dawn of the debt

生于儲蓄大国，中国的年轻人却有着全新的信贷观念。一些人通过触手可得的网络贷款平台满足了消费欲，也因此负债累累;另一些人则迷上了游戏般的基金理财。在乡村，除了亲戚间的相互扶助，借款有了更多选择和便利，但农民能获得的正规金融服务依然有限。步入信贷新时代，我们准备好了吗？

For a supposed “nation of savers，” Chinese have a long and close relationship with debt. From generational networks of borrowing between kin in villages to online apps that “gamify” lending and investment， debt is the hidden hand behind much of Chinas consumption-oriented economic growth in the last two decades. Even local governments have got in on the act， taking on loans to fund rural development projects. But while young Chinese embrace easy online loans to fuel their shopping habits， or jump on the latest fads in mutual funds and “wealth management，” credit remains out of reach for farmers in the countryside who lack assets， financial knowledge， or even access to a bank. And while loans offer the opportunity of greater financial freedom and prosperity， debt also proves an abyss for thousands who struggle to make repayments. With the economy gradually slowing down， are Chinas debtors living on borrowed time？

Young and in Debt

With temptations to consume but little financial savvy， young Chinese fall prey to online lending platforms

“When I wake up every morning， the first thing that comes to my mind is the debt I still owe，” says Wang Jun， a 23-year-old who works in an internet cafe in Chizhou， central Chinas Anhui province.

The middle school graduate has to commute 43 kilometers into the city to work each day， but he had no choice but to take the job， if only so his nerves wouldnt be stretched every time the phone rings. “It often turns out to be the collectors， who threaten to call everyone in my contact list unless I repay my debts immediately.”

Wang discovered consumer loans in 2015， the same year Ant Financial Group launched Huabei， a virtual credit card service that now counts over 300 million users nationwide. After taking loans from Huabei and a dozen other online lending platforms， he racked up an outstanding balance of nearly 80，000 RMB， of which he has paid back just 25 percent over the past six years.

Most of the money Wang borrowed was spent on meals， hobbies， and shopping sprees—though later， he started taking out loans from one platform to pay the balance on another. “Its very tempting to use services like Huabei when you have no money to spend. They allow you to get money quickly without checking up on your financial situation，” he says.

The proliferation in recent years of easy-access online lending platforms has introduced a growing number of Chinese consumers to the joy of buying on credit—and the despair of living with debt. As of January 2019， Chinese have collectively racked up an outstanding balance of 9.3 trillion RMB （about 1.4 trillion USD） in consumer loans， excluding mortgages and auto loans. This is almost triple the 3.5 trillion RMB （563.1 billion USD） they owed in January 2015.

However， consumer finance remains a relatively new concept to the country. Although Chinas commercial banks began providing consumer loans in 1987， only those with a stable income and a history of borrowing and repaying loans on time could qualify to borrow， which ruled out most of the population.

In an attempt to spur domestic consumption， the China Banking Regulatory Commission， now the China Banking and Insurance Regulatory Commission （CBIRC）， began allowing domestic and foreign companies to offer personal loans in 2009. These companies offered loans faster than banks in amounts up to five times the applicants monthly salary， and gave customers longer repayment times than credit cards.

Since 2013， favorable policies and an increasingly mature e-commerce and internet sector have boosted the growth of Chinas consumer finance market. Many Chinese tech giants have jumped on the bandwagon. Alibabas Ant Financial has launched Huabei and Jiebei， another online lending service that offers cash loans to individuals. JDs Baitiao service allows customers to pay for purchases from the site in installments， while the Tencent-backed WeBank offers Weilidai， a micro-lending service through its WeChat mobile payment platform.

These tech giants have an advantage in data technology， and access to vast amounts of personal information. This allows them to evaluate a borrowers credit-worthiness and calculate the loan amount within minutes or even seconds.

Huabei， for example， offers a lending quota ranging from 500 RMB to 50，000 RMB， calculated from big data and Ant Financials Zhima Credit system， which gives users a credit score of 350 to 950 based on five criteria： identity （such as ones job or product preferences）， behavior （including spending and payment patterns）， credit history， “performance capacity” （including ones assets）， and “networking” （such as the spending and credit history of ones social contacts）.

Youths are the main driving force behind the rise of consumer finance. According to market research on Chinas consumer credit markets in 2018， released by the Academic Center for Chinas Economic Practice and Thinking at Tsinghua University， 66 percent of the customers of consumer finance products （excluding housing loans） are under the age of 39. People between the ages of 40 and 49 constituted 33 percent of borrowers， while those aged 50 or above made up just 1 percent.

The statistics reflect a generational shift in attitudes toward consumption. People of the older generation， survivors of war and famine， are reluctant to live beyond their means and tend to save money for the future. Thanks to them， China still has one of the highest personal savings rates worldwide， with the national savings rate peaking at 51.8 percent in 2018 before dipping slightly to 44.2 percent in 2019.

However， Chinese born after the reform period—many of whom are single children—focus more on living in the present and instant gratification， even if it means spending beyond their means.

“The painful experience of struggling through poverty and the fear of uncertainty got my parents generation to save money as much as they could， but those of us born in a period of exponential economic growth， and living in a time of endless opportunities and optimism， tend to see money as a thing to be spent，” Ge Kun， a college student from Beijing， tells TWOC. “Spending helps improve ones quality of life and fits into the bigger picture of Chinas ‘consumption upgrade strategy.”

This strategy， first proposed by the Ministry of Commerce in 2017， aims to boost consumer spending and transform it into the main driver of Chinas economic growth， moving away from the export-oriented model of the past. This led to favorable policies， such as individual income tax cuts， measures to encourage banks to issue more consumer credit， and the promotion of e-commerce in rural areas.

However， the ease of getting loans and a regulatory vacuum leads to problems and abuses. There is no institution in China that supervises the online lending industry. No one enforces rules on who can borrow and how much， what risks lenders must disclose， and what methods credit agencies can use to collect. In 2016， a second-year university student named Zheng Dexing jumped to his death from a hotel building. He had racked up debts totaling almost 590，000 RMB from a dozen online finance companies to sustain his gambling habit.

The tragedy raised public concern and outrage over predatory online lenders known as “campus lenders，” who target college students with little financial know-how and often living away from their families for the first time. Some lenders offer easy terms to start with， but then charge staggering interest rates and use violent methods to collect.

Some online lending platforms even demand nude photos from female borrowers as collateral. In April 2017， a college student in Xiamen committed suicide after collectors pressed her to pay up， or else have her nude photos go public. This practice has since been outlawed in China.

In response， Chinas Ministry of Education banned online lenders from serving college students in 2017. A representative at the March 2021 meeting of the National Peoples Congress proposed banning college students from signing up for credit cards and pay-by-installment services altogether.

More regulations have been introduced to normalize lenders behavior. In 2020， draft rules jointly issued by the Peoples Bank of China and the CBIRC sought to raise the bar for online micro-lenders to provide loans， also limiting the amount they can lend out. The rules require online micro-lenders to jointly fund at least 30 percent of any loan with banks， and they must also have at least 5 billion yuan in registered capital if lending across province. Before， each province could set their own capital threshold， which were all well below 1 billion yuan.

The central government is planning to force tech giants to share all the consumer loan data in their possession with nationwide credit agencies， and also introduce a consumer finance rating system. Although there is no measure of consumer credit risk equivalent to the FICO score in the US， China is piloting a “social credit” system in several cities. This attempts to merge financial credit scores with a broader quantification of social and civic integrity for citizens and corporations.

Meanwhile， consumers should cultivate a “rational attitude toward consumption” to guard against the excessive borrowing and hidden risks of online lending， the CBIRC warned in a notice last year.

A lack of financial knowledge is a pressing problem. A study published in the International Journal of Psychology in 2013 found that Chinese college students were less knowledgeable about credit cards than US students， and were unable to distinguish between credit and debit cards.

A survey by Tencent Education and the data company Mycos in January 2021 found that close to 70 percent of college students had little or no knowledge of how to tell whether a campus loan service followed proper regulations. Wang says he had no idea of what the interest rate was for the lending service he used， and still doesnt know whether their collection methods are legal or not.

Wang now regrets his rash attitude toward spending. “I thought I was being clever，” he says of his habit of borrowing from multiple platforms， banking on them not to share data， “but it turned out there were consequences that I have to bear.”

Ge， though， considers himself to be a disciplined consumer （though it also helps to have supportive parents）. “Its necessary to keep your head. Never borrow more than you can repay，” he warns.

Putting his （borrowed） money where his mouth is， he has only taken out a 2，000 RMB loan from Huabei so far to buy a pair of AirPods. Out of the allowance of 1，500 RMB he receives from his parents， he put aside 200 RMB toward repaying the debt each month until he cleared the outstanding balance. “I didnt want to ask my parents for money， but I really wanted AirPods， so consumer loans were very helpful for me.”

Ge still holds a positive attitude toward consumer loans. “Thanks to these loans， I can afford expensive items without saving for months or even years， and I can enjoy them in advance，” he says. “Time is so precious. Why should we stubbornly delay gratification when we can get satisfaction quicker？”

– Ji Jingjing （紀菁菁）

It Takes a Village

Held fast by thousands of years of social bonds， interpersonal lending still flourishes in Chinas countryside

When Lin Meiying （pseudonym） began to save up for her daughters dowry in the early 2000s， she deposited the girls earnings from her factory job in three different rural credit cooperatives （RCCs）： one in her own village， and two in neighboring villages several kilometers away.

Though the sum was not a big one—just several thousand RMB—the then 40-year-old farmer from Hengyang， Chinas central Hunan province， had good reason for her strategy， even if it meant making several trips to withdraw the money. “If I kept it in one RCC， everyone would know about it， and then they would come to borrow from me，” Lin explains.

Despite her best efforts， word of Lins savings got out， and a relative came to ask for a loan. This is normal among Lins acquaintances and in rural regions all around China， where bonds of kinship and mutual obligation have sustained informal networks of borrowing and lending for thousands of years.

Lins family had borrowed from relatives and neighbors to build houses in the 1980s and 1990s. In return， they lent money to these acquaintances to finance their weddings， house construction， and childrens education.

According to Lin， the borrowed money usually changes hands without a contract， IOU， or interest， since most people in her circle “are too embarrassed to bring up such matters.” Instead， the parties verbally agree on a repayment date， or the borrower may simply promise to return the money as soon as they can.

Over the last three decades， despite the rapid growth of Chinas formal financial sector， borrowing and lending among private individuals has continued to be the dominant mode of financing in rural areas. This is known as informal credit， as the loans are between individuals， business entities， and organizations other than banks and government-registered financial institutions.

In 2019， based on a survey of 3，622 households from around 100 villages across the southeastern Guangdong province， a research team from the Institute for Economic and Social Research at Jinan University found that 90 percent of over 500 households that borrowed in the last year got the money from relatives and friends， while only 5.8 percent borrowed from banks and other registered financial institutions.

Private borrowing is usually more convenient and faster than a bank loan. Traditional social obligations also play a role. In Lins memory， she and her husband have never refused to lend to any relative or neighbor in need if they had any means to help—even if it meant taking money out of their own savings. “[If we refused]， it would be awkward if we met them afterward，” Lin says， noting that most families in the village have been acquainted for many generations （if they arent already distant relatives）.

Its also considered gauche to urge the borrower to repay， unless the lender is in real need. “Its tougher to be a lender [than a borrower]，” Lin sighs， though she says that most people in her village return the money as soon as they can.

Still， informal and personalized lending puts vulnerable lenders and borrowers at huge risk of defaults， disputes， or even lawsuits. The situation has been complicated by the difficulty and high cost for rural Chinese to get formal loans， or even find a bank close to their home， despite the governments efforts to promote rural finance.

Though known as a “nation of savers，” Chinese society has a long tradition of informal borrowing and lending. Professor Luo Jianchao， director of the Institute of Rural Finance at Chinas Northwest A&F University， believes the practice persists in the countryside because it is deeply rooted in the traditional structure of Chinese society.

As sociologist and anthropologist Fei Xiaotong described in his book From the Soil： The Foundations of Chinese Society， Chinas traditional agrarian society is based on guanxi—kinship and other social relationships. Farming families bound to the land dont need contracts when they have been giving and returning favors to one another over hundreds of years. “Living in the same place generation after generation， villagers know each other well， so they are afraid of damaging their reputation if they fail to repay a loan，” says Luo.

However， the social obligation is no guarantee of repayment， and the communal bonds are in danger of breaking down as families move away from the village and absorb new values from the cities. Lin tells TWOC that it took her family around 10 years to recover a few thousand RMB they lent to a cousin in the 90s， and wishes they had put the money in a high-interest savings account instead.

Chen Zhenwen， a 58-year-old farmer from a neighboring town， still hasnt gotten back the 1，000 RMB he lent to a former classmate in the 80s—money he had borrowed himself from several relatives. At that time， the money was almost enough to build a small house for him and his wife. “He promised to repay soon each time we met， but never did， until he eventually skipped town，” says Chen， who then had to pay back his own relatives bit by bit.

Cases like Chens are on the rise. According to the Supreme Peoples Court， Chinas judicial system ruled on over 590，000 cases related to informal lending in 2011， and over 1 million cases in 2014， with an average annual increase of around 20 percent.

Borrowers and lenders involved were often relatives， neighbors， classmates， and other social relations. Some wrote a simple IOU or receipt， but few signed a contract. The lack of evidence on both sides of the dispute causes many administrative headaches for courts， especially if the dispute turns violent and leads to criminal prosecution.

In addition to culture， a lack of formal financing services in rural China plays a role in the persistence of informal financing. In a survey of nearly 100，000 individuals from 28，151 households in 2013， a research center from Southwestern University of Finance and Economics found that the accessibility rate of private lending and formal loans in rural areas were 67.4 and 23 percent， respectively， while the respective rates in cities were 32.9 and 65.9 percent.

Financial institutions are few and far between in the countryside. In the town closest to Lins village， there are three banks serving a population of over 69，000 in an area of almost 150 square kilometers. Many small towns have no banks at all.

From 1998 to 2002， four major state-owned commercial banks—the Agricultural Bank of China （ABC）， Bank of China （BOC）， Construction Bank of China （CBC）， and Industrial and Commercial Bank of China （ICBC）—closed nearly 20，000 branches in rural counties in the economically under-developed middle and western regions of China due to low operations and high costs; the rural-oriented ABC alone closed 15，000 branches.

Many of the remaining branches were authorized to accept deposits only but not issue loans， as the banks wanted to encourage deposits in the countryside to fund higher-return investments in the cities. “This is a product of Chinas dual economy system， which prioritizes urban and industrial development over that of rural areas and agriculture，” Professor Luo explains.

Following the United Nations financial inclusion initiative in 2005， China has campaigned to make financial products and services accessible and affordable to all individuals and businesses， including farmers， small businesses， low-income urbanites， the poor and disabled， and the elderly. The government encouraged the establishment of village and town banks， loan companies， rural mutual cooperatives， and micro-loan companies in rural areas. Based on information from the World Banks Global Findex Database， close to 190 million Chinese adults got their first bank account between 2011 and 2017， increasing the countrys “banked” population from 58 percent to 79 percent of the total adult population.

However， it is still challenging for farmers to get loans. “They lack the documents to prove that they have the right to use their lands. Most major banks will not provide loans to them because of the lack of collateral，” Dou Benbin， a risk management officer at the Shanghai Minhang BOS Rural Bank， explains to TWOC.

The fact that agriculture is more vulnerable to the unpredictable impact of adverse weather or natural disasters may further increase the repayment risk. Data from the Dalian Rural Commercial Bank showed that its ratio of bad loans increased from 4.95 percent in 2017 to 9.95 percent in 2018， after a series of natural disasters in the area.

Meanwhile， as Professor Luo has discovered during his research on rural financial services in northwestern China， while farmers complain about the difficulty of obtaining loans， financial institutions say they have trouble finding rural borrowers. According to Dou， some RCCs and banks would persuade farmers who dont want to borrow to accept a micro-loan， ranging from 3，000 to 50，000 RMB， to meet targets set by local authorities for rural financing.

Over the last decade， Professor Luo and his team have been working with the government and financial institutions to find solutions to some of the issues， including offering land-use rights and biological assets such as livestock as possible collateral for rural borrowers.

Having noticed similar issues in Britains rural areas four or five decades ago， he believes these financing issues can be resolved as China develops economically. “Its a long process，” he says.

Chen still feels hurt when he remembers his classmates betrayal years ago. “We studied in the same classroom for years，” he grumbles. Though the experience taught him to be more cautious when lending out money， he hasnt lost faith in informal lending. “There are always dishonest people， but they are in the minority.”

– tan yunfei （譚云飞）

Debt in the Water

Local governments are taking out loans to fuel construction sprees in Chinas countryside

There is little remarkable about Dushan， a county in Guizhou province deemed by the government as “impoverished” until March 2020. Surrounded by lush countryside and tall mountain peaks， Dushans urban areas are a largely uninspiring mix of tower blocks and run-down apartments.

But an explosive documentary has revealed remarkable structures among the mundane concrete buildings： an ornate ten-story pagoda， a sprawling Forbidden City-like museum complex， a lofty bell tower that mimics Londons Big Ben， and an astonishing ethnic-themed hotel resort covering 5，900 square meters in the mountains， all standing abandoned and unfinished.

Dushan paid for these lavish vanity projects through a massive government debt-funded spending spree. The country only had revenues of just over 1 billion RMB in 2018， but racked up unpaid loans that totaled 40 billion at their worst. “With all this debt， the county could have easily built boats and infrastructure and boosted industries，” one user commented on Weibo after the news broke out in 2020.

Dushan is not alone in this sea of debt. In August 2020， media reported on an extravagant new school campus （with waterfalls and a fake rockery） built in the rural county of Zhenan， Shaanxi province， at a cost of 700 million RMB. In Jingzhou， a massive statue of the hero Guan Yu cost 1.5 billion RMB to build in 2016. Chinas total debt-to-GDP ratio—including government， corporate， and household debt—is now comparable to the US， having hit 270 percent at the end of 2020 （up from 246 percent the previous year）.

Government debt was 29.95 trillion RMB at the end of 2017， but there may be an additional 40 trillion RMB in local government debt that is “hidden” off balance sheets： money that is raised through local government financing vehicles， which borrow money from banks in order to issue bonds to raise funds.

This rampant spending funded by debt threatens local government finances and the sustainability of Chinas economic development. The country is dotted with empty homes （around 12 million in 2016）， unfinished hotels， and idle tourist attractions. If unsold， these will not pay off the debts owed by local governments， potentially sowing the seeds of a financial crisis. A 2018 report from the International Monetary Fund stated that “Chinas credit boom is one of the largest and longest in history. Historical precedents of ‘safe credit booms of such magnitude and speed are few and far from comforting.”

The central government has tried to clamp down on excessive borrowing， while maintaining growth. Local governments were permitted to issue their own bonds in 2014 to give them regulated access to finance.

But with growth slowing and consumption levels relatively stagnant， it remains to be seen whether China can pay back its debt. As Covid-19 brought the economy to a halt in early 2020， the central government launched a stimulus package totaling 3.6 trillion RMB. With the economy now growing slower than in decades past， its likely there are going to be more Dushans.

– Sam davies

Going with the Cash Flow

Wealth management is becoming gamified among young Chinese

“The biggest change I made in 2020 was that I learned to manage my finances！” Yang Shuhua， a motormouthed video blogger in her 20s， chirps on streaming platform Bilibili， where she has nearly 500，000 fans.

Using quick cuts， gifs， and kitschy sound effects， Yangs video details how she chose four mutual fund accounts and three stock trading platforms. Its a big departure from her usual fare of skincare tips and hairstyle reviews， but a successful choice： Yangs video about finance is one of the hottest on her channel， with over 460，000 views at the time of writing.

While Chinas young urbanites used to chase celebrities， now they are chasing premium savings advice. That includes the best returns on their money， the most trustworthy fund managers， and the best video consultants offering investment tips and recommendations.

Unlike their parents generation， which favored real estate and directly purchasing stocks， this new generation of investors are obsessed with mutual funds （funds managed by professionals who place investors money into stocks for them）. Investing has become a source of entertainment， with many young Chinese considering it a social activity or hobby.

Choosing funds or stocks is part of the fun， as is the adrenaline rush of seeing their value rise or fall. “I dont like to have my account set to invest money at a fixed time， because its not very interesting that way，” says Huang Xinjie （pseudonym）， an office worker in Guangzhou in his 20s.

These young investors are driving a new boom in mutual funds in China. Last year， the value of funds increased by 37 percent， while over half of new investors in mutual funds were under the age of 30 according to the China Household Financial Management Trend Report， a joint publication by state broadcaster CCTV and mobile payment app Alipay.

Over 40 percent of those born in the 1980s （“post-80s”） or 1990s （“post-90s”） claim to check on their investments every day， according to the report. Meanwhile， a report from 2019 by China New Economics Research Institute， affiliated to Chinas State Council， showed that on average， Chinese born in the 90s start managing their money 10 years earlier than their parents generation did. This new generation of investors are also likely to have more money to invest and be more accepting of risk than their parents， as many are only children from more affluent areas of China， who marry and start their own families later.

Online content related to financial management， or licai （理財）， has boomed， including video blogs and articles offering investment tips. In January 2021 alone， over 30 hashtags related to financial management became trending topics on the microblogging platform Weibo. On Bilibili， the number of views on videos related to licai grew by 464 percent in 2020 from the previous year.

Fund managers who have successful track records have gained celebrity status among investors， who follow their every move for clues as to where they should put their money. Zhang Kun， a fund manager and analyst at E Fund Management， who was the first fund manager in China to oversee over 100 billion RMB of assets， has amassed an army of followers who call themselves “iKun，” a homophone for “Love Kun.”

“You can make only about 2 to 3 percent return with the banks， but you can get maybe 5 or 6 percent on Yue Bao，” says Huang， referring to Alipays money market fund， which encourages users to invest their spare change in short-term financial products.

Huang began investing in early 2020， mainly as a way to stay productive while socially distancing at home during the Covid-19 pandemic. He invests mainly in mutual funds with managers who have a long-term record of good yearly returns， and in industries that he feels have a “large scope for development，” such as green energy and technology. Since then， he has made between 10 and 20 percent return on investments， numbering hundreds of thousands of yuan.

That return is emblematic of a year in which Chinese stocks saw healthy growth despite the Covid-19 pandemic. The number of equity funds that doubled their earnings in 2020 was 89， the highest number since 2007. The Shanghai Stock Exchange was up 13.8 percent in 2020， while the Shenzhen Exchange rose nearly 40 percent over the year.

But the boom times didnt last. Stocks have fallen since the Chinese New Year in 2021， with some stock falls dramatically wiping out the gains young people had made over the last year. Many were surprised at losing so much so quickly， and some worry young people are investing without knowing the risks.

“Ive lost money，” Chen Jiawen， a “post-90s” worker in Beijing， tells TWOC. Chens investments， which add up to a seven-figure total， are down about 20 percent overall since she began managing her money in early 2020， also as a way to kill time during the pandemic. “I think whether you make money or not is down to luck， it really has nothing to do with what research you do，” she laments.

The February 2021 slump taught Chen and others a painful lesson. Many first-time investors didnt fully understand what they were getting into， and some have even been victims of fraud by companies offering financial management courses only to take customers money and then disappear.

Some of the new video bloggers on social media offering investment recommendations have no relevant qualifications. Referred to as “financial management gods” in popular culture， these bloggers dont always give good advice， or just report trends so widely known that they are worthless. “They invest 10，000 RMB， make a return of less than 5 percent a month， and then teach people how to buy funds on Bilibili， gain 200，000 fans， and start a fund group on [messaging app] QQ that they charge 200 RMB a month for！” complained one user on Weibo.

These bloggers occupy a legal gray area. Those who accept money for investment advice require a license from the China Securities Regulatory Commission （CSRC）， but its unclear whether this applies to online bloggers who dont call their videos “advice，” or who take “donations” from fans in lieu of direct payment.

As fraud and losses have become widespread， there have been growing calls for better education in money management. In 2019， the All-China Womens Federation urged parents to educate children on responsible spending from an early age. The same year， the CSRC outlined a plan to offer financial literacy courses in primary and secondary schools nationwide. Chinese citizens still allocate far less of their wealth to financial products than their peers in developed countries， according to a 2020 report released by Huaxia Hengtian， a venture capital firm.

Lack of education means young Chinese investors are often quick to follow trends or invest based on advice from online bloggers or financial celebrities， like Zhang Kun. Both Chen and Huang are self-taught investors， having received little or no financial education at school. “I dont really understand it，” says Chen. “To start with， I mostly chatted with my friends and got their recommendations， then later I felt I could rely on myself to analyze government policies and choose where to invest accordingly.”

But for many young investors， licai isnt just a wealth management strategy. “It has become a hobby，” Huang says. For Chen， similarly， it was not just about making money： “I also wanted to find out how these funds worked.”

Financial management has become a social affair too： “At the end of last year I discovered that， while we would never talk about money or money management before when we ate lunch at work， now we talk about it a lot，” says Chen. Online forums and discussion groups on licai also abound， with users posing questions， discussing investment tactics， showing off their returns， and even chatting up fellow investors for dates.

Beyond giving people the time to study their finances， the pandemic has also heightened young peoples anxiety over their economic position. “Like many people， I faced a reduced workload and income during the pandemic. This made me realize the importance of having money you can make in your sleep，” Yang quips in her video. In March 2020， a survey by Zhongyan Research Institute showed that 57 percent of those born from 1990 to 1995 intended to budget more carefully in future.

The fun and social element of investing may be wearing thin， now that returns have slumped， and it remains to be seen whether young investors interest holds now that the pandemic is largely under control.

For Yang， at least， the investment bubble has burst： “In Half a Month， I Lost 20，000 RMB！” reads the title on her latest vlog. Yet she still managed to get 23，000 views in under a week. As one comment reads online， “You can make more money teaching other people to buy funds than buying funds yourself.” – S.D.