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In the Chinese-speaking world, there is a widely circulated metaphor about US-China relations:

"America and China won't really decouple. They're like a couple who just had sex and are now arguing. They'll fight, but when it's time to have sex, they'll still have sex."

I didn't see this on social media—I heard it at a "closed-door high-level meeting." A few years ago, I attended several of those media-excluded small-circle dinners in Washington, D.C., and New York. Around the table sat American think tank researchers, Wall Street emerging market fund managers, and retired former officials. Then, once the door closed, a few more familiar faces would appear—red second- and third-generation Chinese who had flown in from Beijing.

After a few rounds of drinks, someone would raise their glass and say to the Americans, half-jokingly and half-seriously: "Don't worry, these little conflicts between America and China won't lead to real decoupling. We're all on the same boat. Couples fight, but when it's time to have sex, they still have sex." Those around the table would smile knowingly, and the atmosphere would instantly lighten, as if all the conflicts, sanctions, and tariffs they had just discussed were minor emotional issues that could be resolved with a "bedroom workout."

I realized very clearly at that moment: This isn't rational judgment. This is withdrawal symptoms.

This group of people were precisely the biggest beneficiaries of the reform and opening era: they got institutional dividends inside China, and enjoyed the rule of law, financial, and technological dividends in America and the West. They were used to shuttling back and forth between the two sides, positioning themselves as "indispensable lubricants between America and China." For them, what does US-China decoupling mean? It means the entire way of life they've relied on for the past forty years is about to be taken back by history.

So they must create an illusion in their minds: America and China are a couple, just having a fight, and after the fight, they'll continue having sex.

There are at least three errors here. First, America is not China's "husband," but the designer and owner of the current world order. Second, China is not an equal partner, but a Cold War defector that this order temporarily accepted and found convenient to use during the Cold War. Third, they're not simply "having a fight" right now—this relationship itself is being systematically dismantled, not waiting to return to bed after the fight.

The problem is that history won't revolve around their illusions. The endgame of US-China relations is destined to be decoupling—and the reason is actually very simple, requiring only one point: If America doesn't cut the Gordian knot quickly, China will continue pushing this current "low-intensity world war" toward high intensity until the entire Eurasian continent pays the price.

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I. World War III Has Already Begun—It Just Looks Like "Local Conflicts"

Many people habitually say, "World War hasn't started yet, it's just local wars." But if you understand "world war" as a long-term collision between different civilizations and different institutional camps, and this collision unfolds through hot wars, economic wars, tech wars, and financial wars, then this war has already begun.

Russia in Ukraine, China across the Western Pacific—they've already started. It's just that the combat power and industrial base of these two forces are far inferior to Germany and Japan back then, so today's war looks more like "local conflicts" on TV screens: the Ukrainian front, the Black Sea, the Red Sea, the Taiwan Strait, the South China Sea—the fires are scattered, and on the map, they're not directly connected by a thick red line like a "World War I/II-style" global front.

But the essence isn't there. The essence is that Russia and China have both positioned themselves as "wartime regimes fighting against the US-led order," they just think they're cleverly choosing a "cheap approach."

—Russia chose to hold firm in Ukraine, sacrificing soldiers and draining its own economy, gambling for a chance to redraw Europe's security order;

—China chose a "comprehensive harassment" approach in the Western Pacific: daily military aircraft and ships rubbing against Taiwan, Japan, South Korea, and the Philippines' defense lines; using coast guard, fishing boats, and militia vessels to harass in the South China Sea, testing every red line at the edges; while simultaneously infiltrating and exploiting gaps in global supply chains, technical standards, international organizations, and online public opinion, making it as difficult as possible for the other side to respond.

Together, these two constitute a "cheap version of world war": they don't dare and temporarily lack the power to launch a full-scale war, but they're constantly testing their opponent's bottom line, shaping themselves as "powder kegs that could escalate at any moment," forcing America and its allies to waver between enormous military, political, and economic costs.

What's even more absurd is: Russia and China dare to launch this round of "cheap world war" precisely because the gap between their combat power and America's is too large. So large it's dangerous—so large they firmly believe: "The other side will never really fight me head-on, because the cost is too high for them; so I can keep consuming, keep harassing, keep delaying."

In such a situation, continuing to maintain deep economic ties with China is itself continuously supplying blood to this "cheap world war"; and to keep this war locked in a low-intensity range long-term, the first thing America can do is pull out the blood transfusion tube.

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II. If America Doesn't Decouple in Peacetime, It Will Only Pay a More Expensive Wartime Price

From America's perspective, the problem can be simplified into a cold multiple-choice question:

• Option A: Begin systematic decoupling from China now, rebuild supply chains, bear 5–10 years of inflation, rising costs, and declining corporate profits;

• Option B: Maintain the status quo, continue enjoying the low inflation and high profits brought by Chinese manufacturing, and bet that China won't make a strategic mistake similar to Japan in 1941 or the Soviet Union in 1979 in the next 10–20 years.

America made an extremely expensive misjudgment after the Cold War: it treated a residual regime that had barely survived World War II and civil war—the Chinese Communist Party—as an "anti-Soviet ally + world factory," and without any defense, connected it to the globalization system it had designed. This meant that while America enjoyed cheap goods and high profits, it continuously transferred its industrial capacity, technological secrets, and control over supply chains to a Leninist regime.

Today, when America looks back and finds itself severely dependent on China in key industrial and technological areas, it's already too late. Delaying further will only make this bill larger and harder to settle. For a decision-making layer that truly takes national security and war risks seriously, the cost of "not decoupling" is actually clear—it's facing a larger-scale war someday in the Taiwan Strait, South China Sea, Sea of Japan, or even further away, and by then, even if China can't win, it will have enough chips to create massive destruction on the battlefield and in the economy.

So, from America's perspective, there's a simple and brutal logic: the sooner it acknowledges the structural hostility between America and China, rather than packaging it as "couple's quarrels," the sooner it decouples, the more likely it is to lock this world war in a low-intensity stage.

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III. The Chinese Communist Party Is a "Regime Accustomed to Being a Traitor" and Cannot Become the Leader of Yellow People

In the Chinese-speaking world, people often like to emphasize that "China is a country of Yellow people," as if the Chinese Communist Party naturally bears some kind of "leader of Yellow people" role. But if you look at the historical trajectory from World War II and the Cold War, the CCP's path is exactly the opposite—it's a regime "accustomed to being a traitor."

During World War II, it first betrayed Pan-Asianism and the "Yellow people's camp." In the historical context of that time, Japan attempted to build a "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" with itself at the core, confronting the European and American colonial systems. Its methods were full of militarism and atrocities—there's no question about that; but in structural results, Japan shattered the sense of security of most white colonial forces except America in Asia and the Pacific, tore open a gap in the old colonial order, and created a new power vacuum for independence movements across Asia after the war. The CCP's chosen route at this stage was to follow the Soviet Union, treating Japan as the primary enemy, as "part of the fascist axis," rather than viewing the issue from a "Yellow people vs. white empires" perspective.

During the Cold War, the CCP turned around and betrayed the Soviet Union. In the civil war and early nation-building period, the CCP was almost completely dependent on Moscow: ideology, cadre training, military advisors, weapons supply, diplomatic recognition—all came from the Soviet Union. But by the 1960s, especially after realizing that the Soviet Union couldn't continue providing sufficient support globally, it quickly adjusted direction, packaging "anti-Soviet" as a new source of legitimacy, and finally in the 1970s actively reached out to America, becoming a pawn in America's global strategy to contain the Soviet Union.

In other words, this regime's instinct has never been "fighting for an independent civilizational role for Yellow people," but rather: in great power confrontations, repeatedly choosing the side most favorable to itself in the short term, first betraying one side, then betraying the other, as long as it can extend its own survival and rule.

During World War II, it betrayed the Yellow people's camp and stood on the side of the Soviet Union and the Anglo-Americans;

During the Cold War, it betrayed the Soviet Union and stood on America's side;

When the Soviet Union's corpse was still warm and America showed signs of returning to isolationism, it transformed again, attempting to package itself as a representative of a "community with a shared future for mankind," pretending it had never betrayed anyone.

A regime accustomed to being a traitor, accustomed to guerrilla warfare within the world order, accustomed to standing behind the victor picking up chips, could never become the leader of Yellow people. It can rule large numbers of Yellow people, it can hang "the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation" on its lips, but it has no political tradition truly rooted in the common destiny of Yellow people.

Washington and Tokyo actually see this very clearly. America's military and diplomatic systems deeply understand: the one that truly has the potential to organize Yellow people and once made America gasp for breath militarily and industrially is Japan; while the CCP is just a Sino-Russian regime that inherited Qing Empire territorial management techniques, and its danger lies in weapons and population scale, not in civilizational appeal.

Therefore, America's attitude toward China ultimately comes down to: it must limit its military expansion and industrial capacity, preventing it from using globalization to stack war chips; but it must also be vigilant about Japan returning to that path of "leader of Yellow people." This is a delicate balancing act, but under the premise of this balance line, one thing is constant: the CCP cannot be long-term accommodated in the economic center of the US-led world, enjoying equal trust.

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IV. Chinese Society's Greatest Risk Isn't "How Many Factories," But "How Much Hatred Has Been Accumulated"

In discussions about decoupling, the card Chinese people themselves most love to play is the so-called "comparative advantage": large population, low wages, complete industrial system. They mock themselves on social media saying "how cheap and hardworking Chinese people are," while using this "cheapness" and "hard work" as chips, telling the world: you can't leave us, because only we can use such cheap labor to plug your inflation.

From a corporate earnings perspective, this looks like a dream paradise: cheap workers, strong discipline, neat factories, the regime helps suppress unions and maintain stability.

But from a civilizational survival perspective, this looks more like a slowly fueling ammunition depot—and the ammunition is hatred.

All of this deliberately avoids a sharper question: under such a regime and propaganda structure, what kind of collective personality has been continuously manufactured over decades?

In China's education and media space, "hating the West," "hating Japan," "hating Taiwan" are never marginal discourse, but part of political correctness:

• Textbooks from childhood are filled with "century of humiliation" and "revenge narratives";

• The evening news uses a dramatic structure of "the whole world is trying to harm us, we've finally become strong";

• On the internet, you can frequently see slogans like "we'll deal with the Japanese sooner or later," "if Taiwan doesn't surrender, we'll destroy it," "America's desire to destroy us never dies."

The problem isn't how many people genuinely think "I want to kill someone" every day, but rather: once the regime needs it, directing resentment toward life at external enemies, this accumulated hatred can be ignited at any moment, becoming a mobilization. At that moment, the proportion of the population shouting "kill Taiwanese, Japanese, Americans" can rapidly expand from scattered online trolls to a mainstream social sentiment.

From America's perspective, the danger isn't how low Chinese wages are or how neat the factories are, but rather: you're binding your supply chains, technological cooperation, and markets to a regime that can use "hatred mobilization" to consolidate rule at any time—this itself is a systemic risk. No matter how cheap the labor or how complete the industrial system, once dominated by this personality of hatred, they're all potential war fuel.

If the world continues to maintain this high level of binding, what does it mean? It means that when this system has internal problems, it can more easily export the crisis externally—through war, through economic blackmail, through energy and raw material control—dragging the whole world down with it. This is the essence of the decoupling question: not "should we abandon Chinese factories," but "should we continue supplying blood to a regime that continuously accumulates hatred and war momentum."

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V. Decoupling Is One of the Highest ROI Solutions America Can Find in the Real World

If you view America as a massive asset management company managing global risks, it holds multiple risk positions simultaneously: European security, East Asian security, the dollar system, energy channels, technical standards. China, over the past three or four decades, has played the role of a high-return, high-risk asset—both a highly profitable supply chain center and one of the largest sources of future war risk.

In such a portfolio, what's the most rational operation? It's not to continue adding positions betting that China will "eventually get better," but to reduce positions as much as possible in an orderly manner before risks become uncontrollable. What's called "decoupling" is essentially a position reduction: at various levels—technology, industrial chains, financial dependence, educational exchanges, political contact—targeted, step-by-step cutting of key dependency chains.

From a balance sheet perspective, this certainly has short-term costs: corporate profits will fall, consumer prices will rise, voters will complain. But compared to a disaster that could escalate into a regional full-scale war or even world war, these costs are controllable, quantifiable, and can be slowly digested through internal policies. Once a full-scale war breaks out, what you pay isn't just money, but an entire generation's lives, order, and civilizational achievements.

So, from the perspective of American decision-makers, the problem isn't complicated: in a low-intensity world war that's already been launched, continuing to tie your key interests to the other side is a negative ROI choice; while orderly decoupling, though painful in the short term, is cost-effective from a long-term risk-return perspective.

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VI. Conclusion: Those Who Firmly Believe "After Fighting, They'll Still Have Sex" Are Just Extending Their Own Past

Writing here, looking back at those red second- and third-generation Chinese who said at dinner parties that "America and China are like a couple fighting, they'll still have sex after the fight," I don't find them hateful, just very pitiable. They're not ignorant of the world's cruelty—on the contrary, they see the world's power structure and money flows more clearly than ordinary people. They're just extremely unwilling to face a fact: the brief prosperity of the past forty years when America led the West in feeding the Chinese people will likely only be written in history books as a "bizarre and dangerous interlude."

For them, US-China decoupling isn't just a macro trend, but the end of personal fate: what they're losing isn't just money, but the legitimacy of their self-narrative. They must firmly believe "it won't decouple"; they must believe "it's just fighting"; they must repeat that phrase "when it's time to have sex, they'll still have sex," as if saying it enough times will make history develop according to their illusions.

But from the perspective of a Japanese person who has long observed US-China relations in America, an anti-Bolshevik Pan-Asianist, US-China relations were never a "love-hate marriage," but a temporary symbiosis built on misjudgment, fear, and greed. Its endgame was written from the beginning: when both sides begin to seriously calculate the risks each brings, rather than being blinded by short-term interests, decoupling is the only logical outcome.

Will America and China continue to have trade, contact, and even partial cooperation in the future? Of course.

But that's no longer "making up after a couple's fight," but limited contact left after each side, in a world war that's already begun, calculates for its own civilization, regime, and future.

Decoupling isn't an emotional severance of ties, but an early stop-loss for a larger-scale disaster.

The sooner this is acknowledged, the more likely it is to avoid that real conflagration that will once again burn all of Asia to ashes.