Summary of the Key Points
Qi Wei, a current top-tier actress, has launched her own AI digital avatar, "Han Qing Xia," and has officially licensed its use for various applications such as AI manga series and virtual live broadcasts. This is different from how some retired or older artists (like Wang Zuxian and Wu Qihua) have licensed their images in the past—she isn't just selling her past image; she's selling her "present and future." By doing so, she has transformed a passive defense against AI image theft into an active strategy for managing digital assets. This move has sparked controversy within the industry: some praise her for being forward-thinking, while others believe it devalues her as an actress. Behind this lies a significant shift in the value of actors from being valued for their "time and acting skills" to being recognized for their "digital assets," which also comes with its risks.
I. What Makes Qi Wei's AI Avatar Different?
Artists who have licensed their images in the past were usually those who had passed their prime: Wang Zuxian, who hasn't acted for 20 years, licensed his image from his peak years (only for the "Under the Heavens" game IP); Wu Qihua sold his 20-year-old image to an AI film company (for a single movie); You Benchang, unable to shoot commercials due to age, licensed his image for AI videos (only for the Jigong IP). These cases were more about "digital re-employment," using past images to earn money in the present.
However, Qi Wei is different. At 41 and still active, she is licensing her current self and doing so on an open basis (not a one-time sale). Her digital avatar can be used in multiple commercial scenarios, essentially creating her own "AI image business"—others who use her face must follow her rules, and the revenue goes directly to her. She is the first current top-tier actress in China to turn her image rights into standardized digital assets.
II. Why Did Qi Wei Choose to Create an AI Avatar? — From Being a "Victim" to Running Her Own Business
AI image theft has long been a concern for artists: Yang Zi and Dilraba have fought against it, and Wang Jinsong's image has been stolen and used in counterfeit products. Defending against such issues is not only difficult but also costly. Qi Wei's approach is simple: rather than letting others use her image to make money without her consent, she wants to control how and where it is used—she sets the prices and the rules.
For example, imagine someone always stealing from you; in the past, you had to constantly guard against it. Now, if you open your own store and sell your products, any theft would be considered selling fakes, making it easier to catch the thief. This is a clever strategy that turns passive anxiety into active income.
III. The Core of the Controversy: The "Dignity" of Acting vs. Digital Business
Netizens are divided on the issue: some see her as ahead of her time, while others argue that by selling her image, she is losing the essence of acting. The core question is what truly defines the value of an actor?
Traditional actors believe that acting involves live performance and emotional connection with the audience (for example, Tony Leung has said AI lacks soul, and Nicolas Cage believes AI will destroy the authenticity of art). However, the reality is that in the first quarter of 2026, AI-generated short dramas accounted for over 95% of the market. Actors don't have a choice but to embrace AI; it's about how they do so. Qi Wei's decision is a clear response to this reality—rather than being left behind by the times, she chooses to adapt actively.
IV. The Industry Transformation: From Selling "Time" to Selling "Data"
In the past, actors' income came from their film schedules (four movies per year). Now, with AI avatars, they can participate in multiple projects simultaneously. platforms like iQiyi have adopted a "project-based licensing and revenue-sharing model": individual film payments may be lower, but the total earnings can be higher due to more opportunities.
This means that actors' business models are changing from renting their time to selling their digital assets. Qi Wei's avatar serves as a template that can be reused in various contexts, potentially generating significant profits. This suggests that in the future, an actor's core asset may not be their acting skills but their reusable digital image.
V. The Risks: Easy to Start, Hard to Maintain
Qi Wei's approach is a big gamble:
- If it succeeds, she will become a pioneer in the field of digital assets in China, opening up new business opportunities.
- If it fails, her brand could be damaged if her avatar is used in low-quality content (such as poor-quality dramas). Worse still, AI might create statements or plotlines that she hasn't made or performed, potentially harming her reputation (for example, if her avatar endorses counterfeit products, viewers might blame her).
Currently, there are no clear rules governing the use of AI images, which is a source of concern. Even though her "original" image has been established, how can we ensure it isn't misused?
Conclusion: A Mark of the Times
When Qi Wei says, "Hello, I'm not Qi Wei," she is pointing out that AI is blurring the lines between real people and digital beings. In the future, will we still value an actor's acting skills or the memories and emotions associated with their faces? This question goes beyond her AI avatar and represents a broader trend. The impact of AI on the entertainment industry is irreversible—it not only changes how films are made but also how celebrities earn money.
(The entire analysis is written in plain language, without using technical jargon, to help you understand this complex interaction between AI and actors.)