China’s ‘Rotten‑Tail’ Housing Crisis: Millions Stuck in Unfinished Homes and a Nationwide Mortgage Boycott.
When the Shanghai skyline is imagined, it is usually as a forest of glass towers that stretch toward the clouds, a testament to China’s rapid urbanisation and its appetite for growth. In recent years, however, an increasingly common sight has begun to mar that glossy image: rows of skeletal structures, concrete frames standing mute on vacant plots, their foundations half‑buried and their steel bones exposed to the elements. In Chinese vernacular these “rotten‑tail” projects are called 烂尾 (lànwěi), a term that literally translates to “rotting tail” but is most often rendered in English as “unfinished,” “incomplete,” or “abandoned” projects. The word has slipped beyond construction sites and entered everyday conversation, social media commentary, and even literary criticism, becoming a shorthand for any promise left unfulfilled.
24 August 2025
The phenomenon is not new. Isolated cases of stalled developments have dotted China’s boom‑towns for decades, such as the Billion Court complex abandoned in 2002 before being repurposed into the Grand Ion Majestic Hotel. What distinguishes today’s wave is its scale and the human toll it exacts. By mid‑2025, estimates suggest that more than 1.5 million residential units—roughly the size of a medium‑sized city—remain unfinished across the country. For the families who have poured savings, taken out mortgages, and built hopes around these apartments, the unfinished concrete is a daily reminder of financial fragility and broken trust.
The catalyst for the current crisis can be traced to the collapse of several flagship developers, most notably Evergrande. The conglomerate, once the world’s most indebted real‑estate company, defaulted on its obligations in 2021, sparking a contagion that left a slew of smaller developers scrambling for cash. The ripple effect halted construction on projects that had already sold hundreds of thousands of units. In the fallout, developers frequently halted work rather than complete projects at a loss, leaving buyers with walls that never became homes.
Homebuyers, frustrated by endless delays, have turned the private grievance into a collective movement. The first organized mortgage boycott erupted in late 2022 when owners of Evergrande Longting in Jingdezhen, Jiangxi province, issued a public letter on June 30 announcing a forced suspension of mortgage payments beginning in November. The move signalled a turning point: homeowners across dozens of cities began to withhold mortgage repayments on unfinished properties, effectively leveraging their debt obligations to pressure developers and local authorities. By the end of 2022, the boycott had spread to over a hundred projects, involving tens of thousands of households. The coordinated refusal to pay resonated globally, prompting headlines that ranged from “China’s Homebuyers Stage Mortgage Strikes” to “The Silent Revolt of Unfinished Towers.”
The financial stakes are massive. Many purchasers have already paid a substantial portion—or even the full—price of a home that never materialises, while simultaneously servicing loans on assets that exist only on paper. The default risk is not confined to private citizens; banks that extended these mortgages now face a wave of non‑performing loans, and the broader credit market feels the tremor. Analysts warn that unchecked, the cascade could erode confidence in China’s banking sector, an outcome the authorities are keen to avoid.
In response, the central and local governments have stepped into an uneasy dance of intervention and restraint. Early 2023 saw the Ministry of Housing and Urban‑Rural Development issue a series of directives aimed at “preventing large‑scale烂尾楼” and encouraging “reasonable completion plans.” Some municipalities have earmarked emergency funds to resume construction, while others have sought “white‑knight” investors—private firms that can inject fresh capital and take over stalled sites. One such example is the NCT Gao Yuxuan Group, which recently assumed control of a beleaguered project in the southern city of Zhuhai, pledging to complete construction within eighteen months.
Legal reforms have also accelerated. On July 17, 2025, a landmark court ruling in Jiangsu clarified that when a developer delays delivery for an extended period and there is no realistic prospect of completion, homebuyers may simultaneously terminate both the purchase agreement and the associated loan contract. Ten days later, a further judicial interpretation broadened protections, allowing courts to exclude buyers’ payments from forced execution in cases of unfinished projects. The precedent was applied swiftly: a Zhuhai district court ordered the developer of Tahe Central Plaza to refund purchase and maintenance fees, effectively vindicating a coalition of owners who had sued under the new guidelines.
Yet despite these steps, the problem remains colossal. Evergrande alone still has more than 700,000 unfinished units as of August 15, 2025, out of the 1.62 million units it had stalled during its debt crisis. Across the nation, similar backlogs linger, with many developers either in bankruptcy or operating under severe cash constraints. The “guaranteed delivery” pledge that the government rolled out in early 2024—meant to assure buyers that any project flagged as at risk would be finished—has yet to translate into visible progress for most affected communities.
Public sentiment, as reflected on China’s leading micro‑blogging platform Weibo, swings between anger, resignation and occasional hope. Threads littered with the hashtag #烂尾楼# feature homeowners posting photos of deserted scaffolding, sharing stories of foreclosed mortgages, and demanding accountability from both developers and officials. Some users invoke the phrase “封神” (god‑like) to praise developers who manage to rescue a project, while others brand incomplete works as “烂尾”‑style betrayals, likening them to unfinished novels that leave readers hanging. The metaphor has even seeped into cultural criticism, where commentators argue that a story’s “rotten tail” mirrors society’s broader failure to deliver on its promises.
The economic implications extend beyond the construction sector. Unfinished apartments depress local property values, reduce municipal tax revenues, and stall ancillary industries—from furniture retailers to local service providers—that depend on a thriving housing market. Moreover, the social stability of communities is jeopardised: protests have flared in cities like Shenzhen and Chengdu when angry residents block roads or stage sit‑ins at municipal offices, demanding swift action.
International observers are watching closely, not only because China’s real‑estate market accounts for a sizable share of global capital flows, but also because the handling of 烂尾楼 could set a precedent for how other economies manage distressed assets. In Malaysia, for instance, the current administration boasts of rescuing over 1,127 abandoned projects as of June 2025, a narrative the Chinese government is likely to reference when negotiating foreign participation in revival schemes.
What remains clear is that the term 烂尾 has evolved from a technical descriptor of stalled construction to a cultural touchstone encapsulating disappointment, financial jeopardy, and the fragility of rapid development. Whether through governmental bailouts, court‑driven protections, or grassroots mortgage boycotts, the resolution will require coordinated action across the public and private sectors. For the millions of Chinese families still watching concrete frames rise and fall, the hope is that the “tail” will soon cease rotting and instead be completed with the homes they were promised.
