From "The Tang Dynasty Never Existed" to Demanding Demolition of Cultural Relics — How Pseudo-History Erodes Public Reason

In July 2026, Shaanxi's cultural and tourism authorities received a barrage of phone calls over multiple days from individuals identifying themselves as "pseudo-history theorists" (pseudo-shi lun zhe). Their demand was straightforward: demolish all Tang Dynasty cultural relics and heritage sites in the province. Their reasoning: the Tang Dynasty never existed.

This was not an internet joke. This was a real administrative harassment campaign taking place in the summer of 2026. And the people making those calls were not joking. According to a report by Nanjing Daily, parents have already reported that their children, after encountering similar claims on Xiaohongshu (Little Red Book) and Douyin (TikTok's Chinese counterpart), developed "serious historical cognitive confusion."

A dynasty documented in the Old Book of Tang, the New Book of Tang, and the Zizhi Tongjian (Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government) — supported by an abundance of archaeological evidence including the Daming Palace遗址, Qianling Mausoleum, and Dunhuang manuscripts, and cross-verified by external historical sources from Arabia, Persia, Japan, and Silla — has become, on short-video platforms, a fictional story that anyone can casually claim "never existed."

Pseudo-History in the Short-Video Era: From "Independent Thinking" to Unfalsifiable Closed Narratives

The narrative framework of pseudo-history theorists follows a clearly identifiable operational procedure.

First, toss out a sufficiently shocking claim — "the Tang Dynasty never existed." Then cherry-pick isolated pieces of information from the vast historical record that appear to support the conclusion, while dismissing all counter-evidence as "the academic establishment is covering up the truth for ulterior motives." The result is a closed narrative that cannot be falsified — any rebuttal becomes "part of the system."

Behind this lies a widespread current of thought: do not blindly follow authority; think for yourself. This starting point is not wrong in itself. But in the environment of algorithmic platforms, it has been pushed to an extreme: the official version must be wrong; experts must be lying.

Shen Yi (沈逸), in his July 28 analysis, put it more sharply: "Everyone else is drunk and I alone am sober" — the cheap intellectual superiority that this mindset offers is precisely the emotional fuel for this trend. When an ordinary netizen scrolls through a short-video platform and encounters "the Tang Dynasty was fabricated," they receive not just a sensational piece of information, but an identity badge: "I have discovered a truth that others don't know."

And short-video platform algorithms are naturally biased toward extreme content. A historian spending an hour explaining the Tang Dynasty's tax system may not generate as many views as a single sentence claiming "the Tang Dynasty was forged." This is not a matter of individual preference — it is a structural feature of the recommendation system that rewards contrast, controversy, and emotion. Accuracy and rigor are not its metrics.

Performative Patriotism: The Protective Coloring of Anti-Intellectual Discourse

The more insidious problem is that pseudo-historical discourse has gained identity-politics protection within the Chinese-language internet.

Baorong Wanwu Henghe Shui (包容万物恒河水, a popular Weibo commentator) points out that this rhetoric wears the cloak of patriotism — claiming to be "giving Westerners a hard time" or "countering Western narratives," while in practice polluting its own information ecosystem. Shen Yi's補充 is even more cutting: "Patriotism is a basic quality of being Chinese. Out of 1.4 billion people, who except traitors is not patriotic? Labeling yourself patriotic does not mean every opinion you hold is correct."

There is now an atmosphere online: as long as someone declares themselves patriotic, other netizens become extremely forgiving, defending their words and deeds regardless of merit. The same applies in reverse — declaring oneself "not patriotic" attracts a different group seeking solidarity. This ultimately is a matter of "choosing sides over brains" — dividing society vertically by identity labels rather than judging by facts and logic.

The purveyors of pseudo-history, with their fragmented Chinese expression and arguments assembled from the rubble of information debris, are essentially repeating variants of Fomenko's New Chronology. They are not seen engaging Western audiences in debate abroad; they only generate information smog within Chinese-language social media. If one truly wants to counter Western narratives, the place to do it is on Western platforms, not by lowering the level of discourse in one's own public square.

From Online to Offline: The Wake-Up Call of Harassment Calls

The phone calls received by Shaanxi cultural authorities mark the first time this line of fire has spread from the screen into the real world. Pseudo-history theorists used to confine their activities to comment sections and bullet-chat zones. Now they are calling government offices demanding the demolition of cultural relics.

Guancha.cn's (Observers') analysis touches on a critical point: when such claims enter short-video platforms, they are not reaching professionally trained researchers or mature adults with life experience — they reach minors whose capacity for discernment is still developing. The "serious historical cognitive confusion" reported by Nanjing Daily is not a future risk; it is a reality already taking place.

The Cognitive Warfare Risk Behind Pseudo-History

Shen Yi's analytical framework for pseudo-historical claims deserves serious attention. He points out that the underlying logic of these claims is not, in essence, "deconstructing the West" — but rather another variant of "Western-centrism": reserving the patent on "greatness" for white people while denying the value of Near Eastern and Eastern ancient civilizations. This narrative was originally used to rationalize colonizers' civilizational dispossession of indigenous peoples; now it is being wielded by some as a charge of "patriotism."

More alarmingly, the same logic is also being turned against Chinese history. Pseudo-history theorists deny the existence of the Tang Dynasty, relocate the Song Dynasty's borders outward, and dismiss China's official historical records as "forged." This is no longer historical discussion — it is unfalsifiable conspiracy theory. Any counter-evidence (archaeology, documentary records, foreign historical sources) can be dismissed with a single phrase: "it's been tampered with."

This kind of discourse pollution does not affect just a single platform — it drags down the rational water level of the entire Chinese-language public sphere: turning serious historical sources into "conspiracies," branding any disagreement as "factional cheerleading." The only winner in the end is anti-intellectualism itself.

The Cost of Reason and the Burden of Responsibility

The Tang Dynasty does not need defending. It stands at the pinnacle of world history on its own merits. What truly needs defending is the public reason that respects facts and evidence.

The phone harassment of Shaanxi cultural authorities is a turning-point signal. When an unfalsifiable narrative combines with algorithmically incentivized traffic mechanisms, the result is no longer merely an "online war of words." It is eroding the cognitive foundation of society — if you can "prove" that the Tang Dynasty never existed, what else can you prove doesn't exist?

This is not an internal academic dispute within the field of history. It is an intersectional issue of internet information governance, platform responsibility, and citizen media literacy. And it all may have started with someone scrolling through a short-video feed and encountering something that made them feel "stunned."