A 98-square-meter sea-view apartment bought outright for 1.1 million yuan is now listed for 150,000. Five years, and not a single offer.
Huizhou’s Shili Silver Beach. In the same month, according to the statistics bureau, secondhand home prices in Huizhou were down 5% year over year.
Put those two statements side by side. The gap is absurd. I looked through several reports. As it turns out, neither side is wrong.
The index only counts completed sales. Homes that don’t sell never enter the sample. That 5% measures the homes that changed hands. The 85% figure measures the ones still being held. Same stretch of coastline. Two batches of homes. Two prices.
Shili Silver Beach and Shuangyue Bay together have nearly 90,000 homes. Huizhou’s Huidong County has a residential inventory sell-through period of 53 months. In other words, even if no more new homes were built, it would still take four and a half years just to sell off what’s already there.
The vacancy rate in Daya Bay is over 70%, and fewer than 30% of homes have lights on at night. Huidong’s permanent population grew by about 3,000 in a year.
That said, using one home that lost 85% of its value to sum up the entire coastline isn’t fair, either. Homes in the same developments generally sell for 3,000 to 4,500 yuan per square meter. Most have fallen by 70% to 80%. The ones that have plunged all the way to the floor are mostly urgent sales, low-floor units, or the least desirable layouts left over.
Hong Kong and Macao residents buy an average of 4,865 homes a year in Huizhou, accounting for 5% to 6% of the city’s sales. It doesn’t look like much.
But in coastal developments like Shili Silver Beach, Hong Kong buyers can make up 60%. Most are in their fifties or sixties, buying 120- to 144-square-meter homes as an upgrade. What attracts them is simply that the sea-view property is cheap. That 53-month figure is based on the pace at which they’re still buying.
A lot of people think the problem is that too many homes were built. That’s only the surface of it.
The real question comes next: who’s going to take them off your hands? Huidong residents earn less than 4,000 yuan a month on average. The nearest top-tier Grade A hospital is 30 kilometers away. Getting into Shenzhen by bus and then metro takes over two hours each way. None of the everyday essentials have kept pace. Even if these homes were given away, not many people would be willing to move in and live there long-term. Ten years ago, the people who pushed this coastline from a few thousand yuan per square meter to 15,000 or 19,000 were from Shenzhen, Hong Kong, Wenzhou, and the Northeast—retirees. When they bought, they all ran the numbers. They were calculating how much the next buyer would be willing to pay. Local demand was never part of the pricing equation.
What’s fallen isn’t really the homes anymore. It’s the assumption that “buyers from outside the area” would be there. Once that assumption is gone, there’s no anchor for the price. Three thousand, 2,900, 1,800—those numbers exist only in the sellers’ asking prices.
And the worst part is still to come. Annual property management fees for a 79-square-meter unit run from 2,700 to 3,000 yuan. Monthly rent is 800 yuan in peak season, 500 in the off-season. Factor in vacancy and repairs, and the net return is negative.
The home won’t sell. And all this time, money keeps flowing out. That’s what being trapped really means. It has nothing to do with how much you’ve lost on paper. It’s the cash you pay out every year, plus a door you can’t get out through.
Around the same time, a 97-square-meter top-floor duplex at Yintan in Rushan, Shandong, sold at auction for 15,688 yuan after 57 rounds of bidding. That’s 160 yuan per square meter.
An 89-square-meter, fully furnished sea-view apartment went for 88,888 yuan. That really was the price.
At this point, the number is no longer really about the home. It measures “who’s willing to take it off your hands.”
The viral claim that “prices have fallen to 1,800” refers to the listed price per square meter for some homes. There’s a five-year gap between listing at 1,800 and actually selling at 1,800. Public records don’t show what that 98-square-meter apartment ultimately sold for.
There’s the same structure in crypto. A shitcoin’s market cap is calculated by multiplying the last tiny trade by the total supply, even when it has almost no real users. You stare at that number, but really you’re staring at a very thin order book. Finding a buyer for a home takes five years—and you still need someone who genuinely wants to live there. On-chain, liquidity can be pulled in a single block.
That home you’re holding and that coin in your wallet that hasn’t traded in three months are the same problem. Its supposed value matters less than how long it’ll take to turn into cash—and how much it’ll drain from your pocket each year while you wait.
When you really need to sell, there’s just one question to ask first: where’s the person who’ll take it?
$BTC $ETH $COINB #比特币 #Binance Square
Huizhou’s Shili Silver Beach. In the same month, according to the statistics bureau, secondhand home prices in Huizhou were down 5% year over year.
Put those two statements side by side. The gap is absurd. I looked through several reports. As it turns out, neither side is wrong.
The index only counts completed sales. Homes that don’t sell never enter the sample. That 5% measures the homes that changed hands. The 85% figure measures the ones still being held. Same stretch of coastline. Two batches of homes. Two prices.
Shili Silver Beach and Shuangyue Bay together have nearly 90,000 homes. Huizhou’s Huidong County has a residential inventory sell-through period of 53 months. In other words, even if no more new homes were built, it would still take four and a half years just to sell off what’s already there.
The vacancy rate in Daya Bay is over 70%, and fewer than 30% of homes have lights on at night. Huidong’s permanent population grew by about 3,000 in a year.
That said, using one home that lost 85% of its value to sum up the entire coastline isn’t fair, either. Homes in the same developments generally sell for 3,000 to 4,500 yuan per square meter. Most have fallen by 70% to 80%. The ones that have plunged all the way to the floor are mostly urgent sales, low-floor units, or the least desirable layouts left over.
Hong Kong and Macao residents buy an average of 4,865 homes a year in Huizhou, accounting for 5% to 6% of the city’s sales. It doesn’t look like much.
But in coastal developments like Shili Silver Beach, Hong Kong buyers can make up 60%. Most are in their fifties or sixties, buying 120- to 144-square-meter homes as an upgrade. What attracts them is simply that the sea-view property is cheap. That 53-month figure is based on the pace at which they’re still buying.
A lot of people think the problem is that too many homes were built. That’s only the surface of it.
The real question comes next: who’s going to take them off your hands? Huidong residents earn less than 4,000 yuan a month on average. The nearest top-tier Grade A hospital is 30 kilometers away. Getting into Shenzhen by bus and then metro takes over two hours each way. None of the everyday essentials have kept pace. Even if these homes were given away, not many people would be willing to move in and live there long-term. Ten years ago, the people who pushed this coastline from a few thousand yuan per square meter to 15,000 or 19,000 were from Shenzhen, Hong Kong, Wenzhou, and the Northeast—retirees. When they bought, they all ran the numbers. They were calculating how much the next buyer would be willing to pay. Local demand was never part of the pricing equation.
What’s fallen isn’t really the homes anymore. It’s the assumption that “buyers from outside the area” would be there. Once that assumption is gone, there’s no anchor for the price. Three thousand, 2,900, 1,800—those numbers exist only in the sellers’ asking prices.
And the worst part is still to come. Annual property management fees for a 79-square-meter unit run from 2,700 to 3,000 yuan. Monthly rent is 800 yuan in peak season, 500 in the off-season. Factor in vacancy and repairs, and the net return is negative.
The home won’t sell. And all this time, money keeps flowing out. That’s what being trapped really means. It has nothing to do with how much you’ve lost on paper. It’s the cash you pay out every year, plus a door you can’t get out through.
Around the same time, a 97-square-meter top-floor duplex at Yintan in Rushan, Shandong, sold at auction for 15,688 yuan after 57 rounds of bidding. That’s 160 yuan per square meter.
An 89-square-meter, fully furnished sea-view apartment went for 88,888 yuan. That really was the price.
At this point, the number is no longer really about the home. It measures “who’s willing to take it off your hands.”
The viral claim that “prices have fallen to 1,800” refers to the listed price per square meter for some homes. There’s a five-year gap between listing at 1,800 and actually selling at 1,800. Public records don’t show what that 98-square-meter apartment ultimately sold for.
There’s the same structure in crypto. A shitcoin’s market cap is calculated by multiplying the last tiny trade by the total supply, even when it has almost no real users. You stare at that number, but really you’re staring at a very thin order book. Finding a buyer for a home takes five years—and you still need someone who genuinely wants to live there. On-chain, liquidity can be pulled in a single block.
That home you’re holding and that coin in your wallet that hasn’t traded in three months are the same problem. Its supposed value matters less than how long it’ll take to turn into cash—and how much it’ll drain from your pocket each year while you wait.
When you really need to sell, there’s just one question to ask first: where’s the person who’ll take it?
$BTC $ETH $COINB #比特币 #Binance Square