On March 15, 2025, China’s CCTV "315 Gala" once again shocked the nation with grotesque revelations: recycled trash repackaged as sanitary pads, handmade unsterilized disposable underwear, AI robots bombarding citizens with millions of spam calls daily, and shrimp drenched in ice coatings (70% by weight) and phosphate solutions exceeding legal limits by 145%. These dystopian scenes force a painful question: Why must we relive this annual ritual of outrage, witnessing both human depravity and systemic failure?
The pursuit of "quick money" has become corporate DNA. Take Shandong Liangshan Xixi Paper Industry, which buys sanitary pad waste (meant for destruction) at 260 yuan per ton, reprocesses it, and resells it for 7,000–8,000 yuan—a 30-fold profit. When asked why toxic "gun water" is sprayed on disposable underwear, a worker at a Henan factory shrugged: "It’s the only way to cut costs." At a shrimp-processing plant, employees admitted: "Coastal locals only eat live shrimp—we’d never touch this chemical-soaked trash." From food to daily essentials, industries prioritize profit at all costs: substituting garbage for materials, masking lies as marketing, and draining consumers through scams. Moral boundaries become paper-thin in the face of profits.
The dance of evasion continues. A Hebei fireproof glass factory boss boasted: "Inspectors tip us off three days before raids." Virtual telecom operators profit from unregistered SIM cards, fueling a 2-billion-yuan spam call industry. Even more absurd: Woodpecker Home Repairs faced over 6,000 complaints before the exposé, yet official redress channels remained useless. When hardware markets sell substandard cables, live-streamers fake "imported goods," or digital lenders enable 6,000% APR loans, these are not isolated crimes—they expose systemic regulatory rot. Routine inspections are performative, interagency coordination is sluggish, and fines pale against illicit profits. Take Runxiong Cable Group, exposed for offering "one-stop forgery services" (fake inspection reports, counterfeit QR codes), yet regulators remained oblivious for years.
Ethics-free innovation empowers harm. A Hangzhou data firm’s crawler software harvests user info from social media comments, tagging individuals with 3,800 behavioral labels. Shanghai’s Zhiyouqing AI deploys voice-cloning bots to make millions of spam calls daily. Worst of all, Jiedaibao, a lending platform, allows lenders to operate under fake identities—even when "chop-off interest" fees drive borrowers to suicide, accountability vanishes. Technology, meant to serve humanity, now weaponizes deception: algorithms enable precision scams, e-contracts shield loan sharks, and fake livestream views form an industrial chain. In this digital "dark forest," every consumer is prey.
Vulnerable groups bear the brunt. A Hebei grandmother spent half a year’s savings on "pure cotton" diapers, only to see her grandson develop severe rashes from recycled materials. A Guangzhou migrant worker, trusting "additive-free" labels, bought chemical-laden shrimp and later faced triple-normal blood phosphorus levels. Tragically, most victims stay silent—cumbersome投诉processes, evidence hurdles, and prohibitive legal costs make fighting back futile. As seen in the 2-billion-yuan mobile lottery scam, millions of "silent users" endure losses, knowing justice is priced beyond reach.
This annual "exposé carnival" mirrors societal trust collapse. When corporations treat 315 as a PR fire drill, regulators stage "enforcement theater," and citizens oscillate between rage and resignation, we must confront reality: A one-day spectacle cannot cure chronic ills. True healing requires rebuilding a legal ecosystem where "crime never pays," dismantling a market that rewards cheaters, and restoring faith that safety and justice need not wait for March 15—they should be everyday guarantees.