In 2024, China recorded a fertility rate of just 1.013 births per woman—one of the lowest in the world. By 2025, this figure had dropped further to approximately 0.96, according to estimates from the Yua Population Think Tank. These numbers place China among the bottom tier globally, surpassed only by South Korea in terms of low fertility rates. The implications of this demographic crisis extend far beyond mere statistics—they touch on the fundamental structure of Chinese society and the hopes and dreams of millions.
To understand why Chinese couples are choosing to have fewer children, or none at all, we must examine the complex web of economic pressures, social expectations, and psychological factors that have converged to create this unprecedented situation.
The Data: A Demographic Emergency
China's Fertility Numbers in Context
China's total fertility rate (TFR)—the average number of children born per woman—has been in freefall for decades. In 2016, the rate was 1.7; by 2020, it had fallen to 1.3; by 2024, it was 1.013. The 2025 figure of approximately 0.96 represents a level that demographers consider catastrophic for population replacement.
For comparison, the replacement level fertility rate—the level needed to maintain a stable population without immigration—is approximately 2.1. South Korea, the only country with a lower fertility rate than China, recorded a TFR of 0.72 in 2024. China's trajectory suggests it may soon surpass South Korea in this dubious distinction.
Population Decline Accelerates
In 2025 alone, China's total population decreased by 3.39 million people. The number of births fell to just 7.92 million—the lowest in Chinese history. These numbers represent not just a statistical anomaly but a fundamental shift in the demographic structure of the world's most populous nation.
The Most Visible Cause: Economic Pressure
The Cost of Marriage and Childrearing
The most commonly cited reason for China's low fertility rate is economic pressure—and for good reason. In a country where traditional expectations dictate that the groom's family provide housing, a car, and a substantial bride price to secure a marriage, the financial burden on young men and their families is enormous.
In major cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen, the cost of housing alone can consume decades of income. A modest apartment in a central district can cost 5-10 million yuan—equivalent to 20-30 years of average salary for many workers. The infamous "six wallets" phenomenon—where parents and grandparents pool their retirement savings to help a young couple afford a down payment—speaks to the crushing weight of these expectations.
But housing is just the beginning. Weddings, honeymoons, and the subsequent costs of raising children add layers of financial obligation that many young Chinese feel unable to meet. As one 28-year-old office worker in Chengdu told me: "I make 8,000 yuan a month. After rent and living expenses, I can save maybe 2,000. A wedding would cost 100,000 yuan that I don't have. And that's before we even think about children."
The Economic Downturn Amplifies Pressures
The economic slowdown that began in the late 2010s and accelerated after 2021 has only intensified these pressures. Youth unemployment has soared, with some estimates suggesting that over 20% of young Chinese are unemployed. Even those with jobs face wage stagnation, while the cost of living continues to rise.
For a generation that came of age during China's boom years, this sudden shift has been particularly jarring. Many had expected that their standard of living would continuously improve—a belief that underpinned the decision to start a family. Now, facing economic uncertainty, they are reconsidering or abandoning entirely the idea of having children.
Beyond Economics: The Hidden Factors
The Weight of Class Stratification
While economic pressure is real and significant, it is not the whole story. A deeper, less discussed factor underlies many young Chinese hesitation to have children: the growing awareness of class stratification and the apparent impossibility of escaping it.
The writer Eileen Chang once observed: "If a child's birth is meant to inherit one's labor, panic, and poverty, then not giving birth is also a form of kindness." This sentiment captures a growing feeling among young Chinese—that bringing a child into the world may not be a gift but a curse.
What Can Be Inherited
In today's society, wealth can be depleted, but what truly matters are the "hard currencies" that can be passed between generations: production materials, power, connections, social circles, educational resources, and information asymmetry. These are the real determinants of success, and they are increasingly concentrated among the wealthy.
A child born into an ordinary family inherits not just their parents' genetic traits but also their social position, their network of connections, and their limited access to quality education. The child of a rural migrant worker in Shenzhen has access to fundamentally different resources than the child of a senior government official or a successful entrepreneur. This gap does not narrow with time—it often widens.
The Myth of Meritocracy
For decades, Chinese society has celebrated the idea that hard work leads to success. Parents pushed their children to study hard, believing that academic achievement would enable social mobility. But this belief has been severely shaken.
Research consistently shows that educational attainment alone cannot overcome class barriers in China. Connections, family wealth, and social capital matter more than ever. A student from a prestigious university may find that their lack of family connections prevents them from landing a good job, while a less academically accomplished peer with wealthy parents easily secures a position at a top company.
"I worked so hard," says a 26-year-old who graduated from a top university in Beijing. "I got honors, did internships, thought I was doing everything right. Then I graduated and realized that the jobs I wanted were given to people whose parents knew the right people. My degree meant nothing against their connections."
The Psychological Impact of Class Awareness
The Despair of Inherited Poverty
For many young Chinese, the question is not just "Can I afford to have children?" but "What kind of life would my child have?" If a parent struggles financially, will their child be condemned to the same struggle? If hard work does not lead to success, what hope can a parent offer their child?
This question strikes at the heart of the traditional Chinese value system, which places great emphasis on improving one's lot and providing better opportunities for the next generation. When this becomes impossible, when the gap between rich and poor seems insurmountable, many choose not to bring children into a world where they would face inevitable disadvantage.
The Cruelty of Meritocratic Myths
The previous generation believed that sacrifice and hard work could change their children's fate. Parents would toil for years, saving every penny for their child's education, believing that this investment would pay off in the form of a better life for the next generation.
But for many, this sacrifice did not lead to the promised reward. A factory worker from Hunan province told me: "I worked 16 hours a day for 20 years to send my son to university. He graduated and now makes 5,000 yuan a month. He can't afford to buy a house in the city. My sacrifice didn't change anything."
This experience—of sacrifice without reward, of effort without payoff—is becoming increasingly common. When people see that their hard work cannot improve their lot, and certainly cannot improve their children's lot, the motivation to have children diminishes sharply.
The Cultural Shift: From Obligation to Choice
The Individual vs. The Family
Traditional Chinese values emphasized the family over the individual. Having children was not just a personal choice but a family obligation, a way to continue the family line and support parents in their old age. These expectations are weakening, particularly among younger, urban Chinese.
For many, the question is no longer "What should I do for my family?" but "What do I want for myself?" This shift in values has profound implications for fertility decisions. When children are seen as a source of meaning and happiness, people are more likely to have them. When they are seen as a burden, a source of endless worry and expense, people will choose not to.
The Changing Role of Women
Perhaps nowhere is this cultural shift more evident than in the changing role of women. Educated, urban women are increasingly choosing careers over motherhood, or at least delaying marriage and childbearing to pursue professional goals.
In a society where women are still expected to bear the primary burden of childcare, while also competing in a ruthless job market, many find that having children is simply incompatible with their ambitions. The "double burden" of work and family proves too heavy for many to bear.
The Class Dimension: A Self-Reinforcing Cycle
How Low Fertility Creates More Inequality
The decline in births is not random across classes—it is concentrated among the poor and the middle class, while wealthier families continue to have children (or at least more children). This creates a self-reinforcing cycle of inequality.
Children from wealthier families receive more resources, better education, and more connections. They are better positioned to succeed in a competitive economy. Children from poorer families receive fewer resources, less education, and fewer connections. They are more likely to remain poor or to fall further behind.
This cycle reinforces class stratification. The wealthy get richer (or at least maintain their position), while the poor get poorer—or at least do not escape poverty. The gap between these groups grows, and the possibility of social mobility shrinks.
The Psychological Toll
The awareness of this cycle has a profound psychological impact on potential parents. Many ask themselves: "What am I bringing this child into?" If the answer is "a world of relentless competition, of inherited advantage, of insurmountable barriers," then having children begins to seem like cruelty rather than kindness.
Eileen Chang's observation cuts to the heart of this feeling. If a child's life will be defined by struggle, by the attempt to escape the parents' circumstances, by the frustration of blocked ambitions—then perhaps it is kinder not to bring that child into the world at all.
Policy Responses and Their Limitations
The Failure of Pronatalist Policies
The Chinese government has implemented various pronatalist policies in recent years, from the removal of the one-child policy to financial incentives for having children. These policies have had limited effect.
The fundamental issues—economic pressure, class stratification, changing values—are not amenable to simple policy solutions. You cannot compel people to have children through financial incentives alone, particularly when the underlying conditions that discourage childbearing remain unchanged.
The Structural Barriers
Real reform would require addressing the structural issues that make childbearing unattractive: the high cost of housing, the lack of affordable childcare, the gender inequality in the workplace, the extreme competition in education. These are long-term, systemic problems that cannot be solved by quick policy fixes.
Until these underlying conditions change, policies aimed at increasing the birth rate will continue to fail. Chinese couples are making rational decisions based on their circumstances. Change those circumstances, and fertility decisions may change as well.
Conclusion: A Crisis of Meaning
China's declining birth rate is not simply a demographic phenomenon. It is a symptom of deeper social and psychological currents that are reshaping Chinese society. The economic pressures are real, but they are not the whole story.
At its core, the fertility crisis reflects a crisis of meaning. When young Chinese look at the world they would bring children into, they see not opportunity but obstacle, not hope but despair. They see a society where class barriers seem insurmountable, where hard work does not guarantee success, where the advantages of the wealthy are passed on to their children while the disadvantages of the poor are likewise inherited.
In such a world, having children begins to seem not like a blessing but like a curse—not a gift but a burden. If a child's life will be defined by struggle and frustration, then perhaps the most loving thing a parent can do is not to bring that child into the world at all.
This is the hidden truth behind China's fertility crisis. It is not just about money, though money matters. It is about hope—about whether young Chinese believe that their children will have a better life than they did. When that hope dies, when the future seems bleak, when class mobility seems impossible, people stop having children.
Reversing this trend will require more than financial incentives. It will require rebuilding faith in the future—in the possibility that hard work can lead to success, that meritocracy can overcome privilege, that children can surpass their parents. Until that faith is restored, China's fertility rate will likely continue its decline.