Xu Peng (许鹏)

Xu Peng became a public figure not through a blockbuster role, but through a story that captured the anxiety of an entire industry — the moment AI began replacing human actors. A Central Academy of Drama graduate who spent eight years playing supporting roles in productions like The Legend of Anle and A Journey to Love, he finally landed his first leading roles in 2025 when he pivoted to the booming short‑drama sector. Then, within a single month in early 2026, AI-generated short dramas — which cost less than a tenth of live‑action productions and could be completed in days — flooded the market. With over 95% of the 128,000 micro‑dramas released that quarter being AI‑generated, Xu Peng went from a packed shooting schedule to no work at all. His decision to return to his rural hometown and sell vegetables from his grandfather‘s farm became a viral sensation — not as a celebrity scandal, but as a stark, human symbol of technological disruption in the creative industries.

Breakthrough Role

Xu Peng’s career breakthrough arrived not in a single star‑making performance, but in a sudden career pivot. After years of playing minor characters in major productions — the young Ren Rusong in Who Rules the World (2022), the prince‘s attendant in A Journey to Love (2023), and a supporting role in The Legend of Anle (2023) — he finally secured a string of male‑lead roles in 2025 after fans urged him to enter the short‑drama market. His solid acting foundation and striking looks quickly earned him multiple leading parts, and for a brief moment, he believed this was the path forward. Yet his true “breakthrough” into public consciousness came not from any single drama, but from the jarring contrast between that brief moment of success and the AI revolution that ended it — a story that turned him, paradoxically, into one of the most talked‑about actors of 2026.

Public Perception

Today, Xu Peng occupies a unique space in the Chinese entertainment industry — he is no longer just an actor, but a symbol. The public views him with a mixture of sympathy, respect, and quiet unease. His Central Academy of Drama pedigree, his eight years of steady but unremarkable work, his brief moment as a leading man, and his sudden replacement by algorithms — his story reflects the precarious existence of thousands of working actors. Yet what has earned him genuine goodwill is his response: rather than clinging to faded glory, he returned home, loaded his grandfather‘s vegetables onto an electric tricycle, and began selling them at the village market. “Acting is just a profession,” he said. “If there are no roles, find another way to make a living. With my own two hands, I can earn an honest wage — there’s no hurdle I can‘t get over.” That quiet dignity, captured in videos of a tall, handsome young man in a sun mask hawking spring onions under the open sky, has made him one of the most unexpectedly beloved figures in recent memory — not for his acting, but for his humanity.