Recent conversations with Chinese friends reveal a surprising perspective on housing costs. When I mentioned that average home prices in Seoul now exceed 1 billion won, the response was, “That’s not particularly expensive.” This reaction, given that the average starting salary for young professionals in China hovers around 6,000 to 7,000 yuan per month (approximately 1.5 million won), was unexpected.
Shifting Housing Norms and Daily Realities
However, this sentiment becomes more understandable when considering the reality for many young people in Beijing. The concept of owning a private home is so distant that sharing a single house among several individuals, known as ‘hezu’ (co-living), has become a common and accepted living arrangement. This practice underscores the significant challenges faced by the younger generation in securing independent housing.
Beyond housing, other aspects of daily life also highlight the stark differences. A friend, referred to as ‘A’, shared that their annual leave allowance is a mere five days. Even then, it’s difficult to utilize all of it, with most people only able to take time off during the two national holidays to visit their hometowns. This contrasts sharply with the experience of typical South Korean office workers, who often take over 15 days of annual leave for overseas travel once a year.
Career Pressures and Future Uncertainty
Another acquaintance, ‘B’, a 30-something working for a major corporation, described the demanding work environment. It’s often difficult to even leave the office for a single meal during weekdays. To meet with friends, they have to meticulously plan around their single day off each week. When asked if this lifestyle was sustainable, B responded with resignation, “This is already one of the best companies. What else could I hope for?”
B also mentioned the recurring pressure from parents during holidays regarding marriage. While B dreams of starting a happy family one day, the looming ’35-year-old crisis’—a common term referring to the age when career prospects often decline—leaves little room for contemplating marriage and children. “I could take maternity or childcare leave, but no one knows if my position will still be available when I return to the company. Re-employment is even harder,” B explained.
Government Efforts and Underlying Concerns
During a business trip to a provincial city, I observed ‘marriage registration booths’ set up at tourist attractions. Locals explained that such facilities are increasingly common, allowing citizens to register marriages at popular tourist spots or shopping malls without needing to visit official government offices. These measures appear to be an attempt to simplify administrative procedures and encourage declining marriage rates.
However, this raises a crucial question: Is the declining marriage rate among Beijing’s youth truly due to cumbersome administrative processes? Both A and B are highly educated graduates from prestigious universities, individuals who diligently followed the path that Chinese society once promised—a good education, a stable job, and a secure future.
Yet, the word that frequently comes up in their conversations is not success, but anxiety. For those living with high housing costs, long working hours, and job insecurity, marriage is not a stepping stone to the future, but rather a significant risk that further destabilizes their outlook. The indifferent expression of A, who claimed Seoul’s housing prices weren’t that high, and B’s resigned tone, suggesting their current situation was the best they could hope for, are poignant reminders. It’s possible that what the youth of Beijing have let go of is not just marriage, but their hope for the future itself.
