Investigative journalists Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao were released on bail on Saturday, two weeks after they were detained across provincial borders in apparent connection with their recent report on corruption by local officials in Chengdu. The case against them remains open, however, and Chengdu authorities said on Saturday that investigators had determined that key claims made in the article were unfounded.

The pair’s detention triggered an immediate flood of online commentary. While much of that content was quickly censored, the response was slow enough for CDT Chinese editors to archive more than 20 subsequently deleted pieces from WeChat in the few days that followed. (By contrast, only one highly evasive independent commentary was archived after the pre-scheduled sentencing of Hong Kong media tycoon Jimmy Lai, an event for which censors appeared better prepared.) CDT has previously translated excerpts from ten of these: online journalism collective Aquarius Era’s initial report on the detentions and their context, and a personal tribute to Liu by blogger “Chongqing Telephone Guy”; and eight later posts examining various aspects of the case and its implications. The WeChat posts covered below, all deleted from that platform but archived at CDT Chinese, are examples of the outpouring of personal praise and concern for the veteran reporter Liu and Wu, his younger colleague. On one hand, the posts suggest that it would be deeply out of character for Liu to publish claims for which he lacked ironclad evidence. On the other, the fact that he was granted bail at all may offer some hope to those who had long feared for his safety.

Yuan Suwen, writing at the WeChat account 咩的自留地 (Miē de zìliúdì) described Liu Hu as a "guiding light" for investigative journalists, and repeated Chongqing Telephone Guy’s claim that Liu’s strict standards for sourcing and verification mean he often includes only 70% of the material he has gathered. The post notes: "This means if you look closely into his investigative reports, not only is it all true, but the reality is 30% worse than what made it into the article." This painstaking insistence on accuracy is widely credited for the dismissal of an earlier case against Liu, albeit after a year in detention. Many feared it would not be enough to protect him this time. From fellow news-media veteran Zhang Sanfeng, for example:

I’ve often worried about Liu Hu. I expressed this to him when I last saw him a few months ago.

He took out his phone to show me a few recent articles. "Any one of these could get you sent away," I told him.

But he was optimistic, because he trusted his own diligent verification of all the key facts, and believed that he had acted entirely within the law.

We also talked about the case that got him locked up for a year a decade ago. He’d lost dozens of pounds by the time he reemerged, but had since regained that weight.

He always had faith, and I always had doubts. “How can you still believe that [authorities in] every place you investigate will abide by the law?” I asked him. “If they did, the injustices you investigate wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

"Relax,” he reassured me, “nothing bad will happen.”

It did happen.

[…] I remember calling him several times one afternoon, many years ago, to bug him about his progress on a piece. He wasn’t answering, and I was getting a bit annoyed. An hour later, he called me back: "I’m hiding in a cave right now, I’ll write it as soon as I can."

Here he was in danger, while I was at my office computer thinking only of my own workload. That was for a follow-up report, not a blockbuster story. He later turned in a two-thousand character piece, and I cut more than half of it. [Chinese]

Blogger Yu Feng posted a similarly colorful story about Liu’s earlier detention, painting him as something of a Chinese Andy Dufresne:

When Liu Hu was arrested in 2013, the local detention center put him in with the capital and other serious offenders to give him a hard time. When they heard that Brother Liu was in there for reporting on thieving officials, though, even the death row inmates showed him the utmost respect.

As a matter of fact, the officials Liu Hu exposed—like former China Resources Chairman Song Lin, or former Hainan High Court Vice-President Zhang Jiahui—were all purged for corruption within a few years, and sentenced to ten years or more in prison.

Not only did Liu Hu’s fellow inmates not give him a hard time, his willingness to use his professional expertise to help some harshly sentenced inmates apply for sentence reductions made him the facility’s respected "Big Brother."

But I daren’t hope that Brother Liu might escape the tiger’s jaws now, as he did ten years ago. Times have changed, and all we can do now is listen in silence for the dull thud of investigative journalism being lowered into its grave. [Chinese]

WeChat account Port Youth (码头青年, Mǎtóu qīngnián) noted Liu Hu’s prominent role in online journalism communities, and the serial “reincarnations” of his account on the platform: "I just checked, he’s already up to ‘LiuHu21.’" The post described Liu as a latter-day jianghu—a term writer 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.” Port Youth added that "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." (Magpies symbolize good fortune in Chinese tradition, in contrast with their more mixed or negative associations in European cultures. The woodpecker metaphor probably speaks for itself.)

The detention of the older and more established Liu Hu has drawn far more attention than that of his younger colleague Wu Yingjiao. One notable exception is a report posted on Substack by online journalism collective Aquarius Era, which described Wu’s background and his move into journalism under Liu Hu’s mentorship. Another is a WeChat post by Huang Jian, editor of the “High-Power Scope” WeChat account on which Liu and Wu had published some of their work. Huang recalls his first phone conversation with Wu, whose soft-spoken manner “lacked the ‘jianghu spirit’ I’d subconsciously expected.” The last time they spoke in 2024, he said, Wu offered the pair’s public support at a time when Huang himself had come under pressure from authorities.

He’s not Liu Hu’s shadow, he’s another blade—just more deeply concealed.

[…] I didn’t learn until later that Wu Yingjiao had recently become a father. 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 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. [Chinese]