The Munich Professor Accused of Espionage

This article was first published in German on May 5 here.

The woman who appeared before the Munich Labor Court earlier this year was once considered a star of German scientific research. The researcher, whose name we are shortening to Z., was celebrated, honoured, and in high demand. She revolutionised an entire field; her lectures filled halls, she was showered with praise and prestigious awards. She was among the most frequently cited researchers in Germany and gained international attention as a top talent.

But her employment with the German Aerospace Center (Deutsches Luft- und Raumfahrtzentrum, DLR) quietly came to an end almost unnoticed. No one spoke publicly about the reasons for her dismissal. In 2022, Z. lost her prestigious position there, and took legal action.

Investigations by CORRECTIV have now revealed what was going on behind the scenes of this incident: it was a suspicion of espionage that led to the DLR’s break with the brilliant researcher from China. A grave allegation that could destroy her career, should it be substantiated. Where did the DLR’s suspicions come from?

Over the course of several months, CORRECTIV spoke with insiders at the DLR and staff members at the department of the Technical University of Munich (TUM) where Z. still works as a professor. We were also able to examine a large number of internal documents. Z. has stated via a lawyer that she does not wish to comment on the allegations against her.

In order to present her position, we must rely, for the purposes of this article, solely on the line of argument she set out in a written statement to the Employment Tribunal: Z. denies the allegations and feels she has been placed under general suspicion.

At this stage, it is neither possible to confirm nor deny whether Z. was in fact spying for China at the DLR. Nor does this investigation seek to pass judgment on that question. But the events surrounding the researcher raise troubling questions: How resilient are German research institutions and universities? And where do the limits of Germany’s security services lie?

For, as our investigation reveals, Z. maintains extensive connections to the Chinese defence apparatus. In Munich, she orchestrates a network of doctoral candidates and visiting researchers who previously worked at institutions linked to the military in China.

It cannot be ruled out that intelligence from Munich may have flowed into Chinese military technology. Several of the institutions with which Z. collaborated on research projects are involved in China’s notorious satellite programme. Experts suspect that the programme is intended, among other things, to monitor naval movements in the South China Sea – crucial to the territorial dispute over Taiwan.

CORRECTIV’s investigation provides rare insights into the (often complicated) circumstances around Chinese researchers in Germany, who are expected to support to their homeland while they are abroad by contributing towards the plans of President Xi Jinping, his Communist Party, and the People’s Liberation Army.

This story exemplifies a phenomenon for which Germany has yet to find an answer. It begins at the airport in Xi’an, a city with over 12 million inhabitants in northwest China.

Prologue: The Stolen Laptop

It is September 2014, and Z. is planning to attend a workshop in Guangzhou on the use of sensor data in Earth observation. This is her research area at the DLR. She is interested in how she can combine two-dimensional satellite images and sensor data to generate 3D models of buildings. Her goal is to make the growth of cities and building density more visible.

After the workshop, she plans to take a three-day holiday. This is outlined in a report she will later send to her employer. However, after her arrival in Xi’an, all traces of the researcher temporarily disappear.

In her report, Z. later writes: „Upon arriving at Xi’an airport on 6^th September 2014, my work bag containing my laptop, phone, bank cards, passport, and German residence permit was stolen (…). As a result, the entire trip had to be completely re-planned.“ Z. states that she then arranged getting a new passport and German visa through „daily visits to various authorities.“ She travelled across the country for this purpose, first to her hometown of Changsha, and then on to Beijing.

Around 8,000 kilometres away, at the DLR’s headquarters in Cologne, Z.’s accounts to the DLR’s internal system have been locked. The DLR runs Germany’s space agency for the German government, making it the counterpart to NASA in the US.

A whole department at the DLR is tasked with countering espionage cases. The phrase „laptop stolen,“ combined with a trip to China puts the team on high alert: there have been numerous instances in the past where the supposed loss of a laptop or the sudden disappearance of sensitive data has been linked to espionage.

On 10^th September 2014, Z.’s then-supervisor at the DLR made an intervention. In an email, he requested that her accounts be reactivated so that she could become “operational” again. He stated that Z. had informed him by phone that she had noticed the loss of her rucksack “while packing her luggage outside Xi’an airport.” The laptop reportedly contained “the usual office materials, PowerPoint presentations for lectures and talks, a few non-sensitive reports, and a small amount of already-processed satellite data.” Z.’s supervisor also seemed keen to emphasise that Z. “does not work in any areas subject to export controls.”

This was followed by days of email exchanges with senior staff at the DLR. On 23^rd September 2014, Z. flew back to Germany from Beijing. Life and work resumed; her accounts were evidently reactivated. The mystery of the stolen laptop remained unresolved. To this day it is unclear into whose hands it fell.

At the time, no one at the DLR suspected that the matter of the laptop would be just the beginning of a long series of troubling incidents surrounding the young scientist. In the years that follow, senior staff at the DLR will end up examining her background and associates in much more detail.

In 2022, they make a momentous decision: Z.’s contract is terminated and she is banned from the DLR premises.

Chapter 1: Serious Suspicion of Scientific Espionage

Z. challenged her dismissal from the DLR and took her case to the Munich Labor Court. The dispute between the research institution and Z. dragged on for nearly three years, taking several twists and turns, and eventually concluding with a settlement in February 2025.

According to the official version of events, Z. left the DLR in order to focus on her work at the TUM. The separation was described as having taken place “in a spirit of mutual trust and by mutual agreement.”

A written statement from the DLR to its works council, however, presents a different and more explosive account:  “There is strong suspicion that Professor Dr Z. deliberately exploited her position at the DLR and engaged in activities – partly in collusive cooperation with others – with the aim of spying on internal company information and passing it on to unauthorised third parties, possibly even to foreign intelligence services.”

The document refers to an „overall picture“ that gives rise to “strong suspicion of academic espionage,” possibly “in collaborative cooperation with her network.” It cannot be ruled out, it states, that security-relevant intelligence may have been leaked to unauthorised parties under Z.’s oversight. A spokesperson for the DLR declined to comment to CORRECTIV, stating that the matter concerned “internal staff matters.”

Z. vigorously denied the allegations in proceedings before the Employment Tribunal: the DLR, she said, had “not presented a single convincing piece of evidence to support the suspicion of espionage.” She had worked at the institution since 2011, towards the end of her time there for seven hours a week. She remains employed as a professor at the TUM, where she heads the Chair of Data Science in Earth Observation.

When asked about the DLR’s allegations against Z. and any possible consequences of the accusations, a spokesperson for the TUM said that the university relied “on the authorities responsible under the rule of law” in such matters. The TUM had no knowledge, they added, of any criminal investigations.

The details are crucial when it comes to assessing this case: the allegation of espionage against Z. was raised by the DLR solely within the context of an employment dispute, as justification for her dismissal. It has therefore neither been confirmed nor disproven. Espionage is a criminal offence, and Z. has not, to date, been charged with or convicted of any such crime.

At the TUM she is responsible for publicly funded multi-million-euro projects in the field of remote sensing combined with AI or social media data. She develops highly complex algorithms to extract geoinformation from satellite imagery – enabling, for example, the mapping of cities or the tracking of natural disasters.

Her research, Z. said in a 2019 TED Talk, served the “social good.” Her life story, in fact, sounds almost like a fairy tale.

Chapter 2: An Irresistible Success Story

In an interview for the Helmholtz Association’s magazine in 2020, Z. explained how she was fascinated by space as a child, particularly by the famous „Blue Marble“ photo of Earth taken by the Apollo 17 crew in 1972.

As a little girl, she solved difficult maths problems with her father, a teacher. Later, as a young researcher, she worked first in her home country of China, and then in Italy and Japan. She completed her Master’s at the TUM, and from 2011 onwards she led projects at the DLR.

In 2015, she became a professor at the TUM, one of the youngest researchers ever to hold such a position in Germany at the time. From 2018, she simultaneously led a department at the DLR, in what is known as a „joint professorship” – a position that many researchers can only dream of. The DLR, with its headquarters in Cologne, works for the German government, while the TUM is one of Germany’s eleven Universities of Excellence, known for its exemplary cutting-edge research. As far as jobs go, it doesn’t get much better than that.

Z.’s work is regarded as groundbreaking in terms of content. One of her research groups leads a joint flagship project between the DLR and the TUM, funded by the Federal Ministry of Education and Research. It is a future-oriented laboratory aimed at exploring “AI4EO”: the fusion of artificial intelligence and Earth observation; in concrete terms, this means the algorithm-based analysis of satellite imagery.

According to the official project description, the research findings would be “invaluable for many scientific, governmental, and planning tasks.” This project supposedly puts Germany in “pole position” in the race for this technology.

In another publicly funded project, Z. explored the extent to which social media posts can be integrated into Earth observation, and delivered impressive findings. Her algorithms help determine, for instance, whether buildings are residential properties or offices. In her interview with the Helmholtz magazine, she says: “We know, for example, that in a residential building, many tweets are sent in the morning and evening, whereas in an office building, they are mainly sent during the day.”

For the TUM, Z. has proven to be a real stroke of luck: according to someone who knows her at the department, she brings in millions in third-party funding – grants that benefit the university. Her work has received numerous prestigious accolades, including from the world’s oldest academy of natural sciences, the Leopoldina.

She embodies tireless dedication to her work and social progress in every respect: at the award ceremony for the “Helene Lange Prize for Outstanding Early-Career Female Scientists” in Oldenburg, Z. said she wanted to encourage young women to seize the opportunities available to them in science.

It’s a picture-book success story. And Z.’s public image would likely never have come under scrutiny had she not been dismissed from the DLR in the summer of 2022.

For those at the TUM, where she remained a professor, the exact circumstances of her dismissal from the DLR were initially unknown. However, some of the roughly 40 members of staff at her department began to prick up their ears. Rumours started to circulate among employees in the department about supposed irregularities on the servers under Z.’s supervision.

It was the period shortly after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Experts assumed that China could attack Taiwan in the near future. In light of global political threats, research collaborations with China were under greater scrutiny than ever before. Since 2022, CORRECTIV has published several investigations revealing how the Chinese state apparatus systematically uses research findings from international collaborations to advance its military technologies. This has been state doctrine in China for years and is referred to as the “military-civil fusion”.

Just over a year ago, a woman from Z.’s immediate professional circle contacted CORRECTIV with an initial tip-off. She wondered whether the research being carried out at the department might be falling into the hands of the Chinese military.

She thought her boss, Z., had a background that could be relevant to suspicions of Chinese espionage, and she noted moreover how Z. had surrounded herself with doctoral students and guest researchers from military-affiliated institutions in China for years. Yet the person struggled to make full sense of it all.

Z.’s biography is certainly impressive, but her official CV at on the TUM website does not disclose where she got her bachelor’s degree: namely, the National University of Defence Technology (NUDT) in Changsha – China’s most important military institution. It reports directly to the Central Military Commission, the highest military authority in the People’s Republic.

In its justification of the espionage allegations, the DLR also refers, among other things, to this lack of transparency.

Chapter 3: Compromised Servers, Surveillance Operations, and a Dubious Network

The statement from the DLR to its works council obtained by CORRECTIV is dated August 2023 and details the espionage allegations against Z. in over 20 pages. The stolen laptop, her military background, and a host of other circumstantial evidence are discussed.

Z. stated in front of the Employment Tribunal that the incidents had either been „misrepresented, fabricated, or exaggerated in terms of their severity.“ She found it hard to understand why the DLR had „suddenly reassessed and brought up“ the incident with the laptop. She said she had disclosed her background at NUDT when applying in 2011, and it was „not unusual“ for a bachelor’s degree to be omitted from a brief CV.

It is possible that the DLR wanted to rid itself of an unwanted employee – and, for that reason, made a link between particular incidents in order to cast Z. in a questionable light. However, we will describe these events in the following to provide a complete picture.

In brief, the DLR accused Z. of deliberately attempting to gain access to highly sensitive areas and data during her time there. It also alleges that she failed to properly secure a server, thereby allowing unauthorized access to sensitive satellite data.

According to the DLR, this began in 2017. Z. is said to have requested and received an access license to data from the so-called TerraSAR-X satellite as recognition for one of her awards. At the time, according to insiders at the DLR, this data was not publicly available and was classified as highly sensitive. The research institution developed the spacecraft in collaboration with Airbus Defence and Space, a defence division of the German Airbus company.

The DLR highlights that the data has, alongside some civilian applications, the potential for „defence and security applications“: for example, „effective mission planning,“ „improved border surveillance,“ and the „detection of routes (changes) and moving objects.“

Sharing the data, it states, could “jeopardise foreign and security policy interests – for instance, in the case of satellite images of regions where the German armed forces (Bundeswehr) are deployed abroad.”

When applying for the relevant licence, Z. is said to have listed three additional users – among them her husband and a visiting scholar W., both also from China and employed at Z.’s chair. They would later prove significant.

In the period that followed, a “very large volume of data” from the satellite was reportedly transferred to a server under Z.’s supervision. Apparently, there was a “permanent streaming connection” between this server at the TUM and the DLR. While this was, in principle, permitted, the DLR’s counterintelligence team later determined that the server had not been adequately secured. According to their findings, it was not protected by the “TUM’s firewall” and was accessible from anywhere on the internet. A TUM spokesperson told CORRECTIV that the server was secured – just “with its own firewall” – and that this setup was necessary so that it could be accessed by the DLR.

The DLR’s and Z.’s assessments of the situation diverge significantly. The DLR speaks of “reckless handling of highly sensitive satellite data, which could at any time be used for military purposes.” Z., in contrast, questions the data’s relevance to national security, pointing out that licences for their use are granted in large numbers – including to researchers and institutions in China.

According to the DLR, a hacker attack on the server occurred in May 2022. The server was allegedly used for so-called Bitcoin mining – where cybercriminals illegally generate cryptocurrency using third-party servers or computers. The DLR concluded that “unauthorised third parties” thereby had access to all data stored on the server – including to the aforementioned sensitive satellite data.

Z. apparently did not to inform the DLR of this incident, even though that would have been her duty. As a result, the institution was unable to immediately report the matter to the relevant authorities.

Perhaps Z. was simply negligent. The DLR, however, implies intent: “from the employer’s perspective, it constitutes further evidence supporting the (…) suspicion of espionage.” Z., for her part, maintains that the data was never at risk. The last data transfer, she claims, had taken place a full year before the attack. According to the TUM spokesperson, the server was shut down immediately following a warning. Moreover, at the time of the attack, no sensitive data was stored on it. No unauthorised data leakage was identified, they stated.

The IT officer at Z.’s TUM department – and thus the person responsible for the server – was visiting researcher W. “Of all people,” the DLR noted. In 2023, W. was also dismissed by the DLR after allegedly making covert audio recordings on his mobile phone, “possibly for transmission to unauthorised third parties.” However, he was allowed to continue working at Z.’s TUM chair. According to Z., the recording was the result of a “technical error.” Since he had committed no wrongdoing at the TUM, the university stated that there were “no grounds for action against him.”

But it wasn’t the first time Z. had raised eyebrows with controversial staff choices.

She hired individuals from institutions with military affiliations in China on many occasions, at times bypassing the DLR’s security clearance procedures. According to the DLR’s written statement to the works council, one such case was the original trigger for her dismissal in 2022: Z. is said to have made multiple attempts to continue funding a doctoral student with DLR funds, despite the institution’s rejection of him. Z. responded by saying that “there were never any specific or individual security concerns” about the researcher in questions. This, she argued, amounted to blanket suspicion.

Internal documents obtained by CORRECTIV show that Z. hired two other researchers for her chair at the TUM, despite the fact that they were deemed untrustworthy and rejected by the DLR after its intelligence and export control security screening. Z. thus enabled the individuals in question to gain partial access to the DLR through joint projects.

These researchers came to Germany on scholarships from the „China Scholarship Council“ (CSC). CORRECTIV reported on this scholarship programme in 2023, revealing that students are required to sign restrictive contracts pledging their loyalty to the Communist Party. The University of Nuremberg was the first German research institution to suspend the program following CORRECTIV’s investigations.

Germany’s domestic intelligence agency, the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution, openly states on its website that the CSC program is designed to „extract knowledge from the German research landscape.“ At the DLR, it seems that this assessment is taken into account during the security vetting of new staff.

At the TUM, however, the heads of individual departments appear to have sole discretion over hiring decisions; an export inspection by specialists does not seem to take place. Their role would be to advise employers on the risks of knowledge leakage. At the time of publication, Z. employs at least 22 people from China at her chair at the TUM, at least four of whom are there on a CSC scholarship.

A spokesperson from the TUM stated that all applicants are checked for „loyalty to the constitution“ before being hired. “A CSC scholarship is not a legal exclusion criterion for employment at a university in Germany,“ they added. Z. herself has not commented on the hiring of other applicants at the TUM who had been rejected by the DLR, nor on the CSC students in her department.

It is incidents like these that fuel suspicions within Z.’s professional circles at both the DLR and the TUM that she may be involved in a case of espionage. Conversations with individuals familiar with Z.’s case at the DLR and the TUM reveal further strange occurrences that are said to have taken place around the professor.

Noteworthy is her interest in the field of quantum computing, which does not originally belong to her research area. In 2021, Z. allegedly applied for membership of the „Quantum Industry Computing“ association, disregarding the guidelines in place at the DLR, and registered herself as the DLR’s „main point of contact“ there. She is also said to have „vehemently“ attempted to participate in DLR leadership-level meetings in the quantum field. „She was supposed to stay out of that area,“ says one of her colleagues.

Z. acknowledged in court that she did not adhere to the DLR guidelines and the internal approval procedures by joining the association. However, she claims she was „instructed“ by her direct supervisor to sign up and act as a „strawman“. She dismisses the accusation that she tried to attend several leadership-level meetings on the topic as a „vague insinuation.“

Chapter 4: Links to the Chinese Military

According to CORRECTIV’s information, the DLR presented accusations against Z. before the Munich Labor Court in order to justify her dismissal. However, investigating espionage suspicions does not come under the responsibility of Labor Courts. Generally, the Federal Public Prosecutor General is responsible for this, either initiating investigations itself or passing the case on to the relevant federal state’s public prosecutor’s office.

According to the information available to CORRECTIV, no criminal investigations have so far been conducted into Z.’s case. However, security authorities have been looking into the matter: we held background talks with representatives of several German security authorities, from which no direct quotes may be made.

These discussions can best be described as follows: yes, Z.’s case is well known – knowing glances are exchanged – and yes, her past links to the military and the issues surrounding CSC students are concerning. However, so far, no conclusive evidence of intelligence agent activity as understood under Section 99 of the German Penal Code has been found.

So although the authorities consider the case noteworthy, they have not so far classified Z. as a spy. It is also possible that the transfer of knowledge was legal: espionage in the legal sense is difficult to prove – especially when Chinese intelligence services might be involved. The boundaries between state institutions and the civil and knowledge society in China are blurred, meaning that this case does not necessarily match the Western understanding of espionage – i.e. acting on behalf of a foreign intelligence service.

So-called plausible deniability is a deliberate part of China’s far-reaching efforts to acquire foreign technology, experts say. In such murky waters, it is almost impossible to determine where legitimate knowledge exchange ends, where it crosses into illegality, and where espionage against the academic sector begins.

Germany’s domestic intelligence agency, the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution, notes on its website: “The Chinese state is deliberately exploiting legal grey areas, a lack of risk awareness, and the academic freedom guaranteed by the German constitution.”

The transfer of technological knowledge becomes problematic if the military is ultimately at the receiving end. These are referred to as dual-use cases – technologies that can serve both civilian and military purposes.

Z.’s work in Munich appears to fall into this category. One example is a study from 2020 in which Z. analysed data from her social media project in collaboration with a researcher from the Chinese People’s Liberation Army. Such a collaboration, according to the TUM, would no longer be permitted under current guidelines: “Since 2024, the TUM has followed a policy of not engaging in research projects or partnerships with military-affiliated universities in China.”

With this in mind, it is rather striking that up until 2024 Z. collaborated on at least 15 academic papers with researchers from the so-called “Seven Sons of National Defence” – a group of seven Chinese universities that, according to the Australian think tank ASPI, are deeply embedded in the military and arms industry. Several of these institutions have been placed on the U.S. Entity List – a list of companies and organisations that the U.S. deems as threats to its national security. Germany seems to take a more lax approach.

Z. also collaborated with researchers from Wuhan University, a university which experts describe as a prime example of the blurring of civilian and military applications at Chinese research institutions. The university is overseen by China’s military technology authority, operates several military laboratories, and plays a key role in China’s notorious satellite programme. According to experts, this programme is used, among other things, to monitor ship movements in the South China Sea.

Until at least 2023, Z. worked with scientists at Wuhan University on deep learning algorithms and radar systems for satellites. Their research focused, for instance, on ways of producing high-resolution images of the Earth’s surface through cloud cover – a technology considered essential for military reconnaissance. It is used, for example, in the Gaofen satellite programme, which Wuhan University is helping to develop.

A TUM spokesperson stated that Z.’s work constitutes “basic research” – an argument CORRECTIV has encountered time and again in this area; an argument often used to steer the discussion away from questions regarding the potential military use of research. Furthermore, according to the TUM, the research in question is publicly accessible.

However, given the Chinese regime’s strategy of military-civil fusion, it cannot be ruled out that Z.’s research in Munich has contributed – directly or indirectly – to the development of surveillance satellites.

Moreover, according to experts such as Alex Joske, published research is only the tip of the iceberg: what matters more are the relationships that provide insight into university infrastructures and research setups.

Joske is regarded as the world’s leading expert on technology transfer and the potential leakage of knowledge to the Chinese military. Pre-2020, he published several seminal works on the topic for ASPI, and has since then advised governments and academic institutions on these issues. In 2022, his book Spies and Lies: How China’s Greatest Covert Operations Fooled the World was published.

“Many Chinese universities — and all Chinese military universities — do not operate according to the same standards and principles of openness as Western universities. Their purpose is to strengthen China’s national power and its military,” Joske told CORRECTIV in 2022. “And universities that cooperate with the Chinese military, whether they like it or not, have become part of that game.”

In an interview with CORRECTIV, Joske described the current investigation as “concerning.” What he found particularly troubling was that Z. had concealed her military background and had established a network of Chinese students from military-linked institutions at her TUM  department.

We asked Z. about her motivations for collaborating with military and military-adjacent institutions in China, as well as about her network, but received no response.

The boundaries between the civilian and military use of research are becoming increasingly blurred in China. The regime under Xi Jinping and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) makes no secret of this approach: it forms part of an official, long-term strategy.

For years, China’s political leadership has pursued the goal of using  knowledge and technology for the defence sector. This project is evident in numerous strategic plans, speeches, and publications of recent years.

Moreover, Chinese law requires that researchers comply with the will of the CCP. The relevant legislation also stipulates that the Central Military Commission shall direct a systematic militarisation of research findings.

The handling of German-Chinese research collaborations is the subject of intense debate. The China strategy published by the German government in 2023 has come under criticism in this regard. It is said to be too vague, inconsistent, and insufficiently attuned to the realities of security policy. At the same time, there are concerns that excessive restrictions could endanger academic freedom or hinder important scientific progress.

Experts have been calling on the German government to take action for years. Among their proposals are centralised registers listing both high-risk institutions in China and particularly sensitive research fields where cooperations should be avoided. So far, however, the government’s efforts have amounted to little more than lip service.

The Professor’s Motivations Remain a Mystery

Just how risky collaboration with Chinese institutions can be was highlighted by the arrest of three German nationals in early 2024, who allegedly engaged in espionage on behalf of China. They allegedly sought to obtain technological knowledge by setting up specific research partnerships, which they initiated through the use of front companies.

Back to the former star scientist. Aside from her connections to the Chinese defence apparatus, it remains entirely unclear whether Z. ever had any contact with Chinese intelligence services – or whether she was ever directed or pressured into certain actions. She herself states that she only enrolled in a civilian programme at the military university where got her Bachelor’s degree, and is not a member of the Communist Party.

Both the TUM board of management and the Bavarian State Chancellery were informed by the DLR of their serious allegation of espionage against Z., according to information available to CORRECTIV. Neither, however, appears to have taken any action.

In response to questions from CORRECTIV on the university’s handling of the matter, the TUM spokesperson declined to comment. A spokesperson for the Bavarian Ministry of Science, meanwhile, pointed to the university’s responsibility, stating that it is up to each institution “to assess whether the individuals they employ are involved in security-relevant matters and, if so, to take appropriate precautions.”

It’s a delicate and complex situation, comprising serious allegations of espionage and militarily applicable research. Z. declined to comment when approached, so we were unable to learn what motivated her various decisions, which, when taken together, raise questions. Her subordinates and those familiar with the case at both the DLR and the TUM remain puzzled by the circumstances surrounding her.

For this case is not solely about an accusation of espionage. Recently, more information about Z. has emerged, including the fact that, alongside her role at the TUM, Z. is commercially active in China.

Z. is in fact involved in a state-affiliated business network in China, which is raising eyebrows at her TUM department. Her husband is also reportedly implicated. The focus is on AI applications in medicine, a field outside her usual area of expertise. However, there are indications that Z.’s deep learning algorithms could also be used to analyse ultrasound images. This suspected secondary use of her research, including via patented technologies, appears to be generating millions in China. Medical applications of the research were never discussed in Munich, according to someone from her department.

It became clear in 2019 that Z. was not primarily motivated by money in taking up her position in Germany. At the time, she used a competing job offer from a private Chinese company who reportedly offered her the equivalent of around €390,000 a year in an attempt to renegotiate her role and salary. That figure was more than three times what the DLR could offer. Nevertheless, Z. chose to remain in her position at the DLR.

In response to our inquiries about her activities in China and the lucrative job offer, Z. declined to comment. These could be mere coincidences, nothing more than a few more strange details.

At the DLR, nobody believes in coincidences anymore.

A person from the DLR familiar with Z.’s case notes, that, looking back, everything is in keeping with the overall picture of a scientist who sought to gain and maintain access to this German research institution at all costs. “She kept trying,” they say, “through every means possible.“

Reporting: Till Eckert, Alexej Hock
Editing: Anette Dowideit, Gabriela Keller
Fact-Checking: Elena Kolb
Assistance: Marie Bröckling
Design: Ivo Mayr
Communication: Esther Ecke, Katharina Roche, Nadine Winter
Translation: Ellie Norman