On the snowplain of Zhaosu, a red coat rode past for the last time. The death of He Jiaolong, known online as a charismatic county deputy and a “livestreaming” local leader, has prompted an outpouring of grief from viewers who knew her only through short videos and e-commerce broadcasts. Her followers mourn a personal loss and, more broadly, a symbol of a generation of officials who returned to the countryside armed with modern skills.
He’s public persona — a blend of local official and internet influencer — helped put Zhaosu and Xinjiang’s agricultural produce into households nationwide. Her work ranged from polished short films that turned a local horse festival into a viral attraction to patient live-sales sessions that linked orchard and pasture to consumers’ screens. She often framed those efforts with a simple maxim: the advanced education she and her peers received was not meant to carry them away from home but to lift their home out of poverty.
That maxim is no mere slogan in contemporary China. After Beijing’s pledge to eliminate absolute poverty by 2020, the nation has pivoted to a broader rural revitalization campaign that emphasizes zeroing in on sustainable incomes, local brands and digital channels. Livestreaming e-commerce has become an officially encouraged tool: it is cheap to deploy, can scale markets quickly and dovetails with central messaging that talent should “return to the ground” and apply skills where they are most needed.
He’s life and work illustrate how technocratic competence and grassroots commitment can combine. Rather than presenting the countryside as a passive recipient of talent, her example shows how rural localities can be incubators of innovation: municipal and county officials using market-savvy branding, product quality control and storytelling to create demand and raise prices for local goods. In that sense, He represents a new model of public service — an activist administrator fluent in both policy and platform dynamics.
Her story also highlights the precariousness of personality-driven development. Visibility brings immediate gains but can build dependence on individual charm rather than durable institutions: supply chains, quality standards and cooperative organizations that survive beyond a single personality. There are also reputational and governance risks if an influencer-official is later discredited, or if livelihoods are tied to fleeting online trends.
International readers should situate this local episode within China’s domestic strategy. Promoting “rooted” cadres and digital commercialization is part of a broader state effort to secure rural prosperity, social stability and political legitimacy in frontier regions such as Xinjiang. For external audiences, He’s case is a reminder that much of Beijing’s focus remains inward: melding technology with governance to bind outlying regions more tightly to national economic life.
The emotional response to He’s death has turned a private career into a public lesson. It underscores the civic appeal of those who choose to return and to stay, translating personal education and skills into community uplift. If that model is to be more than a sentimental exemplar, it will require institutional backing: better logistics, brand management, legal protections for e-commerce, and career pathways that reward long-term stationing in rural areas.
He’s short life and the outpouring it has inspired pose a question for China’s next phase of rural policy: can the state scale the virtues of individual dedication into systems that outlive personalities? The answer will shape not just local livelihoods but the political narrative Beijing seeks to tell about unity, development and the purpose of education.