If you ask 72-year-old farmer Huanchun Cao about his retirement, he will probably respond with a raspy laugh.

As he takes a drag from his homemade cigarette, he furrows his brow and tilts his head, as if he finds the question absurd.

“No, no, we don’t have retirement,” he says, casting a glance at his wife.

Mr. Cao is part of a generation that witnessed the rise of Communist China.

Like many rural and migrant workers, he has no choice but to keep working to support himself, as he cannot rely on the country’s social safety net.

With a slowing economy, shrinking government programs, and the legacy of the decades-long one-child policy, Xi Jinping’s China is facing a growing demographic crisis.

The pension system is deteriorating, and the country is falling behind in the race against time to gather enough funds to sustain its rising elderly population.

Over the next ten years, an estimated 300 million people, currently between the ages of 50 and 60, will leave China’s workforce.

Cao and his wife, who have been married for over 45 years, live in Liaoning province in northeastern China, a region that was once the country’s industrial heartland.

Vast stretches of farmland and rolling hills dot the landscape surrounding the province’s main city, Shenyang. Plumes of smoke from factories blend with the magnificent, well-preserved historical treasures of the Qing dynasty.

Nearly a quarter of the local population is 65 or older. A growing number of working-age adults are leaving jobs in heavy industries to seek better opportunities in major cities.

Cao’s children have also left, though they still live close enough to visit their parents regularly.

“I think I’ll only be able to keep doing this for another four or five years,” Cao reflects after returning home with his wife from collecting firewood.

Inside their house, flames crackle beneath a heated platform known as a kang, which serves as the main source of warmth in the home.

“In five years, maybe I can still manage on my own if I’m physically strong. But if I’m weak, I might end up bedridden. That’s how it will be. I suppose I’ll become a burden to my children. They’ll have to take care of me.”

This is not the future that 55-year-old Guohui Tang envisions for herself. After her husband was injured in a construction accident and all their savings went toward their daughter’s university education, the former excavator operator saw an opportunity in elderly care to secure her own future in old age. She opened a small nursing home about an hour outside Shenyang.

At the back of the single-story house, surrounded by cultivated fields, pigs and geese greet visitors. Tang grows food to provide meals for the six residents of the care home.

Pointing to a group of four elderly men playing cards under the sun in the small winter garden, Tang shares her concerns: “See that 85-year-old man? He doesn’t have a pension and relies entirely on his son and daughter. The son pays one month, the daughter pays the next, but they have to support themselves too.”

She is also worried because she knows she will eventually depend on her only daughter.

For generations, China has relied on filial piety to support its elderly. However, with fewer children available to care for aging parents—partly due to the one-child policy, which lasted from 1980 to 2015—this tradition is changing.

With rapid economic growth, young people have also distanced themselves from their parents, leaving a growing number of elderly people to fend for themselves or depend on government payments and assistance.

However, public pensions could run out of funds by 2035, according to the Chinese Academy of Sciences, a state agency. This projection was made in 2019, before the pandemic-induced economic slowdowns severely impacted China’s economy.

Additionally, the country may be forced to raise the retirement age, which is currently one of the lowest in the world: 60 for men, 55 for women in white-collar jobs, and 50 for those in more physically demanding work.

Yet, economists argue that such a measure would not be enough to prevent what some fear could become a humanitarian crisis within 25 years.

Still, depending on personal savings, the situation is not all bad—although it does require making choices.

“Welcome to my home,” says Grandma Feng, 78, who prefers to be identified only by her surname.

It is hard to keep up with her as she rushes down the hallway to tell her husband that visitors are on their way to their room at the Sunshine Care Home.

The scene here is different from Liaoning—the shiny new buildings house tech companies like Alibaba and Ant, making the region a magnet for ambitious young entrepreneurs.

The Fengs have lived in the care home for eight years. The environment is welcoming and offers a variety of activities, including gymnastics, table tennis, singing, and theater.

“It’s crucial to spend the final phase of life in a pleasant setting,” Feng reflects.

“I thought about this. I just transferred our house to our son. Now, all we need are our retirement cards.”

The couple’s room in the care home costs around 2,000 yuan per month. As former employees of state-owned enterprises, they both receive pensions sufficient to cover these expenses.

The amount they receive is significantly higher than the average pension in China, which was about 170 yuan per month in 2020, according to the International Labour Organization.

However, despite having residents with decent pensions, Sunshine Care Home is operating at a loss. The director explains that nursing homes require significant upfront investment and take time to become profitable.

Beijing has been pushing private companies to build nursing homes and care centers to fill the gaps left by cash-strapped local governments. But will companies continue investing if profits seem distant? That remains an open question.

Other East Asian countries, like Japan, also face the challenge of caring for a large elderly population. However, Japan was already a prosperous nation when it began dealing with its aging society.

China, on the other hand, is aging rapidly without the same strong economic foundation. As a result, many elderly Chinese are being forced to carve out their own paths at a time when they should be planning for retirement.

Shuishui, 55, has found a new career in what is being called the “silver-haired economy.”

“And I think what we can do is try to influence the people around us to be more positive and to keep learning. Everyone has different levels of family income, but regardless of the circumstances, it’s better if we try to stay positive,” she reflects.

Shuishui acknowledges that she is part of a privileged group in China. Nevertheless, she is determined to maintain an optimistic outlook. The former entrepreneur is now embarking on a new career as a model.

On the sunlit banks of the Grand Canal in Hangzhou, she joins three other women, all over 55, to touch up their makeup and hair, proving that life can be vibrant and full of opportunities at any age.

Each of these grandmothers has chosen her own traditional Chinese outfit in red or gold—silk skirts that sweep the ground and short, fur-lined jackets to keep them warm in the early spring chill.

With effort, they balance on high heels atop the historic cobblestone Gongchen Bridge, smiling for the camera as a social media team shouts instructions.

This is a vision of graceful aging that Shuishui wants to showcase to the world—believing that, in her own way, she is contributing to revitalizing a struggling economy.