CDT presents a monthly series of censored content that has been added to our “404 Deleted Content Archive.” Each month, we publish a summary of content blocked or deleted (often yielding the message “404: content not found”) from Chinese platforms such as WeChat, Weibo, Douyin (TikTok’s counterpart in the Chinese market), Xiaohongshu (RedNote), Bilibili, Zhihu, Douban, and others. Although this content archived by CDT Chinese editors represents only a small fraction of the online content that disappears each day from the Chinese internet, it provides valuable insight into which topics are considered “sensitive” over time by the Party-state, cyberspace authorities, and platform censors. Our fully searchable Chinese-language “404 Deleted Content Archive,” currently contains 3,141 deleted articles, essays, and other pieces of content. The entry for each deleted item includes the author/social media account name, the original publishing platform, the subject matter, the date of deletion, and more information.
Below is a list of key topics and some related deleted articles from CDT’s summary of deleted content for February 2026. Between February 1-28, CDT Chinese added 59 new articles, primarily from WeChat, to the archive. (Note that the dates refer to when an article was published on the CDT website, not when it was deleted from Chinese social-media platforms.) Topics targeted for deletion in February included:
- The detention of investigative journalists Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao
- Xenophobic and misogynistic comments by online influencer Lao A
- An investigation into fraud and embezzlement at Nanjing Museum
- The sixth anniversary of COVID whistleblower Li Wenliang’s death
- Hong Kong publisher Jimmy Lai’s 20-year prison sentence
- Humanoid robots featured in the annual CCTV Spring Festival Gala
- Free Nora report on combating human trafficking
Two investigative journalists, Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao, were detained by police in connection with their reporting into a corruption case in Chengdu, Sichuan province.
In early February, CDT archived 22 deleted articles about the cross-provincial arrests of two investigative journalists, Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao, in apparent connection with their reporting on a corruption case in Pujiang county, Chengdu, Sichuan province. Liu and Wu were released on bail two weeks later, but the case against them remains open. Chengdu authorities insist that some of the information published by these two highly regarded journalists was unfounded.
"‘The Last Investigative Reporter’ Liu Hu Detained for Exposing Pujiang County Party Secretary’s Suspected Corruption" by Hu An, WeChat account The Aquarian
February 2
This piece from online journalism collective The Aquarian (水瓶纪元, Shuǐpíng jìyuán, formerly translated as “Aquarius Era”), from which we published translated excerpts on February 4, detailed the cross-border detentions of investigative reporters Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao by Chengdu public security officers the previous day. It describes the content of the article the two had published on January 29, over which they appeared to have been detained. In it, they reported allegations of corruption involving a joint construction project in Chengdu’s Pujiang county: local officials had courted private investors (including Liu and Wu’s source), but their successors unilaterally broke off the agreement, apparently intent on seizing the site and turning it into a kindergarten in order to fraudulently claim subsidies from higher levels of government. Pujiang County Party Secretary Pu Fayou was named in the report, which also highlighted his involvement in a forced demolition case that led to a man’s suicide some years earlier. [Editor’s note: The Aquarian and its sister WeChat account 水瓶启元 (Shuǐpíng qǐyuán, “Aquarian Genesis”) were shut down in February and March, respectively. The Aquarian continues to publish a Substack newsletter.]
"The Liu Hu I Know, A Newsman of the Gallant Fraternity," WeChat account Port Youth
February 3
This post recounts Liu Hu’s journalistic career including a period working with the author in Guangzhou during its "golden age of investigative journalism, [which was] also the last glimmer of print media," until finally Liu was pushed out of the industry and forced to publish through pseudonyms or via social media. The author highlights Liu’s repeated “reincarnations” on WeChat ("I just checked, and he’s now listed as ‘LiuHu21’"), his dogged perseverance and strict professional standards, and his role in online communities as a behind-the-scenes mentor and supporter of other journalists. Like many of the other posts gathered here, this one expresses the author’s longstanding anxiety about Liu’s safety. The post portrays Liu as a latter-day jianghu—a term Ian Johnson described in his 2023 book, "Sparks: China’s Underground Historians," as referring to “the honorable bandits and rogues of the backwoods who had become a symbol for Chinese people with a conscience.” Alluding to the authorities’ obsession with relentless "positive energy" in news and elsewhere, Port Youth writes, "A patch of forest will always need some woodpeckers; it can’t all just be magpies chirping good tidings. In this age of flocking magpies, woodpeckers like Liu Hu are rare and precious indeed."
“Ramifications of the Liu Hu Incident: ‘Political Karma’ Awaits Those Who Would Suppress Their Critics," by Lao Xiao, WeChat account Old Xiao’s Random Reflections
February 3
Blogger Lao Xiao warns that Liu and Wu’s detentions "will become an important test case for supervision by public opinion [or ‘watchdog journalism‘] within the rule of law." Presented as non-confrontational governance advice, the post argues that local officials who heavy-handedly suppress public-opinion crises are generally only postponing the inevitable and often making things worse for themselves, leading to reputational damage and stalled careers even for those who escape disciplinary action. “Every time an official uses heavy-handed tactics to suppress criticism, they are writing the first line of their political epitaph.” CDT translated fairly extensive excerpts from this piece in February.
"Liu Hu’s Detention Is The Last Nail in Journalism’s Coffin," by Yu Feng, WeChat account I Am Yu Feng
February 4
Yu Feng, another beneficiary of Liu Hu’s online journalism community-building, "always wondered where he [Liu] got the phone numbers to keep registering new WeChat accounts" after successive bans. Yu writes that when Liu was previously detained in 2013, the detention center placed him among hardened criminals in an effort to give him a hard time, but that he won the other inmates’ respect when they heard how he had exposed corrupt officials; Liu generated even more goodwill by helping some of his fellow inmates apply for sentence reductions. At that time, Yu recalls, Weibo was still free enough to serve as an effective platform for supporters to speak out on Liu’s behalf. This time, though, supportive posts on WeChat were being deleted almost as quickly as they appeared, and many journalism professors and others were too cowed to speak out at all. Yu describes the official notice on Liu Hu’s detention, targeting such a prominent pillar of the journalism community, as "a signal to the whole news world and society in general: this kind of investigative journalist is no longer allowed to exist. This is how Chengdu, known for its openness, tolerance, and cultural prosperity, drives the final nail into journalism’s coffin."
“A Phone Call With Wu Yingjiao,” by Xuanyuan Jian, WeChat account Huang Jian February 4
While most of the posts listed here focused squarely on Liu Hu, this one puts the spotlight on his younger colleague Wu Yingjiao. The author emphasizes Wu’s soft-spoken manner, at odds with the weight of his professional reputation, and declares, “He’s not Liu Hu’s shadow, he’s another blade—just more deeply concealed.” The author recalls how, when he came under pressure over his own writing, Wu contacted him to offer public support from himself and Liu. Huang recalls being stunned that two people in such risky situations themselves would make such an offer to someone they had never met in person—all the more so since Wu had recently become a father, and had his young family to think of:
[…] It would be easy to just casually mention this and move on, but I keep getting drawn back to it.
There’s not really much more that needs to be said about the significance of becoming a father at that [young] age, under those circumstances. What it does mean is that you start to truly appreciate the value of what you have to lose. There’s something holding you back, now, and nobody would blame you for letting it.
But he didn’t back down.
He chose to keep writing with Liu Hu, sharing the risk together, being named together, and being detained together.
He didn’t use "youth," "family," or "parenthood" as excuses, nor as bargaining chips.
He just stood his ground. [Source]
Controversy erupts over xenophobic and misogynistic pronouncements (particularly about Chinese women who live or study abroad) made by online influencer Lao A, who gained popularity for coining the phrase “kill line” to describe poverty and homelessness in the U.S.
"Society’s Greatest Tragedy Is Holding Up Lao A as a Hero and Conscientious Journalists as Cowards!" by Mu Bai, WeChat account Mu Bai’s Writing is Mediocre
February 3
This article laments that investigative journalists like Liu Hu are widely dismissed as troublemakers while figures like online influencer Lao A, "who spends all day making mountains out of foreign molehills and slagging off Chinese students overseas," are "held up as a shining model for the ages who’ll lead us into a new era." Mu Bai highlights several issues of public interest that came to light through investigative reporting: "Gutter oil, [melamine-tainted] Sanlu milk, food oil in fuel oil trucks, this current story about mental hospitals locking people up unnecessarily to fleece them … if not for journalists reporting on these dark corners, how many more ordinary people would have been harmed?" The piece concludes: "Ultimately, what I want to say is this: the lives of ordinary people in a society that holds Lao A up as a hero would be very different to ones in a society that celebrates journalists."
The conclusion of an investigation into fraud and embezzlement at Nanjing Museum raises as many questions as it answers.
In February, CDT archived four deleted articles about the conclusion to an investigation into a decades-long mismanagement and corruption scandal at the Nanjing Museum in Jiangsu province. (We also archived five articles on the topic in December 2025.) At least five of 137 artworks donated to the museum by the family of collector Pang Laichen were falsely identified as fakes, transferred to a state-owned provincial storehouse for cultural relics, and resold at auction for a profit. The Pang family discovered the subterfuge after one of the donated works—“Jiangnan Spring,” a silk-scroll painting by Ming Dynasty painter Qiu Ying, worth an estimated 88 million yuan ($12.5 million)—surfaced at a Beijing auction in May of 2025. The story broke in December 2025, and a subsequent investigation concluded that there had been systematic mismanagement and corruption at the Nanjing Museum, and 25 individuals are facing legal or disciplinary action. The deleted articles from February discuss the official investigation and the museum’s public apology, noting that both raise more questions than they answer, including how low-level employees could have stolen the paintings without the connivance of higher-level administrators such as Xu Huping, former vice-director of the museum.
“‘Jiangnan Spring’ Survived Five Catastrophic Chapters in Human History and Was Kept Safe for 500 Years … Until 1997, When It Was Sold for a Pittance by the Nanjing Museum,” by Xiang Dongliang, WeChat account Basic Common Sense
February 9
This piece by Xiang Dongliang describes the history of the culturally significant scroll painting “Jiangnan Spring” and discusses five times that it came under threat due to invasion, civil war, or political strife, but was protected by concerned scholars and archivists. The conclusion to Xiang’s article is translated below:
The scroll painting “Jiangnan Spring” has weathered 500 years of tumultuous change. Safeguarded by generations of upstanding scholars and individuals of integrity, it survived one catastrophe after another: the Qing Army [plundering during the Ming-Qing transition], the Taiping Rebellion, the Japanese invasion, the Nationalist forces, and the [Cultural Revolution-era] campaign to "Destroy the Four Olds.” The fact that it has survived into the present day is nothing short of miraculous.
Until 1997, that is, when it was [falsely] identified as a “forgery” by Xu Huping and his band of thieves, and sold for a pittance of 2,250 yuan, tarnishing its true value.
This is lamentable, pathetic, and utterly shameful. [Chinese]
There was online censorship of commemorations of the sixth anniversary of Wuhan ophthalmologist and COVID whistleblower Dr. Li Wenliang’s death.
Dr. Li succumbed to the coronavirus just over a month after he was censured by Chinese authorities for attempting to alert colleagues to an emerging mysterious “SARS-like virus.” Each year on the anniversary of his death, there is an uptick in online censorship related to Dr. Li, suggesting that he remains as censored in death as he was in life. Despite this, Chinese netizens continue to leave greetings and tributes under Dr. Li’s final Weibo post, which appears to remain online as a kind of safety value, and has become known as China’s “Wailing Wall.”
“Dr. Li: Six Years, Six Questions,” by Big Shot Fellini, WeChat Account Fellini Typing Away
February 7
Among the censored articles this year is “Dr. Li: Six Years, Six Questions,” which raises six questions and six corollaries about Dr. Li’s punishment for trying to alert his colleagues to an emerging medical emergency, about the lingering effects of information suppression in the early days of the COVID pandemic, about why people continue to find solace and community on Dr. Li’s Wailing Wall, and more. A short excerpt is translated below:
Dr. Li’s initial actions were not scandalous or shocking. He did not bypass the chain of command and report to higher authorities, nor did he speak out to the public; he simply alerted his colleagues to the unusual situation he had observed and advised them to take precautions.
So, the first question is: In a properly functioning system, how should such an alert be treated?
Is there timely gathering of information, which can then be verified or disproven? Or does it instantly devolve into an attempt to “silence the person who pointed out the problem,” instead of attempting to resolve the problem itself?
[…] Later, we would all learn that the answer was the latter. [Chinese]
Hong Kong democracy advocate and newspaper publisher Jimmy Lai was given a 20-year prison sentence on charges of sedition and foreign collusion.
Jimmy Lai, founder of the now-shuttered Hong Kong newspaper Apple Daily, was sentenced to 20 years in prison in early February on charges of sedition and foreign collusion. Six other Apple Daily staff members also received sentences of up to 10 years. The harsh sentence meted out to Lai was widely seen as a politically motivated attempt to suppress dissent, and met with voluble international criticism from overseas governments, human rights groups, NGOs, and journalists (including some former Apple Daily staff), although Hong Kong-based journalist groups were notably silent.
“Newspaper Publisher Sentenced to 20 Years,” by Li Yuchen, WeChat account Li Yuchen
February 9
CDT editors noted stringent online censorship of content related to Li’s sentencing. One archived WeChat post, by legal blogger Li Yuchen, attempted to dodge censorship by almost entirely omitting proper nouns: Lai is referred to as 老人 lǎorén, or "the old man"; Apple Daily as 那份报纸 nà fèn bàozhǐ, or "that newspaper"; and others by their job titles or relationships to Lai. Even "Hong Kong" is never mentioned by name, only as 那座城市 nà zuò chéngshì, or "that city." Despite this, the post was still deleted. Below is an excerpt from Li’s article, previously translated by CDT:
After the session, the old man’s wife wept outside the court. Members of the public embraced each other, saying that nothing could be done.
The old man himself calmly left the courtroom after the sentencing, his face nearly devoid of expression.
Only the [former] managing editor of the newspaper’s English edition tried to stay behind, attempting to make eye contact with people in the public gallery.
His sentence was ten years, because he had not testified against his boss.
The old man was born in Guangdong in 1947. At the age of 12, he stole across the border to that city.
According to his autobiography, a stranger at Guangzhou Railway Station gave him a piece of chocolate. This was the first time he had ever tasted it. He said later that it tasted like freedom.
He worked as a child laborer in a garment factory, and worked his way up until finally starting his own brand of clothing. Later, he launched that newspaper. Later still, he was arrested.
Now, at the age of 78, he’s facing another 20 years in prison.
Twenty years for running a newspaper.
[…] That’s 2026 for you. [Source]
There was the usual wry criticism of CCTV’s Annual Spring Festival Gala, and some spirited debate about the gala’s flashy martial-arts performance by a troupe of humanoid robots.
This year as ever, Chinese internet users engaged in the national sport of poking fun at and criticizing the quality of CCTV’s televised annual Spring Festival [Chinese New Year’s] Gala. One archived WeChat article claimed that the Gala stands alongside China’s national soccer team as a rare “safe target for online derision.” (Apparently there are limits to this safety, because the article was deleted.) But the most talked-about part of the Gala was an impressive synchronized martial-arts performance by humanoid robots.
“Sure, Those Spring Festival Gala Robots Might Be Awesome, but What Do They Have To Do With Working Stiffs Like Us?” by Li Yuchen, WeChat account Li & Chen
February 19
This post by legal blogger Li Yuchen dismisses the Gala’s flashy robot acrobatics as little more than a series of very expensive ads that have nothing to do with the daily lives of Chinese people. Li compares the relative status of China’s robots with its human citizens, and concludes that while robots are honored as flagbearers for China’s economic progress, too many human workers are treated as "huminerals"—expendable resources to fuel the economic machine. Below is a portion of Li’s article, previously translated by CDT:
Every New Year’s Eve, the Spring Festival shows you how awesome we are. We’ve got 5G, AI, quantum computing, and humanoid robots. The core technologies are homegrown and under domestic control.
What they don’t show you is what any of this progress has to do with you.
Robots are becoming more agile, while workers are becoming more oppressed by algorithms. Technology gallops forward, while ordinary people get left behind.
Onstage, man and machine dance together; offstage, the humans are worse off than the robots.
The amount that a place is willing to spend on backflipping robots reflects the amount of thought it will spare for real people.
At this year’s Gala, the robots were more lifelike than ever.
They can dance, speak, and recognize emotions … they’ll be well looked after.
And the people?
They can run, they can carry, and when they break, they’ll be replaced, and no one will care.
So in the end, are robots becoming more human, or are humans becoming more like draft animals?
Or to put it another way: Who’s treated with care in this country, and who’s an expendable resource? [Source]
To mark the third anniversary of the Xuzhou “chained woman” incident, the Free Nora grassroots media collective released a multipart report assessing government progress on combatting human trafficking and providing services for trafficked women with mental or developmental disabilities, among other benchmarks.
In late February, CDT editors archived three deleted posts from Free Nora, a diverse and independent media collective that grew out of grassroots activism following the 2022 Xuzhou “chained woman” incident. (The group’s name was inspired by Nora Helmer, the protagonist of Henrik Ibsen’s 1879 play “A Doll’s House.”) The three archived posts (1, 2, and 3) are chapters of Free Nora’s civil-society report assessing Chinese government progress on its “Action Plan Against Human Trafficking (2021-2030).” Among the report’s key findings: while efforts to combat human trafficking have intensified, the number of cases filed has fallen, and backlogs and low clearance rates are a problem; both enforcement and legislative progress are fragmented; rural women with mental disabilities continue to be at high risk of being trafficked, and are marginalized in both policy and practice; and the government’s response remains inadequate across most dimensions.
Not long after these posts were censored, the Free Nora WeChat account was shut down, one of many progressive advocacy groups hit with account bans just before March 8 International Women’s Day.
Samuel Wade also contributed to this post.