Beijing’s Housing Nightmare! 80% Price Drop—The Biggest Collapse in China!

I cried my eyes out after buying this house. My mortgage is over 3,700 yuan and I've been paying it for 5 years. Yet I still owe 640,000 yuan, while the value of my house has crashed to just 540,000 yuan. My loan is worth more than the house itself. Every single day I feel like I'm just working for the bank. Since buying the house, I haven't eaten out once. For breakfast, I only have an egg. It's cheap and healthy. Ever since I bought the house, I've been terrified to spend on anything else, afraid I won't have enough left to cover the mortgage. They say buying a home brings happiness and a better life. But why do I feel no happiness at all? Beijing's real estate market is collapsing at record speed. Prices within the once-unreachable Fourth Ring Road have fallen to 20,000 yuan per square meter. Beyond the Fifth Ring Road, the crash is even worse. Some neighborhoods have lost half their value. Countless homes sit empty and unsold, and no one knows when the market will finally hit bottom. One netizen revealed, this neighborhood has seen the steepest price crash in Beijing, from over 20,000 yuan per square meter, down to just 6,000 yuan today, an 80% plunge. You can now move into an 85-square-meter, two-bedroom apartment for just 80,000 yuan, with a basement and seven appliances included. Without a Beijing hukou, why would we spend 4.8 million yuan to buy a house here? For ordinary graduates like my husband and me, a hukou is nearly impossible. We'd need either a points-based residency or a talent program, neither of which we qualify for. So why settle here instead of going back home? Yes, jobs are abundant in Beijing, and salaries are higher. But back home, opportunities are scarce, salaries are only 3,000 to 4,000 yuan, and now that we have a child, we want stability. We don't want to keep renting and moving forever. The blogger explained that their child will start elementary school in two years. To enroll, they must either own a home in the district or pay into local social security. Her husband's social security is in Haidian District, so without a house, they'd have to rent just to secure schooling. But renting near good schools costs 10,000 yuan a month, completely unaffordable. So in May this year, they bought a home in Beijing for 4.8 million yuan. After 10 years in the city, they finally became homeowners. Real estate, once the engine of China's growth, has fallen into an unprecedented crisis. When Beijing lifted purchase restrictions in some districts, panic selling exploded, sending housing prices into freefall. In outer areas like Huilongguan and Shunyi in Changping, prices have dropped by 50%. In the surrounding regions, the crash is even more devastating, with values slashed to a fraction of their peaks. This blogger also bought a second-hand home in Beijing for 2.3 million yuan. And here's a glimpse inside. As soon as you walk in, there's a small living room around 10 square meters. The sofas and TV were left by the landlord. Ahead is the master bedroom, quite large, with the bed and wardrobe also left behind. It feels spacious. This is the typical layout of Beijing's older homes. Beijing's housing prices are once again the fastest falling in the nation. And this isn't the first time. It's already late today, but I still had to share this video. The new 70-city housing price data was just released. Beijing's second-hand housing price index is 98.8, reflecting the real fluctuation of the market. Beijing ranks first nationwide, dead last. And this isn't the first time Beijing has hit the bottom. The 70-city data refers to the changes in commercial residential sales prices in 70 large and medium-sized cities, report released regularly by China's National Bureau of Statistics. It's one of the most important indicators for tracking the real estate market. The latest release is the August index. The previous was July. In July, Beijing's reading was 98.9, tied with Wuhan for the largest decline. This time, Beijing has taken the bottom spot on its own. The blogger pointed out that Beijing, despite having the deepest capital among China's first-tier cities, is experiencing the steepest fall. This shocked many, proving that when housing prices collapse, no city is untouchable, not even Beijing. We bought a house near the Fifth Ring Road at the end of 2023. With agent fees, it cost 3 million yuan. Renovations added 200,000 yuan. And the 25-year mortgage brings interest over 800,000 yuan, making the total nearly 4 million yuan. Now I worry it won't even sell. Elevators and hallways are plastered with ads for units. A similar apartment to ours is listed at 2.18 million yuan, and the real selling price may be even lower. In just one year, the 800,000 yuan loss has wiped out our down payment. It's not impossible for a 3 million yuan home to sink to 1.7 or 1.8 million, or lower. Prices once rose from just 100,000 yuan. Some people profit, others lose their life savings. The blogger lamented, losing 800,000 yuan in a single year. How can the average person ever save that much? On the bright side, a home is more than a commodity. It's shelter, security, and family happiness. But she still advises, wait before you buy. The blogger also revealed that housing in Beijing's Tangzhou district has fallen more than 50% from last year. Do I regret buying? We bought at the peak in 2021. To buy a house and a car, we had to pay sky-high prices. Our 53-square-meter apartment near the Third Ring Road cost 85,000 yuan per square meter, totaling 4.56 million yuan. The loan is for 23 years, with monthly payments of 18,500 yuan and a brokerage fee of 120,000 yuan. The night we signed the contract, my husband and I had mixed feelings. We went from a carefree life with a 70,000 yuan monthly income to being crushed under 3 million yuan of debt. The market is terrible today. Early this year, the apartment across from us sold for 3.5 million. And just recently, the one next door sold for 3.15 million. That's a drop of over 1 million yuan in just three years. Many told the blogger she bought too early and should have waited. Some asked if she regretted it. She replied, Honestly, there's a sense of loss and resentment, but I don't regret it. Buying a house is like buying stocks. It rises and falls. And no one can predict the future. Fortunately, their home is in a prime location, with schools, subways, hospitals, parks, supermarkets, and even her in-laws nearby for child care. Going from renters to owners gave them peace of mind. She hopes they can work harder, earn more, and pay off the mortgage soon. I've cut the price of my house from over 3 million to just above 1 million. And still, no buyers. It's been on the market for two months. Aside from a handful of viewings, nothing. I've lowered the price twice, but still no offers. No extra viewings, no serious interest. The agent came again today, urging me to slash the price further. In this market, do we really have to cut to the bone without mercy? The blogger explained she put her job search on hold to sell the house quickly, making herself available for viewings anytime. Now she's lost everything. Not only the house remains unsold, but her career is on pause. Selling a house is painful enough, but having to slash the price mercilessly is heartbreaking. Our house has lost over 2 million yuan in value. That's devastating. As a young couple who came to Beijing after the 1994 protests, Ming-ge and I were considered successful in our careers. We owned three homes in Beijing, Chengdu, and Zhangjiakou. All bought with our own effort, without family support. But we bought them at the peak. Over the years, their value has dropped by over 2 million yuan. All our years of hard work? Wiped out. Saving 2 million yuan is nearly impossible, especially for young people without wealthy families. The blogger admitted, Am I sad? Yes. Losing over 2 million yuan would break anyone. The blogger shared that Ming-ge bought the Chengdu home in his hometown. She bought the Zhangjiakou home for her parents. And the Beijing home was for the two of them. Sometimes she wonders if they hadn't bought in Beijing in 2022. Maybe by 2024 or 2025, they could have afforded a larger 130, 140 square meter home in a better location. That thought still haunts her. Their current place works for daily life. But it feels small. Upgrading is tempting but costly. Agency fees, transfer taxes, renovations. For now, all they can do is keep working harder, waiting for the day they can afford better options. Chaoyang homeowners are living a nightmare this year. I met a client yesterday who owns two properties. One dropped 20% in value, the other nearly halved. And it's not just him. Across Chaoyang, from tiny old flats to luxury homes, secondhand prices are collapsing. The whole district feels like a chorus of wailing. Hurry up and sell. Don't say I didn't warn you. 2025 is your last chance. Stop hesitating. Sell and cut the Gordian knot. If you miss this window, you'll be stuck. Next year, Beijing's housing market will flip. All the perks, talent subsidies, down payment cuts, lower rates, go to new homes. Secondhand homes are treated like stepchildren, left with nothing. If you plan to sell, do it now. Don't gamble on a rebound, especially with old or small flats. Sell early to avoid bigger losses. Prices are falling hard, and there's no sign of a comeback. I sat and waited for four whole hours, and not a single order came in. It only drizzled a little this morning, just a few drops of rain. But my goodness, not even a single person walked into the shop. Even if I had sold just a lollipop or a pack of instant noodles, that would have been something. But nope, sales were literally zero. Running a business like this is enough to drive anyone crazy. It's not even the weekend today, just a regular Thursday. So how can business be this dead? I really don't get it. Guys, how much did you manage to sell this morning? As for me, I made nothing at all. I'm completely broke and seriously depressed. A customer told me that this month has been the hardest time in their life. Not just slow sales, but no sales at all. China's economy is going through a prolonged depression, and even the biggest economic center, Shanghai, is no exception. People can't make money anymore. Basic survival has become an issue. Many netizens have posted videos showing how a huge number of stores have closed down in areas like Nanjing Road Pedestrian Street, Hongqiao Station, and Shanghai Railway Station. It's heartbreaking to see. There was an online article titled, Only after arriving at Hongqiao Station did I realize Shanghai is really out of money. It described how shops along the station corridors are all shut down or under renovation, with dim lighting and none of the past liveliness. Yet the main hall was packed with people and unbearably hot. Hongqiao has tightened its belt to the point of not even running the air conditioning at full capacity. The bleakness of it all really tugs at your heart. Could you give me a meal box? For free, right? Yes, thank you. You only want rice? Yeah, just rice. Thank you. Here, here's your food. Thank you. Should I buy you a pair of shoes? No need. You don't want the shoes either. If you do this, I won't dare come ask for food from your shop again. It's okay. I'll buy you a pair of shoes. No, really, I don't need it. You really don't? Yes, thank you. Don't mention it. A video online showed a man walking into a fast food restaurant. He saw some leftover rice on the table and began eating it. The shop owner stopped him and said, If I have it, you can always come here. Don't eat that. I'll give you a fresh serving, all right? What do you like to eat? I'll make it for you. I want fish. You want fish? How about this one? Okay. Do you want anything else? Do you have potatoes? Here are the potatoes. Sit here and eat, okay? Don't eat other people's leftovers. If there's still food left and you come late, I'll serve you a fresh portion. China's economy continues to decline, and every industry is in a slump. It's already July. Time to report sales figures. Ladies, how is everyone's business doing this month? Honestly, I feel like I can't breathe anymore. This morning, just after I opened the store, my husband was already yelling inside, demanding I shut down immediately, saying this shop is just a money pit. From 9 a.m. all the way to 10.30 p.m., I only made 200 yuan in sales. The day before yesterday, I managed 500. Yesterday, absolutely nothing. Not even a single camisole sold. This is a shop I invested hundreds of thousands of yuan into. Since the pandemic, business has just gotten colder and colder each year. Last year, I barely broke even with great effort. This year, I'm seriously in the red. Half of July is already over, and I've only brought in this much. I can't even cover the electricity bill. I definitely won't be able to repay my loan. Business was bad in June, but at least I sold a bit of stock. In July, it's been completely dead. Today, I only made 125 yuan. The weather's been scorching hot for days now, and it's been three days straight without a single day breaking 600 yuan in sales. If this continues, my loan will certainly be overdue next month. I took out this loan before last Lunar New Year to stock up on winter goods. More than 50,000 yuan in total. It's not a huge sum for some people, but given the current situation, I haven't even managed to earn it back in half a year. Just thinking about this business makes me feel helpless. People might still call me boss out there, but in reality, I'm flat broke. These past two days, I've been so worried I can't sleep. The pressure is unbearable. My barbecue shop is about to close down. I just took it over in April. The transfer fee was 50,000 yuan. The rent is 3,200 yuan a month, with one month's deposit and three months' rent up front, totaling 62,800 yuan. That's all the savings I scraped together over six years by tightening every belt imaginable. For many people, tens of thousands of yen might not seem like a lot, but for a mom who's been at home raising a child for six years without a single cent of income, it's been incredibly hard. Blogger A Ding said she used to be a manager earning tens of thousands of yuan a month and never imagined there'd come a day she'd have to ask others for money. That's why, against all advice, she stubbornly opened this barbecue shop, only to end up in failure. Today, I received my salary, 4,124 yuan in total. After deductions for social insurance and taking 1.5 days of leave, I'm left with less than 4,200 yuan. I've set aside 2,000 yuan to deposit into my savings account. Of the remaining 2,100 yuan, 1,000 goes toward rent and utilities, and the last 1,000 yuan is for my food expenses. Tonight, I'm rendering pork fat because I've run out of cooking oil at home. Peanut oil is too expensive. A small bottle costs dozens of yuan. Stir-frying vegetables with pork fat still smells great. I'll boil some rice noodles tonight. After work, I bought a bunch of greens for just over 2 yuan. All together, tonight's dinner costs less than 3 yuan. I live frugally like this because money is getting harder and harder to earn. Who knows when I might lose my job, so I try to save just in case, so I won't have to borrow money to see a doctor or do something important. Another reason is that I don't want my parents, who are already over 50, to continue doing hard labor. I want to save enough to take them traveling and let them try foods from around the country. My coffee shop is counting down to closure, just 27 days left. I invested 300,000 yuan into it with 12,000 yuan in rent. Now there are only three to five customers a day. They once claimed they were going to build the most prosperous commercial center in Nanning, but now it's nothing more than an empty shopping plaza. I didn't open this cafe on a whim. It was a carefully thought-out decision after surveying the commercial districts around Nanning. I didn't choose the location blindly and I wasn't gambling recklessly. That's why I didn't just sell coffee. I even designed a food menu myself. But the reality has been extremely tough. I've tried many ways to save the cafe, even hiring an agency to help with operations, only to be scammed out of several thousand yuan. I kept making short videos so that people in the neighborhood would know about my little shop. Just yesterday, unexpectedly, eight or nine uncles came by saying they saw my video and knew how hard it is for a young woman to start a business. Those eight cups of coffee moved me so much that my hands were shaking. Turns out when you're about to collapse, genuine kindness can fall from the sky. There are 27 days left. I don't know if I'll see the light at the end of the tunnel, but as long as you're still here, I want to try one more time. You're welcome to come for the last cup of coffee in our story. Right now, it's difficult to make money in any industry. What's more worrying is that some people are being driven to extremes just to survive. Two young women in Wuhan livestreamed themselves selling blood. They said they had no money to eat, so they had to sell blood for cash. Each of them had five tubes drawn at Wuhan No. 11 People's Hospital. In recent years, the number of college graduates in China has reached record highs, from 11.58 million in 2023 to 11.87 million in 2024, and an estimated 12.22 million in 2025-2025. That's why many people joke that 2025 will be the most tragic graduation season in history. The documentary, Graduation Equals Unemployment, which was once banned online, realistically portrays this exact situation. Ning Shan, a master's graduate from a prestigious 2-1-1 university, originally chose civil engineering because China's real estate market was booming at the time. But by the time she graduated in 2022, the property market had already collapsed and civil engineering had entered a deep freeze. When she opened job hunting apps, she discovered that degrees had seriously depreciated. Even basic roles like registration staff or audit assistants now required a master's degree, but the salary was only 5,000 to 6,000 yuan. She couldn't find a job for a long time. Eating became a problem. In the end, she had to resort to live streaming. She joked to herself, at least with one day of live streaming, I can earn enough for instant noodles.