A 32-year-old bachelor from Zhejiang province in eastern China has become the subject of widespread online ridicule after his whirlwind marriage collapsed just over a week after the wedding. The man, identified by the surname Gu, married a woman from Shaanxi province in the northwest after a single five-minute video conversation, demonstrating the hazards of relying on matchmaking services and rushed decision-making in matters of the heart.
Gu's path to matrimony began with a sense of desperation fuelled by family expectations. As a single child facing mounting parental pressure to wed, he paid 200 yuan to register with a local matchmaking centre in his city. The service introduced him to three local women, all of whom rejected him. Rather than accepting this outcome, the matchmaker pivoted to a different strategy, suggesting introductions to women from other provinces and boldly promising that marriage could be arranged within two days—a timeframe that should have raised immediate red flags.
His family, apparently sharing his urgency or perhaps themselves influenced by social expectations around marriage, agreed to pursue women from further afield. The matchmaking centre then introduced him to a 30-year-old woman from Shaanxi province in April. On paper, she presented as an ideal candidate: her profile claimed no debts, no criminal history, and no serious medical conditions or hereditary diseases. Most significantly for a man seeking a partner willing to leave her hometown, her profile explicitly stated that she had agreed to a "flash marriage and marrying far away"—indicating she understood and accepted the rapid timeline.
The couple's only direct interaction before marriage was a cursory five-minute video call. During this brief conversation, Gu posed basic questions about her employment and family background, but notably, the matchmaker answered most of his inquiries rather than allowing the woman to speak for herself. This dynamic should have signalled the superficial nature of their connection. Before proceeding, both parties promised to exchange a credit history report and premarital medical examination results, commitments that would prove hollow.
Despite never meeting the woman in person, Gu and his family made the momentous decision to proceed with marriage. The financial commitment was substantial: they spent a combined 265,000 yuan, comprising a bride price of 100,000 yuan and an astronomical matchmaking fee of 160,000 yuan. They also enlisted the matchmaking centre to escort the woman to Gu's city. Three days after the initial video call, the couple registered their marriage. Notably, Gu's family did not meet the bride's parents, eliminating any opportunity for the families to build rapport or conduct independent verification of the woman's background.
The consequences of inadequate due diligence emerged swiftly. After registering the marriage, the matchmaker failed to provide the promised reports. Gu took his new wife to a bank to verify her credit history, only to discover a shock: she carried 100,000 yuan in outstanding debt. When confronted, the woman claimed the obligations belonged to her former boyfriend and were unrelated to her personally—an explanation that did little to resolve Gu's concerns about financial liability. He further discovered that the name attached to her mobile phone payment app, which requires government-issued identification for verification, differed from the name he knew her by, raising additional questions about her identity and reliability.
The revelations continued. A day after the credit discovery, the woman disclosed health issues: elevated liver enzymes, a need to lose weight, and what she characterised as a condition that would not impact her fertility. For a man who had invested such significant resources and made such hasty commitments, each revelation felt like a betrayal of the matchmaker's initial assurances. The accumulated weight of these discoveries left Gu with profound buyer's remorse.
Nine days into the marriage, Gu demanded a divorce, seeking to extract himself from what had become an untenable situation. Initially, the woman appeared willing to comply. However, she subsequently reversed course and filed for divorce herself, shifting the narrative to position herself as the victim. In her lawsuit, she claimed that Gu's divorce demand had triggered depression, and she provided a medical diagnosis to support this assertion. She then demanded 50,000 yuan in compensation, while also alleging that Gu had imposed unreasonable demands that she wear makeup, perform household labour, and secure employment.
Gu simultaneously pursued legal action against the matchmaking centre to recover his 160,000-yuan fee. The matchmaker refused, arguing that since he had successfully married the introduced woman, no refund was warranted. The service suggested, with some cynicism, that the couple was staging a fraudulent divorce to recover money—a claim that, while potentially self-serving, highlights the adversarial nature their relationship had become.
The case resonated deeply with Chinese social media users, who were quick to offer moral judgements. Online commentators expressed disbelief at the recklessness of entering marriage after a single brief video conversation. One observer noted that Gu had treated marriage "like a game" and received a harsh lesson in return. Another lamented that marriage, perhaps the most significant life decision a person makes, had been treated with the gravity typically reserved for impulsive entertainment choices. A third remarked that the situation exceeded even the implausible plotlines of popular short dramas circulating on streaming platforms—a cutting comparison suggesting the story was almost too absurd to be real.
The case serves as a cautionary tale for not only Gu but for anyone susceptible to the promises of matchmaking services and parental pressure. It underscores how cultural expectations around marriage, particularly in contexts where being unmarried as a man carries significant social stigma, can override rational decision-making. For Malaysian readers familiar with family pressures and arranged introductions, the story resonates as a stark reminder of the importance of genuine compatibility assessment and personal due diligence before making irreversible commitments. The situation also raises questions about the regulatory oversight of matchmaking services and their accountability when promised background checks and medical screenings fail to materialise.
