Controversy Erupts as Popular Internet Influencer 'Tingquan Jianbao' Accused of Falsifying Academic Credentials

According to recent media reports, “Tingquan Jianbao”, a hugely popular figure on the Chinese social media platform Douyin with over 25 million followers, has become embroiled in controversy over his academic credentials.

Tingquan is not the first influencer to face accusations of falsifying his educational background. In July of this year, a self-proclaimed “rural genius” named Liang, who claimed to have gone from a county-level vocational school to studying abroad, was also exposed for fabricating his academic record. The university in question issued a statement clarifying that Liang was not a student there and had “forged an admission notice.”

As a relatively new social group, internet influencers have gained massive followings and trust from fans due to their fresh perspectives and broad influence. When influencers tout impressive credentials like being a top corporation executive, entrepreneurship mentor, or Ivy League graduate, fans often idolize and believe in them. However, sometimes behind those glowing “halos”, there may actually be carefully crafted personas and fictitious backstories designed to draw traffic and cash in, shattering trust when exposed.

At the same time, the distorted competitive environment created by faking credentials can plunge the entire industry into a crisis of trust.

In the online world, academic credentials are not the only measure of one’s work. Many influencers have openly addressed fans' questions about their education and experience, acknowledging their lack of prestigious diplomas but still gaining millions of followers through ordinary yet inspiring stories of perseverance.

Earning attention and fans through honesty and authenticity is far more reliable than constructing a fake persona. For every influencer with thousands or even millions of fans, openly sharing the truth, even if imperfect, will always trump deception in the long run. Honesty is more important than hype.

As of October 15th, “Tingquan Jianbao” still had over 25 million followers on Douyin. The key to his popularity has been his identity as a graduate of Peking University’s School of Archaeology and Museology, his rich knowledge of cultural relics, and his humorous, down-to-earth live streaming style.

But once an influencer’s fan base reaches into the tens of millions, they become a public figure, and any actions can have significant negative repercussions. For example, if he were to be involved in any scandals in the future, would Peking University’s reputation be damaged by association?

Moreover, once an influencer gains such a massive following, their personal branding carries a certain level of authority. Affiliating himself with the respected Peking University name, if fictitious, crosses the line from humorous roleplay to outright deception for personal gain.

A close examination of Tingquan’s content clips reveals that he has consistently used the Peking University name to market himself. I was initially drawn to his very first video due to his claimed Peking University affiliation and encyclopedic knowledge presented in an amusing way. But now, with that key educational credential in doubt, he’s reduced to just another punchline peddler.

The core appeal of Tingquan’s content has been the knowledge he shares, which is what attracts viewers to his show. But if the most critical part, his academic background, turns out to be fake, who would still want to watch?

Any mega-influencer with over 18 million fans listing “Peking University” in his public profile cannot claim that as an unintentional mixup if it misleads so many into believing something untrue about his credentials. There’s a huge difference between fans erroneously assuming something and an influencer actively suggesting it, even if not stating it outright.

Some argue that other public figures, like one female host listing her birth year as 1900, also have obviously fictitious profile information that no one takes seriously. But the difference is that they aren’t gaining anything from those amusing “easter eggs.”

However, if someone messaged you privately “Are you the esteemed brother who graduated from Peking University? May I connect with you?” and you gleefully played along without correcting them, that would be deceitful as alld this basic logic.

So before Tingquan was questioned about it, did he really believe his own claims when his profile said Peking University? If more details emerge proving he has intentionally misled people, even encouraging the misconception through coy non-denials, then he has a serious credibility problem on his hands that funny skits and excuses won’t resolve.

With great influence comes great responsibility. The more famous the internet celebrity, the more “green tea-like” qualities they tend to exhibit, borrowing from the fickle nature of fame in the entertainment industry. Faced with rumors, they often dance around giving direct answers, acting elusive and aloof to stir up buzz, exploiting ambiguity for their own benefit.

Before a scandal breaks, they ride the coattails of prestige by suggesting impressive backgrounds. After getting called out, they shrug it off, claiming they never explicitly said it. The more their supporters' defenses clash with video evidence of their own past claims, the more foolish those fans will feel for trusting them.

We live in an era where people crave authenticity more than ever. When the internet was new, people innocently used real identities and shared genuine daily moments, treating sites like virtual social circles. Now, despite real-name registration rules, deception and trickery abound. If Douyin were to survey its user base, I estimate hundreds of millions would list “Tsinghua University” or “Peking University.” The online utopia of communal trust has vanished.

Many gullible fans swallowed Tingquan’s academic claims, fervently defending him as a misunderstood genius. But as soon as he was exposed, some did an about-face, saying they always treated his credentials as just an amusing bit, and only “bad actors” took it seriously. Then they desperately deleted their old defenses of him. It would be hilarious if not so pathetic.

Facing doubts, those with legitimate credentials would easily post their diplomas to dispel rumors. But Tingquan has pointedly skirted the issue, alternating between non-denial denials and intimations that people shouldn’t take it so seriously. You can’t boast of attending a prestigious school to attract clout and then act like it’s ridiculous for people to have believed you.

Faking credentials to gain fame and fortune is a tale as old as time itself, from unscrupulous merchants to dishonest professors and officials. Until the consequences for eroding public trust become prohibitively severe, this cycle of deception will continue. A mere 1.65 million yuan fine for false advertising will hardly deter unscrupulous influencers from misleading millions of fans for profit.

In an attention economy, ambiguity can be an asset - both claiming something and questioning it can drive traffic. But in the long run, credibility is the only currency that matters. No amount of adoring fans can paper over a bankrupt reputation. Internet fame built on a foundation of falsehoods is destined to crumble. Trust is earned through honesty, not hype.