The Origin of 706 Youth Space
706 Youth Space is the first youth space in China. It was founded in the spring of 2012 and has continued to this day. Its motto is "Explore More Possibilities in Life," emphasizing community and autonomous living. Its atmosphere resembles a combination of a hippie commune and a youth community, but its operation has faced many obstacles. I lived there intermittently for three years, witnessing both the golden age of 706 and its gradual decline.
The Birth of 706 Youth Space
My first visit to 706 Youth Space was at the end of 2015. Back then, Wudaokou still had Sculpting in Time Café, Wan Sheng Bookstore’s sign was still hanging, the bar area along Chengfu Road was packed with people, and there were still tracks and trains near the subway station.
The location of 706 was very hidden. You had to enter the Huashengjiayuan residential area, find Building 15, pass through the supermarket downstairs, and take the elevator to the 20th floor to see what 706 looked like. This duplex space covers a total area of about 600 square meters, including living areas, an office area, a small theater, a library, and a café. Every week, it hosted a variety of cultural and intellectual events, such as the Tongdao Philosophy Reading Club, Socratic Dialogues, Red White Blue Film Salons, and Feminist Exchanges.
706 was established in 2012. At the time, there were 12 founders, each contributing 3,000 to 10,000 RMB to rent Room 706 in Building 15 of Huashengjiayuan. They aimed to create China’s first youth space and named it 706.
The predecessor of 706 Youth Space was called ICU Open University. This online university was founded by a group of university students, including Fang Rong, Min Zhen, Liu Hong, and Nuerbiya, through the Inter-Culture Union (ICU). They focused on online education and hoped to expose students from second- and third-tier cities to high-quality cultural resources from Beijing.
But ICU soon failed. Coincidentally, some people were researching youth commune movements abroad, and a group of university students became interested in the concept of youth spaces. They joined forces with the ICU members to create 706 Youth Space. In 2012, these 12 people pooled 3,000 to 10,000 RMB each to rent Room 706 in Building 15 of Huashengjiayuan, officially establishing 706. In the first four months, this youth space held over 40 salons, inviting scholars, writers, and journalists from nearby universities to give lectures, attracting many young people to participate in discussions.
Initially, 706 had no fixed ideology, and its atmosphere of tolerance quickly made it an ideal place for discussing public issues. It openly addressed topics like “the boundaries of gender and sex,” “the post-truth era,” “homosexuality,” “feminism,” and “China-U.S. relations.” Heated debates were common at these events, with participants confidently presenting their positions, quoting from various sources to win the support of the audience.
It was a vibrant spring. However, just as enthusiasm for the youth space began to rise, the issue of rent surfaced.
In the fall of 2012, the lease agreement between the 12 founders and the landlord was about to expire. If they didn’t renew it, 706 would be forced to close—this was the first time 706 faced the risk of shutting down. But Fang Rong’s decision saved 706. He gathered the founders, persuading each one to stay involved.
As Baozhong, a Tsinghua University student at the time, recalled, “It was something that everyone had given up hope on, but he [Fang Rong] still cared deeply.”
Eventually, the founders agreed to do everything in their power to save 706. They decided to redefine 706 as “an independent, self-sustaining youth exchange space developing into a social enterprise.” To maintain the daily operations of the youth space, they chose to recruit full-time staff, transforming the loose collective into a more structured organization.
But the most challenging issue remained: funding. Continuing to rent in Huashengjiayuan would require a significant quarterly expenditure, including rent, water, electricity, interior renovation costs, and the purchase of all necessary items—far beyond what ordinary university students could afford. The initial budget from the 12 founders was nearly depleted, and they couldn’t sustain 706’s long-term expenses with their own pocket change.
Fang Rong reached out to Du Mengjie, the CEO of Zhimeng.com, and decided to launch a crowdfunding campaign on Zhimeng to raise the second round of startup funds. The project was titled “Seeking 1001 Owners to Rebuild a 706 Independent Youth Space with Books and Soul,” with a fundraising goal of 100,000 RMB. In two months, 437 backers contributed a total of 127,875 RMB. For the next six months, this became the largest crowdfunding project on Zhimeng.com.
In the article soliciting crowdfunding support, one passage represented Fang Rong’s heartfelt thoughts:
“We need to create a warm, independent youth space near Beijing’s Wudaokou, with more books and CDs, where countless interesting, idealistic young people from all over the country can gather, freely read, chat, and host salons, reading groups, and theatrical performances. Through these interactions, they can see a different world, discover more values, and explore more possibilities in life.”
The 706 Café Team in 2016
The Living Experiment in Wudaokou
As word of mouth spread among the youth, 706 was also covered by various media outlets. In the eyes of the outside world, 706 appeared mysterious and attractive, and some even “mythologized” it—portraying it as a poetic utopia.
Fang Rong never considered 706 a utopia, nor did he think of it as a youth hostel. So, what exactly is 706, and what is a youth space? The current logo of 706 is “Explore More Possibilities in Life,” but this doesn’t fully explain what a youth space is.
Initially, the founding team defined a youth space as “a platform organized and operated by young people, supporting innovative youth activities,” but this was still vague.
Thus, Baozhong, one of the founders, provided further clarification. He believed, “There are three types of youth spaces: one like 706, which from its inception positions itself as a public space, operating through events and gradually adding features like a café, library, and accommodation; another that evolves from a commercial entity like a café or youth hostel, adding events to create an atmosphere of public exchange and discussion; and a third, more like a school club, where the space belongs to the school, and the operational team changes each year.”
After resolving the first shutdown crisis, the team designed four business modules for 706: events, community, youth hostel, and study tours. Building a community became the core mission of 706 Youth Space, with all other services revolving around it.
Soon, 706’s influence began to grow rapidly. Scholars like Qian Liqun, Qin Hui, Liu Suli, Liang Xiaoyan, Xu Zhiyuan, Zhang Ming, and Zhou Lian were invited to host events there, attracting a diverse group of university students, gap year travelers, field researchers, and scholars. Most of them were skeptical of mainstream lifestyles but didn’t have clear solutions to the problems they identified. As a result, 706 became a temporary refuge where they could find like-minded individuals.
These young people questioned the disciplining nature of everyday life and the utilitarian and corrupt aspects of school education. Thinkers like Bauman, Foucault, Beauvoir, Gramsci, Marx, Habermas, Lefebvre, Tocqueville, and even the rebels of the May 1968 movement served as their spiritual guides. It was during this time that 706 launched the Life Lab in the name of autonomy.
Fang Rong “didn’t want residents to simply live here; he wanted them to truly form a community and develop the ability to live a public life.”
In the Life Lab, the 706 management team held decision-making power over rent and basic safety regulations, but all other matters were left to the residents to vote on. The Life Lab had its own Autonomous Committee, which operated under Robert’s Rules of Order. Through motions, debates, and voting, the residents established the rules for living in the space.
As Baozhong put it, the management team was like the “government,” while the Autonomous Committee acted as a “lobbying group.” In fact, the committee had power comparable to the management team.
In the first month, the committee drafted 22 regulations, detailing everything from meeting dates to how to impeach the committee president and defining the responsibilities of the president, vice president, and other roles. The committee had the authority to review applicants for residency. If the majority of residents disliked someone, their application could be rejected. If someone violated the Life Lab’s rules, even if they were a long-time acquaintance of 706, they would face serious penalties.
The Life Lab is just an experimental product for accommodation, mainly accommodating long-term residents of 706. Some 706 members are not part of the Life Lab, and when they visit for the first time, they are more likely to break the rules. According to a reporter from *Qingxin Times* (a Tsinghua University campus publication): on one occasion, a 706 member named Taozi had agreed with Life Lab members to go to IKEA to buy kitchen utensils. For convenience, she decided to stay overnight in the Life Lab’s common area without other residents’ consent. This action violated Life Lab rules, and she was subsequently banned from entering the Life Lab for a month. This overnight stay incident quickly sparked controversy, and a month later, the penalty rule regarding overnight stays was amended. The new rule required temporary residents to pay a fee of 100 RMB per night for overnight stays.
Initially, it was only set up in Wudaokou, but there are now plans to open new locations in Wangjing and Shuangjing. However, the Autonomous Committee has undergone adjustments, and the initially strong committee no longer exists. During the practical process, the management team discovered that the enthusiasm for autonomy wasn’t as high as expected, and regular meetings were sparsely attended. Eventually, the Autonomous Committee became a loose entity, with Life Lab members continuing to vote on issues as needed but rarely holding long meetings to make decisions.
Snapshot of a Salon During the May Storm at 706
Wudaokou is Disappearing Bit by Bit
The emergence of 706 in Wudaokou was no accident.
Wudaokou used to be a village. In the 1980s, Gan Peigen, Huang Yongjian, Chen Jian, and others came to this area to prepare for the establishment of a school. Some local clinics in Wudaokou were converted into school buildings. In September 1981, an important center for modern finance and monetary economics in China was born here—the Graduate School of the People’s Bank of China, which later became the Tsinghua University Wudaokou School of Finance. At that time, Wudaokou was filled with barren land, and whenever a train passed by, loudspeakers would repeatedly announce: “Pedestrians and vehicles, please take note, the train is about to pass, please wait outside the barriers, do not rush, and do not cross the barriers!”
In 1992, Peking University Science Park was established, followed by the opening of Hualian Underground Supermarket, Tsinghua Tongfang, Sohu Tower, and Huasheng Business Hotel in Wudaokou. The area also became home to cultural spaces like Wan Sheng Bookstore, Douban Bookstore, Sanlian 24-hour Bookstore, and Sculpting in Time Café. Wudaokou fostered a rich cultural and intellectual atmosphere, providing the foundation for youth spaces like 706.
The passion for intellectual pursuits infused 706 with energy, attracting a steady stream of young people. However, the question remains whether the 706 model can be replicated. Without the second round of crowdfunding, 706 would have faced closure again in 2018. While young people shouted out their ideals, the reality was that rent couldn’t be paid.
706 never achieved the large market it had envisioned. They had hoped to earn some income by renting out space for events, but this was not successful. Moreover, the café, located within a residential building, lacked visibility and failed to attract customers. Therefore, the income generated from events and the café was not substantial. In 2017 and 2018, the management team also tried online education and knowledge-based services, but most of these ventures ended in failure. To this day, 706’s main source of income remains its accommodations.
At the same time, due to its proximity to residential buildings, 706’s main location frequently faced complaints. In the summer of 2015, a neighbor, unhappy with 706’s activities, made several complaints to the local police station. The police system’s response procedure required the neighborhood security guards to confirm and resolve the issue. Given that the lease contract was nearing expiration, the landlord wanted to terminate the lease. The management team worked hard to mediate the situation, eventually calming things down.
In the following years, 706 continued to face complaints related to events and some residents hosting games. To protect 706, the management team had to strictly limit the frequency of residents’ games, especially popular ones like Werewolf and Texas Hold’em, which generated significant noise. In 2017, after a youth resident disturbed the neighbors by shouting while drunk on the rooftop, the management team temporarily closed the rooftop to avoid further complaints.
From the outside, 706 might seem idealistic, but managing it was incredibly tedious. Fang Rong was constantly caught up in endless trivial matters—communicating with new residents, making phone calls to discuss collaboration details, adding users to WeChat groups for event registration, reviewing applications for residency, explaining accommodation rules, and coordinating the allocation of space and time...
The housekeepers and new media staff were equally swamped with details. The housekeepers needed to be on duty at specific times to process check-ins, tidy beds, maintain cleanliness with the cleaning staff, and occasionally open the door for newcomers who didn’t know the door code. The new media editors had to juggle layout, headlines, and opinions from other departments. What could have been resolved in an hour sometimes dragged on until midnight due to input from other departments or event organizers, delaying the publishing of articles.
The tedious work with limited pay led to high turnover in these two positions. Housekeepers typically stayed for only two months before being replaced, and new media editors often adjusted after a few months. Some people came with great expectations but left disappointed after working there, unable to bear the disillusionment.
"Malasade" Drama Still During the May Storm at 706
The Summer of 2018 at 706
In the summer of 2018, a mood of negativity pervaded 706. The space’s oldest cat, “Carmen,” fell to its death. This yellow tabby, who had witnessed the development of 706, was well-known to many residents. When the management staff reported finding Carmen’s body, no one could believe it. Carmen’s death evoked memories of the past for many long-term residents. Around this time, I witnessed the landlord forcibly reclaim half of 706’s space.
During that period, Carmen was no longer seen on the wooden stairs, and her son Mayuan wandered around alone. The Peanut Canteen was unusually quiet, only becoming lively again during World Cup matches. Fang Rong temporarily halted all external activities, and games like Werewolf were banned.
The news of the landlord reclaiming half the space had already spread two weeks earlier. Fang Rong and his friends tried various channels to reverse the situation, but in the end, they couldn’t prevent it.
Around the same time, Beijing’s music club Heat Nest closed down again, and Wudaokou’s well-known leisure café Bridge Café, after holding out for fourteen years, also announced it was closing due to a 50% rent increase.
Baozhong, who had already left 706, sighed: “Wudaokou is disappearing bit by bit.”
In the summer of 2018, the sky turned dark and ominous, and 706 Headquarters lost half of its space.
At that time, I was at the headquarters and saw a third door appear between 706 and the neighbor's wall. It had a door handle, was unpainted, and there was scattered wood all over the place. When I walked into 706, the café side was empty, the Peanut Dining Hall was no longer in use, and the suitcases in the lockers had been moved to the café. The pots and pans were back in place, the brown wallpaper was covered with blessings for 706, but no one was dining anymore.
Late at night, Fang Rong slowly paced through the 706 space over and over, as if looking for something. He later said: "I always felt that Carmen was still lazily hiding in some corner. It lived in 706 for five years, but two weeks ago, it and Niangao fell off the 706 rooftop and died. That night, we buried it in a small forest near Wudaokou Subway Station, and many of the girls from 706 cried terribly. Unfortunately, I was still at the Zhongguancun Police Station negotiating housing matters at the time."
That night, the usually cheerful Fang Rong returned to the office and silently gazed at the neon-lit business district nearby. He could vaguely see rows of trains rumbling through Wudaokou, with the hard seats packed full of weary tenants returning home from Beijing.
In his diary, Fang Rong wrote in frustration: "And so, we are trapped in a vicious cycle. High housing prices don’t just destroy love and young people’s dreams, but they also destroy countless public spaces."
The Former 706 Peanut Dining Hall
The "Darkest Hour" of Youth Spaces
706's situation was becoming increasingly dire. Mismanagement, shrinking public spaces, and long-term financial shortfalls had saddled it with hundreds of thousands of yuan in debt. By autumn, if they couldn't raise enough money to pay rent, the headquarters would face a second closure.
The financial crisis led more and more people to question the operation of the 706 team. Fang Rong and his team were exhausted after round after round of explanations. But many others were indifferent to whether 706 would survive.
"706 can’t go on like this for long," "Isn’t this just your utopia to escape reality?" "706 is full of young people who refuse to face the real world..." Voices like these were heard everywhere.
But not everyone was pessimistic. Luo Ke, who still worked at 706, strongly resented the defeatist views about youth spaces. He believed that 706's difficulties were temporary and that the future would bring recovery. When I asked him how, Luo Ke suggested they could learn from the commune system abroad, though he didn’t go into detail on how to implement it.
Fang Rong hadn't given up either. In his vision, 706 could find a viable business model by 2021, which was also when he planned to step down. He hoped that one day, 706 could survive not by relying on one person, but by being supported by a stable team of contributors. However, this vision has not yet materialized. The co-governance committee Fang Rong had planned did not go as well as expected, with some members of the Living Lab openly expressing their unwillingness to join the committee, citing the discussions as too complicated and inefficient. They felt it was no better than traditional structures.
In the autumn of 2018, in order to pay rent on time, 706 had to launch its second crowdfunding campaign. Over a hundred people participated, raising 280,000 yuan.
Once again, 706 survived on crowdfunding. But how much longer could it rely on this method? To this day, Fang Rong has not provided a convincing answer.
For those who had left, it was already a miracle that 706 made it to 2019. Youth spaces are an ill-timed product of chance, emerging with the rise of public spaces and vanishing as those spaces decline. After the headquarters lost half its space and many event organizers left, the public culture part of 706 had been significantly reduced, replaced by more lifestyle- and entertainment-focused topics.
The content on the 706 WeChat public account was disorganized, sometimes academic, sometimes trivial. This to some extent exposed internal disagreements within the team about content production. Some members believed 706 should embrace multiple voices and record personal stories from the space, while others argued that stories didn’t mean trivialities, and that the lack of editorial oversight had lowered the overall tone of 706.
The Decline of Public Spaces
In seven years, 706 has experienced multiple staff turnovers and subtle changes in values. Initially, it was an elite-leaning, liberal space for discussion, with invited guests mostly seen as liberal figures in public perception. In recent years, however, with changing attendees and shifting broader contexts, 706 has no longer been a vessel for any single ideology but rather a confluence of ideas influencing young people.
The space still hosts liberal-leaning book clubs, but it also now features conservative ideological events, both right- and left-wing. This shift is reflected in the most popular books inside 706—three years ago, the most sought-after reads were *1984*, *Democracy in America*, *On Liberty*, *The Golden Age*, and *Discipline and Punish*. Nowadays, the books in demand are *The Grammar of the Multitude*, *Watching the Public Sphere*, *Critique of Everyday Life*, *Space and Politics*, *The Suffering of the World: Bourdieu's Social Investigations*, *Seeking Spatial Justice*, *Rebel Cities*, *Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity*, and *After Facts Change*.
But Fang Rong doesn’t believe 706 has a specific value system. He attributes the different values expressed to the nature of the events held, which reflect the perspectives of the organizers, rather than 706 itself having any particular ideological stance.
In his view, 706 is a semi-open space where people are free to discuss their ideas. People come here hoping to explain themselves and the world around them.
In the past, scenes like these existed on campuses or in the new spaces generated by social movements during special periods. These spaces nurtured intellectual enthusiasm and offered a temporary escape from the burdens of material life and the wave of consumerism. However, with the structural problems of capitalism becoming harder to overcome, those leaving campus are finding it increasingly difficult to access such spaces.
Young people, burdened by work pressure, face exploitation from their superiors, high housing prices, and steep rent. This pressure leaves them with little time to "live poetically." Meanwhile, behind the construction of large shopping malls lies the demise of spaces where thought can flourish. As consumer spaces rapidly expand, the growth of spaces for ideas has been very limited. Such public spaces appear fragile in the face of the high cost of living.
The Value Struggles of 706
To this day, 706 has not provided a clear value system to unify the community beyond some basic norms. Some say that pluralism is 706’s value system, that it embraces everything without providing value judgments.
However, pluralism is likely not 706’s value system either. The founders of 706 are opposed to narrow enemy-friend distinctions, but they also worry that abandoning value judgments and promoting simple pluralism could lead to value nihilism and even foster the spread of values they despise.
In a discourse space, one side’s passive retreat can encourage the other side’s advance. In reality, although 706 hasn’t proposed a clear value system, if you integrate into it, you’ll find that its core members at least have a clear set of values they oppose, which might hint at some of 706’s basic values.
For example, at 706, intense nationalism or ethnocentrism is not encouraged. During community-sharing sessions, if participants calmly express their national identity or patriotic inclinations, that's acceptable. However, if someone were to say something akin to "those not of our race are bound to be different at heart," they wouldn’t be expelled from the community, but they would face social isolation.
Very few at 706 are willing to associate with fervent nationalists, and the core team doesn’t absorb them. Such fervent nationalist sentiments make 706 members uneasy. What troubles 706 is not personal national identity, but rather a kind of fervor that suppresses rationality.
Moreover, the 706 community does not support bureaucratic tones. One clear example is that bureaucratic discourse involves a clear hierarchy and acknowledgment of authority, but at 706, there is no clear distinction between superiors and subordinates. Even the founders of 706 are subject to criticism. Once, someone wanted to join 706 to do new media work but was politely declined by the team, citing their overly bureaucratic tone as the reason.
The most fundamental value at 706 is equality—when community members interact face-to-face, they temporarily set aside their status and titles and communicate honestly as equals. In this respect, 706, established by university elites, embodies values that are not as elitist as they may appear. At the very least, 706’s system does not offer privileges to elites (such as highly educated or highly positioned individuals). The external perception of 706 as elitist is partly due to media portrayal.
For instance, names like Xu Zhiyuan, Luo Zhenyu, Qin Hui, and Zha Jianying, who were invited as guests at 706, are frequently cited in media coverage. Additionally, given the proximity to numerous prestigious universities around Wudaokou, it often attracts students from these institutions or returning overseas students, which gives the space an air of elitism. However, most people at 706 do not have such
prominent backgrounds. They might be ordinary office workers, students from less prestigious colleges, or confused youth recently laid off from their jobs. These individuals rarely appear in media reports, and their voices are often absent from public discourse. Of course, this group has voiced their concerns before.
In 2018, a report from *Curiosity Daily* sparked a discussion within the 706 community. The report mostly featured highly educated individuals, such as students from Tsinghua University, Peking University's Yuanpei College, and overseas students. Some community members pointed out that this portrayal only catered to the image of an elite 706, without representing the more inclusive 706 that encompassed people from various backgrounds. Others defended the report, stating that it was just standard media practice and nothing out of the ordinary. However, the debate revealed underlying disagreements within the 706 community about "what 706 is" and "how 706 should be presented."
On the last night of 2018, the Wudaokou bar district was still packed despite several rounds of crackdowns. Pedestrians could only squeeze onto the narrow path closest to the road to avoid the eager partygoers. Under the same sky, 706 was hosting its own New Year's Eve event.
The theme 706 set for that night was "Return to the Golden Age," a nod to the golden age of public spaces. Amid the festive celebrations, the familiar intellectual discussions of public spaces resurfaced. Many former members of 706 returned, raising their glasses to reminisce.
Of course, they knew the past had long since slipped away, and that the dust-covered glass could only be touched but not restored. But in their collective nostalgia, they were willing to pick up the pieces on the ground and, in the shimmering light of dreams, return to their own golden age.
Note:
The above narrative reflects the author's personal experiences and attempts to trace the development of 706 within the broader societal changes. While this account represents one voice within 706, in 2019, the 706 Youth Space team underwent a series of reflections and explorations, aiming to reshape 706 into a sustainable youth space. This was also one of the key reasons for establishing the "706 Space Research Group."