Factories Are Fleeing China! Shenzhen Has Fallen Into Deep Depression!

I went to a mall the other night during China's National Day holiday, and what I saw left me speechless. Every shop had shut down by 7pm. Not a single sound, not a single crowd, not even the buzz of people shopping. Just silence. The only sign of life? Three lonely figures skating in the basement rink, taking lessons under the cold lights. That's all. The rest? Completely empty. There's not a single car on Chang'an Avenue right now, one Beijinger said in disbelief. That's how Beijing celebrates holidays now. If I were on vacation, I'd be out having fun or relaxing at home. But honestly, there's nothing to do anymore. Everyone's just working, struggling, surviving. Another resident couldn't believe what they saw. I was ready for the usual traffic jam on Temple Front Street. No parking, endless crowds, packed like sardines. But this year? No one. Absolutely no one. It's like the city's lost its heartbeat. A netizen filmed a short clip of the mall inside. This National Day feels...empty. Then there's the other kind of silence. The silence of anxiety. Oh my god, one young woman cried. It's already autumn, and I still haven't found it well. I've been looking since March. Interviews, trials, rejections, over and over again. Everyone else is waiting for their year-end bonuses, and I'm still waiting for a single offer. What should I do? I'm so tired, so anxious, I can't take it anymore. This year's Golden Week, once a symbol of joy and prosperity, has turned into a week of stillness. Across the country, shopping malls, supermarkets, and even farmers' markets stood half-empty. From Yiwu to Shaoxing, from Shenzhen to Xiamen and Guangzhou, business owners all said the same thing. This year is different. It's too quiet. Unnaturally quiet. One man in Shenzhen pointed his camera toward an empty street and said, Where did everyone go? I'm standing right behind Longhua bus station. Look, completely deserted. Five years ago, this place was like an ant colony, packed with people, shoulder to shoulder. Now, nothing. Not even a crowd at the traffic light. Did people really leave Shenzhen, or is something else happening? He pointed at a row of closed shops. The spicy hotpot place across the street closed after one week. One week. Maybe it's because the factories have all moved away. The people are gone. Every year it gets worse. Restaurants are empty. Stores for sale. Lights off by 8 p.m. This used to be one of the busiest streets in the city. Now it feels like a ghost town. And it's not just Shenzhen. A vlogger from Xintai shared his shock. It's only the second day of the National Day holiday. I finished work early, went to Tianyi City to feel the holiday vibe. But there's no crowd, no laughter, no life. The whole mall feels hollow, like time has stopped. I expected noise and excitement, but what I found was silence and emptiness. This is what China's National Day looks like in 2025. Quiet streets, dark malls, and a generation wondering, where did the prosperity go? And when will life feel alive again? The blogger couldn't hide her frustration. She said many store owners had hoped the National Day holiday would bring a flood of customers. One last chance to make some money before the year ends. But things didn't go as planned. Foot traffic was thin, sales were flat, and most shops barely made enough to cover rent. Last year during the holiday, our store was packed from morning till night. This year it's so quiet I even went home early, she said with a bitter laugh. Where did everyone go? Why isn't anyone spending anymore? In Kunshan, Jiangsu, a netizen filmed himself sleeping on a park bench. He said he couldn't find a job and wasn't alone. The park was full of jobless people like him. Finding a job away from home is really tough, he said softly. If you still have a stable job, you should cherish it. His words hit home for millions of struggling young people. Another blogger shared her own painful story. Let me show you what job hunting in Beijing really looks like, she said. I started sending out resumes on September 4th. It's been two weeks. I've sent out more than 200 resumes. Basically every spare moment of my day went to job hunting. Guess how many interviews I got? Four. Her first interview was with a grocery e-commerce company. She applied for a business administration role in the legal department, something she had plenty of experience with. I was confident the interview went well, she recalled. But then the interviewer asked, how old are you? She told the truth. The interviewer paused, smiled awkwardly, and said they'd get back to her. A few days later, the company told her she wasn't suited for the intensity of the work. She knew exactly what that meant. They didn't want to hire someone in her 30s. It's not about skills anymore, she said quietly. It's about age. Once you're past 30, the workplace shuts its doors. In Chongqing, another netizen shared a heartbreaking scene. She filmed a once-bustling women's clothing street in Guanyinqiao, now full of shuttered stores and empty windows. This whole base is closed down, she said while walking down the deserted street. It used to be impossible to find a vacant shop here. Now everything's for sale or for rent. My sisters, look at this. Our old mocha clothing store is gone. Physical stores are dying out. It's worse than I imagined. In the comments section, someone from Chongqing added, this place used to be gold. Opening a store here cost hundreds of thousands in transfer fees. Now even newly renovated shops can't attract tenants. And from Shanghai came another video. This is Juting Street during the National Day holiday, a shop owner said. It's already 1.28 pm and not a single person has walked into my store. If I'd known it would be like this, I'd have just stayed home. What's the point of opening the door if no one's coming? Across China, countless small shop owners, workers and job seekers are all asking the same question. What happened to the people and where did all the money go? Listen to me, a netizen warned, never ever look for a job before National Day. Anyone who does is just setting themselves up to be exploited. He explained why. Even if you find a job, you won't be allowed to start right away. The boss will smile and say, come after the holiday. Sounds harmless, right? But it's a trick. If you start before the holiday, they'll have to pay you triple wages for National Day plus your base pay for those days off. So instead, they delay your start date, save a few thousand yuan and make you wait on your own dime. He continued bitterly, you'll end up waiting 10 or 15 days, paying for food and a bed yourself. Even the cheapest guest house costs 50 to 60 yuan a night. You eat instant noodles every day to save money. But still, by the time the job even starts, you've already burned through a thousand or two thousand yuan. You haven't earned a single coin and you're already losing money. Aren't we all just leaks waiting to be cut? Another blogger in Shenzhen shared her own struggle. She and her husband opened a small restaurant years ago. Back then, their place was surrounded by thriving factories. Workers would stream in every evening and their daily turnover reached 1,700 or even 1,800 yuan. But those days are gone. One by one, the factories closed or relocated. The industrial zones emptied out, replaced by silent buildings converted into cheap apartments. Now only a few young people live there, some working in offices across the city, others drifting between jobs, trying to survive. Every evening, she watches them walking home in silence, eyes tired, shoulders slumped, clutching takeout boxes or phones, showing job apps that never lead anywhere. Business at her restaurant has collapsed. On good days, they barely make 1,000 yuan. Some days, not even that. People don't spend like before, she said, stirring a pot slowly. You can feel it. Everyone's saving every cent they can. She remembers one regular customer, a factory technician who used to come every evening, cheerful and chatty. He'd order three dishes, spending around 40 or 50 yuan each time. Now he only orders one simple meal set, 13 or 15 yuan. No drinks, no snacks, just a quiet nod and a sigh before leaving. The market isn't just cold. She said, her voice trembling slightly. It's frozen. People have money in their pockets, but are afraid to use it. They don't know what tomorrow will bring, layoffs, rent hikes, or medical bills. We're all just holding on, hoping things will get better. But every month, it feels like hope is slipping further away. China's economy in 2025 is plunging into its darkest moment. Once bustling factories are shutting down or fleeing overseas, leaving behind empty industrial zones and jobless workers. The middle class, once proud and hopeful, is drowning in debt and despair. Real estate remains frozen, small businesses are collapsing, and consumer confidence has completely vanished. Even during national holidays, shopping malls and streets stand silent. The so-called world's second-largest economy now feels like a nation on pause, struggling to breathe under the weight of its own slowdown.