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A growing industry of online gurus and harsh ‘correction’ camps is feeding on parents’ anxieties over internet addictions, blurring ethics and legality while leaving vulnerable children at risk

By Xie Ying , Li Qinhua Updated Feb.1

Many Chinese parents have long expressed concern about their children’s addiction to online games, especially as digital devices have become integral to their daily lives, study and socializing.  

In response, authorities introduced a series of measures to curb minors’ screen time. The most recent was in 2021, when regulators required game developers to block minors from logging in. Their only windows are 8 to 9 pm from Friday to Sunday, and public holidays. Other times, minors are not allowed to play games at all.  

The measures have shown some effect. A 2022 survey by the Game Working Committee of the China Audio-Video and Digital Publication Association reported that the proportion of minors spending less than three hours a week on online games (including those who do not play online games) had risen to 75 percent. Overall gaming time and in-game spending among minors also dropped year-on-year.  

Yet the numbers have done little to ease parents’ concerns. Both parents and media have noted that many minors are bypassing the log-in system by using their parents’ IDs or renting adult-verified accounts through marketplace platforms like Xianyu. Others have shifted to watching short videos on platforms like Douyin, where restrictions on minors are far looser.  

Experts say parents’ anxiety over their children’s online habits is fueling a new industry for treating internet addiction that operates in two main forms: selling online parenting and psychology courses, and running offline centers or camps claiming to help children overcome addiction.  

According to a 2025 report by social media platform Lanzi Jihua, the industry is estimated to be worth nearly 70 billion yuan (US$9.9b) annually. 

Seeking Saviors 
Qian Li, whose son is struggling with internet addiction, said she was deeply moved when she came across the Douyin influencer President BoBo, who claims to have worked in family education for 14 years. In her videos, President BoBo warns that online games and mobile phones are harming minors, likening them to opium.  

President BoBo has nearly 2.25 million followers on Douyin. Her online shop on the platform, where she sells courses and books, has more than 200,000 visits.  

“It’s crunch time,” the vlogger said in one livestream Qian watched. “If you love your kids more than your life, why would you hesitate to pay 4,980 yuan (US$700) to save them?”  

These words, Qian said, spoke directly to her heart. She purchased the course, which promises to teach parents how to “parent more wisely.”  

Across social media, phrases like “shut down games and save children” have become key traffic drivers. On Douyin, the hashtag “electronic games are a kind of mental opium” has been viewed more than 220 million times.  

When a NewsChina reporter commented under a similar topic pretending to be a mother seeking help for her internet-addicted child, she was quickly contacted by companies offering training. All claimed they could cure internet addiction within days and ensure children no longer “indulge in the internet,” “rebel” or “resist studying.”  

NewsChina observed that online courses often lure potential customers through inexpensive trial programs priced from as low as 9.9 to 99 yuan (US$1.40-14). A five-day, 99-yuan similar course on Douyin has sold 128,000 editions. 

Low Threshold 
The industry’s booming sales are largely driven by promotions from vloggers and livestreamers, particularly online celebrities. One of its most prominent promoters, Wang Kun, entered the field in 2020 as short video platforms surged. Media reported that Wang previously worked as a fish monger, waiter, deliveryman and cosmetics seller. He first gained traction in “family education” by calling online games “mental opium” that would erode children’s willpower and ultimately “ruin the future of the whole country.”  

These extreme statements have since disappeared from his accounts. Now, he promotes training programs priced at 29,800 yuan (US$4,200).  

Wang operates more than 10 business accounts on Douyin. His most popular has 4.22 million followers. Data from feigua.cn, a short-video analytics site, shows the account livestreamed 23 sessions from October to November, generating between 75,000 and 100,000 yuan (US$10,600-14,100) in sales.  

“Wang Kun is the industry’s top blogger,” Chen Zhuo, who works with a multi-channel network (MCN) company, told NewsChina, revealing that top creators like Wang now market to potential customers through offline meetups.  

Chen told NewsChina that MCN companies, which manage influencers’ careers, have already moved into the sector. Another insider, speaking on condition of anonymity, said these companies have complete ecosystems for generating popular influencers, from faking backgrounds and creating online identities to crafting targeted topics that attract potential clients and funnel traffic into paid courses, all while avoiding platform oversight.  

NewsChina asked several MCN firms whether new practitioners need credentials in psychology or education. Their response: “Not really.” One company even said an influencer could claim to be a Tsinghua University graduate “without a diploma, as long as viewers believe it.” 
 
Offline training institutions are also pouring into the market. Wen Kai, who works for a course-selling company in Jinan, Shandong Province, said his firm previously focused on academic tutoring but shifted to an “invisible intervention” service for internet addictions. Priced from 10,000 to 60,000 yuan (US$1,400-8,450), these interventions involve guidance counselors that pose as online friends to engage with the child and subtly influence their behavior, usually over three to six months.  

“We tell parents that psychologists and hospitals are useless and that our companion-style service is the only solution,” he said, adding that the company relies heavily on advertising and sales pitches. A top-performing salesperson can earn up to 50,000 yuan (US$7,050) a month. 
 
Yet many parents say these services are ineffective. Zheng Xin, who paid 8,800 yuan (US$1,239) for a similar program, told NewsChina she quickly realized she had been scammed. Her high-school-aged son recognized the ruse immediately. When she sought a refund, the company cut off communication.  

Because Zheng never signed a formal contract, she could not file an official complaint.  

She is far from alone. On Black Cat, a consumer complaint platform under web portal Sina, a search for “invisible intervention” services brings up numerous grievances from parents who say the programs are useless and often worsen family conflict. One complaint alleged that the service consisted only of texting the child or playing video games with them, far removed from promises to “restore a sunny and disciplined child in two months.” 

Shocking Abuse
In previous years when such services and online courses were rarer, parents turned to “anti-internet addiction” centers. Many of them have since been exposed for physical and mental abuse of children.  

In 2022, Zheng Xin sent her son to such a school, despite multiple media investigations into allegations of beatings, confinement and even electroshock therapy. Zheng said she paid 30,000 yuan (US$4,225) for seven months.  

To this day, her son refuses to tell her what happened there. Zheng says guilt keeps her from asking.  

“I regret sending him to the school. But there’s no medicine for remorse,” she said.  

Li Chi, 24, told NewsChina his mother had him committed to Yuzhang Training School, a well-known internet addiction treatment center in Jiangxi Province, when he was a teenager in June 2016.  

Upon arrival, Li claimed he was stripped down to his underpants and locked in a dark room for seven days. In his cell, he saw messages by other children scratched into the walls with their nails, reading “I hate my parents” and “Sorry, my father and mother.”  

Soon after, Li attempted suicide by drinking laundry detergent and was then released to his mother. He had so much fear of being sent back that he stayed awake for three nights armed with a knife to fend off school employees.  

“They usually carted off children at midnight,” Li said.  

Li said he always left his window cracked open, giving himself an escape route in case they returned, even though the family lived on the seventh floor. A year later, authorities shut down Yuzhang Training School, charging them with “illegal confinement.”  

Internet addiction centers have faced strong public criticism since at least 2009 for alleged physical abuse, yet they continue to operate, often rebranded as “behavior correction,” “quality training” or “summer camps.”  

When NewsChina searched “internet addiction” on enterprise registration site qichacha.com, only a few inactive entities appeared. But a search for “behavior correction” returned 271 companies.  

Social media outlet Lanzi Jihua estimates that at least 600 such institutions operate nationwide. 

According to a 2010 survey by China Youth & Children Research Center, most minors are coerced or tricked into these facilities. Many lack qualified teachers or staff and routinely use corporal punishment and confinement.  

Xu Xiaoxi, 15, told NewsChina he was forced into a correction center by his parents in March 2025. The facility, located on the grounds of an abandoned primary school, was surrounded by high walls lined with barbed wire. When Xu resisted, several staff members allegedly struck him in the abdomen with a rod. They then threw him into a dark room and informed him he would undergo six months of “education.”  

Xu later learned the program cost 28,000 yuan (US$3,950), money his mother had borrowed.  
“Instructors beat students at any time and force them to train even while injured. Rods, clothes hangers and even stun batons were commonly used to punish those they saw as ‘disobedient,’” Xu claimed, adding that his arm still bears scars from a beating.  

“The leaders supervise for ‘safety’ to avoid serious injuries or escapes. Punishment usually lasts about 45 minutes, and they ask students to sign forms saying they received it voluntarily,” Chen Jing, a former instructor at a Jiangxi Province facility, told NewsChina.  

After leaving the center, Xu and several classmates reported it to local authorities and even the county mayor. But as their parents had signed an agreement with the institution, the complaint was forwarded back to the center. Several instructors visited Xu’s home, took him out to dinner and pressured him to withdraw the report. The case ended with the dismissal of the most violent instructor, but the center remains operational.  

Yang Weihua, a lawyer at the Shanghai-based Dehehantong Law Offices, told NewsChina that gathering sufficient evidence of illegal confinement or child abuse is extremely difficult due to vague legal boundaries, the closed-off nature of these facilities and minors’ inability to collect evidence. “Unless something serious happens, it’s hard to bring a case,” he said.  

Although some centers have shut down after media exposure and public criticism, many pop back up under new names. Because they are often registered as “non-enterprise organizations,” a status in China for social enterprises that combine commerce with charity, they fall under fragmented oversight from multiple authorities. 

Outsourced Anxiety 
The public often questions why parents send their children to facilities known for using violence. Liu Qinxue, a psychology professor at Central China Normal University in Wuhan, Hubei Province, who studies internet addiction, believes it stems from companies’ promising to “return a disciplined and obedient child” to families already desperate for help.  

Zheng Xin told NewsChina that her son had been addicted to online games for years. Even when his teacher confiscated his phone, he borrowed money from classmates to buy another. He threatened suicide unless his parents returned the device.  

“Some parents are overwhelmed by worries about their perceived failure in parenting, and they turn to third-party institutions,” said Rao Yichen, an associate professor at Utrecht University in the Netherlands who has conducted fieldwork at an internet addiction center in Beijing. “Whatever these institutions sell, parents will buy,” he added.  

“The key is that parents want us to do the punishing for them, to force the kids to obey,” said Chen Jing, the former instructor.  

According to Zhang Zhiyi, another former instructor at one such facility, most institutions like his actually accept children with an array of issues beyond internet addiction.  

“They take kids who fight, steal, smoke, refuse to study, or who are simply rebellious or introverted,” he said. “Physical punishment is their main selling point.” 
 
Many online parenting courses reflect this trend. Influencers like President BoBo and Wang Kun offer programs covering a broad range of childhood behavioral problems, pushing the idea that parents must “study hard” to learn proper parenting skills.  

“Parents today often feel lost,” said Li Na, who has a 10-year-old son. “We care more about children’s mental health than older generations did, and we want to move away from traditional corporal punishment. But many parents feel that gentle communication just doesn’t work, at least not as quickly as a stick.”  

Her son is not addicted to the internet, but Li said he has other issues, like short attention span, procrastination with homework and frequent backtalk.  

Li said she has read multiple parenting books and taken trial courses, but none delivered the results she expected.  

“They always talk about general principles. Every parent already knows those,” she said.  

Qian Li agreed. She told NewsChina that influencers often urge parents to “keep learning,” warning that a parent’s energy will decline otherwise. “They just want you to keep buying new courses,” Qian said.  

But when asked if she would continue paying for the programs, Li Na hesitated to say no. “Maybe I will keep trying. I really want clearer guidance on how to raise my child.”  

“To some extent, parenting courses and internet addiction institutions allow parents to outsource their anxiety,” said Rao.  

Easing that anxiety comes down to providing more resources for parents, said Yuan Ningning, an associate professor at the Institute for Human Rights at the China University of Political Science and Law.  

“In the long run, we should strengthen public services to provide more parenting guidance and support, and promote them through legal frameworks. This would help reduce the space for illegal and unlicensed institutions,” Yuan said.

Students play a board game in a mental health session at an internet addiction center in Fujian Province (Photo Courtesy of Interviewee)

Drawings by inmates at an internet addiction treatment center (Photo Courtesy of Interviewee)

Xu Xiaoxi’s arm still bears scars from alleged physical punishments at an internet addiction treatment center (Photo Courtesy of Interviewee)

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