在中國科技圈，曾經有過一位被譽為「天才少年」的創業者——劉自鴻。他以江西撫州理科高考狀元的身份考入清華大學，並在清華完成本碩連讀後，又赴美攻讀斯坦福大學電子工程博士學位。年僅29歲時，他已成為IBM全球研發中心的顧問，履歷耀眼，天賦驚人。2012年，他選擇回國創業，創立了柔宇科技。

柔宇科技一出場便風光無限。2014年7月，公司僅成立兩年，就研發出打破世界紀錄的超薄彩色柔性顯示屏，厚度僅0.01毫米，卷曲半徑僅1毫米，讓劉自鴻瞬間成為矚目焦點。隨著技術突破與資本狂熱追捧，柔宇估值一度高達522億元，成為當時中國增長最快的科技獨角獸。2019年，柔宇在巴塞羅那世界通訊大會上發布了全球首款折疊屏手機，驚艷全場，甚至讓三星、華為等巨頭都暫時失色。同年，深圳寶安機場矗立起一棵高達五米、掛滿五百餘片柔性屏的「屏幕之樹」，成為深圳創新的象徵。2020年，劉自鴻以145億元身家躋身胡潤百富榜第376位，那是他與柔宇的高光時刻。

然而，繁華過後卻是急轉直下的沉淪。柔宇的產品在商業化方面始終乏力，市場銷售轉化極差，而高昂的研發投入則如無底洞般吞噬資金。2017年至2020年上半年，公司累計營收僅5.2億元，但虧損卻高達32億元。2020年5月獲得最後一筆F輪融資後，柔宇再未能吸引新的資金支持。此後，其在美國與科創板的IPO計畫均告失敗，最終導致資金鏈全面斷裂。2021年，公司賬上現金不足1億元，開始拖欠管理層薪酬及供應商貨款。2022年，柔宇因欠薪問題再度登上新聞頭條。2024年11月18日，法院以資不抵債為由，正式裁定柔宇破產。

柔宇倒下了，但劉自鴻卻早已悄然離場。在限制高消費令生效之前，他已經潛往美國。2023年8月的美國網球公開賽上，網友在現場轉播中拍到他與美女同席觀賽的畫面，而那場比賽的門票價值高達16萬元。此時，他已被國內列入「老賴」，被限制高消費達74次，拖欠員工薪水，留下的債務總額高達29億元。

劉自鴻的人生軌跡，從高考狀元、矽谷博士，到「中國折疊屏第一人」的傳奇，再到如今的「清華老賴」，宛如過山車般跌宕。他的故事讓人想起當年的賈躍亭，同樣是在聚光燈下備受追捧，最終卻將企業推向破產深淵，獨留國內債權人苦苦追索，自己卻遠走他鄉、過著瀟灑日子。這不僅是一個個人命運的沉浮，更是資本狂潮下中國創業泡沫與風險的縮影。

In China’s tech world, there once was a man hailed as a “boy genius”—Liu Zihong. Born in Fuzhou, Jiangxi, he entered Tsinghua University as the top scorer in the provincial science stream, later completing both his bachelor’s and master’s degrees there. He then pursued a PhD in electrical engineering at Stanford University. By the age of 29, Liu was already serving as a consultant at IBM’s global R&D center, boasting an impressive résumé and extraordinary promise. In 2012, he chose to return to China and founded Royole Technologies.

From the very beginning, Royole shone brightly. In July 2014, just two years after its founding, the company unveiled an ultra-thin color flexible display that broke world records, measuring only 0.01 millimeters thick with a bend radius of just 1 millimeter. The achievement made Liu an overnight star. With relentless technological breakthroughs and frenzied capital investment, Royole’s valuation once soared to 52.2 billion yuan, making it one of China’s fastest-growing unicorns. In 2019, the company launched the world’s first foldable smartphone at the Mobile World Congress in Barcelona, stunning the global audience and even outshining giants like Samsung and Huawei. That same year, at Shenzhen Bao’an Airport, a five-meter-tall “tree” adorned with more than 500 flexible screens became a new symbol of the city’s innovation. By 2020, Liu himself was worth 14.5 billion yuan and ranked 376th on the Hurun Rich List. It was the pinnacle of both his career and Royole’s glory.

But the glory quickly gave way to a precipitous fall. Royole struggled to commercialize its products, while its R&D spending was staggeringly high, creating a financial black hole. From 2017 to the first half of 2020, the company generated only 520 million yuan in revenue, yet recorded cumulative losses of 3.2 billion yuan. After securing its last round of Series F financing in May 2020, Royole failed to attract further investment. Subsequent IPO attempts in both the U.S. and China’s STAR Market also collapsed, leading to a complete financial breakdown. By April 2021, the company had less than 100 million yuan in cash and began defaulting on salaries and supplier payments. In 2022, news of unpaid wages pushed Royole into the headlines once again. On November 18, 2024, a court ruled the company bankrupt, citing insolvency.

Royole may have gone bankrupt, but Liu Zihong had already quietly slipped away. Before restrictions on his personal spending were imposed, he had fled to the United States. In late August 2023, viewers spotted him on a live broadcast at the U.S. Open, leisurely watching the matches with a woman by his side. Tickets for that game cost as much as 160,000 yuan. By then, Liu had been officially blacklisted as a “dishonest debtor,” facing 74 consumption restrictions and owing a staggering 2.9 billion yuan in debts. Employees remained unpaid, and creditors were left stranded.

Liu’s trajectory—from top student, Stanford PhD, and “China’s foldable screen pioneer,” to now being branded a “Tsinghua deadbeat”—resembles a rollercoaster of rise and ruin. His story draws inevitable comparisons with Jia Yueting, another once-celebrated entrepreneur who left behind a trail of debt and broken promises. Both men basked in the spotlight at their peak, only to drive their companies into bankruptcy and leave creditors in despair while they lived comfortably abroad. Liu’s downfall is not just a personal tragedy, but also a stark reflection of the speculative frenzy and risks hidden within China’s startup boom.