Unitree Technology's stock hit an intraday low of 555.8 yuan this morning, eventually closing at 564.9 yuan, down 3.4%, giving the company a total market capitalization of 228.5 billion yuan. On its debut on August 19, the stock soared to an intraday high of 1,100 yuan, briefly valuing the company at 444.9 billion yuan. In just nine trading sessions, the share price has been cut in half, and the market value has shrunk by 216.4 billion yuan from its peak. Investors who bought at the top on the first day are now sitting on losses of over 100,000 yuan per board lot on the STAR Market. Some investors are already drawing comparisons to PetroChina's infamous fall, wondering how many years it will take to break even.
The so-called "first stock of humanoid robots" has delivered an expensive lesson to A-share investors. But today's discussion is not about the robots themselves — it's about the people behind the frenzy: who made money, and who footed the bill.
Let's look at the numbers. Unitree's IPO price was 150.80 yuan, with a price-to-earnings ratio of 219 times, while the industry average stood at just 38 times. On subscription day, a record 9.78 million accounts competed for shares, resulting in a winning rate of 0.018% — the lowest in STAR Market history. The stock opened at 1,100 yuan on its first day, a jump of 629%. For lucky subscribers who secured 500 shares per lot and sold at the open, the profit amounted to over 470,000 yuan. Then comes the most telling figure: a first-day turnover rate of 85.28%. This means over 80% of the shares allocated to new investors were sold on day one. Not a single winning subscriber intended to be a long-term shareholder — their sole goal was to bank the 470,000 yuan and walk away. This is not investing; this is arbitrage.
IPO subscription in the A-share market has long degenerated into a virtually risk-free lottery — a ticket that guarantees profit, distributed on a quota basis where more capital means more tickets. But where does that lottery money come from? Every yuan earned by IPO subscribers must be paid by someone. The payers are the retail investors who chase the stock at inflated prices on day one — those who believe in the "humanoid robots will change the world" narrative and buy at 800, 900, or 1,000 yuan. There are also passive buyers who don't even realize they are paying. Economist Guan Qingyou recently exposed this chain: a small free-float creates an easy target for speculators to push prices sky-high with minimal capital. Once the stock is included in an index, passive index-tracking funds are forced to buy — and millions of fund investors' money ends up paying for the speculators' gains. Guan has called for regulators to investigate the "Unitree phenomenon," asking pointedly: Is this a design bug in the system? Or is it a coordinated conspiracy among interested parties? Or is it pure speculation? "If there's a bug, fix it. If there's a loophole, close it. If there's illegal collusion, the market and investors deserve an answer."
These questions extend far beyond Unitree. This is not a new phenomenon: in the first half of 2026, STAR Market IPOs saw an average first-day gain of 436%, and more than half of new stocks fell over 50% from their first-day highs. The A-share market has witnessed 180 consecutive new listings without a single first-day break below their IPO price. Changjin Photonics surged 1,510% on its debut before halving in three days; Hong Sifang jumped 1,917%, then fell half the very next day. The exact same script, just different protagonists. This is not an isolated stock issue — it is a systemic problem.
To be fair, Unitree itself is not a fraudulent company. It leads the world in quadruped robot shipments, delivered over 5,500 humanoid robots in 2025, self-develops more than 90% of its core components, and is profitable while its peers struggle. But a good company is not necessarily a good stock, and no price is automatically justified. Unitree's prospectus reveals that 73.6% of its humanoid robot revenue comes from procurement by universities and research institutions, while true industrial and commercial deployment accounts for only about 5%. Revenue growth slowed from 332% in 2025 to 48.5% in the first half of 2026, with non-GAAP net profit falling 19% year-on-year. Revenue grows, but profits don't. A company still in early-stage commercialization simply cannot justify a peak market value of 444.9 billion yuan based on earnings certainty. Even founder Wang Xingxing admits large-scale commercialization of embodied intelligence could take two to three years at best, and five to ten years at worst.
Why does this happen? What incentives drive each player in the chain? Issuers want the highest possible pricing; underwriters' commissions rise accordingly; IPO subscribers profit risk-free; speculative capital enjoys the benefits of a small float; and even index funds provide a safety net. The only party with an incentive to apply the brakes is the least informed and least capable of negotiation: the retail investor buying at the peak. When incentives are this misaligned, a breakdown is inevitable — it would be a surprise if it didn't happen. Guan Qingyou is right: the time for reform is now. What needs to change? The IPO pricing mechanism, the deliberate shrinking of free float, the profit distribution in the allocation process, and oversight of speculative new-stock capital — all of these need to be addressed simultaneously. Fixing just one will not plug the hole.
The capital market should support hard tech, and companies like Unitree deserve a listing opportunity. But supporting technology must not mean allowing a game where IPO subscribers always win and retail investors always lose. Every yuan genuinely invested in innovation is never the same as the yuan harvested by "first-day miracles." Only when new stock listings stop being a guaranteed profit lottery — when first-day surges of several hundred percent and subsequent halvings become a thing of the past — can A-share IPO subscription truly become market-oriented and return to normalcy.