Striking out boldly, the hearing-impaired emerge from their silent worlds
On a livestreaming site, Leona Fu chats about her life with more than 120,000 online followers, reminding them that the handicapped have capabilities beyond what most people think.
She knows something about that. Fu has been hearing-impaired from near birth.
On a recent cold afternoon, she sits under the sunshade of a cafe in Shanghai’s Xintiandi, talking into her cellphone. Although her diction sounds a bit like a beginner learning Mandarin, she speaks confidently with no hesitation.
On the livestreaming platform Douyu, she holds her own among users. But that online persona has involved a lot of effort off-screen.
“I want to be an actress,” she tells Shanghai Daily. “I was invited to join the filming of a short video after the Chinese Lunar New Year, and I think it will be a good opportunity for me.”
Born in the 1990s, she describes herself as “forever 18,” always full of vigor in front of the camera.
Fu lost her hearing after suffering a fever when she was 1 year old. Her mother refused to admit that her daughter was different from other children and enrolled her in an ordinary kindergarten.
However, when her young classmates were telling stories about their lives, all Fu could respond with was “ah.”
“It made me feel like I was living in a silent world, and the only thing I could do was to keep laughing in a stupid way,” she says.
Although she had learned sign language, she was finally enrolled in a special education school to help her speak.
“I had to put one hand on my throat and the other on my teacher’s to feel how speaking works,” says Fu. “A normal child learns pinyin — the official romanization for Mandarin — very quickly, but for me, it was like threading a needle. Even if I practiced constantly every day, I couldn’t pronounce words correctly. I felt like I was a robot.”
Gradually, Fu mastered simple sentences like, “Sorry, I can’t understand you” and “I beg your pardon.”
But whenever she was seized by anxiety, she reverted to sign language. Her mother discouraged that and kept prodding her to practice speaking. By age 16, those efforts were paying off.
Fu describes her teenage years as “empty.”
“I was isolated and always doing things alone,” she explains. “I was afraid of chatting
with others and often closeted myself in a room, watching television or movies. The actors and actresses I saw appealed to me because they talk and express themselves.”
She adds, “I realized that without learning how to speak well, I could never achieve my dream of becoming a performer.”
She signed up for acting classes in 2015 and had the chance to perform in several plays. She also won a prize in the China leg of an international beauty pageant for the deaf.
In 2017, Fu was attracted to the burgeoning trend of livestreaming. A month after she started appearing on Douyu, she attracted nearly 10,000 followers.
Her livestreaming features jokes, songs and sometimes tongue twisters. She shows viewers some sign language and performs what she calls a “sign language dance.”
Not all viewers are sympathetic. Some have questioned the authenticity of her hearing problem and even suggested that she
is a man in women’s clothing.
“At that time, I didn’t know how to face these danmu, or ‘short, live comments,’ and give proper responses,” she says of the hurtful posts. “So, I suspended my livestreaming in 2018 and 2019 because I wanted more time to learn and practice, and improve my ability and psychological well-being. When I resumed livestreaming in January last year, I felt that I did much better.”
Nowadays, Fu spends about eight hours a day livestreaming across a multitude of topics.
“Many viewers have become my friends,” she says. “We sometimes go to karaoke bars — places I seldom visited when I was younger — and sing together. Now I am really happy.”
Some of her loyal followers are hearing-impaired themselves or have family members who are. Fu encourages them to speak.
“I have participated in charity events where I tell my story to the hearing-impaired,” she says. “I encourage them to never feel self-conscious or reluctant to communicate with others. They need to know that if they are happy and optimistic, people will accept them.”
Fu adds, “I feel that I have a mission to be a bridge between the world of sound and the world of silence. I hope to help both worlds understand each other.”
China has more than 20 million hearing-impaired people. They are usually ignored in the popular online trend of “shoppertainment,” whereby celebrities hawk merchandise via livestream platforms.
Hangzhou, the capital of Zhejiang Province, is the first city in China to introduce “silent livestreamers.”
Deaf-mute livestreamer Ziwei, 25, uses sign language to promote merchandise online. She uses her platform to explain goods to the hearing-impaired, as well as vital information on how to exchange and return purchases.
A native of Xi’an in Shaanxi Province, she began her specialized livestreaming broadcasts in June 2019. She is also involved in a charity e-commerce program for the disabled.
Her online streaming is widely lauded by her target audience. Deaf-mute Zhang Zengfeng is one among them who has bought snacks sold on Ziwei’s livestreaming.
“Since I couldn’t hear what livestreamers said, I never watched livestreaming,” said Zhang. “But then Ziwei came along. Her presence opens a new world for us.”
I feel that I have a mission to be a bridge between the world of sound and the world of silence.
Leona Fu
One of the hit performers during the recent China Central Television Spring Festival Gala wasn’t a real person at all. Luo Tianyi, a “vocaloid,” is a virtual pop star popular with Chinese youth. She was created by digital technology.
Luo, dressed in a modernized version of traditional Chinese clothing and wearing her gray hair in a traditional style, too, did in a song-and-dance segment for children during the gala, which is watched by millions every Lunar New Year’s Eve.
The latest in augmented reality technology allowed Luo, designed as a 15-year-old, to dance in the air like a butterfly as she sang during a five-minute performance. In a video clip of the performance on video-sharing site Bilibili, viewers left comments remarking how human her voice sounded.
Luo was created in 2012 by Tokyobased Bplats Inc, an application service provider under Yamaha Corp, in collaboration with Shanghai Henian Information Technology Co. She has now been transferred to Shanghai Henian under the brand Vsinger.
Chinese voice actress Shan Xin provided the voice for Luo, and the vocals were synthesized using Yamaha’s Vocaloid software, which allows netizens to pay for access to Luo’s voice database and compose songs.
It’s not the first time that Luo has appeared on television. The night before Chinese Lunar New Year’s Eve in 2016, she sang a duet with real-life singer Yang Yuying on Hunan Satellite TV. That debut made her the first virtual idol to appear on a major Chinese television channel.
She appeared in two other programs on Hunan Satellite TV and presented the New Year’s Eve countdown on Jiangsu Satellite TV at the end of 2017. She also sang with Peking Opera master Wang Peiyu on China Central Television in 2018.
Apart from entertainment, Luo peddles products. She has served as the brand ambassador for food chains Pizza Hut and KFC, for Chinese makeup manufacturer Pechoin, for sanitary pad supplier Whisper, for razor maker Gillette and for laundry detergent giant Tide.
That’s one benefit of a robotic creation — Luo never tires out from a hectic schedule.
Virtual idols are becoming more common in China. Through technologies like artificial intelligence, motion capture and modeling, these digital avatars and human voices can be tailored to meet idealized public perceptions.
Ling Yuan yousa is a virtual idol on Bilibili, with more than 2.8 million followers. A song she sang with several other singers in celebration of the Chinese Luna New Year was viewed nearly 4 million times on Bilibili.
But unlike Luo, Ling has a real-life female singer behind her, who also composes the songs and writes the lyrics. That singer, who doesn’t show up on camera, made herself into a virtual idol and was the first member of Bilibili’s VirtuaReal Project.
Ling, too, has appeared in big events on Bilibili and in the live concert Bilibili Macro Link, which was presented on the stage of Dragon TV’s New Year countdown this year. She also promoted product brands, chatted with Taiwanbased TV host Kevin Tsai and was interviewed by fashion magazine Rayli.
Domestic platforms seem only too willing to provide opportunities for these promising idols.
Last month, Bilibili held the online virtual-idols concert Vox Ultima with Shanghai Media Group. The concert
designed various backdrops for each singer, including a snowfield, the deep sea, a forest and a cyberpunk city.
During the concert, domestic singer Huo Zun, who specializes in traditional Chinese-style songs, used his virtual avatar Jiuwei neko to give the performance.
In Bilibili Macro Link-Virtual Release 2020, which took place in December in Shanghai, there were 16 Chinese and 14 Japanese virtual entertainers, including Japanese virtual YouTuber Kizuna Ai and domestic virtual uploader Hiseki Erio.
Last October, a talent show called Dimension Nova was released on streaming platform iQiyi. There, virtual entertainers created by different companies “competed” with one another.
The show did have some flops caused by technical problems. For instance, virtual entertainer Meiyu dropped his head when doing a somersault, and he kept curling up during another performance.
But the show highlighted the emergence of virtual performers on the entertainment scene. Their popularity reflects the public’s desire for the “perfect” idol or partner. These avatars can chat with you, and sing and dance for you. Some worry that obsessions could make worshipers shy away from human relationships.
Where is this all leading?
A netizen called “FHT060” said people can love virtual idols, enjoy their works and feel the power they bring to you. People can also support an idol and try to make its songs more widely disseminated, throwing in their own musical creations.”
“With the expansion of the market for anime, comics and game lovers, the expectations of fans are getting higher,” a netizen said. “The emergence of virtual idols shortens the distance between fans and idols. Moreover, the nature of the virtual idols means they won’t do things that frustrate people’s expectations.”
The netizen cited scandals surrounding some well-known real-life entertainment idols — scandals that scarred their popularity.
Yumi Fang, a local white-collar worker and a longtime Bilibili viewer, told Shanghai Daily that she feels virtual idols like Luo Tianyi give the public new space for creation.
“The presence of Luo allows some who aren’t good at singing to write songs or lyrics that may become popular with other people,” Fang said.
Bismark Li, a media professional in Guangzhou, said entertainers who used avatars as performance fronts may want listeners to focus on songs and lyrics, not looks. However popular some avatars become, he said, they won’t supplant living performers.