.

They’ve shared their life stories: “Far Above the White Clouds” is a housewife writing full-time to support her family; “Ci Qian” supports two seriously ill parents through her writing income; “Momo” has no relatives willing or able to pay her fine; “Open Mouth Eat Meat” is physically unfit for most jobs, suffers from bipolar disorder, and relies on writing to survive; “Jiu Jiu”(九酒) works on a factory assembly line.

A long post by “Tomato vs. Tomato,”(西紅柿懟番茄) one of the Jixi arrestees, went viral: she grew up in poverty in a single-parent household. “There was no bathroom at home. We built a shed on the left side of the house with a cotton roof; a gust of wind could knock it down. Inside was a black waterproof curtain and loose bricks and planks—you’d step on one end and the other would pop up. I suspect adults had to learn to dance just to bathe.” Haitang’s income once brought warmth, a filled belly and hope to her and her mother—until she was arrested. She wrote: “Everyone is special. I’m just especially terrible,” with a Camus-like bleakness.

Another writer, “Ah Ruo,”(啊若) lost a promising government job due to her arrest. Similar things happened to authours In the Lanzhou case: some sold their only tablet and gaming account to afford the trip for trial; some were detained after flying for the first time in their lives; one was publicly taken from campus, causing her graduate school admission to be revoked; another lost a job offer right before graduation; some are now writing “clean” (non-explicit) stories day and night just to raise money for fines.

This isn’t a collective performance of victimhood. Erotic fiction—and most genre fiction— especially attracts creators from the working class because it’s simple, formulaic, accessible to newcomers, and can generate solid income. For young women lacking time, survival skills, as well as job experience, paid web writing is a tempting livelihood. Many also gain emotional support from their readers’ appreciation—something they often lack in real life.

Their accounts reflect rural-urban divides, left-behind children (A social phenomenon in China where minors stay in rural regions, often without guardians, while their parents leave to work in urban areas due to financial pressure. - Translator’s note), a high rate for mental health issues for the young, exam pressures, job scarcity amidst rising costs, worsening gender inequality, and other structural hardships—all distilled into dreams of 0.1 NT dollars per thousand words. Regardless of how society judges these texts, they offered these girls a fleeting promise of a better life.

Yet in China, being convicted and having a criminal record can destroy that life. They would be barred from further education or jobs in public institutions (like medicine, teaching, government work), and even gig work like food delivery or rideshare driving requires a clean record. It’s hard to imagine how, after paying crushing fines and serving prison terms, these marginalized young women could find a better future than writing erotica ever offered.

Protect the Eggs, Protect Life

The real threat is not the fleeting pleasures of fictional sex—it’s the growing public distrust in law and justice.

Even if one concedes the illegality of writing erotica under current law, administrative penalties or community service would be far more appropriate than stacking heavy criminal charges. But in reality, neither the spirit of compassion in traditional Chinese legal culture nor the “law enforcement for the people” ideal in today’s ideology is present—only greedy, arbitrary “deep-sea fishing” tactics driven by profit.

From the 2018 Tianyi case to the Deep Sea(深海) case, to Mo Xiang Tong Xiu, Luosen(罗森) and Zikuang(紫狂) , online literature deemed pornographic has always been portrayed as “extremely harmful to society” and severely punished. But the real threat is not the fleeting pleasures of fictional sex—it’s the growing public distrust in law and justice. The Haitang case is damaging public confidence in the legitimacy of the law and the integrity of public power.

After the Jixi arrests, many unscathed authors and readers comforted themselves by saying, “They evaded taxes,” or “They published illegally,” as if sacrificing a few scapegoats could buy peace with authorities. But the relentless arrests in Lanzhou have shifted public opinion. People are now saying: “They target the easiest, most helpless victims.” “It doesn’t have to be erotica—they’ll find any excuses to extort us. Everyone should be afraid.” “Who can still trust law enforcement? As soon as they need money, they’ll feast on the poor.”

Ultimately, the law cannot depend on fear to sustain itself. You protect eggs by placing them in baskets, not crushing them. Don’t cast a net that catches fish and shrimp alike. That’s the only way to achieve real, lasting peace. Ordinary people must break out of political apathy and middle-class compromise: defending these crushed eggs is also defending our own fragile lives. After all, no one can count on being lucky forever.

The Shrimp Among the Nets: Rent-Seeking at Multiple Levels#

Crushing the Softest Targets#

The Shrimp Among the Nets: Rent-Seeking at Multiple Levels

Crushing the Softest Targets