Not long ago, a single, unsettling phrase was associated with China's rural areas — "empty villages". It encapsulated the enervation of the countryside as a result of young people leaving to work in cities, leaving villages the preserve of the aged, and fields waiting for hands that never returned. Today, villages are being invigorated, and they are anything but empty. Instead, they are crowded with visitors carefully framing their selfies. Thanks to social media, a bridge, a wall, even a single tree can become famous overnight. And then the entire village goes viral.

Digital platforms have undeniably changed the face of rural tourism. Short videos and livestreams have turned once-overlooked places into "internet-famous villages", injecting life — and cash — into the local economies. According to official data, over the past year Chinese users have checked in at more than 150,000 rural tourism sites on short-video platforms, generating tens of millions of posts. For villages such as Huangling in Jiangxi province, this visibility has been transformative: average annual incomes have risen from a few thousand yuan to tens of thousands of yuan, and once-abandoned houses have found a new purpose as guesthouses.

The logic is seductive. If attention equals opportunity, then why not design for attention? Enter the era of the "check-in economy", where rural vitalization begins with a selfie-bucket spot. In Zhangzhuang village, Lankao county, Henan province, a café inspired by the classic Su Shu (The Book of Plain Words) — a 3rd-century Chinese text on governance and self-cultivation — became a surprise hit. Coffee, culture and countryside blended into an experience that felt both modern and rooted. Visitors didn't just pass through; they lingered, spent and shared.

At their best, these stories show how digital tools can reconnect villages with broader cultural currents. Rural tourism is no longer just about scenery — it is about narrative. History, local memory, red tourism intangible heritage and even philosophy are being translated into forms young people can relate to and identify with.

But internet fame is a fickle friend. As more villages rush to replicate success, a sense of sameness creeps in. One bridge looks just like another. One café promises "poetry and distance" and then serves an identikit experience. When every village claims to be a "hidden paradise", the phrase loses its appeal.

More worrying is when internet fame becomes a performance target rather than a development strategy. In some places, creating a "check-in" spot has reportedly turned into an administrative task, complete with budgets, deadlines and photo ops — sometimes disconnected from real demand or local capacity. The result can be empty facilities, strained finances and villagers watching development happen to them rather than with them.

The deeper question is not whether villages should become popular online, but why and for whom. Tourism is not a beauty contest; it is a livelihood strategy. If visitors come only for photographs and leave without engaging, spending or returning, the village benefits from only a short-term tonic.

Rural vitalization depends on subtraction as much as addition. Fewer gimmicks. One strong story told well is better than ten borrowed ideas. Internet fame can open the door, but it should not become the house. In the end, the real measure of success is not how many likes a village gets — but whether it sustainably thrives.