Few narratives have been more enduring in international relations than the idea that China craves a stable, peaceful, and prosperous neighborhood. This narrative, woven into discussions about China’s role in regions like Southeast Asia, Central Asia, the Korean Peninsula, and parts of South Asia, paints Beijing as a pragmatic giant, focused on calm borders and friendly ties to fuel its economic rise. Analysts and policymakers often lean on this story, suggesting that any hint of China stirring trouble must be a reaction to external pressures, not a deliberate choice. The logic seems simple: with a massive economy tied to global trade and resources, China can’t afford chaos that could derail its growth. This portrayal casts Beijing as a cautious power, eager to blend into the global order, fostering mutual gains through trade and investment. But this comforting image glosses over a sharper reality: China’s pursuit of stability is not absolute. Instead, it’s a flexible preference, often sidelined when greater influence and control are at stake.
This narrative of China as a stability-seeking power took root in the late 1970s under Deng Xiaoping’s transformative reforms. After the chaos of Mao’s Cultural Revolution, which left China isolated and battered, Deng steered the country toward economic modernization. His “Four Modernizations” targeted agriculture, industry, defense, and technology, but success hinged on a peaceful external environment to attract foreign investment and trade. Deng’s mantra of “hiding capabilities and biding time” shaped a low-key diplomacy that avoided conflict and prioritized growth. China mended ties with the United States, joined global institutions, and negotiated border issues with neighbors, all under the banner of “peace and development.” By the 1990s and 2000s, as China’s economy soared, lifting millions out of poverty and integrating into global markets, this narrative gained steam. The concept of a “peaceful rise,” introduced by Zheng Bijian in 2003, promised that China’s ascent wouldn’t mimic the wars or colonial grabs of past powers. Instead, it would rely on cooperation and respect for sovereignty, countering fears of a “China threat.” Under leaders like Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao, China signed friendship treaties, settled some border disputes, and joined regional forums like the Shanghai Cooperation Organization and ASEAN-led initiatives. On the Korean Peninsula, Beijing hosted the Six-Party Talks to curb North Korea’s nuclear ambitions, seemingly to keep the region steady. In Southeast Asia, trade agreements and economic partnerships flourished. This era of restraint, avoiding military clashes and emphasizing soft power through aid, cemented the idea that China’s growth depended on a tranquil periphery, tying the Communist Party’s legitimacy to economic success rather than ideological battles.
Even as Xi Jinping’s leadership ushered in a bolder, more assertive China, this stability narrative has clung on, shaping how the world interprets Beijing’s actions. Over the past decade, Xi’s “new era” has pushed the “Chinese Dream” of national rejuvenation, the sprawling Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), and a willingness to flex muscle in places like the South China Sea. Yet, when conflicts flare up near China’s borders, its involvement is often downplayed as defensive, with analysts pointing to the BRI’s massive investments as proof that Beijing needs calm to protect its economic stakes. On the Korean Peninsula, China is seen as reining in North Korea to avoid trade disruptions or U.S. escalation. In Central Asia, security deals are framed as anti-terrorism measures to safeguard energy pipelines. In Southeast Asia, despite island-building and maritime tensions, the narrative insists China seeks de-escalation to secure vital trade routes. This view persists partly because of Western hopes for economic interdependence as a stabilizing force, echoing theories of global cooperation. Chinese state media and diplomats amplify this, touting “win-win” partnerships and a “community of shared future.” Even Xi’s “wolf warrior” diplomacy, with its sharp defense of China’s interests, is framed as a reaction to external pressures like U.S. containment. Critics who highlight China’s meddling are often dismissed as alarmists, and projects like railways in Laos or ports in Pakistan are pitched as stabilizing forces, reducing poverty and unrest. Even when BRI projects lead to debt crises, like Sri Lanka’s Hambantota port, the narrative pivots to mutual benefits, claiming instability hurts China too. Despite Xi’s more proactive global stance, the myth of a stability-loving China endures, simplifying complex motives and excusing actions that might otherwise raise red flags.
But a closer look at China’s actions reveals a different story: while stability may serve its broader economic goals, Beijing often finds greater advantage in unstable, corrupt, or unaccountable governments. This perspective aligns with a realist view of power, where states exploit weaknesses to maximize influence. China’s grey-zone tactics—subtle moves like economic coercion, disinformation, or covert influence—thrive in places where transparency and rule of law are scarce. These methods rely on murky financial deals, personal agreements with elites, and opaque BRI loans that dodge oversight, sometimes funneled through cash or shell companies. Corruption scandals shadow BRI projects, with bribes securing approvals despite environmental or social costs. In Central Asia, nations like Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan, riddled with authoritarianism and graft, have grown indebted to China, giving Beijing leverage over resources like rare earths without democratic pushback. Transparent governments, with independent courts and free media, would resist such tactics, demanding fair terms or facing public outcry, as seen when Malaysia renegotiated BRI deals in 2018. But unstable regimes, desperate for funds and legitimacy, are easy partners. In Pakistan’s volatile Balochistan province, China’s investments in the Gwadar port persist despite insurgencies, tying local elites to Beijing’s orbit. On the Korean Peninsula, North Korea’s isolated dictatorship serves as a buffer, sustained by Chinese aid while acting as a proxy to challenge U.S. alliances. Studies show China pours more into high-risk, unstable countries, betting on long-term influence. This isn’t just opportunism—it’s a deliberate strategy. By using “strategic corruption”—bribes and debt to co-opt leaders—China sidelines competitors, as seen in reports exposing BRI’s darker side. In South Sudan, oil deals amid civil war show how instability lets China extract resources without strict regulations. Far from seeking universal stability, China navigates and sometimes fuels disorder to embed its power, keeping neighbors dependent and divided.
Cambodia’s ongoing crisis offers a vivid example of this dynamic, where China’s ally—a dynastic regime steeped in international crime, from scam centers to human trafficking—creates the perfect conditions for Beijing’s influence. Cambodia’s coastal city of Sihanoukville has become a notorious hub for Chinese-backed casinos and online gambling, which morphed into sprawling scam compounds during the pandemic. These centers, often prison-like, lure workers from across Asia with fake job offers, only to trap them in cyber-fraud schemes generating billions annually—potentially half of Cambodia’s GDP. Chinese criminal networks, with local officials’ tacit approval, run these operations, laundering profits through real estate and BRI-linked projects. Bribes keep interference at bay, while Chinese capital fuels the economy, propping up elite lifestyles and political networks. This lack of accountability is ideal for China’s grey-zone tactics; transparent governments would face sanctions or public backlash for hosting such schemes. Cambodia’s deep ties to Beijing—its largest investor, creditor, and military supplier—cement its role as a loyal ally, with projects like the Ream Naval Base raising fears of a Chinese foothold. In return, Phnom Penh blocks ASEAN consensus on South China Sea disputes, acting as Beijing’s proxy. In 2025, Cambodia escalated a border conflict with Thailand over the Preah Vihear temple, sparking artillery clashes and troop movements—the worst fighting in over a decade. For a weaker state like Cambodia, this seems reckless, risking defeat and isolation. But with China’s backing, it makes sense: the Hun regime knows Beijing won’t let it fall, offering diplomatic cover, economic aid, or even military support to ensure its survival. This confidence stems from Cambodia’s value to China; its corrupt, dynastic rule allows unchecked influence that stronger neighbors like Thailand or Vietnam would resist. Beijing’s 2025 push to curb Cambodia’s scams appears superficial, targeting minor players while shielding larger operations tied to elites. Without this failing state’s complicity, China would struggle to maintain its sway in ASEAN, where accountable governments increasingly scrutinize foreign deals for corruption and sovereignty risks. The border conflict, though limited, serves Beijing by distracting the region, weakening ASEAN unity, and reinforcing Cambodia’s reliance—China steps in as mediator, casting itself as the indispensable stabilizer while enabling the very instability it claims to resolve.
The counterargument—that China would prefer a more accountable Cambodian government—falters under scrutiny. Beijing can’t afford to lose its grip, viewing the corrupt Hun dynasty as far better than any alternative. A transparent regime, perhaps born of unrest or international pressure, might pivot to Western aid, as seen in Cambodia’s tentative U.S. ties under Hun Manet. Such a shift could expose BRI irregularities, regulate scam networks, or align with ASEAN against China’s South China Sea claims. Beijing has invested heavily in the Hun family, from infrastructure like the Xi Jinping Boulevard to military upgrades, securing loyalty through personal ties and economic dependence. Losing this ally would mean ceding a strategic outpost, potentially to U.S. or Japanese influence. Evidence from elsewhere backs this up: in Myanmar, China bolstered the junta in 2025 with arms and support for sham elections to block resistance victories that could install a less compliant government. In Central Asia, Beijing backs corrupt autocrats to lock in energy deals. The preference for unaccountable partners stems from the grey-zone playbook: they enable opaque dealings that advance China’s interests without legal constraints. While a stable, democratic partner might be ideal in theory, the reality of power politics makes corrupt allies indispensable, as the alternative—losing influence—is unthinkable in a region where competition is fierce.
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