37-year-old Wang Zhuang had nearly given up hope of finding a wife until he saw the professionally produced marriage advertisement videos. The ads promised he wouldn’t have to waste years on a relationship with no future and assured him they could introduce a gentle, loyal woman. "The matchmaker said girls from Guizhou are frugal," Wang said. "They told me these women are good at managing households, do housework well, and come from very poor families—so once married to you, they’ll settle down and live with you for life."
So Wang traveled to Guiyang, the capital of Guizhou province in southwest China, hoping to find his soulmate. When the matchmaking agency introduced a woman who seemed to meet all his criteria, he believed he had finally found her. They met only a few times before marriage.
Yet almost as soon as the new life began, it ended abruptly. "My entire family has been thrown into chaos," he said, shaking his head. More than a year ago, he discovered everything his wife told him was a lie. To this day, he’s still cleaning up the aftermath.
It turned out she had been a karaoke hostess, married three times, had three children, suffered from a serious sexually transmitted disease, and was deeply in debt. She had even falsified her age. Wang is now seeking divorce and cannot return to his former life—at least not until he recovers some of his life savings. He says the matchmaking agency charged him the fee within hours of introducing several potential candidates.
"My parents blame me. I suffer from insomnia, anxiety, and can’t focus at work," he said.
Wang’s story is an extreme microcosm of a long-simmering demographic crisis in China. For decades, the Chinese Communist Party enforced a one-child policy. Although authorities changed course in January 2016, by then, the 'one-child policy' combined with a cultural preference for sons had already reduced the female population and created a significant gender imbalance.
Today, China has 30 million more men than women. That number exceeds the total male population of the United Kingdom and is larger than Australia’s entire population. This leaves men like Wang, approaching 40 and living in small cities or remote rural areas, with extremely limited options for finding partners. In these areas, women know they are in high demand and thus have more choice.
"In my city, the requirements for men are extremely high. You need a car, a house, and ideally, your family runs a business," he said. Many families also demand high 'bride prices'—a long-standing Chinese custom where the groom’s family pays money to the bride’s family. In areas where men vastly outnumber women, this bride price has become a heavy financial burden.
As a result, 'one-stop' quick-fix solutions offered by matchmaking agencies in places like Guizhou—so-called 'flash marriages'—are attractive to many. Matchmaking services aren’t new in China, but many agencies appear to be targeting vulnerable men who grow older and find it increasingly difficult to find partners.
This situation has become so widespread that China’s official media recently reported the matchmaking industry is experiencing 'rapid growth' while also 'breeding illegal activities and chaos.' It’s difficult to determine the actual scale of such scams across China, but the problem has grown serious enough to attract official attention. Between January 2024 and March 2025, prosecutors handled 1,546 cases related to matchmaking industry crimes, with that many individuals held accountable.
This month, due to 'widespread social concern,' five government departments jointly launched a nationwide special rectification campaign targeting the matchmaking industry. In one case, a matchmaking agency reportedly used karaoke hostesses as bait to defraud 128 victims of over 2.5 million yuan (US$371,000; NT$11.96 million).
"I think the government should introduce specialized regulatory measures targeting 'flash marriage' scams," Fan Binghe from Beijing JingShi (Nanjing) Law Firm told BBC.
While Guiyang has almost become synonymous with this booming 'flash marriage' market, there’s little evidence the city itself is a romantic hub. The offices of these matchmaking companies are located in a cluster of buildings above a shopping district. Below, vendors sell local fruit, and workers queue to buy takeaway sour soup rice noodles.
Yet at the time, Wang firmly believed these agencies were trustworthy. The company told him they would conduct comprehensive background checks on potential matches and that he would be entitled to compensation if he became a victim of fraud. So he paid the fee, and the matchmaking process began.
Under the supervision of agency staff, Wang met seven women in different 'matchmaking rooms' over a few days. He asked each where they were from, whether they had been married, and if they had children.
It was only when he met the eighth woman that he felt a connection. He had hoped to find someone unmarried, childless, and slightly younger than himself. "She dressed very simply," he recalled. "She seemed introverted and honest."
They met four or five times in total, each meeting lasting only eight to ten minutes. Wang says the agency explicitly forbade the two from exchanging phone numbers or sharing any contact information privately, threatening fines for violations.
After two or three days of consideration, he decided she was the one and agreed to pay a substantial bride price. "I spent over 300,000 yuan," he said, holding a stack of legal documents he’s reviewed countless times. "If you include the wedding banquet and other expenses, I spent about 400,000 to 500,000 yuan in total."
The entire process was filmed and photographed by the agency, producing a series of polished images later used to promote their matchmaking services on Chinese social media. In one video, the newlyweds walk hand-in-hand down a red carpet, smiling under romantic music.
Just months after the wedding, debt collection agencies began calling Wang, claiming his wife owed money. Wang grew suspicious and wondered what else she might be hiding. He checked his wife’s phone and found evidence of her past life, including birth certificates and documents from previous marriages.
When he confronted her, she proposed divorce but refused to return a single cent of the bride price. Wang says he tried to find the matchmaking agency that arranged the marriage, but when he returned to their office, it had already vanished.
Now living in a rented apartment in Guiyang, Wang spends much of his time making social media videos to warn other men about the risks of such marriages. His apartment is located directly across from the main area where matchmaking agencies cluster.
In Guiyang, matchmaking agencies willing to be interviewed are hard to find. One agency head agreed to be interviewed by BBC at their office, although his partner later asked the reporter to leave.
The office was carpeted in red, scattered with artificial flower petals in preparation for a proposal ceremony. The head said a couple had just committed to marriage hours before the reporter arrived. "China’s flash marriage market is very large and has truly emerged only in the past two or three years," he told BBC.
These agencies claim many local families didn’t strictly follow the one-child policy, so the female population is relatively higher. "Even if a family already has two or three daughters, they keep having children hoping for a son," one operator told BBC.
They say they’re now trying to introduce these women to men from central Chinese provinces—like Wang from Hebei—who are relatively better off economically but have fewer women around. "Clients can freely choose who they like. The purpose of our business is to help people find a partner they truly want to spend their lives with."
One ad even assures potential clients: "If the match is right, three days is better than three years of dating."
Now, Wang spends most of his time helping other victims of similar scams. His rented apartment often gathers men—some searching for the agency heads who deceived them, others trying to recover losses from wives who left home just weeks after marriage.
On a fold-out bed by the window, Xu Rulin, a 59-year-old man from Jiangxi province, pulled out carefully organized evidence from a red plastic shopping bag. To find a wife for his son, he spent nearly 500,000 yuan through a 'flash marriage' matchmaking agency. Father and son traveled over 1,000 kilometers from home to Guiyang. His son married the woman just seven days after first meeting her in the 'matchmaking room.'
Xu said after marriage registration, the woman demanded they buy her an iPhone and transfer about 20,000 yuan, claiming it was for her business. She also asked for 120,000 yuan for a wedding dress and jewelry. "All I hoped for was that she would sincerely settle down and live a good life with us," he told BBC. "She said she wanted a house, and I agreed to buy one for them. Everything had been agreed upon."
However, Xu said the woman left home after living with them for less than two weeks. She was later detained by police, and the couple eventually...
FACT BOX
- Source: PR Times
- Category: News