Banking on company: China’s youth-driven ‘companionship economy’ gains steam, but risks also emerge

SINGAPORE: “Any ‘pei liao’ services out there? I’m willing to fork out any amount of money,” goes a post on the Chinese social media platform Xiaohongshu.
“I really need someone to talk to, a mental pillar of support. To think I’m so starved of love that I have to resort to ‘pei liao’,” the user laments.
“Pei liao”, a colloquial term in Chinese meaning “accompany (you to) talk”, is one of many activities that come under the youth-driven “companionship economy” or “peiban jingji” in China.
As the name suggests, the companionship economy involves people forking out money for personal company – be it to talk, game, shop, or even go mountain climbing or bungee jumping, to name some.
The industry has been on the rise as more people in the world’s second-largest economy choose to stay single or put off marriage due to reasons like changing mindsets, limited career prospects amid a hyper-competitive job market and a stuttering economy.
Local media reports have acknowledged the merits of the companionship economy, pointing out how it can provide flexible employment opportunities while fulfilling people’s needs. At the same time, concerns over safety and the need for regulations have also been raised.
Analysts say the growing companionship economy in China reflects an overall shift in consumption behaviours, with a growing emphasis on psychological well-being.
“Beyond material goods, people are increasingly seeking experiential consumption that enhances their quality of life,” Dr Zhao Litao, senior research fellow at the National University of Singapore’s East Asian Institute (EAI), told CNA.
CNA also spoke to several youths in China who offer or take up companionship services to understand their motivations, what the experience has been like and the concerns that have surfaced.
Mr Sun Zeliang, 27, began offering virtual “pei liao” services during the COVID-19 pandemic as a way to earn pocket money.
“I found out about it on Douyin and I figured there was nothing for me to do at home, so I wanted to earn some extra cash,” said Mr Sun, who works in clothing management and resides in Huzhou city, Zhejiang. Douyin is the sister app of short-video platform TikTok in China.
He would often take requests from women, though there were occasional enquiries from men. Mr Sun would charge 180 yuan (US$33) an hour and was also required to have his camera switched on. 
Mr Sun told CNA he would try his best to fulfil customers’ requests. For example, some girls wanted to hear sweet nothings, while others sought him out as an outlet to vent their frustrations.
However, he drew the line at requests that required him to take off his clothes or “show off his abs”. 
“I won’t fulfil requests that I don’t want to do. Also, I don’t have pecs to show,” he joked. 
Another who provides companionship services of another sort is Ms Lin Shuo (not her real name). She told CNA that she takes on “cosplay commissions”, known colloquially as “cos weituo”, where she dresses up as male characters from popular Chinese mobile games. 
The 27-year-old’s venture into “cosplay commission” started in 2023 after she became a fan of Shen Xinghui, also known as Xavier, from the popular Chinese mobile game Love and Deepspace. 
“I cosplayed as Shen Xinghui at a cosplay convention … and later some fans contacted me to request cosplay commissions,” she said. 
While she doesn’t track how many requests she receives, Ms Lin said she knows of people with online followings of 10,000 or so who accept around 30 to 40 commissions a month.
Based in Hangzhou, Ms Lin’s clientele has been exclusively female so far. She adds her customers on WeChat and gets to know them better a week before their “date” –  understanding their likes and dislikes, and the type of relationship to portray.
As part of the commission, Ms Lin takes on the persona of the character she’s cosplaying during the chats. 
On the actual day of the meetup, Ms Lin typically prepares little gifts or surprises for the client as she likes the feeling of preparing “surprises” for her dates during her cosplay commissions. 
“There’s that sense of gratification when you say something really witty, or the girl is really touched by a small gesture you make, your heart just goes ‘wah’!”
University student Fu Fu (not her real name), who studies in Shaanxi province, pays for “pei wan”, or online gaming companions.
This ensures she plays with a group of people for the popular Chinese multiplayer game Honor of Kings. Group sizes typically range from 10 to 20 players but can also go up to 100. Ms Fu usually spends about 20 yuan for one round.
“The more people there are, the more fun it is,” she said. “Also, there’s less pressure in gaming techniques in a group, which makes the gaming experience better.” 
Analysts say the transient nature of the companionship economy holds a certain appeal.
Referring to services that provide a conversation or “play” buddy, Dr Lim Tai Wei, an EAI adjunct senior research fellow, said there is instant gratification in the interactions with little strings attached.
For some, the sense of mystery and uncertainty in hanging out with strangers is a thrill by itself, he told CNA.
“They will split up if the activity does not interest them, with a strong awareness of their personal spaces.” 
It was 3am on a Monday (don’t judge) when I sought out my first conversation companion – for work, of course, at the instruction of my editors to try it out.
Such services are widely available on Chinese social media and retail platforms like Xiaohongshu and Taobao.
“Here, you can find a voice and a face that you like, someone to play games and sing with, put you to sleep, wake you up, and even listen to your troubles,” one description read. 
I settled on a store with an average 4.8-star rating out of five that boasted more than 80,000 orders.
The reviews were glowing, with many praising the “jiejie” or “gege” – big sister and big brother respectively in Mandarin – for listening to their troubles and conversation skills. Many also praised the partners for their “wonderful voices”.
I wasn’t sure if “pei liao” partners were available in the wee hours, so I asked: “Hello, it’s late but I was wondering if anyone is available to chat?” 
A customer service officer replied within the minute. Introducing herself as Wan Wan, she asked: “Darling, would you like a jiejie or a gege?”
At the same time, she sent over a “price chart” – which was when I realised that the experience can be tailored to your preference.
I could choose from a text or voice note session, a voice call or even a video call. 
The chart listed different tiers of conversation partners. They were ranked with quirky names, starting from the 2-star “blind box” to the top-ranked “koi”.
The rates started modestly but quickly went up. Taking the 2-star companion as an example, 10 yuan would secure you a 15-minute text session. For 180 yuan, you’d get a five-hour voice/video call session. 
At the highest “koi” tier, a 15-minute text session costs 60 yuan and a five-hour voice/video call session goes for a cool 1,080 yuan.
I found that the conversation partners were typically depicted in anime-style stylised art, likely to safeguard their privacy.
I requested a 15-minute text session with a jiejie, opting for the second-highest “chairman” tier.
At this point, I was asked to pay up – 43.58 yuan in total, inclusive of goods and services tax (GST) as I purchased this in Singapore. 
Once that was settled, Wan Wan asked how I would like to be contacted and if I wanted a cute jiejie or someone more mature in personality.   
I went with the latter option. My paid partner – calling herself Tou Sheng – then added me on WeChat and the text session got underway.
I told Tou Sheng I wanted to vent my frustrations about an interview I conducted as part of work. She was patient and listened to how I did not feel respected during the interview – especially when the other party was someone I admired. 
She also gently pointed out if I was “overthinking a little”, to which I admitted I might have. However, she also advised that I should just “let it go”. 
“This type of person is not worth feeling frustrated over,” Tou Sheng said. 
Unfortunately, our time was up. I said goodbye to Tou Sheng and thanked her for listening to me vent. 
“No problem darling, don’t think too much okay~” she replied.
At this point, the customer service officer Wan Wan had also added me as a friend on WeChat.
“Thank you Wan Wan, I had a good chat this time,” I said. 
“As long as you are happy! Feel free to contact me directly next time should you want to schedule another chat (with our conversation partners),” Wan Wan said. 
All conversations were done in Mandarin.
For my second conversation companion, I enquired at another shop on Taobao on a Saturday afternoon.
The sign-up process was the same as the last. This time, I paid 97 yuan, or S$18 inclusive of GST, for a half-hour text session with a top-tier gege. 
My partner, Lan An, chose to reply to my texts using voice notes. Lan An’s voice was soothing, and knew how to coax his partners with endearments such as “meimei” (little sister).
“Why the sad emoji? Come, tell gege what made you unhappy.”
I told him over a voice note about a recent weekend outing that went slightly sour. To my surprise, after providing initial comfort, Lan An had a question for me.
“Is meimei a Singaporean? I thought your WeChat location wasn’t your actual location, but once I heard you speak, your accent does not sound local.”
I laughed and told him I was, and apologised for any mistakes in my pronunciation. 
“No no, meimei’s pronunciation is very accurate, I can understand you perfectly,” Lan An replied smoothly. He also clarified that he had met Singaporeans before and understood that different overseas Chinese speakers had differing accents depending on their birthplace. 
Soon, our time was up. However, unlike Tou Sheng, Lan An simply went quiet after I sent my goodbye text. No goodbye or encouraging words as a parting message.
I checked with Guo Guo, the customer service officer this time round, if it was because my time was up. Guo Guo replied with an affirmative. 
“I just want to let you know that I had a great chat with gege, five stars! Also, would it be possible to request the same partner next time?” I asked.
“Of course!” Guo Guo replied. 
Similarly, searches for “pei pai” or “accompany (you to) take photos” on Xiaohongshu showed listings from users based in Guangzhou, Shanghai, and even outside of mainland China including Hong Kong and Singapore.
A 2019 report by Chinese securities company Sinolink Securities estimated that in 2025, the companionship economy could be worth between 40 billion and 50 billion yuan. There is no publicly available information on the size of the industry then and currently. 
The companionship-offering youths that CNA spoke to agreed that money was the driving factor for them offering their services. But they pointed out that it’s no walk in the park.
Mr Sun recounted the mental fatigue and stress he went through, as well as the long hours he put in. He stopped offering conversation companion services in the middle of last year.
“It started out fine at the beginning, the money came quickly and it was fun too. But as the days passed, I felt really tired.” 
At his peak, Mr Sun had an average of 200 requests a day – ranging from half-an-hour to three-hour slots. On average, he would be talking to people for 18 hours every day, a period which he described as akin to a “mental breakdown”. 
“The stress on my mental health was too great, and I just couldn’t take it anymore … it was terrifying,” he said.
Meanwhile, Ms Lin has stopped offering cosplay commissions for the time being. While partly because she does not like to “service” others, Ms Lin also shared that earnings are relatively limited.
The cost to hire someone for such cosplay commissions usually depends on the number of fans the person has, Ms Lin explained. For instance, a cosplayer with a following of 2,000 to 5,000 fans may have a daily rate of 500 to 800 yuan for eight hours. 
Customers bear the cost of additional wigs and costumes where required. They also pay for the activities done during the date. On average, a customer could spend about 2,000 yuan in total, Ms Lin said.
“It’s very tiring and I actually earn very little from the commission fee,” she said. 
“During the date itself, I have to take care of the girl, such as carrying her things or opening the car door for her. And if the girl likes flowers, I will buy a bouquet for her and hold that for her too.
“Between holding her bag and the bouquet, I may even have to hold an umbrella for her when it rains. So if the fee is 800 yuan, that’s about 100 yuan per hour on average … and it’s only enough for maintenance (of my lifestyle).” 
Besides having to play the “perfect” fictional boyfriend for her dates, the amount of preparation that goes into makeup and body language is also taxing for people who choose to take cosplay commissions, Ms Lin pointed out.
One appeal behind cosplay commissions is the opportunity for girls to go on dates with their favourite fictional male characters for a day, and cosplayers who take on these commissions are usually women.
As the companionship economy gains further traction in China, so too have the concerns. Local media reports have highlighted the lack of oversight over the sector, noting that it raises the risk of fraud and scams.
More efforts need to be made to improve service quality, regulate the sector and protect consumers’ rights, stated a September 2023 report by state news agency Xinhua.
When speaking to the three youths about their companionship activities, all brought up past instances where they were harassed or hit on.
“Of course (I’ve been harassed), there are a lot of weird people out there,” said Mr Sun. The 27-year-old recounted an incident where a female customer would call him daily, even changing her phone number to continue doing so after he blocked her. 
The harassment lasted a month, he said. “She looked for me every day, claiming that she just wanted to be friends and have a meal together. She finally stopped one day, I guess she was tired of it.” 
Ms Fu, the university student, also had several unpleasant encounters when she was in high school. She was looking for conversation companions at the time due to relationship troubles.
“I had just gone through a breakup and wanted to look for someone to vent to,” she said.
According to Ms Fu, people who took up “pei liao” requests were simply interested in flirting. “(They) just wanted to say some cheesy picky lines or even talk about sensitive topics.”
In such partnerships, many do not know each other’s personal details, and personal space and privacy are highly respected, said Dr Lim from EAI. But he cautioned that risks remain, just like with other relationships.
“Such transactional instant gratification relationships also carry the same kind of risk of meeting individuals who may have other agendas, motives and unethical behaviours,” he pointed out.