Chinese President Xi Jinping’s meeting with Russian President Vladimir Putin in June marked a high-water point in Beijing’s efforts to formalize a strategic partnership with Moscow—one that, despite its bold rhetoric, remains constrained by deep-seated historical distrust and competing national interests. The joint statement issued after the summit, which condemned U.S. “unilateralism” and reaffirmed opposition to a “multipolar world,” underscored the alliance’s symbolic unity. Yet beneath the surface, the two powers’ relationship is riddled with tensions that threaten to undermine its long-term viability.
The extension of the 1991 Treaty of Good Neighborliness and Friendly Cooperation for another five years—now running until 2028—was a deliberate signal of continuity. But the absence of a concrete agreement on Russia’s Power of Siberia 2 gas pipeline, a project critical to Moscow’s economic survival following Europe’s near-total rejection of Russian energy exports, revealed the limits of Beijing’s commitment. China’s reluctance to commit to the $40 billion pipeline, which would deliver 50 billion cubic meters of gas annually, stems from concerns over overdependence on Russian supplies and demands for more favorable pricing terms. A leaked internal memo from China’s National Energy Administration, obtained by Russian state media, noted that Beijing was seeking a 20% discount on the proposed rate, a demand Moscow has resisted as economically untenable.
Russia’s vulnerability is further exposed by China’s growing economic footprint in Siberia and the Russian Far East. Official Chinese investment in the region has surged by 40% since 2022, according to data from the Russian Federal State Statistics Service, with Beijing-backed infrastructure projects—such as the $1.5 billion China-Russia Industrial Park in Heihe—positioning Chinese firms as dominant players in resource extraction and logistics. This economic encroachment has stoked fears in Moscow of demographic displacement, as Chinese laborers and entrepreneurs migrate eastward in search of opportunities. A 2023 report by the Russian Academy of Sciences warned that unchecked migration could destabilize local communities, a concern that has led Putin to impose stricter visa controls for Chinese workers in border regions.
The historical baggage between Beijing and Moscow looms large. The 1969 border clashes on the Ussuri River, which nearly escalated into nuclear conflict, remain a sensitive memory for both sides. Decades earlier, Russia’s seizure of Vladivostok under the 1860 Treaty of Peking—one of the so-called “unequal treaties”—left a lasting wound in Chinese national consciousness. Even as the two powers now present themselves as allies, Beijing’s support for Afghan mujahideen during the Soviet-Afghan War (1979–1989) serves as a reminder of China’s willingness to exploit Soviet weaknesses when strategic interests aligned. “China’s relationship with Russia is transactional at its core,” said Alexei Pushkov, a former Russian ambassador to the UN, in a recent interview with Kommersant. “Beijing will cooperate when it suits them, but it will never abandon its long-term goal of reducing Moscow to a secondary partner.”
The North Korea Gambit
If China’s ties with Russia are fraught, its relationship with North Korea is even more precarious. The upcoming visit by Xi to Pyongyang—expected within the next four weeks—comes at a critical juncture. North Korea’s decision to sign a mutual defense pact with Russia in April, along with its reported supply of artillery shells to Moscow for use in Ukraine, has forced Beijing to recalibrate its approach. The visit, which would be Xi’s first to North Korea since 2019, is part of a broader effort to counterbalance Pyongyang’s deepening alignment with Russia.
China remains North Korea’s economic lifeline, accounting for over 90% of its trade and nearly all of its crude oil imports. Yet the relationship is built on mutual exploitation: Beijing tolerates Pyongyang’s nuclear program as long as it does not directly threaten Chinese stability, while North Korea relies on Chinese subsidies to avoid collapse. The historical dynamic is equally fraught. For centuries, Korean dynasties operated within China’s tributary system, a relationship that many Korean nationalists still view as humiliating. Kim Il-sung, North Korea’s founder, carefully balanced between Beijing and Moscow during the Cold War to avoid subordination to either power, a strategy Kim Jong-un has largely abandoned in favor of a more assertive stance.
Kim Jong-un’s decision to snub China by skipping the 2023 Victory Day parade in Beijing—where he was expected to stand alongside Xi and Putin—was a deliberate slight. His absence sent a message: North Korea would not be treated as a junior partner. Yet the recent invitation to participate in this year’s parade, followed by Xi’s planned visit, suggests Beijing is seeking to reassert influence. The stakes are high. If North Korea’s nuclear program advances unchecked, China risks a regional arms race that could draw U.S. Military intervention—a scenario Beijing seeks to avoid at all costs. Meanwhile, any instability in Pyongyang could trigger a refugee crisis, with hundreds of thousands of North Koreans potentially fleeing across the border into China’s northeastern provinces.
A leaked internal briefing from China’s Ministry of State Security, obtained by Nikkei Asia, warned that North Korea’s military cooperation with Russia could provoke a U.S. Response that destabilizes the entire region. “The U.S. Will not stand idle if North Korea becomes a direct supplier of weapons to Russia,” the briefing stated. “This could force China into a position where it must choose between its ally and its own security interests.”
A Partnership Built on Sand
The strategic partnership between China, Russia and North Korea is less a unified front and more a collection of uneasy alliances held together by shared opposition to U.S. Influence. While the joint statement from Xi and Putin’s summit framed their relationship as “no limits,” the reality is one of cautious engagement. China’s refusal to endorse Russia’s annexation of Ukrainian territories in its entirety—despite public declarations of solidarity—reveals the depth of Beijing’s reluctance to be drawn into Moscow’s conflicts. Similarly, North Korea’s willingness to supply Russia with ammunition for its war in Ukraine demonstrates Pyongyang’s independence, even as it relies on Chinese economic support.
For now, the three powers are bound by mutual convenience: Russia needs Chinese markets and North Korean arms; China requires North Korea’s compliance on nuclear issues and Russia’s distraction of U.S. Attention; and North Korea depends on China’s economic lifeline while hedging against over-reliance. But the foundation of this partnership is shaky. Historical grievances, economic self-interest, and strategic caution ensure that none of these relationships will endure beyond the immediate geopolitical moment. As Evgeny Primakov, a former Russian foreign minister, once noted, “Alliances of convenience are the most fragile of all.” The question is not whether this partnership will last, but how long it will take for the cracks to show.
