Locals weigh in on the Chinese internet’s heated debate over the “zhǎnshā xiàn”

A blizzard turned New York’s forest of steel and concrete into a white, glittering natural snowfield. For some people, the storm paused work, and Zhang Kongsong, a Chinese man living in New York, was one of them. As a professional massage therapist, he was forced to take a few days off. Still, he chose to go out and drive for a ride-hailing app as a side gig to help cover household expenses. But it was not a passive move driven by the so-called “zhǎnshā xiàn.” He says it was his own choice, and he genuinely enjoyed the work.

“Zhan-sha xian,” or "kill line," originally came from gaming slang. In November of last year, it was first used by a Bilibili user called “斯奎奇大王,” then amplified by many Chinese state media outlets. The term has since been extended to describe a supposed “threshold” in American society: the idea that once ordinary people face an economic shock (job loss, serious illness, debt, and so on), they can fall into an irreversible downward spiral.

“Using ‘zhǎnshā xiàn’ to describe America is pure nonsense. It’s guided by public opinion, and honestly I think it fits China better,” Zhang said. “People in my home village live in real misery. There’s no free health care. From what I’ve seen around me, if someone gets sick, they just wait to die.”

Zhang grew up in a rural part of Yunnan, China. Before turning 40, he worked and started businesses in his hometown. After his sister was trafficked as a child and he found no help even after reporting it, he lost faith in China’s legal system and law enforcement. He made some anti-government remarks, and local officials repeatedly summoned him for “he cha” (literally “to drink tea,” a euphemism for police giving dissenters a warning). Eventually he moved from place to place and came to the United States to seek opportunity. Later, some of his comments in the U.S. led to his WeChat account being shut down, and his family back in China was also affected. Police visited their home multiple times.

As the term spread online, “zhǎnshā xiàn” quickly became a recurring metaphor in Chinese media messaging. In an opinion column titled “Why China’s Propaganda Machine Is Hyping America’s ‘Zhǎnshā Xiàn,’” New York Times columnist Yuan Li wrote that this kind of framing criticizes the U.S. as capital-centered while emphasizing the superiority of “socialism with Chinese characteristics.”

But Yuan Li’s argument was not just theoretical. It was also grounded in real observations from Chinese working people living in the United States.

For Zhang, who has lived in both countries, what he has experienced and witnessed is the opposite of what Chinese media portray as “zhǎnshā xiàn.” He sees homelessness on the streets, but he also sees people able to pick up free meals during the day at food distribution sites, supported by local government-backed public programs like food banks. At night, there are shelters where people can sleep.

“People I know really are at the bottom of the working class, but they have pensions, they have food stamps, they have housing subsidies, and they can still save a thousand dollars a month,” Zhang said. “They also give me free food all the time.”

Nancy Chen, who immigrated from China years ago and now lives on Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn, and who also works with Zhang, said that using “zhǎnshā xiàn” to describe Chinese life here is simply absurd.

“People around us who immigrated earlier came with money,” Chen said. “How could they end up on the street? It’s ridiculous.”

In the United States, “zhǎnshā xiàn” is sometimes linked by Chinese-language discussions to the ALICE (Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed) line, referring to people who are employed but have limited assets and strained incomes. The “ALICE threshold” can be understood as the minimum income an individual or family needs to cover basic costs such as food, housing, child care, transportation, and health care.

According to a 2025 ALICE report in the United States, 55% of American Indian/Alaska Native households, 49% of Native Hawaiian/Pacific Islander households, and 48% of households headed by people of two or more races lived below the poverty line. Asian households had the lowest rate of economic hardship (35%).

“I work four days a week, and my average pay is about $230 a day, which is more than enough to support myself,” Zhang said. “But the main thing is I still have to support my wife and three kids back in China. My wife also does odd jobs at restaurants, but she’s always being exploited. Her pay doesn’t go up, but the work keeps increasing.”

Zhang’s situation does not mean life in the United States is pressure-free. The same 2025 ALICE report gives an example from Queens, New York: for a family of four (two adults, an infant, and a preschooler), the annual basic cost of living is $139,125, including housing, food, transportation, child care, health insurance, and taxes.

A middle-aged woman who runs a small tofu cart on Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn works 12-hour days, setting up at 11 a.m. and closing at 11 p.m.

“During the recent blizzard in New York, I couldn’t go out to sell,” said the vendor, who did not want to be named. “The food cart rental is $100 a day for a monthly lease. If I don’t go out, it’s a loss every day.”

Unlike the vendor’s worries about costs, Zhang’s biggest worry right now is whether he will be able to obtain a green card through political asylum and stay in the United States. With U.S. immigration policy tightening, he feels he may neither be able to remain nor be able to return.

The snow on New York’s streets is gradually melting, and the roads are becoming clear again. But for Zhang, his immigration journey is only just beginning. As someone who loves running, he says he will keep running toward his future.

“The happiest thing for a person is to live in a normal country, where any problem can be solved through legal means,” Zhang said.