Lately I’ve been thinking about how remix culture in China has evolved—especially when it comes to short videos.
I remember back when longer videos were more common (YouTube-style vlog culture or multi-part parody videos on platforms like Bilibili). Back then, one of the most distinct genres in Chinese internet culture was 鬼畜 (guǐ chù). It’s a hard term to translate, but it’s kind of like an intense remix video genre that cuts and repeats a person’s speech or movements until they’re rhythmically musical, often turning serious or mundane footage into something ridiculous and catchy. Think of it as a chaotic cross between autotune remix culture and meme edits, but with a very specific Chinese flavor—fast cuts, glitchy visual effects, looping phrases, and a certain absurdity that feels both lovingly mocking and totally over-the-top.
But now, with short-form video platforms like Douyin (aka TikTok in China) taking over, that longer, more detailed editing style is kind of fading. Instead, there’s a whole new wave of “remix” happening—one that’s faster, simpler, and optimized for virality.
One of the biggest reasons for this shift is 剪映 (Jiǎn yìng), a free mobile video editing app developed by Bytedance (the same company behind TikTok/Douyin). It’s so easy to use that almost anyone can create a half-decent short video, even with no editing experience. And what’s really interesting is that it comes with a huge built-in library of sound effects and background music—completely free, totally ready-to-use.
This has made editing super accessible—but it’s also made a lot of videos sound… the same.
There’s this one sound effect, for example, known as “叮咚鸡 (dīng dōng jī)”, which is one of the most typical track of the remix phenomenon that every element people laughed at was stitched in the song. (【叮咚鸡完整版】 https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1b76zYKEdW/?share_source=copy_web&vd_source=64cf0bbbe19e5dbc407cface6e4090a9) It’s often used in videos to signify something going “viral” or “successful” or “profitable” in a kind of exaggerated, silly way. It’s everywhere now. Like, everywhere.
Then there’s the explosion of something people are calling “来财 remix (lái cái remix)”. “来财” literally means “incoming wealth,” and the remix is based on a sped-up and glitched version of a song that repeats that phrase over and over. It’s loud, intense, and often layered with all kinds of other random sound bites—sometimes people’s voices, sometimes cartoon effects, sometimes just weird noise. These remixes are often made by users with minimal tools, stacking loops on top of each other until it feels like an over-saturated mess of energy. It’s chaotic but kind of addictive.
People jokingly call these “拼好歌 (pīn hǎo gē)”, which translates roughly to “stitched-together songs” or “assembly-ready songs.” They’re not polished or professionally mixed, but that’s part of the charm. They sound like someone just mashed a bunch of viral clips together in the most absurd way possible. And they often go viral themselves.
What’s fascinating is that people both make fun of these trends and totally participate in them. In comment sections you’ll see things like: “This is brainwashing,”The line between critique and enjoyment completely blurs.
So while ghostly, elaborate “鬼畜” edits might be fading a bit, they’ve left behind this DNA of repetition, absurdity, and remix logic that’s now thriving in a new, shorter form. The tools are different, the attention spans are shorter, and the sound libraries are more standardized—but the instinct to remix, to play with sound and meaning, to turn speech into music and jokes into rhythms, is still very much alive.