Did they precisely throw out the massive gossip about Dylan Wang to divert public opinion focus from Xi Jinping and Ren Zhengfei? Can Zhao Wei not even spare 14,000? Another 9 million shares frozen! The Trump-Xi meeting is approaching, and Putin is abandoned by Xi! (Old Beijing Teahouse / Episode 1749 / 2026/09/20)

This episode mainly discusses the health rumors surrounding Xi Jinping during the BRICS summit, triggered by a malfunction in his simultaneous interpretation headset, and the side story of Russia attempting to debunk these rumors. It also analyzes the impact of the China-US liquefied natural gas purchase agreement on China-Russia relations. Additionally, it reports on the sudden scandal involving mainland actor Dylan Wang (Wang Hedi) and the capital predicament of Zhao Wei, whose equity worth up to 9 million yuan has been frozen by the court again.

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During the BRICS summit, a simple "Are you okay?" from Indian Prime Minister Modi nearly sent Emperor Steamed Bun (Xi Jinping) to his coffin. Rumors flew everywhere: that he had another sudden stroke, that two empty chairs were left at the venue, that he refused to let Indian veterinarians touch him for fear they would collect his stool, and so on. All sorts of imaginative details emerged. It is said that even his wife, Peng Liyuan, couldn't help but cry and laugh when she bypassed the Great Firewall to see these reports; she felt heartbroken, after all, he is her husband. In fact, it is an ironclad fact that Xi Jinping missed the BRICS summit dinner and flew back to Beijing in a hurry. As for the online rumors that he was rushed to the emergency room of 301 Hospital, public opinion became completely chaotic—so chaotic that even American political figures began discussing it. On September 17, just seven days before the Trump-Xi meeting at the White House on September 24, veteran US national security reporter Bill Gertz suddenly mentioned the rumors about Xi's health on a program. He stated directly that there were claims he had been admitted to a hospital in Beijing again. Take note of the keyword "again"; this one word links his poor health at the BRICS summit in India to his previous stroke and surgery. Of course, Gertz maintained the professional integrity of a journalist and was very cautious; he did not announce this as a fact, but rather said that they didn't have much information on this, but that they would know soon enough. With a one-week window, Xi is scrambling to prepare; even if he has to take performance-enhancing pills, he must get his health to a level where he can sit in the White House and chat happily with Trump.

Let's look at this from both sides. Unlike American state security reporters who take things one step at a time, the evil-axis buddies huddled together with the Chinese Communist Party appear exceptionally nervous and anxious. Of course, after rumors spread that Old Xi was critically ill in the 301 Hospital, the CCP certainly couldn't refute them itself; it was too busy trying to cover things up, let alone drawing attention to them. At this point, the pro-Russian CCP's daddy, Russia, stepped in to refute the rumors on its behalf. Thick as thieves, father and son fighting side by side—accompanied by phrases like "the truth about Xi falling ill," a remote video clip of Modi asking whether he was okay began circulating across various online accounts. Live footage released by Russian media showed Xi Jinping sitting in his seat at the time, with multiple accompanying personnel and aides rushing up to assist him. One male aide, looking anxious, bent down so closely that his eyes were almost pressed against the earphones and receiver to inspect them, trying to untangle or adjust the device's components. Subsequently, another female staff member handed over a new set of earphones and receiving equipment. Xi Jinping took them personally to test, set up, and adjust. Looking at the video footage, it turned out that a simultaneous interpretation earphone malfunction had caused the Steamed Bun to fumble around with his gear, which in turn prompted Modi's inquiry of "are you okay?" Thus, what Modi was actually asking later on was whether there was something wrong with the simultaneous interpretation earphones, meaning "can you translate now?" Since the rumor that the General Secretary had collapsed in the venue was thus debunked, the partners in adversity kept up the good work and managed to clear another rumor—that a certain head of state had fallen ill throughout the entire summit—off the head of Xi the Steamed Bun, who rose to fame carrying 200 catties of wheat down the red carpet. Indian officials confirmed that a participating leader did indeed experience physical discomfort during the summit, but—uh, BUT—it did not seem to be the leader of that Eastern power, Xi, but rather South African President Cyril Ramaphosa. As for the cause of the illness, don't ask, you can't be told. Ramaphosa, as Xi Jinping's good buddy, was extremely cooperative and immediately issued a statement on the 16th claiming responsibility: 73-year-old Cyril Ramaphosa had indeed suspended public engagements due to ill health, returned home from the BRICS summit in India on Monday, and the medical team at the 301 Hospital in the South African capital had advised our president to rest and recover, with his originally scheduled public events to be attended by relevant ministers depending on the circumstances. Officials did not disclose what disease Ramaphosa was suffering from, nor did they mention whether it was a stroke. By this point, Xi Jinping at least clearly did not fall ill during the venue while Modi was speaking. That being said, there really is no other world leader whose own citizens curse him every day to go thud—thud as he falls ill, thud as he collapses, thud as he goes into shock, thud as he suffers a stroke, four thuds in total. An information gap exists, and the rumors might be a bit too far ahead of their time, but the true sentiments of the Chinese public are not adulterated in the slightest; they are desperately hoping he collapses on the mountain path of wheat-carrying. Peng Liyuan, the counterfeit First Lady, mutters to herself: don't you worry about it, our family's Steamed Bun will go thud sooner or later. Why? Because he's genuinely sick. In fact, many analysts continued to discuss the topic of various abnormal signs regarding Xi Jinping's health during this BRICS summit even after Russian media's refutation. Examining all video footage of Old Xi at the BRICS summit in India, two issues are unavoidable: first, Xi Jinping did indeed skip the BRICS leaders' dinner on the night of the summit; second, when getting on the plane, the Steamed Bun's left arm hung limp and tightly pressed against his body, unable to move, while his right arm swung back and forth to help him step upward. The signs of stroke sequelae were extremely intuitive and obvious, crystal clear to anyone with a medical background. Additionally, regarding online rumors that Old Xi fell temporarily ill due to a fire in his backyard, and—fearing that India's Prime Minister Modi would laugh at him—received an injection of morphine before boarding to artificially create a brisk stride, that remains to be revealed by posterity. So when all is said and done, the Steamed Bun's health is questionable and his IQ is worrisome, because by breaking his earphones during the meeting, he got frustrated and brought up the one thing they wanted to avoid. A scandal that should have been covered up by clamping down on a thousand leaves unexpectedly became a life-saving straw for refuting rumors. The surrealism of this world is enough to puzzle even the devil. Regarding the group of people scrambling to fix the simultaneous interpretation earphones for Old Xi, insiders familiar with the little secrets of CCP diplomatic affairs said that whenever Xi Jinping sneaks off to visit foreign countries, for security reasons he never uses earphones prepared by foreign countries; his entourage always brings them from Beijing. So just think about it: even the carefully prepared simultaneous interpretation earphones from home couldn't be made to work, Old Xi's death-grip hands really do turn everything they touch into a botched project. He originally wanted to use the earphone video to smash the illness rumors, but ended up smashing his own IQ instead. Either way, he is both stupid and evil, and totally finished. Old Xi's two feet signaled that his IQ was being smashed, and let me giggle about it for a while. Tea lovers, it's time for an emergency poll: what do you think is going on with Xi Jinping's earphones suddenly not working? Here are the options: 1. The Indian side played dirty and prepared a broken earphone for the Steamed Bun; 2. There are rebels in the CCP Ministry of Foreign Affairs who prepared malfunctioning earphones for the Steamed Bun; 3. The Emperor of Botched Projects has too much negative energy, and good earphones break the moment they reach his hands; 4. Anything is possible, hurry up and type the number in the comment section.

By the way, there was a rather shocking behind-the-scenes anecdote surrounding this public opinion incident. The Russian media outlet that proactively helped Xi the Steamed Bun dispel rumors was extending an olive branch to Beijing on behalf of Putin, actively helping the Steamed Bun out of his urgent plight, fully playing out the drama of "I give my heart to the bright moon, but the bright moon shines on the ditch." Why? Simply so that Xi would show mercy and stamp his approval on the natural gas pipeline, thereby transfusing blood into Putin's war chest. As a result, while the negotiations between Russia and Beijing were still locked in a tug-of-war, the US and China were shaking hands and opening champagne. On September 14, US liquefied natural gas exporter VentureGlobal announced that they had signed a new purchase and sale agreement with a major CCP natural gas supplier. According to the agreement, China Gas will procure 500,000 tons of liquefied natural gas annually from them for a supply period of 20 years, taking effect in 2030, with a long-term total commitment of up to 2.5 million tons per year. Crucially, this project was reached even before the meeting between Trump and Xi. The Russian side remarked that they only saw the new love, Old Man Trump, smiling, but not the old love, Putin, crying. Back then, when the Steamed Bun accompanied the Great Emperor Putin to the Winter Olympics, he talked endlessly about boundless friendship and cooperation. Now, the new love surpasses the old, and the Sino-Russian natural gas pipeline is dismissed as a historical pipeline that has expired and is void. It is estimated that the Steamed Bun was secretly amused while thinking to himself: Serves you right, that's what you get for harboring malicious intentions, using the pretext of helping me dispel rumors to desperately show the whole world my embarrassing display at the BRICS summit, with that touching intelligence where even the translation earpiece wouldn't work. You could say Putin's gesture of allegiance was utterly humiliating. Speaking of which, the Steamed Bun placing a massive order with Trump is tantamount to publicly cozying up to the US and openly dumping his Russian daddy. The Russian Foreign Minister has already solemnly stated that Russia completely disagrees with bilateral relations where the US and China dominate international affairs as major powers; the Russian side believes the world is multipolar and multilateral, and cannot spin without the Greater Russian Empire. In a thousand words, Xi the Steamed Bun, you are an ungrateful wretch. May I timidly ask a question: just as European countries are sounding alarms that Putin is about to launch missiles and unleash drones at European nations, might Putin in a fit of anger release incriminating evidence of the CCP coordinating with Russia, leaving Xi Jinping unable to save face at his meeting with Trump? Let us wait and see.

By the way, while the major political scandals surrounding the Steamed Bun's physical condition and Ren Zhengfei's flight were being hyped up online, the CCP brought out celebrity gossip to put out the fire and divert attention. Who was the unlucky guy this time? Mainland movie star Wang Hedi. Recently, Wang Hedi suddenly broke through the internet traffic barriers without any new film or television works, overshadowing the veteran duo of the Steamed Bun and Lao Ren, attracting a large crowd of grinning onlookers passing notes and locking eyes. The problem is, Little Wang's rise to fame this time was exceptionally aggravating—not because of a new film, nor ordinary gossip, but for entirely unspeakable, extraordinary reasons. As the saying goes, good deeds stay at home while bad news travels a thousand miles. In the absurd country that is the CCP's realm, where entertainment is prioritized above all else, the official status of traffic celebrities is merely a meatball thrown out at any time to attract paparazzi; that is the price to be paid in the Party's eyes. Once thrown out, especially after being pushed and fanned by the Cyberspace Administration of China, that dubious and unfavorable rumor spreads virally without any regard for consequences. Once infected by the virus, the person involved has no way to clear their name, and the more they defend themselves, the more the rumor is believed. Now poor Wang Hedi has encountered this exact situation, practically becoming the most miserable person of 2026. Of course, on September 16, Wang Hedi's studio still released a stern statement: Recently, our studio discovered that some users on the internet maliciously fabricated false chat record information targeting Mr. Wang Hedi, and wantonly spread and disseminated it through private channels and various social media platforms, deliberately smearing and defaming him, seriously damaging Mr. Wang Hedi's personal reputation and causing a vicious online impact. Regarding this sudden rumor-mongering and infringement, our studio will never condone or back down. We have completed evidence notarization today and reported the case to the Public Security Bureau at the earliest opportunity. At the same time, our studio has entrusted a legal team to handle this infringement incident entirely, and will hold the entities creating and spreading rumors legally accountable, resolutely safeguarding the legitimate rights and interests of Mr. Wang Hedi. The internet is not a lawless place; please do not casually spread false information. We hope everyone will go online rationally and jointly maintain a clear and healthy online environment.

So, what is the whole story behind Dylan Wang's incident? On the afternoon of September 16, someone online fabricated chat logs to spread rumors that Dylan Wang was in the hospital for some messy reason, and then a blogger named Rong'erjuan proactively created a related black hashtag, spreading the rumor far and wide. As a result, at around 5 PM that same day, Dylan Wang's studio posted on Weibo directly with the location of the Gaobeidian Police Station in Beijing, stating that evidence had been notarized, collected, and reported to the police. Not long after, they reposted a blog post from the Beijing internet police, making it very clear that this matter was far from over. Seeing that things had blown up, that blogger hastily posted a long apology, claiming it was an operational oversight and that they were unfamiliar with the hashtag rules. However, netizens noticed that the apology letter even got Dylan Wang's name wrong—names like Wang Hedi and Wang Hedi popped up—and the apology was deleted not long after it was posted. To put it bluntly, this wave of operations was extremely baffling: first spreading rumors, then apologizing, and then deleting the posts. After going through the whole process, since the studio had already called the police, deleting it was useless anyway. As a result, the controversy raged on, and online onlookers joined in one after another, completely absorbing public attention and traffic away from the steamed bun (Xi Jinping) and Ren Zhengfei. The domestic plebeians fell once again into a state of entertainment-to-death, and the Party finally breathed a sigh of relief, allowing Ren Zhengfei's family, and especially the Emperor Steamed Bun, to breathe a quiet sigh of relief. As for Dylan Wang and his team being consumed to an extreme degree of awkwardness and left in a mess by the Party, the Party stated it was too busy and didn't care about such gossip.

Looking back, artists in the Party-State are destined to be used as scapegoats by the Party. As the saying goes in the Party-State, top artists are excessively consumed by the Party, and washed-up stars who have already been targeted and beaten down by the Party for several rounds will be consumed once again, pulled out and knocked down repeatedly to completely and utterly cut off any possibility of a comeback. This unlucky artist is Zhao Wei. In September 2026, a rather unremarkable corporate information change pushed the name Zhao Wei back onto the trending searches. Tianyancha updates showed that the equity of Wuhu Dongrunfa Investment Co., Ltd. under Zhao Wei's name, valued at 9 million RMB, was once again judicially frozen by the Beijing Dongcheng District Court, with the deadline extended all the way to March 2029. Note that this is not a new debt, but an old one rolling over since 2021, renewed round after round, exactly five years since she was completely banned. The problem is that over these past five years, search results for the two characters Zhao Wei on mainland video platforms have basically been uniformly "Sorry, no related content found." Her starring works like My Fair Princess, Painted Skin, and So Young, which she directed and which received high scores, have all quietly vanished from the playlist of major platforms. A once household-name figure now lives as a blank space in search boxes, and only court announcements and Tianyancha update reminders occasionally pull Zhao Wei back into the public eye to help the Party divert the attention of the leeks.

First, let's correct an information gap: Zhao Wei is not entirely without assets. The equity book value of her three companies—Tibet Longwei Culture Media, Heduo Entertainment Group, and Wuhu Dongrunfa—totals over 15.9 million RMB. The problem is she cannot touch a single cent of this money. Once equity is frozen by a court, it cannot be transferred, pledged, distributed as dividends, or cashed out. To put it plainly, it is visible but untouchable. On paper, she is a multi-millionaire, but the cash she can actually turn over in her hands is less than an office worker's. This statement is no exaggeration. In November 2024, Tianyancha showed that Zhejiang Xiangyuan Culture Tourism, Tibet Longwei Culture Media, and Zhao Wei herself had a new enforcement record added, with an enforcement subject amount of 8,488 RMB, while the other two companies were also subject to compulsory enforcement of 5,689 RMB. Both cases were filed by the Hangzhou Intermediate People's Court in Zhejiang Province, totaling just over 14,000 RMB. As soon as the news broke, the news of Zhao Wei being subjected to compulsory enforcement for 14,177 RMB surged to the number one trending search. Many people's first reaction was whether a ten-thousand character was missing—could she not even cough up this little bit of money? I thought a starved camel was still bigger than a horse, but it seems the camel is about to collapse too. A female celebrity once worth billions was trending on search engines over 14,000 RMB, which is more absurd than any script. Interestingly, this 14,000 RMB was just petty cash; what truly drove Zhao Wei frantic with anxiety was the nine-figure debt behind it. So the question arises: how did someone once hailed as the Goddess of Investment end up in this state? The story has to be rolled back over a decade. In 1998, My Fair Princess made Xiao Yanzi a household name across the country, and Zhao Wei instantly stood at the position of national top traffic star, but she didn't stop at the path of being an actress and quickly stepped into the capital market. In 2014, she and her then-husband Huang Youlong invested 3.0 billion HKD to acquire shares in Alibaba Pictures, leaping to become the second-largest shareholder. Within just two years, she reduced her holdings twice at high positions, yielding a net return close to 1.8 billion HKD from both transactions. The title "Female Buffett" was spread during those years. At that time, Zhao Wei was an honored guest at business banquets, mentioned in the same breath as Jack Ma and Shi Yuzhu. Her net worth rose steadily, and for a time she actually controlled over a dozen companies spanning film and television, real estate, and finance.

The turning point came at the end of 2016, when Zhao Wei announced through Tibet Longwei Culture Media, which she actually controlled, that she intended to acquire a 30% stake in Wanjia Culture—later known as Xiangyuan Culture—for 3.06 billion yuan to take control of the company. The craziest part of this deal was the leverage: Longwei Media had a registered capital of only 2 million yuan, and the cash Zhao Wei provided was only 60 million yuan. The remaining nearly 3 billion yuan had to be supported by external financing, resulting in a leverage ratio of over 50 times. Simply put, this was a leveraged buyout straight out of a finance textbook: spend a little, borrow a lot, take control of the company first, and then pay back the borrowed money using the company's assets or future stock price increases. Theoretically, it was very sophisticated, but the premise was that every step had to be perfectly executed. As soon as the news broke, Wanjia Culture's stock price soared, surging from over ten yuan before the trading suspension, with retail investors flocking to follow the trend. Unexpectedly, regulatory inquiries followed one after another, financiers withdrew one by one, and the 3-billion-yuan acquisition plan shrank all the way down to 529 million yuan, eventually collapsing completely. Wanjia Culture's stock price plummeted, falling from 25 yuan to 8.85 yuan, leaving countless retail investors who had followed the trend deeply trapped. In 2018, the China Securities Regulatory Commission (CSRC) issued its penalty: a fine of 300,000 yuan and a 5-year ban from the securities market for Zhao Wei, Huang Youlong, and others. In early 2019, the second-instance judgment for the first investor lawsuit against Xiangyuan Culture and Zhao Wei for securities misrepresentation was released. Xiangyuan Culture lost the case, and Zhao Wei was ordered to bear joint and several liability for compensation. This judgment later became one of the sources for the repeated compulsory enforcement of assets under her name. However, the other, much larger "landmine" that has left her entangled in a series of equity freezes today is an 1.8 billion yuan trust guarantee. In 2017, Huang Youlong's sister, Huang Li, initiated a trust plan named Zhixin No. 340 through a Guangzhou company she actually controlled, with a financing scale as high as 1.8 billion yuan. Zhao Wei, as one of the guarantors, signed the guarantee contract together with Huang Youlong and businessman Shi Yuzhu. In 2021, when the financing matured, Huang Li's company failed to repay the loan as agreed. The creditor, Minsheng Trust, immediately sued all guarantors, including Zhao Wei, demanding they bear full joint and several repayment liability. Also in 2021, Zhao Wei's entertainment career suffered another avalanche: multiple works were taken down, her social media account content was wiped, and all public activities were completely halted. A "total erasure" style of censorship began. The financial landmines and the entertainment career avalanche hit her almost in the same year. Since then, the Beijing Dongcheng District Court has issued freezing orders on the equity under Zhao Wei's name time and time again. At the end of July 2025, the court froze 1.9 million yuan in her Tibet Longwei, 5 million yuan in Hebao Culture and Entertainment, and 9 million yuan in Wuhu Dongrunfa all at once; the entire equity of all three companies was frozen. On March 9 of this year, after the 9-million-yuan freeze on Wuhu Dongrunfa expired, the court directly extended it until March 8, 2029. What is frustrating is that the day this extension ruling took effect happened to be Zhao Wei's 50th birthday. Zhao Wei was photographed appearing around Dianchi Lake in Yunnan, looking noticeably thinner. On social media, she only posted a message saying, "Keep a calm heart, everything will pass," accompanied by photos of her drinking coffee without makeup and walking barefoot on the beach. It looked calm and indifferent, but few people in the comments section really believed it.

At the end of 2024, Zhao Wei unilaterally announced on social media that she and Huang Youlong had been divorced for many years, attempting to distance herself from this 1.8 billion debt. The problem is that this guarantee contract was jointly signed during their marriage, and in black-and-white legal terms, divorce alone cannot shake off joint guarantee liability. Later, Zhao Wei also tried several indirect ways to make a comeback. For example, when Qiong Yao passed away, she posted a tribute on social media trying to evoke some public sentiment. Zhao Wei also quietly started a livestream, only for the platform to cut it off within a dozen minutes. A movie she directed herself a decade ago was even renamed and re-submitted for public screening, but official media outlets such as Xinhua News Agency subsequently issued big-character-poster-style critical statements, declaring that illegal and immoral artists violating rules have no market, and the road to a comeback is basically blocked to death. Therefore, the current picture shows equity worth over ten million on the books on one hand, and the reality of having even 14,000 yuan forcibly deducted on the other; a quiet and peaceful nine-grid photo collage on social media on one hand, and court freezing orders, renewed one after another, on the other. This predicament of having money but being unable to touch it is more sigh-inducing than simply having no money, and it is more easily discussed repeatedly. After all, for most people, 14,000 yuan is not a small amount, but for the once-dubbed female Buffett, it has become a glaring footnote. Online discussions have already split into two factions. One faction feels that Zhao Wei brought this upon herself; back then, she played leverage with vigor and took the cash from reducing her holdings with glee, so now that it is her turn to pay back the debt, there is no sympathy, as she was never seen sharing a cent with shareholders when she was making money. The other faction feels that this 1.8 billion guarantee debt was essentially taking the rap for her husband's family; Zhao Wei herself was not the primary debtor, but merely one of the guarantors with joint and several liability, and a marriage certificate traded her for a lifetime fate of paying off debts for someone else's company. Neither voice can convince the other, but one point is a consensus: regardless of whether there are extenuating circumstances or she deserved it, legally she cannot escape this debt. Looking back, from the high-stakes gamble of leveraging 60 million into 3 billion to the old debts tied to the 1.8 billion guarantee, Zhao Wei's path over the past decade actually follows the same logical line—those who use leverage to amplify returns will ultimately use leverage to amplify costs. She was once the person who precisely caught every single market trend, except this time, the two landmines of leveraged acquisition and joint guarantee were buried one after another in the same balance sheet, and no one managed to defuse them. Some say that the capital market never recognizes who used to be a national idol; it only recognizes the signatures on contracts and the due dates, and everyone must own up to it whether they are present or not. If you ask me, the so-called capital market of the Chinese Communist Party is essentially a black casino; as long as you are not the biggest dealer or the final manipulator, you are just leeks waiting to be harvested, with no exceptions. Looking back, the reason Zhao Wei was pushed into today's predicament is entirely the result of being lured step by step since her days at the Beijing Film Academy by the CCP's big dyeing vat and its promise of making a fortune in silence, being swept up by the Party's money-worship trend, being brainwashed and instigated by the Party's culture, and being cornered to join forces by the Party's factional struggles. It may seem accidental, but it is actually inevitable, it's just that for someone who was once infinitely glamorous, there are more sighs to be had. When all is said and done, breaking away from the CCP's brainwashing, breaking away from the CCP's party culture, quitting the CCP's Party, League, and Pioneers, and cutting ties with this evil organization are the only ways to possibly have a peaceful, safe, and wonderful future. Hopefully, the repeatedly plagued Zhao Wei can figure this out sooner.