On the night of December 22, 2025, just after 10 p.m., something happened that shook the internet. Kuaishou, one of China’s biggest apps, was thrown into chaos. For more than ninety minutes, the platform was under siege.
People were casually scrolling through videos when suddenly their screens exploded with shocking streams. Attackers had unleashed around 17,000 bot accounts, each opening live rooms filled with forbidden content. Some streams drew crowds of over 100,000 viewers.
The report button stopped working. The moderation system collapsed. The screens were flooded with explicit images. Even the AI filters—normally quick to ban tattoos or minor violations—were completely paralyzed. This time, the flood of pornographic streams ran free, unchecked.
For Kuaishou’s engineers, it was a nightmare. They weren’t dealing with ordinary rule‑breakers. This was a coordinated strike, military‑style, timed to overwhelm every defense. The pace of banning accounts couldn’t keep up with the endless wave of new ones.
Analysts later said this looked less like a prank and more like a financial ambush. Pulling off something this big takes serious money. Ordinary hackers wouldn’t waste resources like that. The real players were likely betting against Kuaishou’s stock, hoping to profit from its collapse.
This wasn’t just an attack on accounts. It was a precision hit on the company’s lifeline, a ruthless raid on shareholder wealth. And it didn’t stop there. Hidden inside many streams were malicious links. Users who clicked found their WeChat accounts hijacked, with scammers instantly messaging their contacts to borrow money under false pretenses.
Kuaishou is a heavyweight in China’s tech scene—rich, staffed with talent, armed with advanced systems. Yet it still fell. Why?
Experts pointed to one key weakness: traditional human‑based defenses can’t stop automated swarms. Hackers used tools to mass‑register zombie accounts and spread illegal content in seconds. Some also noted that insider leaks of user data in past years had left platforms vulnerable, making the damage even worse.
Kuaishou did launch emergency measures after the attack, but its explanations sounded weak in the business world. Worse still, the incident came during China’s “Clean Internet” campaign, meaning regulators may impose the harshest penalties.
Whether Kuaishou recovers or not, its flaws are now exposed. The event is a warning to all internet companies. For everyday users, the lesson is simple: don’t click suspicious links, don’t spread harmful content, and stay alert.
And there’s a bigger backdrop. With China‑Japan tensions, Thailand’s crackdown on Myanmar‑based scams, and other regional frictions, the Chinese internet has felt unusually restless. It makes people wonder: are unseen forces stirring the waters?
In the end, only a secure and stable environment can give ordinary people peace of mind. Despite the storm, there’s still hope for the future.