In recent years, the Chinese economy has been grappling with a persistent downturn characterized by a collapse in the real estate market, a wave of corporate bankruptcies, mass exodus of foreign investment, and an increasingly grim job landscape. The situation has resulted in a growing number of individuals turning to gig employment to make ends meet. Gig workers have shared their struggles with survival in interviews, while video footage revealing the harsh realities of gig life in Beijing has faced censorship from the authorities.
One gig worker, who goes by the pseudonym Wu Niu and is 39 years old, recounted his journey to the Epoch Times. He had worked in Shanghai for 12 years before facing unemployment and divorce, ultimately relocating to Shenzhen in May of this year.
“I’ve been in Shenzhen for half a year now and have sent out 9,000 job applications but still can’t find work. I have no choice but to take on gig work at a factory where I screw bolts, all while continuing to search for a formal job. I majored in computer science, but being 39, I find that at my age, over 35, my resumes are read but never responded to,” Wu Niu explained.
He elaborated that most factories in the area mainly hire gig workers rather than permanent staff, as this helps them minimize costs. Recruitment agencies line the streets around these factories, exacerbating the growing number of individuals seeking gig jobs.
Gig work is often characterized by high intensity, low pay, no social security benefits, and various risks that workers must bear themselves. Wu Niu lamented that in Shenzhen, gig work does not provide social insurance, and wages hover around 17 yuan per hour.
“Right now, I’m earning about 1,200 yuan a month from gig work. I’ve previously saved to cover my rent, working at Foxconn where there are two large factories here in Shenzhen—one in Longhua and another in Guangming. I find gigs through agencies, earning 178 yuan a day for 10 hours in the production department just screwing bolts. There are so many people doing gig work in Shenzhen; the wages simply can’t rise,” he said.
Wu Niu stressed that gig work is not a sustainable way to live, especially for those with families who cannot support themselves.
“I have to be frugal. My wages primarily go to rent, and the remainder is for job hunting and meal expenses. I just arrived in Shenzhen, have no acquaintances or friends, and I’m not socializing for now. I have to save as much as I can; otherwise, I can’t survive,” he continued.
Despite his efforts to secure a stable job, he feels that the economic environment is challenging. “In Shenzhen, there are many job seekers but few opportunities. The jobs available are difficult to obtain. Anyone over fifty, or those who work slowly, are often turned away—it’s truly tough.”
Meanwhile, another worker identified as A-Qin, who washes dishes in a restaurant and does daily gigs at a factory in Guangzhou, explained that gig work barely supports her livelihood, although she maintains an optimistic outlook.
“I earn between 1,000 to 2,000 yuan a month, just enough to cover my living expenses. I allow myself time to pursue my interests. If things work out, great; if not, I’ll get back to work,” she said, noting that the hourly pay for gig work ranges from 15 to 30 yuan, which she considers low. A-Qin has explored various roles from dishwashing to factory work to product promotions, highlighting the intense competition for jobs, but believes perseverance will eventually yield results.
Having been unemployed for a year after leaving her editing job—she chose to resign because she disliked being monitored—A-Qin has embraced a more flexible lifestyle. “I don’t know what the future holds. I just want to eat well, exercise, and sleep well. Overthinking only leads to anxiety.”
She acknowledged the challenges of gig work, recognizing it’s not a viable long-term solution. However, she values the semi-freedom and lower desires that come with it compared to traditional employment.
“I wonder how long I can sustain this lifestyle. Gig work offers freedom, while regular jobs do not,” she reflected, noting she has no social insurance and that her small rented space is sufficient for her needs.
With an eye toward part-time work in the future, A-Qin, at the age of 30, recognizes her youth yet understands that gig jobs are not sustainable for the long run.
China has emerged as a nation steeped in gig economy practices. According to Communist Party data, as early as 2022, the number of gig workers had reached 200 million. The think tank, the China New Employment Form Research Center, projects that from 2025 to 2026, the number of individuals engaged in non-fixed full-time employment will grow from 280 million to 320 million. This group alone is nearly equivalent to the total population of the United States, constituting about 44 percent of China’s labor force.
In an effort to capture the realities of gig employment, a well-known internet celebrity with millions of followers, known as “Feng Ge,” released a documentary on October 25 detailing his experience with daily gig work in Beijing. In just one day, the documentary amassed over 2.7 million views on Bilibili but was removed shortly after.
The documentary, titled “A Day Experiencing Daily Gig Work in Majia Bridge,” was set against the backdrop of a song featuring lyrics that reflect a life of hardship and collapse. Majia Bridge, known for its chaotic labor market, sees many gig workers congregating every morning, awaiting opportunities for short-term work. Jobs primarily include warehouse sorting, loading and unloading, and various odd tasks, with daily pay ranging from 150 to 260 yuan, often inclusive of a meal.
Feng Ge shared his dialogues with recruitment intermediaries, his work experience, and the physical demands of these jobs. The video also captured the gritty street scenes, with individuals engaging in improper behavior and showcasing dubious job advertisements that target women or promise inflated wages.
This documentary sparked widespread online discussions, viewed as an authentic portrayal of the struggles faced by the so-called “flexible employment” underclass. Feng Ge had previously acknowledged during a live stream on October 22 that he had filmed sensitive content while working at Majia Bridge and chose not to release particular footage. However, netizens speculated that the final version he published two days later was heavily edited and was subsequently relegated to “private” status soon after.
As of early November 2026, rumors surfaced that Feng Ge may have been banned across multiple platforms entirely, as various channels went silent.
Social media users have commented that the Chinese Communist Party seems determined to suppress attention towards the true plight of the underprivileged. Even mentioning their reality can provoke discomfort among officials.
The Majia Bridge area, located at the intersection of Beijing’s Tongzhou and Daxing districts, has evolved into a labor market for daily gig workers. Regarded as one of the city’s most chaotic locations, it nevertheless presents an unvarnished glimpse into the realities of Beijing.
Previously, other content creators have documented the lives of gig workers at Majia Bridge, highlighting daily cash payments for rigorous work. By early morning, before dawn breaks in Beijing, hundreds gather at the right near the intersection of the commercial streets, all in search of work. Their requirements are straightforward—they’re willing to labor as long as the pay is fair.
Li Banjing, an independent Chinese media personality, previously conducted a study on the gig labor market at Majia Bridge and quoted an individual from Hebei, who recounted how many people in this area face layoffs when they age out of factory jobs and have no choice but to seek short-term work here. Those who fail to find gigs resort to desperate measures, sometimes even selling personal information or blood to survive.
“I came here hoping to save money to return home for the New Year. After two months, I’ve lost over 1,000 yuan, and I don’t know what to do next,” he expressed.
In one recorded street interview, a middle-aged laborer emotionally conveyed the dire conditions of the current gig market in Majia Bridge. He reflected on how “there are too many people for too few jobs now,” an observation he noted compared to previous years. He gave an example that for working twelve hours as a loader, one would only be compensated with 160 yuan, yet competition remains fierce.
This stark portrayal of life at the bottom of the gig economy continues to resonate within the broader discourse surrounding China’s economic struggles, casting a critical light on the challenges faced by millions in their daily search for survival.