The Golden Age of the “World’s Factory” Is Over — The Devastation Is Horrific

Everyone, take a good look. This is Yekunshan, a place that once exploded on Duyun with over 200 million views. It's Friday evening, the exact hour when students should be pouring out and crowds should be at their peak. But look again. This is supposed to be the busiest bus hub in Kunshan. Some call it the South Bus Station, others the New Inn. In the past, thousands of vehicles rolled through here every single day, carrying wave after wave of workers into the city. This was the main gateway to opportunity. Today there are only a handful of tourists drifting around, the air heavy with silence. The contrast is almost painful. Kunshan was once proudly called Little Taipei, a city that attracted thousands of Taiwanese companies. Electronics, precision manufacturing, food, services, Taiwanese businesses built Kunshan's entire industrial chain and created countless jobs. Streets were lined with Taiwanese breakfast shops, bubble tea stores, and snack stalls. The city felt alive, energetic, full of momentum. But as U.S.-China tensions escalated and the business climate worsened, that vitality drained away. Taiwanese business owners began packing up. Some moved operations to Southeast Asia, some returned to Taiwan. Others had no choice but to squeeze into state-owned factories just to survive. In only a few short years, a once-booming manufacturing powerhouse cooled almost overnight. Private enterprises used to be Kunshan's employment backbone. When they left, stability vanished. Jobs disappeared in waves. Some people started sleeping in train stations just to save rent. Others searched for work, month after month, with no results. Standing here now, it's hard not to feel like you've arrived at the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe the right place to witness a slow collapse. Take a look at Kunshan's major shopping areas. This mall once shattered national opening day records, pulling in 5 million yuan in a single day. Today, the halls echo. There's almost no one here. What happened? I've been in Jiangsu for nearly two months and still haven't found a job. Only I truly know how empty this road has become. Prices here aren't cheap, but they're not premium either. Yet work has completely vanished. Most of the jobs left now are in logistics, and they are brutally exhausting. Days are wasted lining up at logistics offices, followed by days of back-breaking labor. It's not something people can endure long-term. Electronics factories are even worse, hyper-selective, constantly filtering and discarding workers. The pace is suffocating. For most people, it's simply not viable. Let me share some good news. Today, I became unemployed. I chose my last factory job because it was close to where I lived, hoping to save time and energy. Instead, I was assigned to the packaging line. Standing all day was tolerable, but lifting boxes was the real killer. Each finished product was heavy. At first, it seemed manageable, but day after day, the strain became unbearable for someone with my build. According to the rules, if you don't work at least five days, you don't get paid. So I forced myself to stay for ten days. I've long been sick of factory life. Day shifts, night shifts, endless rotations, just to earn five or six thousand yuan a month. You want to leave, but you can't. Survival leaves you no choice. In the corner of Fuhuayuan, there's a small street-side shop that's been open for over ten years. A few stores are still clinging on, but customers are rare. E-commerce has crushed physical shops mercilessly. People kept saying 2025 would be difficult, but I never imagined it would be this bleak. I barely recognize Kunshan anymore. This old square used to buzz with machines, workers, and noise. Now it feels hollow, like time simply stopped. There aren't many people left on the streets. I've been unemployed for half a month. Every morning, I go to the park and sit there. I see many people just like me, idle at home, heading out to look for work, coming back empty-handed. There's no alternative. Finding a job has become painfully difficult. So we sit, let time pass, and then go home. I once took a taxi here and talked with the driver. He told me it's getting harder and harder for ordinary people to make money. Platform commissions have climbed to nearly 30%. Earn 100 yuan and you might keep only 70. After platform fees, fuel, charging, and maintenance, how much is left? Some drivers even rent their cars. Once rent is paid, there's almost nothing remaining. They're not living. They're just barely surviving. He said most resources in China are concentrated in the hands of a few, whose wealth keeps growing, while ordinary people sink deeper every year. He once thought about driving longer hours to earn extra money. But after working more than 10 hours a day, the income is still negligible. I've lived in Kunshan for over a decade, and these are the harsh realities people here must accept. Salaries are painfully low, 3,000 to 5,000 yuan a month for most workers. Even earning over 10,000 yuan doesn't mean you can buy a home. At best, you move to a remote area and drain your family's savings. Meanwhile, living costs keep climbing. A simple takeaway costs over 20 yuan. A meal out with a child costs at least 200. Buying fruit casually costs more than 100. Every trip to the supermarket ends in hundreds of yuan gone. With a monthly income of 5,000 to 6,000 yuan, everything is swallowed by basic expenses. Raising children is another heavy burden, tutoring, extracurricular classes, endless hidden costs. Consumption has collapsed, housing prices are falling, assets are shrinking, and everyone has become cautious to the extreme. People compare prices again and again, afraid to spend even a little. Dayang Dumplings closed. IJIA Convenience Store closed. The KFC near the office building closed. The restaurant charging 200 yuan per meal closed. The old Lotte Supermarket closed. What was once the commercial landmark of southern Kunshan is now almost unrecognizable. Do you still know where this place is? Out of 10 mobile phone stores, 8 have already changed their names, and some have changed hands more than once. The reasons aren't complicated, but they are ruthless. Rent keeps climbing, foot traffic keeps collapsing, and competition has turned savage. Try negotiating rent with a landlord. Even asking for a tiny reduction can drag on for weeks, usually ending in nothing. Meanwhile, online phone sellers are wiping out physical stores with ruthless efficiency. Shopping malls grow emptier by the day, loyal customers quietly vanish, and all the traffic is siphoned off by online platforms. In this environment, brick-and-mortar shops aren't competing. They're slowly suffocating. Finding a job in Suzhou has never been this brutal. In the past, job hunting took two weeks, maybe a month at most. This April, I was laid off for no clear reason while preparing for pregnancy. After resting for a month, I started looking again. With four years of experience, interviews still came. But the salaries were shockingly low, nowhere near enough to maintain my previous standard of living. I lowered my expectations again and again. I even tried KFC, McDonald's, milk tea shops. Everywhere was full. Even temporary positions were gone. Some of the people competing for these jobs had higher education than I did. That's when it hit me. This isn't a bad patch. It's a structural crisis. A blogger mentioned a dormitory in Kunshan known as People's Treasure. The name sounds ironic once you see it. The environment is filthy, chaotic, and completely unlivable. Yet people still cram inside because there's nowhere else to go. Businesses keep collapsing one after another. There was even a serious car accident at Hongni Taipu Square, a place where people used to drink, gather, and unwind. Now it's just another reminder of how fast this city has changed. Why does everything feel so hard now? There's no money being an employee. No money running a business. No money starting a company. So where did all the money go? Look around Kunshan. Almost every industry is crying. Fruit vendors complain the market won't move. Vegetable sellers say customers buy online. Milk tea shops barely break even. Restaurants watch empty tables pile up. Rent is higher than profit. Even industries that once felt safe are collapsing. Real estate agents sit idle all day, waiting for bills they can't pay, hoping for calls that never come. How bad is China's economy really? Official statistics say youth unemployment has improved, but reality tells a completely different story. A 29-year-old laborer from Kunshan said he used to sleep in parks to save money. Now even that's not allowed. He moved to the train station instead. Many people live there, wrapped in quilts through the winter, unable to find work, unable to afford rent. He once lost over 4 million yuan in business. He has no family, hasn't been home for years, and has quietly cut off contact with everyone he knew. Another man from Suzhou said he works day and night, yet still can't make ends meet. From 7 p.m. to 11 p.m., he earns only 40 or 50 yuan. Teachers, doctors, chefs, people with respectable jobs are all doing side gigs now. But even that extra income is drying up. Pride no longer matters. Dignity no longer matters. Survival is the only thing left. People drink less. People eat out less. Even fried rice stalls complain they have no customers. One by one, people say they can't hold on anymore. In the end, only one sentence remains. Do your best to survive and endure. So where did everyone go? Villages are silent. Streets are empty. Malls are hollow. Cities feel abandoned. There is only one place that stays crowded every single day. The hospital.