Initially, it was a disaster. In its first ten days, it reportedly earned only about RMB7,700. The animation looked extremely crude, publicity was almost nonexistent, and it appeared destined to disappear.
Then something extraordinary happened.
The worse people said it was, the more people wanted to see it
Pictures and clips began circulating online because the animation looked so amateurish. People mocked it. The mockery went viral.
Instead of killing the movie, the criticism became its marketing campaign.
People began thinking:
“Can it really be THAT bad? I have to see this for myself.”
Even cinemas reportedly posted unusually candid warnings about its rough production quality, effectively telling audiences to manage their expectations. Ironically, such warnings strengthened the curiosity.
The result? Its box office surged to more than RMB10 million, and the latest reporting I found puts it above RMB14.9 million.
That's almost 9,000 times the reported RMB1,680 production expenditure—although that comparison should be treated cautiously because “production cost” and the full commercial costs of distribution, cinema exhibition and revenue sharing are different things.
Why did Niu lai become successful?
I see five powerful lessons.
1. In an AI-perfect world, imperfection becomes interesting.
We are entering an era where AI can generate beautiful images, perfect voices, flawless animation and polished advertisements.
Niu Lai went in precisely the opposite direction.
It was crude. And therefore it was different.
When everybody can produce perfection, perfection itself becomes less remarkable.
2. Authenticity can beat production value.
People knew what they were getting. Nobody was pretending that this was Pixar-quality animation.
There is something strangely refreshing about that.
One online discussion captured the sentiment well: audiences have become accustomed to movies being marketed as masterpieces, only to be disappointed. With Niu Lai, its roughness was visible from the beginning.
In other words:
“It may be bad—but at least it isn't pretending.”
That itself creates trust.
3. Curiosity is more powerful than advertising.
Traditional marketing says:
“This movie is fantastic. Come and watch.”
Niu Lai effectively became:
“This movie is unbelievably crude. Don't say we didn't warn you.”
And audiences replied:
“Now I REALLY want to watch it.”
That is almost a textbook example of reverse psychology.
4. People weren't merely buying a movie ticket. They were buying participation in a social phenomenon.
Once Niu Lai became a meme, watching it gave people something to talk about.
“I watched Niu Lai” became more valuable socially than: “I watched another reasonably good animation.”
People bought the story surrounding the product, not merely the product.
That created a powerful cycle:
Bad-looking movie → Online ridicule → Curiosity → People watch → People post → More curiosity → More people watch.
Eventually the audience itself became the marketing department.
5. And this brings us back to LQ
This is perhaps the most interesting lesson for our Love Intelligence LQ work.
We keep asking:
What can humans still do when AI can create almost anything?
Niu Lai gives us an unexpected answer.
Maybe humans don't always want perfect.
Sometimes we want something real. Something created by people. Something with imperfections. Something with a story.
Something we can laugh about and share with another human being.
AI can dramatically reduce the cost of creation.
But LQ can dramatically increase the value of connection.
That is why I would summarise the Niu Lai phenomenon this way:
In the AI era, don't compete only on perfection.
Compete on humanity.
And perhaps the greatest irony of Niu Lai is this:
RMB1,680 created the movie.
But human curiosity, conversation and connection created the millions.
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