‘A symptom of economic malaise’: China’s youths escape from urban pressures at ‘retirement homes’

SINGAPORE: Dawn breaks, warming the cobblestone paths and timeworn walls of a sleepy village in northern China. Dogs bark in the distance as cicadas buzz, while roving vendors call out intermittently.
According to 28-year-old digital nomad Xiaofei, this is what a typical morning looks and sounds like at Guanye Youth Retirement Village in Hebei, one of the many communes for young, burnt-out professionals. 
Nestled near the scenic Yesanpo National Park, a rough three-hour drive from downtown Beijing, the setting she describes at the village is a far cry from the urban reality of the Chinese capital – where rush-hour traffic, meetings and deadlines are the norm.
Curiosity was what drove the Beijing native to make the move two months ago, after discovering the facility on social media app Xiaohongshu.
“I was tired of the competitive environment in the city. After experiencing (this youth retirement village), I found it quite comfortable, and it feels like I am returning to my hometown,” she told CNA.
“The environment also impressed me. It has mountains and rivers, with a strong rural vibe, and I really enjoy nature.”
Guanye is an example of a  “youth retirement home” or “qing nian yang lao yuan” as described in Chinese media reports.
Like Ms Xiaofei, more young people have been seeking such spaces out, a trend which analysts say reflects the growing disillusionment of a young generation, as they face up to a stuttering Chinese economy, a fiercely competitive job market and the rising cost of living.
“I think (the emergence of youth retirement homes is) a symptom of a larger illness, which is economic malaise and job market malaise,” said Mr Zak Dychtwald, founder of think tank and consultancy firm Young China Group.
“(We have a) young generation who is integrating the new economic reality into their worldview.”
Contrary to its name, a youth retirement home is not an elderly care facility. According to Mr Cui Kai, one of six managers at Guanye, the word “retirement” is used symbolically, to “denote a quest for inner peace and a serene lifestyle, transcending age boundaries”.
“This creative reinterpretation of traditional retirement reflects a broader cultural shift towards valuing personal well-being and mental health,” he said, adding that it’s to offer youths a sanctuary from their “high-pressure lives”.
Established in 2017, Guanye offers more than 240 beds across three dormitory buildings and 10 courtyards. Prices start from 138 yuan (US$19) for a day’s stay, and up to 3,599 yuan for a month. 
The majority of the tenants are aged between 20 and 40, including freelancers, professionals experiencing career stagnation, and adventure seekers. It’s already fully booked for the month.
While there are no formal age restrictions at Guanye, the rules are different at another centre in Mandiu Ancient Village, Yunnan.
In an interview with Chinese news site Yitiao, its founder Lu Baike shared that they do not accept anyone over the age of 45. He explained that they “don’t socialise much”, and many typically stay for a few days before leaving to return to their families and responsibilites.
“This defeats the purpose of coming here,” he said.
In addition, his centre also does not take in those who have “never worked a day after leaving school and just want to ‘lie flat’”, as this mindset does not align with the community’s values.
Guanye’s concept also diverges from traditional caregiving facilities. Originally conceived as one simple home, the founders told CNA they expanded their vision to involve a larger community, including refurbishing unoccupied houses, in a broader effort of rural revitalisation.
Meals are communal affairs. Regular activities include rafting, hiking, photography walks and dumpling-making competitions, which Mr Cui says helps foster connections between the lodgers and villagers.
Participating in the activities is voluntary as the focus is on forming genuine connections and shared experiences, said Ms Xiaofei.
Similar youth retirement homes have popped up across China, signalling growing demand. While there is no public database for reference, checks by CNA found that such facilities have been established in places like Zhengzhou, Chongqing, Yunnan and Shandong.
But the trend of youth retirement homes is seeing brickbats, especially from the older generation.
On Chinese social media app Weibo, one user had this to say: “Why do young people want to ‘retire’ so early? It’s a case of neglecting one’s proper duties.”
“It would be hard to imagine how society could progress if this mindset is adopted by all of the young people,” another user wrote, even while conceding that the trend reflects “real issues” like the “harsh” employment landscape and work environment in China.
“Young people are tired; many don’t see hope in achieving what they want in their careers,” acknowledged Dr Amir Hampel, a clinical assistant professor of Global China Studies at NYU Shanghai.
But even as some opt for a brief disconnect at youth retirement homes, they aren’t merely wasting away, he told CNA.
“They don’t sit around getting drunk at these centres, for the most part. They acquire cultural capital.”
For 20-year-old university student Fang Jingyu, the short two-day stay she had at Guanye Youth Retirement Village in early July came as a pleasant surprise.
“Previously, I had some prejudice towards rural homestays, with the feeling that the bourgeois charm and local culture were often at odds,” she told CNA.
“However, this was not the case here. I was deeply impressed by the strong emotional bonds between the organisers, guests, and local villagers.”
Ms Fang added that she found the villagers “very endearing”, and appreciated the firsthand experience of northern China’s “authentic rural culture”.
“Watching the aunty cook stewed rice using a traditional stove was a rare and valuable experience,” she said.
In spaces like these youth retirement homes, those who sign up are mostly middle class and will want middle-class lifestyles, said Dr Hampel.
“They are not really dropping out…these spaces give youths a place to meet peers and escape pressures, at least temporarily.”
“They feel that they are not wasting time, but engaging in self-improvement.”
Dr Hampel said that some of the youths use their time out to develop skills like networking and organising. Others also take the chance to shore up their general knowledge.
“These are skills that are valuable in the market,” he pointed out.
While there are various commercial entertainment venues in big cities for young people to meet, these places are often expensive and noisy, making it difficult to meet their needs for a “third place”, said Guanye manager Mr Cui.
Coined in the 1980s by American sociologist Ray Oldenburg, the concept of a “third place” has gained popularity over the years. It refers to a space for informal, free social interaction – that is neither home nor work, but instead one that encourages a sense of warmth and community.
“(Guanye is a) ‘charging station’ for modern life, an escape from the bustling city for those seeking a balance between work and relaxation,” said Mr Cui.
“More than just a place to stay, it provides an environment that nurtures emotional well-being and personal growth.”
Analysts say the emergence of this new trend broadly aligns with the “tangping” or “lying flat” movement in China that emerged in 2021, which advocates for a rejection of conventional career ambitions in favour of a simpler, less stressful lifestyle.
Beyond being trendy catchphrases, the latest buzzwords on Chinese social media offer a snapshot of a society in transition, highlighting the broader trends of disillusionment and resistance among Chinese youth facing intense societal and professional pressures.
The term “nei juan” – or “involution” – is composed of the two Chinese characters for “inward” and “rolling”, which could be understood as a process that curls inwards and spirals, akin to being trapped in a cycle.
It was coined by American anthropologist Clifford Geertz in 1963 to describe diminishing returns, or the self-perpetuating processes that keep agrarian societies from progressing.
But the term only entered the Chinese vernacular relatively recently, taking on a different meaning as well.
In 2020, “nei juan” emerged as one of the most popular buzzwords on Weibo, symbolising the pervasive exhaustion felt within an overly competitive environment. 
For China’s millennials, it has become a rallying cry against the relentless pressures of the infamous “996” work culture, which demands working from 9am to 9pm, six days a week.
What happens when someone grows weary of the relentless rat race? Chinese youth are opting for “tang ping,” or “lying flat.”
Emerging as both a lifestyle choice and a social movement in 2021, “lying flat” is a reaction against and rejection of the societal pressures to overwork.
Rejecting the rigours of work for a simpler, low-desire life, the movement gained popularity among many young Chinese as they turned their back on severe competition and high social expectations.
Analysts have said that “‘lying flat” also subtly critiques a political culture that urges individuals to dedicate themselves entirely to work for the sake of the nation.
“It is a passive idea of refusing to engage in the rat race. In my view, it is usually an ideal or a way to express frustration, rather than an actual life plan,” according to Dr Amir Hampel, clinical assistant professor of Global China Studies at NYU Shanghai.
Taking it a step further is “bai lan” – Chinese slang that translates to “let it rot”.
Compared to the more deliberate approach of “tang ping” which is a lifestyle choice to opt out of competitive pressures, “bai lan” involves a more passive stance where individuals intentionally let things deteriorate.
The term has its origins in basketball, where teams would voluntarily retreat in the face of a losing battle. 
Citing the connection to a number of current issues, such as uneven economic growth and an ageing population, Dr Hampel told CNA the Chinese government “is certainly very worried about these ideas”.
“(That’s) because this signals that youths don’t believe it’s possible to get ahead, and because these feelings come from a cohort of youths that are overeducated for the jobs available, the government is trying to scale back on higher education. The country needs more blue-collar workers and fewer office professionals.”
 
Mr Dychtwald from Young China Group believes that the emergence of youth nursing homes forms part of a broader trend reflecting significant generational shifts. 
He sees this generation of young Chinese as aspirational but also anxious as they endure high expectations and intense pressure, coupled with the nation now facing a “historically unprecedented bear run for China”.
China’s economy grew 4.7 per cent in the April-June period, slowing from the previous quarter’s 5.3 per cent expansion and the slowest since the first quarter of 2023.
“They’ve always wanted to be themselves and fulfil their own dreams. (But) the new economic reality says the aspirations they had when they were younger are almost impossible for many of them, or at least to fulfil the lofty or aspirational dreams that they once had,” Mr Dychtwald said.
He pointed out that average incomes are not keeping pace with housing prices, calling the ratio “deeply distorted”.
Data from MSA, a Shanghai-based full-service accounting and strategic advisory partner, shows that the average monthly rent in first-tier cities such as Shanghai is 7,000 yuan, while similar accommodation in Beijing averages around 6,500 yuan.
Rental prices in quasi-first-tier cities like Xi’an command a monthly average of 3,200 yuan, the stats show.
In contrast, the average monthly salary across 38 Chinese cities surveyed was 10,266 yuan in Q2 2023, according to figures from Zhaopin, one of the nation’s leading online recruitment platforms. 
Those who fall in the 25th percentile, with a monthly salary of 6,001 yuan a month, will likely not be able to afford a place in first-tier cities on their own dime.
And that’s not accounting for daily expenses like food, transportation, and miscellaneous costs including personal care items, which all stack up.
“(This leads) to young people feeling like the life that they want is out of reach, in the face of a difficult economic picture,” Mr Dychtwald noted.
“So what do they do? Some of them are ‘lying flat’, some of them are ‘rotting on the shelf’, and some are creating certain interesting alternatives, (such as being) full-time children.”
“The idea that it’s actually a better use of time to be spending time with their family and getting a small stipend for that, and also living at home.”
While supporters of the “lying flat” movement claim it as emotional catharsis, state media have often suggested that it goes against China’s Communist Party’s principles.
President Xi Jinping declared in 2018 that the new era “belongs to those who work hard”, and “happiness can only be achieved through great endeavours”.
In 2021, a commentary published in the state-run newspaper Guangming Daily referred to “lying flat” as the “discordant beat” of those who, being contented with the status quo under the abundant social material conditions, had become “hesitant” and “afraid of difficulties” ahead, even before the country’s development could reach “new heights”.
Mr Dychtwald noted that the mindset shift observed in China, especially among the younger generation, mirrors broader global trends. This is characterised by a move away from the traditional career ladder and towards more flexible, community-oriented living arrangements.
In the United States and Europe, millennials and Gen Zs are also pushing back against the traditional 9-to-5 work model, advocating for remote work, gig economy jobs, and more work-life balance.
“It used to feel like everyone knew somebody who was getting a great job, or somebody who was raising money, or companies who were hiring. That doesn’t exist anymore the way that it used to.” Mr Dychtwald said.
“Even before the pandemic, there was a rebellion against the pressure-filled life of first-tier cities. I see this as being a continuation and an acceleration of a trend, for a part of the economy who weren’t winning economically or weren’t getting the jobs, weren’t getting the promotions, weren’t getting the benefits of China’s growth economy, and weren’t willing to settle for jobs that pay 3,000 yuan, 4,000 yuan a month.”
Mr Dychtwald also believes the rising popularity of youth retirement homes ties in with a renewed interest in communal living.
“There’s a lot of recognition by young people globally – not just in China – that social media has made them lonely, that while they’re more connected, they lack connection and want to be at a college-like environment without a college, so just being with the community is appealing.”
It’s a point that Ms Xiaofei the digital nomad can attest to. When telling CNA her experience at Guanye Youth Retirement Village, she described how chatter and laughter were a mainstay of the communal breakfasts, with conversations flowing naturally.
Likening the experience to a travel programme, Mr Dychtwald said he understands it as “a slightly elevated version of (backpacking), rather than like a long-term living care unit.”
“But I could be wrong. A year or two from now, these people might be still living in those places, but they’ll be having to earn an income, so it will be interesting if it becomes either a travel experiment or a communal living experiment.”
As for Ms Fang, who is pursuing a degree in International Journalism and Communication at a university in Beijing, she looks forward to the day when she can return to Guanye to relax.
“Most people will want to lie down and rest for a while before setting off again, and I’m no different,” she said.
“I remember one of the slogans of the retirement village was ‘please lie down.’ It actually provides a chance for everyone to rest completely and guilt-free for a while.
“I consider myself someone with a sense of purpose, so I’ll just keep moving forward, even if it means worrying a little along the way.”