They say marriage is a battlefield; in China it seems the latest frontline is staffed by something like a private army of undercover operatives. In the quietly booming world of “dispelling” affairs, wives are hiring professionals to dismantle their husbands’ secret romances. It’s like hiring a ghostwriter for your marriage—but the ghostwriter infiltrates your husband’s fling and writes the epilogue himself. In fact, this very scenario lies at the heart of the new documentary Mistress Dispeller by Elizabeth Lo, which peers into the shady, emotionally charged industry of China’s so-called mistress-dispellers (小三驱逐者 xiǎo sān qūzhú zhě: literally “little-third expellers”).
In the film, we meet Wang Zhenxi—”Teacher Wang”—who is hired by a wife to infiltrate her household, befriend her husband and his mistress (a so-called 小三 xiǎo sān, “little third”) and engineer a breakup without disturbing the surface calm of the family unit. Her methods range from psychological manoeuvres, emotional nudging and an elaborate undercover dance: she might invite the husband to teach her badminton, all while subtly insinuating herself between the lovers, until the mistress resigns from the affair.
Why is this happening now? Chinese rapid social change has shaken up traditional marriage expectations: divorce rates have soared, urban life has redefined relationships, and the pressures of face (面子 miàn zi)—keeping social dignity—remain potent. Back in 1978 China registered fewer than 300,000 divorces; by 2019 it hit 4.7 million. In such a climate, the wife who discovers her husband’s infidelity faces not only emotional betrayal but social and financial vulnerability—many women are economically disadvantaged in divorce, and “just tolerate” affairs rather than face the stigma of separation.
In this context the mistress-dispeller emerges as a curious hybrid of detective, therapist and strategist. Wives contract these professionals to preserve the marriage, avoid legal or formal divorce, and maintain social harmony. As The Guardian points out, “the phenomena has arisen in response to shifting family dynamics in China, including declining marriage rates and stigmatized views on therapy.” The method is indirect: no shouting matches, no public showdowns. Instead, the affair is coaxed into collapse via manipulation, social engineering and even emotional persuasion—sometimes convincing the mistress that she “doesn’t deserve complete love” and guiding her out.
What makes this notion fascinating—and ethically slippery—is the implicit assumption that the problem lies not just with the cheating husband, but with the mistress, the marriage system, the wife’s silence and the societal pressure to conform. In the documentary lens, all of these roles—wife, husband, mistress, dispeller—are caught in a shifting web of power, shame and desire. The film allows each of them a voice, however rare for such stories in China.
Culturally, the phenomenon taps into China’s older traditions. The concept of the 小三 (“little third”) echoes ancient concubine systems—though officially abolished decades ago, the notion of a man’s side-relationship remains culturally resonant. The modern twist: it’s no longer a socially sanctioned second wife living in the same household, but an affair hidden behind the high-rise façade, the shared WeChat groups, the suburban badminton club. Yet still the wife feels trapped: keeping the marriage alive may seem less damaging than breaking it publicly.
Lo’s film reveals that the mistress-dispeller industry is less about moral righteousness than survival tactics for middle-class Chinese women who feel sidelined by rapid economic and social change. The wife in the documentary wants to keep the façade of normalcy; the husband wants to maintain both his marriage and his other liaison; the mistress wants a semblance of love; the dispeller wants to orchestrate everyone’s exit plan. In one telling moment Teacher Wang says: “When someone becomes a mistress, it’s because they feel they don’t deserve complete love. She’s the one who needs our help the most.”
It’s ironic: a service designed to uphold monogamy relies on deception, infiltration and emotional manipulation. The conceptual paradox seems tailor-made for Chinese society’s tension between change and tradition, between marriage as a contract and marriage as performance. For the wife, the question is no longer just “Who is he cheating with?” but “How do I restore the pool of our marriage before someone else dives in?” It’s marriage 2.0—suburban edition—with a skilled third party rewriting the ending.
In the end the film asks not only: who did you hire to fix your marriage—but: what does that fix actually mean? Is the marriage being saved, or merely merchandised? For wives stuck between rising divorce rates and the social cost of marital breakdown, the mistress-dispeller becomes an unlikely hero or maybe a moral mercenary. And in a society where keeping face still matters, maybe having a ghostwriter for your marriage seems like a cunning survival strategy rather than a sign of surrender.
“Mistress Out, Husband Untouched”
Oh honey, pour yourself a hot cup of jasmine tea because Spicy Auntie has thoughts. A whole battalion of them.
So, China has invented a new job: marriage mercenary. Undercover emotional sniper. “Mistress-dispeller” (小三驱逐者 xiǎo sān qūzhú zhě) — literally, the professional “Bye-Bye Side Chick Brigade.” And who hires them? Wives who have been gaslit into believing that saving a marriage means saving face (面子 miàn zi) — not saving their own sanity. Let’s be real: if Teacher Wang needs to infiltrate your life like she’s auditioning for Mission: Impossible — The Badminton Edition, your marriage is already on life support. And yet, here we are: wives quietly outsourcing their pain to a third woman — to delete the other third woman — while the actual perpetrator, the husband, lounges around like an untouchable emperor who merely “slipped.”
Cue Spicy Auntie screaming into a hand fan.
“But you have to understand the system – they say – Divorce is expensive. Shameful. Economically dangerous, especially for women”. The husband cheats and the wife falls from social grace? Excuse me, ancient concubine culture called — it wants its misogyny back. And China replied, “Already installed as a software update, thanks!” Mistress-dispelling is sold as “preserving harmony.” Harmony? Sis, that’s not harmony — that’s emotional hostage negotiations conducted in high heels. And while we’re at it: telling the mistress she “deserves complete love”? That’s patriarchy working overtime. It’s the same old script: don’t fix the man, fix the women competing over his crumbs.
The film tries to show everyone’s pain — the lonely wife, the yearning mistress, the husband who thinks he’s Feng Xiaogang from a midlife-crisis drama. And then there’s the dispeller herself, part therapist, part secret agent, part social engineer. If she walked into my marriage, I’d ask if she also does pest control — because the rat we really need removed has a Y chromosome. The core absurdity? This entire shadow industry exists so men can keep screwing up without consequences. Mistresses get expelled. Wives get blamed for not holding the house together. Husbands? They get coached on better lying techniques. Yet — I get it. Many women aren’t choosing romance; they’re choosing survival. In a world quick to punish divorced women and quick to excuse unfaithful men, a clandestine breakup artist feels like a lifeline.
Let Spicy Auntie offer a different fantasy: How about a Husband-Reformer industry? Same strategy, new target. Infiltrate his ego, dismantle his entitlement, and convince him he doesn’t deserve a second chance until he earns the first one. Now that would be a blockbuster… Stay Spicy!