Growth Goes Green

A display of digitally printed activewear and outerwear at Qianyong Textile's showroom in Keqiao. The company's breakthrough in high-definition, low-waste printing marks a new chapter for the region's textile industry.

At the Qianyong Textile showroom in the Zhejiang Province city of Keqiao, bolts of fabric in neon oranges, moss greens and icy blues are stacked against the wall, and mannequins wear Olympic ski jackets, Lululemon yoga sets and sleek Canada Goose shells.

Xiao Xingshui, owner of the company, surveys the merchandise with a sense of job well done.

"We're creating things that didn't exist here before," he said. "This industry is no longer just about weaving and dyeing. It's about new momentum, new equipment, new processes and new technology."

An Olympic uniform made with Qianyong Textile's digitally printed fabric

Xiao is the modern face of a green revolution in the fabric industry – a volte-face from a decade ago, when he was just another middleman in Keqiao's fabric trade, haggling over prices in a market stall. At the time, every meter of dyed fabric required 13 kilograms of water and earned eight cents.

Convinced that the industry was on a dead end path, he used his savings to rent a workshop, imported digital printing technology and started the company on a bet that higher-value, greener fabrics would be the future.

He spent years adjusting software settings, testing inks and fixing every flaw one by one.

"The first sample we printed was dark and blurry," Xiao recalled. "But the whole workshop cheered because we'd never seen anything like it before in Keqiao."

Each round of testing made the prints sharper, the colors richer and the images more stable.

Today, Qianyong's digital printing consumes only about a 10th of the water used in traditional dyeing and cuts wastewater discharge by nearly 90 percent. Its fabrics have found their way into collections by Lululemon, Anta and Nike, as well as uniforms for the Beijing and Paris Olympics.

'The city built on cloth'

Xiao's gamble reflects a titanic shift that has reshaped Keqiao, long known as "the city built on cloth."

For years, that reputation rested on sheer output and heavy-polluting processes. A mix of government environmental policies, changing consumer trends and survival instincts nudged the industry toward cleaner production in a wave of sustainable upgrades.

The abundance of water that once fueled Keqiao's rise into a textile powerhouse had become a liability by 2010. Scattered dyeing factories, often tucked behind homes or flanking irrigation canals, polluted waterways and emitted chemical fumes.

A before-and-after look at Keqiao's textile production lines, where traditional heavy machinery is giving way to automated, cleaner technology.

Shutting down the industry wasn't an option. Keqiao is home to 8,000 textile manufacturers, nearly 900 of them on a large scale. The full supply chain runs through city, from synthetic fibers and weaving to dyeing and finishing. In 2024, the textile sector accounted for more than half of Keqiao's total industrial output, with printing and dyeing alone valued at over 65 billion yuan (US$9 billion).

If the industry was shuttered, how would locals make a living?

To upgrade the industry and clean up the environment, the government rolled out a plan to move the entire dyeing sector to a new industrial zone outside the city, equipped with centralized wastewater treatment and steam supply.

It was a brutal shake-up for the industry. Of the 200-plus dyeing plants once operating in Keqiao's core, only about 110 made it through to the zone. The rest merged, relocated, or disappeared.

A brutal transition

"It wasn't exactly voluntary," Wang Hao, director of the district's Modern Textile Industry Service Center, said of the transition. "But in hindsight, not moving would have cost more."

The seaside site picked for the new industrial zone was, at the time, a windswept patch of tidal flats knee-deep in reeds and tall weeds. Many factory owners were reluctant to move. It was far from town, and the costs and logistics of moving weren't trivial.

But as environmental rules tightened and inspections grew more frequent, the equation began to change. The cost of running independent wastewater systems and handling steam and chemical fumes on an individual basis started to add up. In the new park, waste was treated centrally. Energy came in bulk.

"You begin to realize that it's not about saving money today," Wang said. "It's about still having a business tomorrow."

A site transformed: What was once a barren field is now the location of a modern textile industrial zone, part of Keqiao's push to rebuild its industry from the ground up.

Today, the zone runs on shared steam, centralized wastewater treatment and real-time monitoring systems. The result: cleaner skies, cleaner water and every meter of space occupied.

"Everyone wants in now," Wang said. "But the park is full."

Companies adapted in different ways. Some factories doubled down on greater efficiency. Others completely retooled their product lines. A few decided to bet on specialty textiles instead of bulk sales.

A fabric suitable for changing times

For Jinsheng Textile, innovation started with the question: What else could a suit be made of?

A "wild" idea bears fruit.

Huang Kaili, the company's executive vice president, recalls the day a supplier turned up at the door in 2015 with fabric made of bamboo. It was not the usual stiff weave but rather a softer strand extracted from bamboo pulp, promising natural breathability, odor control and a smaller carbon footprint.

"It felt a little wild at the time," Huang said. "But we tested everything."

Unlike cotton, which requires heavy irrigation, bamboo grows rampantly in China, with no need for fertilizer or replanting. It's naturally antibacterial, easy to maintain and deeply rooted in local supply chains and cultural symbolism.

A plush panda toy holding bamboo leaves sits among rolls of bamboo fiber fabrics, highlighting the eco-friendly and nature-inspired brand identity.

Jinsheng took a gamble. The research and development process was tough. Bamboo fibers snapped easily, and no one had tried to make formal wear out of the stuff. But after six months of trial and error, tinkering with blends, finishing techniques and color absorption, the team created what Huang described as "a fabric that breathes like cotton, drapes like wool, and wears like nothing else."

"One of our early partners, a high-end menswear brand, called our bamboo trousers 'the most comfortable dress pants' customers had ever worn," Huang said.

A showcase of finished garments made from bamboo fiber, including sleek shirts and tailored trousers – a blend of sustainability and fashion

A soft pastel-colored collection of suits, suggesting the diversity of color and texture bamboo textiles can achieve, moving beyond basic eco-wear to stylish, contemporary design

Unlike many Keqiao factories that wait for client samples to copy, Jinshen positioned itself as a fabric developer rather than a simple processor. The bamboo gambit paid off.

Today, bamboo-derived fabrics account for a quarter of Jinsheng's exports, especially to Europe and Southeast Asia. To sell in Europe, the company obtained standards certification, which required creating systems to verify water use and material inputs.

"Five years ago, hardly anyone in China asked about sustainability. Now, even domestic brands want to know if a fabric is green," Huang said. "Sustainability used to be a selling point. Now it's just the cost of entry."

Other companies in Keqiao eyed opportunities in other market sectors.

Green car interiors

Meisheng New Material now supplies plush faux suede for car interiors to more than 20 automakers, from Tesla and BYD to several European brands. Its products meet a 700-hour light-fastness standard and come in dozens of colors, matching Italian imports in quality while offering a cleaner supply chain.

That success comes on the back of a surge in Chinese sales of electric vehicles, both at home and abroad.

"When Chinese brands go global, their suppliers go with them," said Qian Guochun, general manager of Meisheng. "Electric vehicle makers want interiors that look premium but feel modern and sustainable. That shift opened doors for us."

Prototype high-end car seats covered with synthetic leather. Made with eco-friendly materials, the seats are part of Meisheng's effort to combine luxury comfort with sustainable design.

Meisheng didn't start at the top. For years, it produced low-end faux suede for shoes and bags, eking out razor-thin margins in a crowded market.

"We were making goods that sold for 10 yuan a meter and fighting over pennies," Qian said. "Every order felt like a price war."

When he first saw imported faux suede for car interiors, he was stunned by both the texture and the price tag of nearly 600 yuan a meter.

In 2015, Qian decided to take the company upmarket. Developing automotive-grade suede meant starting almost from scratch. Light-fastness and aging tests lasted months, and obtaining carmaker orders could drag on for years.

"More than once, we thought of quitting," Qian said. "We kept the lights on with bulk low-end orders while throwing money at the high-end line."

After four years of fine-tuning in bonding strength, color stability and texture, the company finally had a product that could pass global quality tests. At the same time, it switched to water-based and solvent-free polyurethane technologies, sharply cutting emissions and slotting its product into European environmental standards.

"Performance matters, but without a green label, you can't even enter the conversation," Qian said.

A camouflage-textured steering wheel wrapped in eco-friendly fabric. Meisheng experiments with bold aesthetics and circular material use in high-end vehicle interiors.

Roof panels designed for automotive interiors. Compliant with green production codes, Meisheng's headliners contribute to both comfort and carbon reduction.

Meisheng's faux suede now holds about 20 percent of the automotive interior market, far ahead of other synthetic leathers, like pseudo cowhide or deerskin. With the rise of electric vehicles and a consumer trend away from leather, Meisheng found itself in the right place at the right time.

"Ten years ago, leather was seen as luxury," Qian said. "Now buyers want lighter, greener, and more versatile materials, and that's where we've built our advantage."

Looking ahead, Qian sees opportunities beyond cars. The same technology, he said, could be used in yacht seats or even aircraft cabins.

"We've proven we can compete in cars," he said. "Now we're thinking bigger."

Shanghai is the only metropolis in China to have an exhibition hall dedicated to promoting low-carbon living and manufacturing.

When China embarked on a national campaign toward carbon neutrality, Shanghai was quick to answer the call, becoming a national trend-setter in eco-friendly policies.

It has cleaned up the once heavily polluted Suzhou Creek and cleared the skies of once heavy smog, recording 323 days last year with excellent air quality. It has built 973 parks and 230 kilometers of greenbelts, and turned a bird habitat on Chongming Island into a World Heritage Site.

At the street level, Shanghai residents have become environmentally conscious, embracing municipal programs to sort garbage for recycling and encourage electricity use in off-peak hours. The city operates a carbon-credit trading market and is the only metropolis in China to have an exhibition hall dedicated to promoting low-carbon living.

Carbon is the 15th most abundant element on the Earth's surface, and some of its myriad compounds are the building blocks of life. But when combined with oxygen and release into the air in great quantities, carbon dioxide becomes a greenhouse gas linked to global warming.

Businesses heed the call

The emphasis on carbon neutrality has meant that businesses in the city have to reduce their carbon footprint.

Evidence of their progress is mounting. Shanghai-based textile company Orient International is now exporting apparel made from low-carbon materials. M&G Stationery is gaining bidding advantage with government agencies with its eco-friendly office supplies. XuanAo Hotel has become Chongming Island's first carbon-neutral rural resort hotel.

China has among the most aggressive green goals in the world, pledging to reach peak carbon emissions by 2030 and net zero by 2060. It has invested heavily in solar and wind energy, accounting for more than half of green-energy installation globally, and in development of green technologies across industrial sectors.

Patricia Xia, a Central China managing partner at consulting firm EY, praised Shanghai as a leader in the green movement, adopting carbon strategy blueprints and turning them into action plans in the past 20 years.

"For companies, pursuing carbon neutrality is not only a necessary response to global climate action, but also presents an opportunity to enhance long-term competitiveness and unlock new sources of business growth," Xia said.

A range of businesses in different sectors contribute to the ecosystem transformation, from those advising on calculating carbon emissions to institutions financing low-carbon technologies.

"China has a clear vision about the carbon industry, which has become a consensus that every business should carry out carbon management," said Huang Yanxiang, chief executive of Shanghai-based Carbon Newture, which provides analysis and solutions for companies on green strategies.

Carbon-footprint reports of Carbon Newture are expected to help Chinese enterprises expand overseas with credible data.

Established in 2021, Carbon Newture tracks corporate carbon emissions and certifies companies that meet standards. Its carbon-footprint reports for clients contain detailed breakdowns on factors such as composition of raw materials used in production, energy used to power machinery and polluting levels of goods transport.

"Our core strength are software tools that leverage technologies, such as Internet of Things, big data, artificial intelligence and blockchain, to guarantee precise calculation of the carbon-emission footprint, which is first and foremost for carbon management," Huang said.

Carbon report for every company?

"As Chinese companies grow in awareness of their carbon footprint, we are very confident of a future where every company will have its own carbon report," Huang said.

For Carbon Newture, helping companies meet environmental standards is a profitable business, which may lead it to the heights of US-based Watershed, a similar firm that was founded in 2019 and already has a valuation of US$1 billion.

"Compared with Watershed, we have more companies to serve in China," Huang said. "And we are finding that a lot of Chinese companies are doing well in carbon management – our reports prove that."

Carbon Newture reports, recognized by international authoritative institutions such as TÜV SÜD and SGS, and are in line with carbon footprint standards including ISO 14067, have helped dispel the overseas stereotype of Chinese manufacturers as polluters.

"China for years has been calling for energy conservation and emission reduction – the prelude to carbon neutrality," Huang said. "Both factors can serve the interests of companies in saving costs and increasing profits. Thus, Chinese companies have been doing a good job of it for a long time. We are just providing the evidence."

Progress is seen across corporate sectors.

Green methanol development

Shanghai Boiler Works Co, a unit under state-owned Shanghai Electric, has invested billions of yuan in the production of green methanol, which uses renewable energy sources such as wind power and biomass to offer a cleaner alternative to conventional marine fuels.

A corner of Shanghai Boiler Works Co is seen with sign boards showing its development on renewable energy sources.

In July, it loaded the first cargoes of green methanol onto a vessel bound for France – marking China's entry into the global green methanol market.

Only methanol with life-cycle emissions below 0.7 tons of carbon dioxide per ton qualifies as "green." Shanghai Boiler's output meets EU standards with a 65 percent carbon reduction over fossil methanol.

"It's a milestone because very few companies around the world can manage a complete production cycle of the methanol, and the demand for the green fuel far exceeds supply," said Ni Jianjun, deputy manager of Shanghai Boiler Works.

"Our first step is to test the waters in the Europe market, where carbon pricing is relatively high, but our ultimate goal is the vast Chinese market," Ni said.

China's green offensive has proven a magnet for global companies like Tesla, which produces electric cars at a Shanghai mega-factory and is building a US$556 million battery-powered energy storage plant in the city that will have capacity of nearly 40-gigawatt hours – enough power to provide electricity to 13,000 households for a year.

"If all this energy comes from clean sources, it can reduce at least 20,000 tons of carbon dioxide emissions," said Dong Kun, general manager of Tesla China's energy business.

Tesla has launched a US$556 million battery-powered energy storage plant in Shanghai's Lingang Special Area beside its benchmark mega-factory for electric cars.

Shot by Zhou Shengjie. Edited by Zhou Shengjie. Reported by Lu Feiran. Subtitles by Zhou Shengjie, Emma Leaning.

Shuanglong Village in rural Chongqing starts the day before sunrise. Local workers gather to pick white mulberry leaves, which are collected by silkworm raisers to feed the larvae of silk moths.

Yang Zaiyuan and his family operate two silkworm sheds that hold about 70 "sheets," each holding about 30,000 larvae, that have increased household income.

"Before silkworm raising, we lived on tobacco cultivation, but the barren soil of the area was difficult for plants to survive," said the 59-year-old. "But life changed so much after we switched to silkworms that we built a new home and bought a car – luxuries once beyond our imagination."

Yang Zaiyuan works in his silkworm shed.

Yang's story is the tale of how many mountainous rural areas of Chongqing have forged a new future on land with thin, dry soils and large rocks embedded in the earth.

Jiang Xuanbin, director of the Chongqing Institute of Forest Sciences, told China Biz Buzz that the history of rocky desertification – the process whereby karst areas covered by vegetation turn into rocky landscapes because of deforestation and soil loss – can be traced back about 300 years.

"The karst landscape features carbonate bedrock," he said. "Coupled with Chongqing's warm, humid climate, heavy rains erodes soil and heighten rocky desertification."

Rock desertification in Chongqing makes the soil thin and dry.

Poor farming environments caused rural poverty. In fact, Chongqing was recognized as the area most stricken by rocky desertification in China.

President Xi Jinping's declaration that "lucid waters and lush mountains are invaluable assets" led to policy changes addressing that problem. Chongqing has successfully reduced land affected by rocky desertification by about 38 percent, with new industries in agriculture and tourism also developed.

Locals call them "gold growing out of rocks."

Shuanglong Village is a prime example. According to Xie Pengfei, Party secretary of the village, 70 percent of its land was covered in giant rocks and most of its nearly 1,900 residents were eking out a living until a decade ago.

"We mainly grew corn and tobacco here, but the yields were low," Xie told China Biz Buzz. "Around 2014, when we were thinking about ways to address poverty, we discovered that mulberry trees can grow perfectly on our land, and they also preserve water and soil."

With help from the Qianjiang District government, which has jurisdiction over the village, mulberry trees was planted, silkworm sheds were built and villagers were trained in silk production.

"Profit per hectare of land tripled, with each villager now earning about 8,000 yuan (US$1,115) a year more than in the past," he said.

A farmer from Shuanglong Village carries a bag of freshly picked white mulberry leaves down to sheds to feed silkworms.

According to the Qianjiang Forestry Bureau, the district has 6.333 hectares of mulberry orchards, generating 200 million yuan in cocoon sales. The entire industry chain has an output value of 1.2 billion yuan.

Growing white mulberries is just one part of an eco-friendly industry chain involving mulberries. Cocoons are sent to factories for silk processing. The branches of the trees are used to make mushroom bags where edible fungi are grown, and used bags are recycled into fertilizer for the trees.

Some 15 companies are now involved in the chain. Hongfan Ecological Agriculture Co is one example. Li Wei, general manager of the company, told China Biz Buzz that edible mushrooms that thrived on bark decay were once grown on tree trunks.

"But we realized that mushroom bags made from wood timbered in the mountains were neither sustainable nor good for the environment," Li said. "When we saw white mulberry trees growing everywhere in Qianjiang, we wanted to see if their branches could be used to replace timbered tree trunks."

Research in university labs showed that using white mulberry branches is not only feasible but also beneficial. The branches contain properties that lower blood sugar, reduce inflammation and inhibit melanin production. The fungi grown in bags made from them also have a crisper, richer flavor.

The company gradually increased the proportion of mulberry in its bag production from 10 percent to 90 percent now.

"We purchase branches from our local farmers at a price of 0.4 yuan per kilogram, giving the farmers extra income," Li explained. "They help our business and we help their income."

The white mulberry and silkworm raising industry has also attracted investment from other areas of China, notably the eastern coastal province of Zhejiang, host to very developed silk production. More than 20 plants in Qianjiang are engaged in silk reeling and processing, with products shipped to eastern China or overseas to make garments and bedding.

"Every year we purchase more than 2,000 tons of cocoons from local farmers, valued at around 180 million yuan," said Chen Songkui, president of Shuanghe Silk Co Ltd. "The raw silk produced in Qianjiang is very high-quality, and up to 60 percent of our products are exported overseas to countries like France and Italy."

Huashen Silk Co moved from Zhejiang to Qianjiang in 2017 to sort raw silk into categories and then turn it into different fabrics.

"An iconic type of fabric we produce here is 'gambiered Canton gauze'," said Gu Huidong, deputy general manager of the company. "It is soft, smooth, light and breathable – an excellent choice for summerwear."

Gu acknowledged a good labor pool in Qianjiang.

"We now employ nearly 100 workers, most of whom are 35 years or younger," he said. "They are committed to long-term work, a dedication that is almost impossible to find in Zhejiang."

Silk-processing plants provide employment for Qianjiang residents.

Qianjiang data shows that 12,000 farming households are now cultivating mulberries and over 5,500 are raising silkworms, leading to an average increase in annual household income of 33,800 yuan.

Silk isn't the only industry helping rural Chongqing thrive. New businesses like dried fruit and growing herbs for traditional Chinese medicine have joined forest tourism as poverty fighters and are attracting back residents who left to find work elsewhere.

In 2019, Pan Yongpei, 53, returned to his hometown of Youyang in an autonomous region of Chongqing populated by Tujia and Miao ethnic minorities. He had worked for decades in construction in eastern provinces, but was finding employment opportunities diminished as he aged. He also needed to care for his parents back home.

He didn't expect much when he returned. The land in Youyang was known to be infertile. Yet a newly developed business in tea-oil produced from the camellia oleifera plant species gave him a job opportunity.

"I'm now working in camellia orchards where I am responsible for fertilization, pest and weed control, and other daily maintenance of about 100 trees," Pan said.

All of Pan's family and neighbors work in the orchards. A camellia business operated by the Youzhou Ecological Agriculture Development Co Ltd holds a 60 percent stake in what is a community business. Farmers contribute land for a 32 percent stake, and the village collective holds the remaining 8 percent.

The development structure has led to camellia cultivation on 2,800 hectares, giving more than 55,000 households extra annual income of nearly 2,000 yuan.

The company said growing tea-oil camellia on rocky land initially required a lot of effort and investment.

"The soil in Youyang is very thin, so we had to search out the best acreage for the trees to survive," said Huang Daowen, deputy general manager of the company. "But now that they are surviving. The tree roots protect the land by holding moisture and preventing soil erosion. We developed many products from the crop, including cooking oil and health foods. We've even developed our own brand of cosmetics and body-care products using the tea oil."

Youyang has developed its own body-care products using locally produced tea oil.

Tourism has been a twin bonus for the town, thanks to the discovery of 500-million-year-old Cambrian stromatolite fossils clearly visible on large, dark rock formations. That led to the creation of the Stone and Flower Valley scenic area, which has been planted with pink muhly grasses, roses, red maples, seasonal flowers and fruit trees.

The scenic area attracts growing numbers of geology enthusiasts and research teams.

"By leveraging the scenic area's resources, we've created a zone that offers leisure, entertainment, dining and accommodation services," said Tian Linping, deputy director of the scenic area. "This initiative generates a total local income of 17 million yuan during the peak January-May season."

The land locals once called "rock piles" has been transformed into a floral cascade.

Fossils found on the rocks of Youyang have led to the establishment of a tourist zone.

A tourist in a red dress takes a photo at Chaka Salt Lake in Qinghai Province.

In 2013, a woman in a bright red dress walked in the shallow waters of Chaka Salt Lake in the westernmost province of Qinghai, her reflection mirrored against a blue sky and snowcapped peaks. That image, captured in a photograph, went viral online, turning a little-known industrial salt town into a tourist destination.

Today, the lake still produces premium brand Da Qing salt, but it also draws visitors from across China and abroad, eager to see what locals call the "Sky Mirror."

Qinghai Salt Industry Co, part of the Western Mining Group, is a leading salt producer in China, operating Chaka and Keke Salt Lakes with a combined reserve of approximately 1.4 billion tons of sodium chloride. At its Chaka production plant, salt crystals glide along conveyor belts in a man-made river, heading for automated packing machines.

"In the 1980s, we needed more than 1,000 workers here," said company chairman Liu Chaokun, "but now 450 people can do the job. Their work generated 540 million yuan (US$75 million) in revenue last year."

In the workshop of Qinghai Salt Industry Co, rows of machines are operating.

A robotic arm packs products in the workshop of Qinghai Salt Industry Co.

The shift comes from decades of operations upgrading.

In the 1950s, workers shoveled salt under the relentless sun of the Qinghai plateau, hauling it by animal-drawn or hand-pushed carts to the factory. Today, twin-wheel dredging boats harvest the salt directly from the lake, and barges unload it automatically to the shore. No more shovels.

Processing is equally high-tech, with crushing, washing, drying, grading and packing all automated. Robots sort finished products for shipment nationwide.

"Our mechanization rate is over 95 percent," Liu said. "No direct hand contact from the lake to the bag. That means higher efficiency, lower labor cost, and guaranteed purity."

Chaka Salt Lake, which sits at an elevation of 3,000 meters at the eastern end of the Qaidam Basin and covers 105 square kilometers, is the remnant of a tectonic movement that elevated land from the ocean, leaving some seawater in the lower basins. The lake is flanked by 100 kilometers free of industrial pollution.

Visitors can tour the production line and make small salt sculptures from salt and starch, baked on-site.

"Families with children love it," Liu said.

A red tourist train travels across Chaka Salt Lake, reflecting the landscape of the Qilian Mountains and sky in the mirror-like water.

A small train carries visitors along the lake at Chaka Salt Lake.

Salt production remains the area's economic backbone, but tourism has provided the remote region with a new lease of life.

"After the red dress photo went viral, we started exploring the 'industry + tourism' model," said Niu Jiying, assistant general manager of the Qinghai Caka Salt Lake Culture Tourism Development Co.

The idea was to repurpose industrial facilities into tourist attractions with minimal environmental impact.

"For example," Niu went on to explain, "there's a little train that once transported salt that now carries sightseers along the lake."

The area boasts six themed zones; the most popular allows visitors to walk in the shallows to experience the lake's reflective surface.

"When the weather is clear, it creates the perfect shot," Niu added.

Outdoor salt sculptures at Chaka Salt Lake

Salt sculpture products are for sale in a souvenir shop at Chaka Salt Lake.

Equally striking, further along the lake, is the "snow scene," an outdoor salt sculpture art zone. Small, handcrafted versions of the sculptures, commissioned from local residents, are favorite tourist souvenirs, providing jobs for 5,000 people.

Tourism has completely transformed the town. Ten decades ago, Chaka had little to offer visitors. Today, locals operate 20,000 guest beds. Local per-capita disposable income in 2023 nearly doubled from a decade earlier to 22,300 yuan.

"My guesthouse is built to the same standards as big-city accommodation," villager Cao Yanhua told Qinghai Daily. "It brings in 600,000 yuan in revenue every year."

In the first half of 2025, the Sky Mirror scenic area welcomed 763,000 visitors. The tourism industry has generated over 500 million yuan for the local economy since 2016.

A visitor wears eco-friendly shoe covers while taking photos at Chaka Salt Lake.

Visitors wear eco-friendly shoe covers as they walk across Chaka Salt Lake, one of the most popular activities here.

As the salt lake has grown in fame, so has the challenge to keep it pristine.

According to Niu, tourism and salt production zones are managed separately.

On the tourism side, visitors are required to wear eco-friendly shoe covers before stepping into the lake to prevent damage to the salt crust. There's also a "bottle-for-salt" program, giving visitors a packet of the premium salt for every five discarded plastic bottles they collect.

"It's not just an environmental measure; it's also an educational approach to get visitors involved in protecting the lake," Niu explains.

On the industrial side, the salt company adheres to rigorous sustainable practices.

"Our extraction operates under strict limitations," Liu explained. "We can only extract from the top four meters of the lake, leaving the 'salt roots' intact to naturally regenerate."

He said Chaka Salt Lake has a reserve of 450 million tons, enough to supply salt to China for 40 years, and the salt is a renewable resource.

"The brine concentration here is very high. As long as we don't over-extract, the lake will naturally crystallize more salt," he explained.

Additionally, no polluting industries are allowed within a 100-kilometer radius of the lake, ensuring that the air and water remain unspoiled.

The town of Chaka has been officially recognized as one of "China's most beautiful, livable towns," and has been listed among the top photography sites in China.

Relics of Loulan, a legendary city on the ancient Silk Road, lie in the desert now.

Loulan, a legendary city and trading hub on the ancient Silk Road, vanished a millennium ago, swallowed by the shifting sands of the Taklamakan Desert in northwestern China.

Its fate stands as a stark reminder of humanity's enduring struggle against nature in the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, home to China's largest desert.

Today, however, the tide is turning. Modern technology has entered the battlefield, empowering locals to combat desertification and plant cash crops. Solar power panels, drones and unmanned irrigation systems using artificial intelligence are crucial in building a formidable 3,000-kilometer greenbelt encircling the desert.

This effort aligns with national strategies to address climate change and build a "Great Green Wall," with shelter belts of vegetation to beat back encroaching desert. The aim is sustainable development.

"I have spent my entire life working on desertification control," said Ai Li, a 53-year-old employee with the Yuli County forestry bureau, as he stands at the edge of the Taklamakan Desert in Xinjiang. "The zone appears to be just 10 centimeters on a map, but it is actually 20 kilometers in reality and 30 years of my youth."

Ai Li, a 53-year-old employee with the Yuli County forestry bureau

Huyang, or populus euphratica, lies in the edge of desert in Yuli. The plant is said to live for several thousand years.

Some 56 percent of land in the county is desert. Simple maps track changes in the desert's edges on a wall with large "Battle Against Desertification" slogans and checkerboard-sized "straw lines" mark ongoing victories.

For 33 years, Ai Li has endured the hour-long drives from downtown Yuli to the desert control zone, where his team patrols, plants vegetation and maintains the straw lines.

The region is now transitioning into the next phase, called Biology Desert Control. This involves planting drought-resistant species like jujube and a local plant Luobuma that can be used to make tea, honey, traditional Chinese medicine and clothing fabric.

Yuli is poised to become one of China's biggest producers of tea made from Luobuma, sounds like robusta in Chinese, with 106,666 hectares under plantation.

This phase requires one significant challenge – irrigation.

"Every drop of water is as precious as life itself," Ai Li stressed.

AI technology is now a vital ally in that challenge. It offers smart water and fertilizer management, and systems that can be precisely controlled via a smartphone.

A river, on the road from Yuli to Ruoqiang, has increased spaces with green plants and birds. It used to be around deserts.

A system developed by Guangzhou-based XAG delivers water and nutrients directly to plant roots through pipes, optimizing crop nutrition by controlling timing and volume. The system is very attractive cost-wise, compared with imported products, which makes wide-scale deployment viable in less economically developed regions of China.

XAG, initially known for industrial drones, is now expanding into smart farming systems in recognition of what it calls "human survival and sustainable development."

Four hours' drive from Yuli lies Ruoqiang, China's largest county, which sprawls over an area greater than Shanghai and Zhejiang and Jiangsu provinces combined. It, too, is grappling with severe desertification.

"It only rains one or two days a year, and each time only for a few minutes," a desert control officer there said.

Smart devices, for temperature detection and pest control, stand among jujube plants in Ruoqiang.

Harvest of jujube in Ruoqiang

Smart engineering and biological technologies are also being deployed there. The desert control team is currently planting black goji berries, which yield up to 3,000 kilograms per hectare, with a price of around 30 yuan (US$4.2) per kilogram.

Since 2021, farmers in Ruoqiang have begun cultivating jujube, an economic crop that has made the county one of the biggest jujube producers in the country. Multi-purpose smart devices are also deployed, including smart insect traps that use ultraviolet lights to catch pests, pipes that monitor soil moisture and mobile apps providing real-time weather data.

Maglik, a Uygur jube farmer in Ruoqiang, currently cultivates 10 hectares of land. Since 2022, harvests have increased his annual income up to 300,000 yuan. Over 80 percent of families in his village now rely on the cash crop for their livelihoods.

Solar panels are built in deserts in Xinjiang.

Solar power plays a vital role in greening desert areas. Large solar panels not only generate electricity but also reduce ground wind speed and erosion, stabilizing the sand. Beneath these panels, drought-resistant plants can thrive, with their root systems further securing the sand.

Ruoqiang has become a major solar-power hub in Xinjiang. In 2024, the county broke ground on a massive power transmission project. The initiative is expected to transmit at least 36 billion kilowatt-hours of electricity annually, with clean energy accounting for more than half.

During construction and operation, the project is expected to create nearly 30,000 jobs, improving local living conditions and fostering high-quality regional economic development.

Beyond just reclaiming desert, technology is now transforming what was once considered China's Wild West into golden business opportunities that even target international markets.

XAG engineer Ai Haipeng is controlling a drone.

In Yuli County, Ai Haipeng, an XAG engineer, and his team are establishing a smart farm pilot project for 200 hectares of cotton cultivation. The farm uses drones, sensors and a suite of Internet of Things devices to control irrigation, fertilization and pest control to achieve cost reduction, stable production and annual profit exceeding a million yuan. The smart systems can be managed by a single individual.

Precise digital management has led to a 15 percent reduction in water use, 24 percent less application of fertilizers and 30 percent lower pesticide use.

"This new farming method has improved quality and established uniform standards for Xinjiang-made cotton, making it more internationally competitive," Ai explained.

In the county of Heshuo, young entrepreneur Tian Miao is cultivating grapes using smart farming techniques. His setup includes a DJI industrial drone for field temperature monitoring, an XAG irrigation system and a Zoomlion water truck. Tian said he aims to sell Xinjiang grapes worldwide, with half of his harvest slated for export next year.

"Traditionally, agriculture relied on visual, tactile experience," he said. "Now data and instruments serve as our eyes and are the basis of smart farming."

A redesigned Zoomlion water truck works in a grape plant garden in Heshuo of Xinjiang.

It began with a door I had never noticed.

Tucked behind a rusted stairwell on the top floor of my apartment building in Shanghai, it looked like just another utility access – probably a place for cleaning supplies or old air-con units. But one late afternoon, chasing a breeze in the thick June heat, I turned the knob and walked straight into another world.

Under a soft wash of dusk light, rows of potted vegetables lined the edge of the rooftop, soaking in the last warmth of the day. Tomatoes hung in clusters like little lanterns. Basil and mint tumbled over the sides of recycled milk cartons. In one corner, a small plastic greenhouse protected delicate seedlings. A watering hose lay coiled beside an overturned stool. Someone had been here, just recently, tending and caring.

The city, with all its honking, clanking and striving, seemed to fall away. I could still see it, of course, glass towers in every direction, but up here, surrounded by greenery and quiet, I felt the rarest thing in modern urban life: pause.

That rooftop garden didn't just surprise me. It quietly re-centered me.

In Shanghai, where change is the only constant and speed is the dominant tempo, there is something radical about choosing to grow things slowly. The contrast between the skyline, forever reaching higher, and this humble patch of green could not have been starker. And yet, somehow, the garden felt more modern than the buildings. It felt like the future.

I began returning regularly, slipping up in early mornings or just before sundown. I started recognizing familiar patterns – cucumbers climbing up makeshift trellises, someone swapping out soil, the sound of a thermos being uncapped. I never saw the gardener, but I felt a presence. And then I began noticing more.

Shanghai residents are undergoing a quiet green transformation that starts in their neighborhoods.

It turns out, this isn't an isolated case.

Across Shanghai, a quiet green movement is unfurling in pockets and corners. It's not always visible to the untrained eye – these aren't large rooftop farms or tech-enabled "vertical agriculture" projects. Instead, they're improvised balcony gardens, stairwell sprouts, potted chives lining window ledges. Young people, office workers, artists, students and even tech professionals are carving out space in their lives to grow things: lettuce in leftover containers, chili plants in ceramic mugs, cherry tomatoes hanging from old bamboo poles.

One friend recently turned her 10th-floor balcony into a green nook she proudly calls her "edible jungle." Another swapped out ornamental plants for beans and eggplant, tracking their growth like personal milestones. A co-worker brings hand-grown coriander in repurposed takeaway boxes, sharing it at the office with quiet pride.

What's striking is how these gestures, though small, echo something deeply familiar.

Before China's rapid urbanization, gardening and food self-sufficiency were part of everyday life. In the 1970s and 80s, many of our grandparents grew vegetables in courtyards, along communal corridors or even in tin cans on their windowsills. It was a way of life shaped by necessity, not choice.

Today's young urbanites, living in high-rises and shaped by convenience, are returning to these habits – not out of economic compulsion, but intention. The irony is beautiful: In a tech-saturated, hyper-efficient era, many are finding comfort in doing something utterly analog, slow and wonderfully uncertain.

The city is getting greener with both public and private efforts.

Some call it a trend, but to me, it's something gentler and more powerful. A return. A reconnection.

This quiet greening of the city is not just aesthetic. It's not just for wellness or mood-boosting Instagram posts. It's becoming part of how sustainability is lived and felt, not just talked about. No one makes a big deal of it anymore, just like sorting trash or bringing your own bag to the grocery store. In fact, it's that lack of spectacle that makes it meaningful.

Sustainability, at least in Shanghai, is starting to shed its image as an "add-on" or niche concern. It's embedding itself into the routines of daily life. You see it in schoolchildren who reflexively separate food scraps, in elderly neighbors who compost and now in this quiet generation of plant growers who don't think of themselves as activists but still act.

This, to me, is the most hopeful kind of transformation: one that isn't proclaimed but practiced. It's what cities like Shanghai are carefully curating, not through loud campaigns, but through structure, nudges and cultural continuity. From the introduction of citywide waste sorting systems to incentives for green buildings and digital platforms that track household carbon footprints, the city is creating a scaffold. And residents are responding, not with fanfare, but with pots, seeds and patience.

There's something deeply human about growing your own food, even just a handful of herbs. It's an act of hope. You plant today, trusting something will come of it weeks or months down the line. You pay attention – sunlight, soil, water. You learn restraint. You harvest, then start again. In that sense, every small garden is a quiet act of optimism.

But we should also be clear-eyed. This alone won't solve the climate crisis. Balcony gardens won't offset global emissions or reverse biodiversity loss. But they do change something else – perspective.

If millions of people grow something, even a little, they begin to see the world differently. They think twice before wasting food. They respect the rhythm of the seasons. They begin to notice ecosystems, even if they're tiny and confined to a windowsill. And when enough people think and feel differently, larger systems begin to shift – consumer behavior, policy expectations, even urban planning norms.

In cities, change often feels impossible, too big, too political, too abstract. But change also lives in the micro. In the balcony garden. In the habit that becomes culture. In the echo between generations.

As I write this, I've just returned from the rooftop garden. The chives are flowering. The tomatoes are ripening. Someone has planted a new row of bok choy, neatly labeled with hand-drawn markers. I still haven't met a gardener. But I don't need to. I already know them. They're in every building, in every borough. Quiet, persistent, hopeful.

And in the middle of this vast, grey concrete city, they remind me that the future might just grow leaf by leaf – if we let it.

(The author is an adjunct research fellow at the Research Center for Global Public Opinion of China, Shanghai International Studies University, and founding partner of 3am Consulting, a consultancy that specializes in global communications.)