Summary of the Core Issues
The controversy surrounding Wei Dongyi's sale of math exercise books seems to be about whether scholars should commercialize their work, but it actually exposes three deeper contradictions:
1. The mismatch between the income of scholars within the system and the value of their knowledge (the additional income of an associate professor at Peking University is far lower than what would be expected for someone with the same educational background in the market).
2. The conflict between the public's idealized perception of scholars as poor and pure, and the prevailing trend of monetizing knowledge (in a 280-billion yuan knowledge payment market, true scholars are largely absent).
3. The disconnect between the image created by the media and the actual rights of individuals (Wei Dongyi's “divine” status was built by others, yet he was criticized for “losing his image” by selling books). The essence of the controversy is not that Wei Dongyi did something wrong, but the distortion of the entire knowledge ecosystem—people expect scholars to produce world-class results without providing them with adequate compensation; they are willing to pay for knowledge but not for scholars to earn a fair income.
1. How much does an associate professor at Peking University earn per year? Possibly less than a newly graduated Ph.D. from an internet company
To understand why Wei Dongyi’s book sales caused such a stir, let’s do some calculations:
- Low overall income: The average annual income for faculty members in research universities is 195,000 yuan, with a median of 150,000 yuan, which is slightly higher than the national average of 120,000 yuan for non-private urban units. However, this is still much lower than what a math Ph.D. could earn in the private sector, such as in private equity or internet algorithm positions (where salaries start at 500,000 yuan per year, 2-3 times that of university professors).
- Large internal disparities: The income gap between the top 10% and the bottom 10% of professors is 5.9 times, and for lecturers, it’s 25 times! Young teachers at ordinary local universities may earn only 160,000 yuan per year if they have projects, and even less if not.
- Incentive mechanisms are skewed: Writing a good paper (e.g., in the second tier of SCI journals) earns 20 points, while teaching an undergraduate course earns only 0.5 points—this implies that teaching is seen as a chore, while research is more valuable. However, most research funding goes towards equipment, not into the professors’ salaries.
Therefore, Wei Dongyi’s earnings from selling books (1 million yuan) are equivalent to several years of additional income within the university system. What shocks the public is not that he made money, but that they were surprised to learn he was so poor in reality.
2. The 280-billion yuan knowledge payment market: Where are the real experts?
By 2025, the knowledge payment market is expected to reach 280 billion yuan, larger than the entire book publishing industry (98.7 billion yuan). Yet, the main players are internet influencers and bloggers (teaching finance, career skills, relationships), with few real scholars participating:
- The need for teaching materials is there, but scholars are marginalized: The teaching materials market is worth 95.6 billion yuan, with the compulsory education segment accounting for 60% of the market. The best-selling materials are those from well-marketed brands or popular teachers, not from top scholars.
- Double standards: Doctors charging for services are considered normal, but scholars selling books are criticized for being “unproductive.” Going to the doctor or lawyer for advice is seen as legitimate spending, but a mathematician selling exercise books for 39.8 yuan is criticized as “using their reputation for profit.” The issue is that people overlook the value of intellectual work—creating good exercise books is just as valuable as a doctor’s consultation or a lawyer’s service.
This is a case of misallocation of resources: the benefits of a 280-billion yuan market are being excluded from the real knowledge creators.
3. Wei Dongyi’s “divine” status was built by others, and selling books led to criticism?
Wei Dongyi’s fame came unexpectedly: a 2021 campus interview (holding a mineral water bottle, carrying steamed buns) made him a “hermit” image. In 2024, a 4-second self-introduction on TikTok increased his followers by 20 million, but he never actively promoted his account (it didn’t be updated for a year, resulting in a loss of 4 million followers).
- The public imposes an image on him: He never claimed to be “ashram-dwelling” or promised to be poor, but people projected their expectations on him, saying, “As Wei Shen, you should only focus on research and not sell books.”
- Selling books is considered the most restrained form of monetization: He didn’t do live streaming or offer paid courses; he just placed the books on display, and still, his commercial activity was criticized as “losing his image.”
In reality, what’s “collapsing” is not Wei Dongyi’s image, but the expectations of onlookers—just like someone who’s never used Weibo might be called an “artistic youth” based on street photos, only to be criticized for eating instant noodles and watching videos.
4. Why do some find the 39.8 yuan exercise books exploitative?
Wei Dongyi’s books are priced at 39.8 yuan (for elementary school) and 49.8 yuan (for middle school), which is within the normal range for teaching materials (average prices range from 30 to 60 yuan). However, the controversy is even greater:
- Low prices are also criticized: Some say he’s “using his reputation to sell cheaply,” while higher prices are seen as “greedy.”
- Misaligned social expectations: People expect Wei Dongyi to solve complex problems, not to write elementary school exercise books. It’s like a top chef opening a cheap noodle shop—consumers may not complain about the quality of the food, but think the chef should do something else.
- Anxiety about consumption: Parents buy his books partly out of trust in a “Peking University professor,” and if they’re dissatisfied with the content, they blame Wei Dongyi. But he didn’t make any false claims; he just provided an option.
This reflects the distortion of knowledge pricing—prices are not based on the quality of the content but on societal expectations of what one should do.
5. Chinese scholars produce world-class work, but their income lags behind?
Internationally, Chinese scholars are in a awkward position:
- High-quality output, low income: China leads the world in the number of high-quality papers, but scholars’ average annual income is 100,000 to 300,000 yuan, barely enough to maintain a middle-class lifestyle in big cities. In Europe and America, assistant professors at research universities start with salaries of 600,000 to 900,000 yuan and can also earn from consulting and technology transfer.
- Inadequate systems: European and American universities allow professors to spend one day a week on external consulting or entrepreneurship, with clear regulations. In China, these rules are unclear, and scholars who monetize their work are often criticized.
- Lessons from other countries: Japan has addressed talent loss by increasing professors’ salaries and improving technology transfer mechanisms; South Korea has thrived in semiconductors through industry-academia collaboration. Reasonable monetization is not a sign of decline but a sign of a healthy academic ecosystem.
Wei Dongyi selling books is not the problem; the real question is whether our system allows scholars to focus on research while earning a decent income from their knowledge.
In conclusion
Wei Dongyi selling books shouldn’t be news. The controversy highlights our contradiction: we preach “respect for knowledge” but don’t provide creators with fair compensation; we admire scholars’ “purity” yet use their media presence to constrain them. If the income within the system does not match the value of their knowledge, controversies like Wei Dongyi’s will continue. A society where even a mathematician selling math books is judged is far from truly respecting knowledge.