[It’s not the Chinese equivalent of a James Bond movie, but rather a real-life drama for our coronavirus times: He’s the “Mask Hunter” on a mission to buy specialty fabric to make into face coverings.]
By Anna Fifield and Wang Yuan
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Lin Dong, right, and “Wake” check fabric samples in a scene from
“Mask Hunter.” (Hua Zong)
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Millions of Chinese have been glued to their screens, eagerly anticipating the next installment of a high-stakes action series. There’s a suave protagonist who travels on private jets and stays in fancy hotels, his steely female sidekick, and a cast of dodgy arms dealers and business operators on the make.
It’s not the Chinese equivalent of a James Bond movie, but rather a real-life drama for our coronavirus times: He’s the “Mask Hunter” on a mission to buy specialty fabric to make into face coverings.
“The profit from masks is more than from arms and drugs in this time of epidemic, hitting 100 percent or even 300 percent,” said the show’s star, Lin Dong, a square-jawed 30-year-old businessman from Guangdong province who sports black turtlenecks and tailored suits. “If I’m lucky, I’d be able to make a fortune. But if there are problems, I’ll lose it all.”
More than 100 million Chinese viewers have watched the eight-part series, broadcast on major video platforms, that follows Lin around Turkey to try to find face masks and the material to make them.
Profiteers in the United States have been vilified for their attempts to make money out of this pandemic. In China, Lin is viewed as a hustling hero.
“My God, he’s so charming!” one viewer wrote in comments that scrolled across the screen for viewers to see.
“This is better than a blockbuster,” added another.
The series was aired amid a global struggle to secure personal protective equipment to shield against the novel coronavirus, which was detected in the Chinese city of Wuhan at the end of last year.
In an effort to avoid the blame for the virus now ravaging the world — and to portray itself as beneficent global power — China has been using “mask diplomacy”: donating or selling masks and equipment to other countries in need.
China has stepped up its production of masks, but it’s still not enough to meet soaring international demand.
Enter Lin. He’s not acting on behalf of the government or for altruistic reasons. He’s a businessman hoping to make a buck. He said he has sold $100 million worth of masks and mask fabric since the outbreak began.
The series follows Lin and his associate, who calls herself “Wake,” during March when masks were in extremely short supply. It begins when some questionable middlemen come to pitch him at his hotel room.
“Everyone here knows there are two Chinese people at the Shangri La hotel who have deep pockets and are easy to fool,” Lin joked, apparently referring to himself and Wake.
One of his potential business partners whips out his phone to display his usual wares: tanks and military trucks. But he has moved into masks these days. They’re more lucrative.
“Mask business and arms business, which one do you prefer?” asks the filmmaker, a Chinese vlogger called Wu Dong who goes by the screen name “Hua Zong.”
“I love my job,” laughs the bearded military-supplier-turned-mask-dealer.
Lin’s goal is something called melt-blown nonwoven fabric, the extremely fine, synthetic mesh that creates the inner layer of a mask and filters out virus-carrying particles.
The shortage of this difficult-to-make fabric has sent prices skyrocketing, to the extent that China has been arresting fraudsters trying to sell inferior products during the crisis.
The series came out by chance.
Hua, known for exposing shoddy cleaning practices at five-star hotels and for identifying the luxury watches worn by officials, just happened to be at the same hotel in Istanbul as Lin and his posse.
Wake is a fan of the vlogger. After chatting, Lin agreed to let Hua tag along and film, saying that he wanted viewers to understand that he was not a profiteer but was representing China in a competition with international rivals after the same thing.
Hua follows Lin, Wake and a strapping bodyguard in sunglasses as they travel around in black Mercedes-Benzes and fly on private jets in search of mask fabric.
Lin finds scammers trying to sell him spun, not melt-blown, fabric. He also comes across orders that can’t be met, fabric that’s already been sold and substandard completed masks.
There is a certain a sense of the illicit. Along the way, there are men who pull out handguns to brag about stacks of U.S. dollars. “I’m selling napalm,” one Turkish businessman, perhaps joking, drops into conversation at one stage.
But Lin knows what he wants. The camera follows him as he strikes a deal with a man identified as Hassan, described as Turkey’s biggest producer of melt-blown nonwoven fabric. The deposit for the order is $12 million cash.
When the series was released in late April, Lin’s name began trending on Chinese social media. There were questions about his ethics and the legitimacy of his business, but the comments were overwhelmingly positive, complimenting his appearance and cool demeanor.
“He’s a born businessman and gambler,” one fan wrote.
Wake, who is often at the forefront of the negotiations because she speaks English, also won lots of online adulation. “This girl is so brave,” one viewer wrote when Wake entered a factory behind a man who was clearly trying to peddle inferior fabric.
As if anticipating criticism, Lin rejected the suggestion that he was making a fortune out of other people’s misery.
“Why do you think it’s shameful to make money? Why masks can only be donated instead of being traded?” Lin asks in rhetorical questions for the camera. “I’m helping people. Prices are high and transport is restricted, but I can get things done. Yes, I earn money, but I take big risks for it.”
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