China's 'Loneliness Industry' Grows as Isolation Spreads Among Urban and Elderly Residents

China's 'Loneliness Industry' Grows as Isolation Spreads Among Urban and Elderly Residents

Yang, 91, lives on the outskirts of Beijing. After her husband died, she was so lonely that she says she even considered voluntary euthanasia.

"The biggest difficulty really was the loneliness. Sometimes, if I wanted to talk to someone I'd talk to the TV," she said.

"I asked my son about it but he told me it was banned. I told him that if it ever becomes legal I want to do it - I didn't want to live any longer."

Suffering from glaucoma and failing eyesight, Yang was unable to manage even basic tasks, such as adjusting the controls on her air conditioner.

Cases like hers have become increasingly common across Chinese cities. Associate Professor Teresa Kuan, from the Chinese University of Hong Kong, says the problem is "exacerbated by the structure of society and the modes by which people interact."

Isolation in China has many causes. Rural migrants leave close-knit communities behind when pursuing economic opportunities in urban centres. Graduates uproot themselves to chase employment on the other side of the country. In both cases, established support networks are left behind.

A growing "loneliness industry" has emerged to fill these gaps.

Yang says her life has been transformed by one such service, run by Wang Yingwei and his electric scooter delivery team. They began by bringing hot meals twice a day, but their help now extends far beyond that.

"We see ourselves as community children," Yingwei said. "It means putting yourself in the shoes of older people and carefully considering their needs."

"For example, they may be drinking tap water which can be cloudy and contain a lot of lime. I can fix this problem with a filtered water tank. Such a small thing can make them much happier. Maybe they can't shower because their equipment is broken. I'll buy a part, replace it and their shower is fine."

"The elderly treat us like their children, and we treat them like our own parents," he added.

Yingwei's services cost less than half the price of employing a professional caregiver. The former mobile phone salesman says he started his company to help seniors remain at home without having to move into retirement facilities.

He was inspired by his own father-in-law, who developed Alzheimer's disease and had to enter a nursing home. Yingwei said he found the conditions there so sub-standard that he wanted to ensure others could stay out of such institutions for as long as possible.

His small business currently employs four people, with possible expansion planned as demand grows.

There is still a shortage of solid data on the size of the sector, which operators say has exploded in recent years. Securities company Sinolink valued it at around $7.4 billion in 2025, and further growth is expected given the trajectory of modern lifestyles.

Zheng Ruizhi, 75, is another of Yingwei's clients. She lives in Beijing's northern outskirts, and her son lives two hours away. After retiring, she says she has few opportunities to socialise. A recent injury has made everyday tasks more difficult.

"After retiring, I don't have much opportunity to hang out with others," she said.

She greeted Yingwei at the door with a big smile, calling him her "dear boy."

"I call you 'dear boy' because I am so fond of you. I genuinely like you from the bottom of my heart. I also admire and trust you. When you help me out, I don't have a single worry or fear," she told him.

The services offered within this sector are not limited to home visits. Liu Yanyan, 23, works as a "medical escort." She accompanies clients to hospital appointments, collects test results, and picks up medication from city hospitals, which can be intimidatingly large and bureaucratic.

Some of her clients are young professionals in their twenties who have moved to Beijing to build a career and find themselves without a local support network.