Black Myth: Wukong in Heteroglossia: Video Adaptations as Articulations and Remediated “Fan Journalism”

Participatory culture and public meanings of games

Cultural meaning nowadays is understood to exceed authorial intent and emerge within interpretive communities—a view extended by Barthes's notion of the “death of the author” (1977), which moves beyond the author as the sole arbiter of meaning and instead highlights texts as sites of plural readings and social negotiations. Fan studies further develop this perspective, showing how audiences actively appropriate and transform the content they engage with. Jenkins conceptualizes this through “textual poaching” and, later, “convergence and participatory culture,” wherein audiences mobilize collective knowledge, creativity, and affect to extend, contest, and reframe texts across media platforms (Jenkins, 1992, 2006; Jenkins et al., 2015). Within such networked environments, “the text” becomes continually renegotiated through paratexts, commentary, and derivative works that circulate beyond institutional channels.

For digital games, participatory frameworks are particularly salient because games are experienced through performance, with meanings shaped through embodied play, social discourse, and mediated spectatorship. Games are increasingly studied as cultural processes distributed across players, platforms, and political–economic contexts. This emphasis aligns with the view that understanding a “complete game” requires attention not only to its design but also to the social worlds and infrastructural conditions through which it is played, watched, discussed, and remembered (Nylund, 2015; Taylor et al., 2013). From this perspective, gameplay videos and their associated comment cultures constitute central sites where cultural value and public meanings are produced and negotiated.

Gameplay videos as paratexts and archives

Gameplay videos constitute a central genre within contemporary game culture. Early scholarship framed them primarily as entertainment, emphasizing the role of personality and performative audience engagement (Hale, 2013). This perspective soon expanded to recognize their pedagogical and interpretive functions. Scholars conceptualize Let's Plays as paratexts that instruct audiences in how to “read” games—mechanically, narratively, and culturally (Burwell & Miller, 2016). Building on this, Burwell (2017) argues that these practices facilitate new forms of meaning-making and composition, positioning gameplay recordings as creative artifacts in their own right, not mere reproductions.

Parallel to this paratextual focus, a significant strand of research theorizes gameplay videos as archival resources. Newman (2011) contends that player-produced walkthroughs preserve gameplay as lived experience, a view aligned with preservation-oriented studies that treat such videos as records of a game's experiential dimensions amid digital obsolescence (Nylund, 2015). Complementing the archival approach, scholarship on spectatorship emphasizes that watching gameplay can produce forms of vicarious engagement. Glas (2015) introduces the concept of “vicarious play,” describing how viewers experience ludic immersion and affect without direct interaction, while Menotti (2014) points out that playthrough recording fundamentally restructures play for platforms and social interaction, making it a distinct mode of engagement. Collectively, these studies shift the understanding of gameplay videos from secondary representations to durable, mediating resources that scaffold interpretive communities and shape public understanding. Furthermore, critical platform studies remind us that these practices are not neutral; algorithmic visibility, monetization schemes, and platform affordances actively shape the commentary that circulates and gains prominence (Postigo, 2021).

Game journalism and fan-made “entertainment journalism”

The relationship between professional game journalism and fan-created coverage is a site of ongoing scholarly debate. Research acknowledges that game writing has long been intertwined with player affect and experience, with communities producing vital interpretive discourse outside formal newsrooms (Davidson, 2010). Yet, the journalistic status of such coverage is frequently contested, marginalized by metajournalistic discourses that measure it against norms of professionalism and institutional legitimacy (Perreault & Vos, 2020). This “gatekeeping” is often shaped by industry relationships and occupational ideologies rather than neutral reporting (Nieborg & Sihvonen, 2009).

Scholarship further highlights how capital and platformization have reconfigured this field. Visibility is now increasingly governed by algorithmic circulation and promotional infrastructures linking publishers, journalists, and creators (Nieborg & Foxman, 2023). Within this ecosystem, fan-made content operates not as a mere supplement but as a parallel system of publicity and interpretation—delivering information, framing narratives, and establishing communal standards of value. This makes it productive to analyze fan gameplay videos as a form of platform-native “entertainment journalism.” While not claiming institutional objectivity, such practices perform public-facing communicative labor—summarizing, evaluating, and contextualizing—within an attention economy.

Synthesis with the Chinese context and Black Myth: Wukong

Overall, this body of literature reconceptualizes gameplay videos and their interactive cultures as a platformed public arena, wherein a game's meaning is continuously assembled through socially organized discourse. Studies on participatory culture elucidate how fans collectively extend and contest textual meaning; research on gameplay videos frames them as paratexts and archives that resonate with social discourse and shape communal understanding; and debates on game journalism reveal how visibility and authority are coproduced by intertwined professional and fan-driven systems. This integrated framework provides the crucial foundation for analyzing video adaptations of Black Myth: Wukong.

The Chinese context, however, introduces critical specificities regarding how a game enters public culture under conditions of strong nationalist mediation and distinctive platform governance. Despite the global proliferation of gaming video content, scholarly exploration of Chinese gaming and video-creating culture remains limited (Zhao & Liu, 2023), particularly regarding systematic theorization of these practices within East Asian fandom contexts. Existing literature often frames Chinese cultural production within the dual frameworks of nationalism and soft power. Some scholars highlight the role of soft power in facilitating the overseas reception of cultural products like digital games (Yuan, 2025), while others caution against the intensified nationalist undertones in such outputs and their potential implications (Chan & Lee, 2024; Repnikova, 2022).

In this context, Black Myth: Wukong presents an instructive case. Promoted extensively through mainstream channels, its reception among both Chinese and global audiences is significantly mediated through fan-produced videos and coverage. The game triggers polyphonic discourses that bifurcate within fan communities and proliferate through active transnational viewership. Analyzing these surrounding discourses enables a critical examination of how audiences engage with the game, form narratives, articulate identities, and negotiate meaning within multilayered fan groups—particularly under the influence of potent nationalist currents. Thus, the case offers a focused lens to study the concrete workings of “fan journalism” and participatory meaning-making within a politically and culturally charged mediascape.

Edited videos

Menotti characterizes gameplay videos as “nonnarrative machinima” (2014, p. 84), a term referring to video content captured from game engines that primarily showcases gameplay mechanics or action rather than following a distinct storyline. This perspective, however, may underestimate the rich in-game narrative and the derivative adaptations present around Black Myth: Wukong. With content creators’ strong agency, the game's narrative is often selectively adopted—or even reduced—to focus on specific characters or moments. Edited video creators distill gameplay experiences into short clips designed to evoke specific emotions, memories, or attachments to a particular character. In the Chinese practice, even the game clearly points out the “Destined One” (the avatar) is not Wukong, strong video creators’ agency made the viewers call the avatar Wukong and combine the character with memories about Wukong. The most-viewed Black Myth: Wukong fan-made video on Bilibili is a final boss battle playthrough uploaded by the user “老6使命召唤.” ⁴ While the majority of the video consists of standard gameplay footage, one notable feature is the way the uploader isolates and highlights a specific easter egg moment during the encounter with the “The Great Sage's Broken Shell (大圣残躯).” This moment is accompanied by commentary delivered in an admiring tone, intended to emphasize the charisma and enduring legacy of Wukong. Most significantly, prior to the battle, the uploader overlays the iconic background music “云宫迅音 (Yun Gong Xun Yin)” from the 1986 TV adaptation of Journey to the West, a gesture that elicited enthusiastic responses from viewers. The emotional resonance of this moment is further underscored by the unusually long and expressive title of the video, which functions almost as a voiceover monologue capturing the uploader's affective experience: “When I started climbing the mountain, it felt amazing. When I saw Wukong's memories, I felt like he was truly alive. And when the golden headband was placed on him at the end, I felt nervous too—what would happen, good or bad?” Many similar videos can be grouped into a distinct category characterized by their focus on combat sequences, showcasing fluid game skills, and visually striking maneuvers. Through such aestheticized performances, these videos serve to construct and fulfill a particular fan imaginary of “Sun Wukong, The Great Sage.”

Comments and danmu, frequently feature phrases such as “the Wukong I imagined,” “the Wukong in my heart,” and “this is the true Great Sage.” At this level, players’ identification and imagination of Sun Wukong are, in fact, detached from the narrative proper and instead grounded in imaginary memory. A prime example appears in Chapter 6 of the game, which contains virtually no narrative progression; the main quest involves retrieving various pieces of equipment once belonging to Sun Wukong, now scattered across the world and becoming monsters. Once players have collected and equipped all pieces, their character visually transforms into the iconic Sun Wukong from CCTV's 1986 adaptation of Journey to the West—an imaginary imbued with both the collective television-consuming memory and the tenor of mainstream ideology.

Similar to their Chinese counterparts, YouTube commenters also focus heavily on the figure of Sun Wukong. The most popular video, “No Again,” features a dramatic scene from the same final battle against “The Great Sage's Broken Shell.” ⁵ Without the knowledge of Chinese cultural context, viewer comments suggest that audiences intuitively recognize the Broken Shell as Sun Wukong. The video depicts a moment when the player attempts to attack the Broken Shell, but the boss suddenly grabs the player's weapon, swings them into the air, and slams them to the ground. In addition to praising the action design, English-speaking commenters often respond with humorous, imagined lines of dialogue attributed to Wukong, adding a layer of personality and narrative depth to the boss encounter. These comments commonly include:

“I taught you everything you know, boy. But not everything I know.” —Wukong.

Black Myth: Wukong initially constructs Wukong as a rebellious, divine warrior of the lower-class people; yet these characteristics are notably absent or obscured in derivative discourses. The imaginary is, instead, recalled and reconstructed by transcultural players and viewers. Chinese netizens, in particular, co-opt and translate the aforementioned rebellious and subversive energy into cultural nostalgia and pride that further reaffirm the ideological apparatus of nationalism. Compared to their Chinese counterparts, the videos on YouTube reduce Sun Wukong to a symbolic signifier of Chinese culture, as the broader game narrative and its embedded Chinese mythological references often remain vague or unrecognized in non-Chinese responses.

The identifiable walkthrough videos

Creators of walkthrough videos significantly contribute to the broader ecosystem. Menotti (2014) argues that it is “not the player's skills, but his/her reactions, which become a source of amusement” (p. 89). Glas (2015) further suggests that these creators, through their emotionally resonant or entertaining reactions, establish a sense of complicity with viewers. Furthermore, their uploaded contents often stimulate “second creation” series that reinterpret game narratives across genres. Over time, they cultivate their own communities of followers. These walkthrough series, typically structured as multi-episode playthroughs, often span the entire game experience.

Bilibili has become the largest base of Chinese walkthrough video creators in terms of audience size. The highest-viewed videos are dominated by professional walkthrough creators who have been producing content consistently over time and have built strong fan communities. 鲤鱼Ace, for instance, leads with a 12-episode walkthrough series that has gained over 54 million views—the most-viewed walkthrough for Black Myth globally. Following him, 纯黑's 14-episode “No Harm Walkthrough” has amassed over 48 million views. Other leading creators include: 紫雨carol—32 episodes, over 29 million views; 虾堡的游戏人格—7 episodes, over 19 million views; 游戏小王ba—13 episodes, over 19 million views; 怕上火暴王老菊—13 episodes, over 12 million views. ⁶

Compared to the absence of in-depth narrative discussion in the comments on edited videos, walkthrough video comment sections contain more sustained engagement with Black Myth: Wukong's storyline. These moments of resistance and the pursuit of freedom—central to the legendary “spirit of Wukong”—are most prominently discussed in the final episodes of the walkthroughs, especially as the game begins to unveil the conspiracies behind the Celestial Court.

However, discussions of the narrative and the “resistance” associated with Black Myth occupy only a relatively small share of all comments and danmu. As Menotti (2014, p. 89) argues, followers of these creators are drawn to both gameplay “skills” and expressive “reactions,” which cultivates loyalty to the creators themselves rather than to any single game. Accordingly, viewer interactions resemble YouTuber “microcelebrity” dynamics (Jerslev, 2016) more than engagement with a specific game text. This orientation also encourages cross-game discussion, transforming the series into a dynamic venue for trans-game creativity and dialogue.

A clear trend of nationalism emerged among video creators and viewers, centered around the assertion that “Chinese people CAN produce games of such exceptional quality.” Viewers often express nationalist pride through language use and further link it to personal gaming experiences and emotions. Given the established scholarly understanding of language as intimately tied to national identity (Hobsbawm, 1996) and as a central component of nationalist policies (Ricento, 2005), its role in this fan discourse is significant. Language itself becomes a salient and creatively contested topic. Rather than just a practical tool for in-game narrative, the usage of simplified Chinese is increasingly interpreted through nationalist perspectives as a symbol of collective pride and cultural identity, as seen in comments like:

Who understands the phrase “The default language of this game is Simplified Chinese.”

Moreover, we observed a trend of “self-created dialogue” emerging prominently through danmu (barrage comments) during interactions between viewers and video creators. Similar to the user-generated dialogues seen in the comments of edited videos, danmu often includes character names followed by imagined lines of dialogue-creating meta-scenes that blend the viewer's imagination with the game footage and the creator's commentary. For instance, an early scene depicts Ju Ling Shen (巨灵神)—a relatively minor and powerless figure—being felled by a shockwave from Wukong and Erlang's battle, subsequently becoming the focal point of humorous, viewer-driven reinterpretation. In the danmu on 鲤鱼Ace's video, viewers posted lines such as “Ju Ling Shen: I’m out.” and “Ju Ling Shen: ?” In 纯黑's walkthrough, the creator remarked: “Erlang and Wukong have already finished the second round, and Ju Ling Shen still hasn't gotten up.” This prompted even more danmu to appear, including “Ju Ling Shen: Don’t call me.” And “Ju Ling Shen: I’m off work now.” These examples illustrate how viewer interaction—through danmu—produces co-created moments of humor and narrative that transcend the original content. These are “fan creations” (Jenkins, 2006; Jenkins et al., 2015) and Giuffre (2021) called some comments “masterpieces.” Viewers employ these self-created lines not only in response to in-game dialogue but also to engage with creator commentary, forming an ongoing, dynamic dialogue between all participants in the viewing space that extends beyond the game and walkthrough videos themselves.

A parallel narrative also emerged in relation to labor and exploitation. The term “ma lou” (吗喽)—a Cantonese word for “monkey”—became a widely used internet expression among Chinese netizens around the time of the game's release in 2024. In online discourse, employees began to refer themselves self-deprecatingly as ma lou, likening their labor conditions to monkeys working endlessly under authority. Given that Wukong (and Destined One), within the novel and game, often serves the Celestial Court as an enforcer or fighter, viewers began referring to the game's protagonist as ma lou, underscoring the character's functional, untrusted position under celestial power. This metaphor between the exploited worker and the mythical monkey gained significant traction—especially under the videos of the popular content creator 怕上火暴王老菊, hereafter referred to as Wang. Wang is widely recognized by fans through his ironic title “Chairman of the Board,” and his audience often refers to themselves as “employees.” These in-group codes emerged from Wang's earlier walkthroughs of business simulation games, where he regularly discussed power dynamics and labor relations. As a result, his viewers are already deeply attuned to discourses of labor, exploitation, and authority—discourses they bring with them into their viewing of Black Myth: Wukong. In his analysis of the game's ending, Wang comments that the Yaoguai (monsters) undertake all the “dirty work” for the Celestial Court, while Wukong is forced to clean up the evidence under the guise of serving justice. This interpretation aligns with the game's own nuanced implication that the Celestial Court is a fundamentally corrupt institution. Through such interactions, an evident contrast is drawn between the heroic figure of Wukong and the degraded identity of the laboring ma lou. Also, the discourse of resistance is often expressed through parody and satire, softening its critical edge while preserving its symbolic potency. Discourses around Wukong and the ma lou thus mirror a broader labor critique in contemporary popular culture (Chen, 2023), paralleling the logic of Chinese youth's “lying flat” movement—a performative refusal or strategic disengagement from labor in response to growing economic pressures (Zhang & Li, 2023).

The phenomenon surrounding the creator 紫雨carol highlights the visibility of nonmale players’ voices within the masculinist culture that has developed around Black Myth: Wukong. Specifically, the game was developed within a male-dominated setting, with its creators sparking early backlash due to the patriarchal sentiments evident in their recruitment notices and community messaging (Butler, 2024; Valentine & Chan, 2023). Within this context, 紫雨carol's technical mastery—celebrated through the moniker “Valkyrie”—enables her and her followers to construct a counternarrative to the game's documented patriarchal associations by asserting women's skilled participation. More broadly, 紫雨carol and her fanbase foreground the visibility, participation, and interpretive agency of women gamers within the Black Myth: Wukong fandom. But ironically, admiration within this discourse is frequently tinged with a paternalistic undertone. Statements like, “It's amazing that girls can play like this!”—while perhaps intended as praise—ultimately perpetuate the very gendered assumptions (Liu & Lai, 2022). This tension aligns with research suggesting that progressive gender agendas often remain limited in commercial gaming cultures, even when women players are active participants (Chess, 2017; Fox & Tang, 2017). Taken together, these dynamics illustrate how fandom can simultaneously contest and reproduce social hierarchies, including within spaces that present themselves as inclusive.

Beyond the well-known video creators who have gained significant popularity on various platforms, we also observed how the game's difficulty level brought disabled content creators and streamers into the public discourse. Their presence and achievements not only broaden the representational landscape of the gaming community but also resonate deeply with the narrative spirit “resisting destiny” of Black Myth: Wukong. For example, 阿喵的小生活, a female gamer who is unable to move her arms normally, gained widespread attention with her video “The First in the Nation! Beating Yang Jian by Holding Chopsticks in Her Mouth,” which received over 1.7 million views. ⁸ In the video, she uses a chopstick held in her mouth to operate both the keyboard and mouse, ultimately defeating the game's most powerful boss, Erlang Shen. Viewers praised her remarkable technique and perseverance. One danmu comment—“Indeed, “Spirit” is what matters most ⁹ ”—received over 800 likes, directly linking her personal story to the game's theme of resisting fate. Another creator, 阿铭铭丶, who has cerebral palsy, plays the game with the aid of an assistive device. His video “Setting Out on the Journey Is More Important Than Reaching the Mountain of Souls” garnered over 1.7 million views. ¹⁰ In one memorable moment, he states: “I use a wheelchair in real life—should I still sit in one in the game? ¹¹ ” This line became widely quoted in danmu, forging a powerful emotional connection with viewers. Similarly, -鸦-karas, a one-handed gamer, uploaded a full 29-episode series in which he plays through the entire game using a controller designed for two hands. ¹² Blind streamer 诺子喵呜 edited her gameplay stream experience into a seven-episode series that has received over 7.2 million views. ¹³ Without eyesight, she relied solely on in-game audio and recurring danmu support during her streams. Despite the fact that Black Myth: Wukong lacks built-in accessibility features for visual impairments, she successfully navigated the game world. In the danmu of her videos, many viewers metaphorically connected her experience to Wukong's ability, Huoyan Jinjing (火眼金睛, “Fiery Eyes with Golden Vision”). The most popular one reads, “Wukong wants to gift you his special eyes.”

These disabled creators made their voices heard through their Black Myth gameplay, gaining recognition within the gaming community and wider Chinese society. Their experiences—deeply intertwined with the game's themes of resistance, identity, and struggle—moved and inspired audiences. As Anderson and Johnson (2022) observe, gamer and disability identities mutually shape and transform one another in practice, thereby expanding the meanings that games can take on. Viewers resonated with these creators’ gameplay experiences and with the game's narrative, linking the creators’ personal journeys to the game's ethos and to the symbolic figure of Wukong. In doing so, they show how gaming videos can function as a powerful medium for visibility, resilience, and collective empathy (Huang & Wang, 2023).

Discourse on overseas video platforms exhibits a pronounced nationalist inflection, yet it differs markedly from local platforms, where interactions more often foreground transcultural interactions. On YouTube, a major global video platform, discussions tend to center on contextualization and knowledge sharing across cultural backgrounds. Many viewers, in particular, take it upon themselves to introduce or clarify the narrative background of Journey to the West, especially for international audiences who may be unfamiliar with its Chinese literary and cultural origins. One notable example comes from the comment section of the walkthrough series by theRadBrad, whose 19-part playthrough has accumulated over 12 million views, making it one of the most-watched Black Myth: Wukong series on YouTube. High-engagement comments include explanations like:

Here's some related Journey to the West lore for those who are interested. Long before Sun Wukong and his master Xuanzang set foot to the Blackwind mountain, there are three beasts…They lived in peace with the monks of Blackwind Mountain until Xuanzang came…

The second most-viewed Black Myth: Wukong walkthrough series on YouTube was produced by HEARTROCKER, a Thai content creator whose five-episode series has amassed over 10.1 million views. As a creator who primarily uses Thai, HEARTROCKER's videos primarily attracted Thai-speaking audiences. His content features the original Chinese audio with English subtitles, while he simultaneously translates the dialogue and gameplay commentary into Thai for his viewers in real time. This trilingual presentation—Chinese, English, and Thai—embodies a dynamic cultural mediation that significantly contributed to the game's visibility and popularity in Thailand. HEARTROCKER's efforts effectively translated the experience into the Thai-speaking world, creating a cultural bridge that transcended linguistic barriers. Similar to RadBrad, HEARTROCKER shows limited familiarity with the original Journey to the West narrative, but approaches the game with evident curiosity and enthusiasm, drawing his viewers into the world of Chinese mythology. The comments under HEARTROCKER's first episode reflect both appreciation and collaborative meaning-making. A highly liked comment (with 3.9k likes) offers a long narrative summary of the game's backstory, introducing the mythological context from Journey to the West. When translated from Thai to English, the full comment exceeds 700 words. An excerpt reads:

The game is after inviting Tripitaka. The plot is set for Wukong to receive a position in heaven but he doesn't go and sends the heavenly army led by Erlang Shen (Three Eyes) to defeat him… The latter part of the cartoon only conveyed that humans and demons cannot go together because their roots are different.

No commentary (无解说) videos

More than just a viewing experience, the “No Commentary” space for Black Myth: Wukong on YouTube becomes a site of quiet connection and multilingual exchange. It cultivates an emotionally inclusive atmosphere where viewers collectively reflect, joke, and comfort one another. While national pride exists, it does not define the community. Rather, the game serves as a common narrative canvas that welcomes diverse interpretations and cross-cultural solidarity.

The most-viewed “No Commentary” walkthrough of Black Myth: Wukong on YouTube was created by MKIceAndFire. Spanning 18 h and reaching over 7.3 million views. In Chinese cyberspace, the most viewed “No Commentary” gameplay video of Black Myth: Wukong was contributed by 11's Game World, ¹⁴ a creator known for uploading No Commentary videos of various games. This video ranked fifth among the most viewed Black Myth videos on Bilibili, amassing over 20.7 million views.

A unique collective voice from the “No Commentary” videos comes from users unable to afford the game and find communal participation through watching:

People with no ps5, good pc or just can't afford to buy the game yet, we come together here.

References to digital inequality appear far more frequently in the comment sections of “No Commentary” videos than in the other two video types. This pattern suggests that for many, these videos serve as a crucial, vicarious pathway to engage with the game. The reviewers’ responses specifically highlight barriers stemming from language proficiency, socioeconomic status, and access to technology or economic resources—factors that relegate a significant portion of the global audience to spectatorship while only a limited few can fully play. To some extent, while many viewers express gratitude to video creators, the practices of participatory recording and fan-driven journalism may, in turn, obscure this divide, reinforcing an illusion of digital democratization.