The Question Is Bait: Why Zhihu’s Login Screen Is the Real Product

You’ve been there. You search for an answer, click a promising link, and instead of knowledge, you hit a wall. “Download the App,” “Scan to login,” “Verify your phone number.”

You wanted a quick fact. Instead, you’re being asked to trade your digital identity for a paragraph of text.

We are told that platforms like Zhihu are open libraries of human experience. But that’s a lie. The question is bait, the login screen is the trap, and your desire to know is the currency.

Look closely at what happens when you try to read an answer. You are immediately funneled into a sterile grid of buttons: SMS verification, password login, WeChat integration. “Unregistered phone verification automatically logs you in,” the fine print says, casually mentioning that by reading, you agree to their privacy guidelines.

They aren’t trying to give you information. They are trying to convert you.

Most people think the friction of logging in is just a security measure. It’s not. You think you’re hunting for an answer, but the platform is hunting for your identity. The actual content being produced on these platforms isn’t the text written by users. The real product is the registered, trackable, monetizable user profile.

Every time you hit that login wall, you are experiencing the true business model of the modern internet. The platform doesn’t care if you actually learn the answer to your question. They care that you were curious enough to click. Curiosity is the ultimate intent signal. By forcing you to log in, they capture that intent, tie it to your phone number, and add it to your permanent data profile.

Curiosity is no longer the spark of discovery; it is the raw material mined for data extraction.

This is the dark truth of ‘open’ knowledge platforms. They promise the free exchange of ideas, but they have engineered a closed loop of data capture. The moment you feel the itch of wanting to know something, the platform steps in to demand a toll: your personal information.

It’s a brilliant, predatory funnel. You bring the curiosity, they bring the friction, and you walk away with a trivial answer while they walk away with your permanent digital identity.

Next time you hit that login wall, ask yourself if the answer is worth your privacy. Usually, it isn’t. Close the tab. The question isn’t worth the price of your identity.