Small Football, Big Dreams- Wu Huayong, Cun Chao, and the Political Economy of Grassroots China

By Andrew Song, Edited by Jeffrey Zhang | Offside

Wu Huayong, 吴化勇, star player of Cun Chao

When the Village Super League first appeared on Chinese social media in 2023, it was perceived with curiosity and seemed counterintuitive to many: villagers playing football under floodlights with crowds larger than those of professional leagues, with prizes consisting of rice, ducks, and local products. But after spending time in Rongjiang County and interviewing Wu Huayong (吴化勇), one of Cun Chao’s most renowned and prominent players, it was evident to me that this was not simply a viral sports story. It was a case study in how rural communities reconstruct social trust, economic resources, and political legitimacy through culture.

Wu is many things at once: a village team captain, a county team player, a government employee, a school coach, and a local organizer. Online, he has more than 20,000 followers on the Chinese "TikTok" Douyin. Offline, he remains deeply embedded in everyday village life. This contrasting dual identity stretching from fame to ordinary reflects Cun Chao’s broader character: famous, yet stubbornly grassroots.

Before Cun Chao gained national attention, Wu was a rustic and humble construction worker from a village in the greater Rongjiang County. He played amateur football locally with a team of friends. Wu’s team faced structural disadvantages typical of rural China. Their village was nearly an hour away from the county center. Travel costs were high, and players paid most expenses themselves.

“从乡镇到榕江差不多要一个小时，每次来回的经费确实很恼火,” Wu told me.

(It took almost an hour to reach Rongjiang. Travel costs were really a burden.)

There was no stable funding, formal sponsorship, or professional management. Football persevered through personal commitment and informal coordination. Despite these hardships, Wu and his team remained committed. When Cun Chao took off, instead of seeking rapid commercialization, Wu and his teammates pursued what sociologists would describe as relational resources.

“我们不能商业化村超，但可以用球队的风貌去找资源.”

(We could not commercialize Cun Chao, but we could use our team’s image to find support.)

In 2023, through hometown networks, they invited a Hong Kong business association to visit. Members watched matches, stayed in villagers' homes, and shared meals.

“村民杀牛、做饭、招待他们,” Wu recalled.

(The villagers slaughtered cattle and cooked for them.)

Originally, the sponsors planned to donate HK$100,000. After experiencing the villagers’ cordial hospitality, the amount rose to HK$1 million.

“本来是十万，后来变成了一百万,” he mentioned.

(It was supposed to be 100,000HKD, then became one million.)

From an economic perspective, this was not market-based sponsorship. It was affective investment. Capital followed emotional attachment and moral obligation rather than brand exposure. This represents a form of “embedded economy,” where transactions are governed by social relationships instead of price mechanisms. More importantly, the funds were not privatized, as Wu repeatedly emphasized transparency.

“这个钱是有明确用途的.”

(The use of this money was clearly defined.)

These funds were applied towards the betterment of youth academies, school teams, equipment, transportation, and accommodation. About HK$200,000 was used to convert a dirt-filled, cement playground into a proper pitch. This reinvestment pattern illustrates a key feature of Cun Chao’s local political economy: profit engendered by public attention is reintegrated into communal goods. Instead of accumulating in private hands, it now contributes to the construction of community infrastructure. In development economics terms, Cun Chao functions as a locally governed redistribution mechanism. Wu’s personal trajectory reinforces this structure. Like most players, he is not a professional athlete.

“村超没有职业球员，我们搞的是草根足球.”

(There are no professionals. This is grassroots football.)

Wu has been a businessman, village cadre, restaurant owner, and now a government employee working in the Cun Chao office.

“我现在的工作基本都是足球相关的.”(Now my work is basically all football related.)

Cun Chao has also greatly reshaped local economic consciousness. After the league became famous, villagers began to reinterpret their own available resources.

“大家开始知道自己村里的特色.”

(People started realizing what was special about their villages.)

Wu mentioned agricultural products, livestock, and specialty peppers. Teams began naming themselves after local goods, with hopes of showing them to the entire world.

“百香果队、牛瘪队、山茶花队.”

(Passion fruit teams, beef soup teams, camellia teams.)

Football became a platform for symbolic branding, as local products acquired cultural meaning before commercial value. This process allowed rural producers to escape pure price competition and enter narrative-based markets. Equally important is Cun Chao’s moral conduct and uprightness. Wu was firm in rejecting allegations of corruption.

“没有利益，没有假球.”

(No hidden interests. No match fixing.)

On the field, players are expected to help opponents up after collisions.

“这是最基本的礼貌.” He says.

(This is basic courtesy.)

These informal norms create what sociologists call high-trust environments. Behavior is regulated not primarily by referees or contracts, but by collective expectations. This “moral infrastructure” lowers transaction costs, reduces conflict, and sustains long-term cooperation. Wu mentions this is very unheard of in large cities such as 北上广深(Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Shenzhen).

The same moral logic appears during crises. After floods hit Rongjiang, volunteers arrived spontaneously. Later, when a fire struck Hong Kong, villagers organized donations. Mobilization happened through messaging groups and personal calls.

“村名们都互相通知。 干完就走。钱不多，但是心意很重。”

(Everyone informed each other. They helped and left. The money was small, but the intention was strong. )

Even elderly villagers and children participated in rescue missions. This reflects what economists call a moral economy, where redistribution is guided by ethical norms rather than formal taxation or profit incentives. Cun Chao has also transformed regional identity. Locals are now confident and proud of their roots. Wu remembered how Guizhou migrants were once stigmatized.

“人家会看不起贵州人.”

(People looked down on us.)

Now, when his team visited Hong Kong, fans recognized Rongjiang.

“他们知道我们从哪里来.” He said proudly.

(They knew where we came from.)

Crucially, as Wu mentioned over and over again, this transformation occurred without full commercialization. Advertising inside the stadium remains limited.

“内场基本没有商业广告，第一件球衣没有广告。品牌都是本土的”

(There is basically no commercial advertising inside, and the first jerseys had no sponsors. Brands were all local)

This reflects deliberate resistance to enclosure. Cun Chao’s organizers prioritize collective ownership over rapid monetization. Economically, this delays capital capture and preserves communal control during the league’s formative stage. Wu’s personal story mirrors this collective trajectory. He began football late and only reached county level, and gave up early on his football superstar dreams. Now, Rongjiang has a ten-year development plan, youth training systems, and international exchanges. Yet Wu insists that professionalism must grow from grassroots foundations.

“小小的足球，大大的梦想.”

(Small football, big dreams.)

What Cun Chao demonstrates, through Wu’s experience, is that sport can function as social infrastructure. It organizes trust, channels capital, legitimizes governance, and reconstructs identity. It transforms villagers from passive recipients of policy into active initiators of local development. Cun Chao did not eliminate rural discrepancies. Its effects are more subtle yet equally as significant: this revolutionary sporting event transcended the borderline of typical, commercialized athletics and reorganized how resources, recognition, and responsibility circulate within a local community.

In Rongjiang, development did not kick off with megaprojects or external investments. It began on the long, exhausting bus rides to play on cement ground, with people like Wu that persisted through economic dilemmas, and with the stubborn, unshakable belief that football belonged to everyone.