Okay, folks, gather ’round for a story that’s a bit of a heartbreaker, especially if you grew up in China in the 80s or 90s. We’re talking about Zheng Yuanjie, a name that probably doesn’t ring a bell for most Americans, but in China, he’s basically the equivalent of a literary rock star for kids. Think of him as maybe a Chinese Roald Dahl or a Shel Silverstein, but amplified by the sheer scale of China’s population. This guy is huge. And he just announced he’s stepping away from the limelight.
Now, before you shrug and think, “Another writer retiring, so what?”, hold your horses. This isn’t just any retirement. It’s a symbolic moment, a sigh echoing the clash between the fantastical worlds of childhood and the often-harsh realities of adulthood, and now, the looming presence of artificial intelligence in the creative sphere. Zheng Yuanjie, the “Fairy Tale King” himself, is hanging up his social media hat and retreating from public view, and it’s a decision loaded with meaning for China’s literary landscape and beyond. According to a recent report, 70-year-old Zheng Yuanjie announced his decision to stop updating all social media, mirroring his previous shutdown of Fairy Tale King magazine.
Let’s rewind a bit. Imagine a writer who, for 36 years, single-handedly wrote an entire monthly magazine. No co-authors, no ghostwriters, just one person churning out stories, poems, and imaginative worlds month after month. That’s Zheng Yuanjie and his Fairy Tale King magazine, a publication that was a cultural phenomenon in China. For generations of kids, flipping through its pages was like entering a portal to another dimension, filled with quirky characters like Pipilu, Luxixi, Shuke the mouse, and Beta the pilot mouse. His stories weren’t just fluff; they were clever, thought-provoking, and often subtly subversive, tackling social issues through the lens of fantastical tales. He wasn’t just entertaining kids; he was shaping their imaginations and, arguably, their values.
But like any good story, there’s a twist, and in this case, a rather unfortunate one. Zheng Yuanjie’s fairy tale world ran headfirst into the brick wall of reality, specifically, the brutal world of intellectual property rights in China. For years, he’s been battling trademark infringement, a relentless and exhausting war against businesses shamelessly profiting off his characters and creations without permission. We’re talking hundreds of trademark infringements – everything from “Pipilu” artificial insemination for livestock to “Shuke” gas valves and “Luxixi” braised pork. Seriously, you name it, they probably slapped a Zheng Yuanjie character on it and tried to sell it.
This wasn’t some minor annoyance; it was a decades-long drain on his time, energy, and spirit. At 70 years old, Zheng Yuanjie realized he was fighting a losing battle against time itself. He still has 672 trademark infringements to deal with, and with each case dragging on for an average of six years, well, do the math. He simply doesn’t have the years left to fight them all. It’s a stark and depressing reality: the creator of fantastical worlds brought down by the mundane, grinding gears of legal bureaucracy and corporate greed. An article by Zoey details Zheng Yuanjie’s announcement of his retirement from the public sphere, citing the immense burden of trademark protection as a key factor.
In a move that feels like a final, weary stand, Zheng Yuanjie announced in late February that he’s shutting down all his social media accounts and withdrawing from public life. He’s not just quietly fading away; it’s a deliberate act of protest, a way of saying “enough is enough” to a system that he feels has failed to protect creators like him. He’s even said this will be his last media interview, signaling a complete retreat from the public sphere. And, in a particularly poignant detail, he confirmed that Fairy Tale King magazine, which he stopped publishing in 2022 to focus on these legal battles, is unlikely to ever return. It’s the end of an era, folks, and it’s not a happy ending.
To truly understand the weight of this moment, you need to know a bit more about Zheng Yuanjie’s unconventional journey. Born in 1955 in Hebei province to a military family, his childhood wasn’t exactly typical. Toys were scarce, but books were abundant. He spent his early years surrounded by his father’s books, developing a deep love for reading and writing. His family moved to Beijing when he was five, and even in elementary school, he was a bit of a rebel, always wanting to stand out. His mom’s mantra, “You take the broad road, I’ll take the narrow bridge,” encouraged his individuality and nonconformity. His parents valued his unique path over conventional success, a pretty forward-thinking approach for the time.
This rebellious streak showed up early. In second grade, when asked to write about what they wanted to be when they grew up, while his classmates dreamed of being scientists and artists, Zheng Yuanjie wrote an essay titled “I Want to Be a Night Soil Collector.” Yes, you read that right. Night soil, euphemistically speaking, is human waste. He wanted to be different, to be extreme. Instead of punishment, he got praise. His teacher was impressed by his unique perspective and included his essay in the school’s “Excellent作文 Selections.” Suddenly, the kid who wanted to be a poop collector was a published author! This early recognition sparked a lifelong confidence in his writing abilities, a “delusion,” as he jokingly calls it, that he was the best writer in the world.
But his unconventional path took a sharp turn in fourth grade. After moving to a new school during a politically turbulent time (likely the early years of the Cultural Revolution, though the article doesn’t explicitly say), he ran into trouble with a teacher over a 作文 assignment. The topic was “The Early Bird Catches the Worm,” a common Chinese proverb emphasizing diligence. Zheng Yuanjie, always one to challenge conventional wisdom, wrote an essay titled “The Early Worm Gets Eaten by the Bird.” He argued that you need to know if you’re the bird or the worm in life, and blindly following the “early bird” mantra could be dangerous if you’re actually a worm. He even criticized the education system for treating all students like birds, regardless of whether they were actually birds or worms.
This didn’t go down well. The teacher publicly humiliated him, calling him the “most hopeless person in the class” and making him write “Zheng Yuanjie is the most hopeless person in the class” 100 times. Adding to the humiliation, the girl he liked was in the class. Then, in math class, when he couldn’t solve a problem at the blackboard, the teacher ridiculed his name, saying “Your name has ‘Yuan’ (渊, meaning profound), but it’s useless, you’re actually very ignorant.” Humiliated and disillusioned, Zheng Yuanjie snapped. He set off a firecracker in class and ran away, leading to his expulsion. His formal education ended at the fourth grade.
However, this expulsion, which might seem like a tragedy, turned out to be a pivotal moment. Instead of scolding him, his father, a philosophy teacher, recognized his writing talent. He started homeschooling Zheng Yuanjie, beginning with a rather unconventional curriculum: memorizing The Communist Manifesto. His father gave him a dictionary and told him to figure it out. Against all odds, young Zheng Yuanjie, fueled by his rebellious spirit, memorized the entire 25,000-word manifesto. His father also gave him access to his personal library, filled with books that became his literary nourishment. He devoured classics like Journey to the West and Don Quixote, which ignited his imagination and laid the groundwork for his future as a fairy tale writer. He spent hours just daydreaming, letting stories unfold in his mind.
Later, after a stint in the military as an aircraft mechanic (his dream of being a pilot was dashed due to a facial scar), Zheng Yuanjie ended up working in a factory, guarding water pumps. It was a monotonous job, but it gave him time to read and write. He started writing poetry, getting some pieces published and earning his first 稿费. The taste of success spurred him on. He tried his hand at various genres, but it was fairy tales that truly clicked.
Around this time, he noticed China’s changing family planning policies. He realized that with the one-child policy on the horizon, families might spend more on books for their single child. He saw a potential market for children’s literature. A defining moment came when he saw a young boy in a bookstore, tearfully asking for a book called Grandpa Brainteaser and being told it was sold out everywhere. Touched by the boy’s disappointment and the scarcity of children’s books in general, Zheng Yuanjie decided to dedicate himself to writing for children.
He set a high bar for himself: his writing had to be so accessible that even a third-grader could understand it without a dictionary. And then came the characters we all know and love – Pipilu, Luxixi, Shuke, Beta, Big Grey Wolf, and Rocker – characters that would become household names in China, accompanying generations through their childhoods.
In 1985, he took a huge gamble and launched Fairy Tale King magazine, a monthly publication featuring only his own work. It was unprecedented, a challenge to the publishing world. Many doubted he could sustain it, but he was determined to prove them wrong. He worked tirelessly, writing 6,000 words every day, waking up at 4:30 AM to write before the distractions of the day began. His dedication paid off. Fairy Tale King became a massive success, reaching a circulation of millions and solidifying his status as the “Fairy Tale King.”
His success, however, brought new challenges. The very characters that made him famous became targets for trademark pirates. The relentless copyright infringement battles began in 2002 and have been ongoing ever since. He’s won some cases, lost some, and many are still pending. The legal process is slow, expensive, and emotionally draining. He became a self-taught expert in trademark law, writing his own legal documents and arguing his cases in court, often without a lawyer. He even memorized the entire Trademark Law of the People’s Republic of China. It’s a testament to his tenacity and his unwavering commitment to protecting his creations.
And now, on top of all this, comes AI. Zheng Yuanjie, ever perceptive, sees the writing on the wall. He experimented with AI, asking it to write a story in his style, and was stunned by the result. As reported by 阿瑞 in 新周刊, Zheng Yuanjie confessed, “I admit I can’t write better than AI Zheng Yuanjie.” He recognizes AI’s speed and efficiency, acknowledging that in terms of sheer output, he can’t compete.
But he also points out AI’s fundamental limitation: lack of imagination. AI can mimic style, generate text, and process information at lightning speed, but it can’t truly create, innovate, or imagine in the way humans can. For Zheng Yuanjie, this is where humanity’s strength lies. He believes that in the age of AI, protecting and nurturing children’s imagination is more crucial than ever. He advises people, especially young people, to “look away from where everyone else is looking and look at places no one is looking, where gold is everywhere.” In other words, find your unique path, your unique creative space, where AI can’t follow.
So, Zheng Yuanjie’s retirement isn’t just about stepping away from social media; it’s a symbolic withdrawal from a world that feels increasingly hostile to creators. He’s retreating to a quieter life, but he’s not giving up on writing entirely. He still wakes up at 2:30 AM every day to write, a testament to his enduring passion. But the millions of words he has written may never be published. It’s a quiet act of defiance, a refusal to engage with a system that has worn him down.
His departure is a poignant reminder of the challenges facing creators in the digital age, where intellectual property rights are often trampled upon and AI is rapidly changing the creative landscape. It’s a moment to reflect on the value of human imagination, the importance of protecting creators, and the bittersweet reality that even fairy tale kings must eventually face the harshness of the real world. As Zheng Yuanjie himself said, “Don’t avoid growing up, and don’t forget fairy tales.” But sometimes, it seems, reality wins, and the fairy tales fade away, leaving us with a sigh and a lingering sense of loss.
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