For young Chinese, the horizon of success has been concentrated for decades in four geographical points: Beijing (political headquarters of the country), Shanghai (financial engine), Guangzhou (production and export center) and Shenzhen (technological laboratory). Its lights showed the way forward, even if that meant small apartments, exorbitant rents and endless days. Today that roadmap is starting to change. A growing part of young Chinese is starting to try secondary cities, where the pace is less frenetic and conciliation is more feasible. The turning point is due to a change in priorities. The combination of stagnant wages, high youth unemployment, chronic work fatigue and increasingly realistic life expectations is pushing a generation marked by competitiveness and pressure to opt for a balance between ambition and mental health.
Changsha, Chengdu or Chongqing, known for their more relaxed and even atmosphere liberal By Chinese standards, they have become a magnet for young people tired of stiff competition in megacities, where the job market is also more saturated. Now, traditionally called “second-tier cities” – prosperous and well-connected, but a step below in terms of political influence and economic scale – they have become places of refuge and personal reinvention.
At 33, Xiaoxiao believes she has done everything expected of her: she studied for a degree, received good job offers, became independent and got married. But, after living for a decade in the capital of the Asian giant, he decided that the time had come to return to his home province, Hunan, in the south. “I love Beijing, but little by little I felt that the environment was changing; now it is more difficult for young people to lead a relatively comfortable and peaceful life there,” he says.
The meeting takes place in a tea room in Changsha, the capital of Hunan, which has 10.6 million inhabitants. Known as the place where the founder of the People’s Republic, Mao Zedong, began his political activism – he was born in rural Shaoshan, 100 kilometers away -, 21st-century Changsha is a bustling city, with wide boulevards filled with skyscrapers and a bustling nightlife. Driven by the growth of media and entertainment sectors, its permanent population has increased by more than three million over the past decade, of which 80% are under 35, according to official data.
Xiaoxiao and her husband (from Inner Mongolia in the north) spent a year evaluating “what they gained and what they left behind” when they moved. “Some friends didn’t understand it, because we had a high income and I had obtained the Hukou (the certificate that determines which public services a person can access, linked to their origin). But we still decided to give up those conditions that seemed very good on paper,” says Xiaoxiao. “Our life was based on going from home to work and from work to home.” She is a consultant and her partner is a programmer.
After six months in Changsha, no one has any regrets. Among the reasons stand out the price of housing, the expansion of one’s social circle and the greater ease of carrying out outdoor activities. While in Beijing and Shanghai the purchase price per square meter is around 60,000 yuan (around 7,200 euros), in Changsha it is around 10,000 yuan (1,200 euros).
Like many women her age, Xiaoxiao is tired of ties and pressure. She also has no intention of becoming a mother. He defends a way of being in the world based on observation, experimentation and not setting limits. He says his future isn’t anchored in Changsha, although he wouldn’t mind using it as a base – they just bought a house – and spending time in other regions. On Xiaohongshu (Chinese Instagram) he offers advice to those who are thinking of leaving a first-class city.
Chengdu, Xi’an, Wuhan, Hefei, Nanjing, Hangzhou and Chongqing also saw notable increases in their populations. A study of The economist shows that, between 2019 and 2023, the number of residents in the country’s four richest cities grew by just 1.7% on average, while that of the cities mentioned above did so at a rate of 18%.
Its strength in attracting talent is supported by university centers of high academic standing, connected to the local economy and focused on practical training. Clear examples are Hefei, thanks to the scientific push and its companies linked to the “new productive forces”, or Hangzhou, thanks to the push of a technological ecosystem that revolves around giants like Alibaba or artificial intelligence companies like Deepseek. According to a report by job portal Liepin, in 2024, more than 20% of graduates preferred to work in a second-tier city or lower.
Every trip to one of these cities is a universe. Yue Zifeng, 25, says he had a breakdown in Shanghai after a year and a half of working there: first at a video game company, then at another dedicated to recording videos for Douyin (the Chinese version of TikTok). Remember endless days, according to the Chinese style 9-9-6 (from 9 in the morning to 9 at night, six days a week). He began to notice that something was wrong in his head. “I had a lot of pressure and no time for myself.” He decided to leave, and in January he returned to the city where he had studied Language and Literature: Chengdu.
“I feel at home here,” Yue says as he drinks a beer at Home Plate, an American-style burger joint. “The people, their vibe, the atmosphere is relaxed.” To be precise, he says “chill”, in English, the language he speaks. He is originally from Urumqi, the capital of the Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region. But he doesn’t like going home. He wears a peaked cap and a long earring hangs from his ear. He defines himself as Vago.
Vague now works in a bar. He earns much less: he went from around 10,000 yuan (1,200 euros) in Shanghai to around 4,000 (around 485 euros) a month. But he feels better: “Am I happy? I couldn’t say. Now I feel a little peace.” He says he doesn’t think about the future. It goes step by step. He likes living in this city where no one judges him.
Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province in the southwest of the country, is known for its pandas and ultra-spicy food. It exceeds 20 million inhabitants, even if it goes at different rates. It combines glass towers and traditional-style alleys full of tourists. It’s famous for its party areas, for being the birthplace of Chinese hip hop and for its LGBT-friendly atmosphere: “The people here are tolerant,” says Vague, who is gay in a country where it’s not easy to come out.
The city has headquarters of well-known video game companies, such as TiMi Studios, author of Honor of kingsone of the most successful games in the world. The phenomenon of NeZha 2, the most watched Chinese animated film in history, has its origins in local studios. It houses the country’s only science fiction museum, a building designed by Zaha Hadid in the shape of a spaceship. And last week, as the Kings of Spain landed in Chengdu as the initial stop on their trip to China, the final of the Video Game World Cup was held in the city. League of Legends, a huge e-sports event.
Local authorities are trying to maintain this magnet and have put in place a housing support system to attract talent from other provinces. They offer free short stays in the so-called “Talent Stations”, low cost rentals and the discounted purchase of “talent apartments”.
Vague doesn’t have to worry about housing: he lives in an apartment bought by his parents, and manages to survive on much less than in Shanghai. He feels that those of his generation have been through a “super tough” time: They came to college at the same time as the pandemic; They suffered confinement on campuses and in their cities of origin (Urumqi, theirs, had one of the strictest confinements of the rigorous zero-covid policy). “We lacked communication and life experience.” After graduating, with youth unemployment at historic levels, they realized how difficult it is to find a suitable job. They continue to do so.
