1分钱的外卖没了。

美团饿了么同步砍补贴，最大优惠券从20块变成5块，新人免单没了，1分钱的饭没了。网上骂声一片。

但你有没有想过——你骂的是补贴没了，还是骂自己终于意识到：那1分钱的饭，从一开始就不是给你的。

1分钱一顿饭，这事儿本身就不合理。一份外卖的成本构成：食材成本5-15块、包装1-2块、骑手配送费3-6块、平台抽成3-8块。加起来少说15块。你付1分钱，剩下的15块谁出了？

有人出了。不是平台做的慈善。

第一条链：平台——拿投资人的钱买你的命

美团2025年补贴花了280亿。饿了么花了150亿。合起来430亿。

这不是利润，是亏损。美团外卖业务到2025年还是整体亏损的——毛利率负3个点。也就是说每送一单，平台倒贴3块钱。

投资人为什么愿意？因为他们买的不是外卖订单，是你这个人。

每一个1分钱订单的背后是一组数据：你的地址、你的口味偏好、你的消费能力、你几点吃饭、你住什么小区。你的每一个1分钱订单都在给平台画一张你的画像。画完了，平台就知道怎么卖给你溢价的东西。

更关键的是——平台买的是你的路径依赖。你习惯了打开APP点外卖，习惯了不自己做、不出去吃。这个习惯一旦养成，你就很难戒掉。等补贴撤了，你发现一单30块了，你已经回不去自己做饭的日子了。

这不是消费者的胜利。这是投资人拿你的未来，买了你的现在。

第二条链：商家——被绑架的参与者

你以为商家赚了？错。

平台搞1分钱活动，说"你参加，我补贴。"商家一听，行啊，平台出钱帮我拉客，我干。结果呢？平台用商家的底价餐品做引流，用户尝了觉得"这店东西还不错"，下次直接来这家店——对不起，下次没有1分钱了，正常的原价，外加平台抽成25%。

商家发现：平台的1分钱活动没给自己带来回头客——因为顾客回头的时候发现自己付不起原价，或者觉得"之前1块钱现在30块，凭什么"，转头去下一家继续蹭补贴。

然后平台说："你可以买推广位啊，冲排名啊。竞价排名，按点击付费。"

商家每单利润本来就薄，再买推广，利润变成负数。不做推广？没曝光，订单归零。

平台两头吃：一边拿商家的底价餐品做引流，一边收商家的推广费做收割。

第三条链：消费者——被训练的低价动物

430亿补贴烧完，消费者得到了什么？

得到了一个幻觉：外卖就该这么便宜。

你想想，你是什么时候开始觉得"一份外卖超过20块就是坑"的？是平台亲自把你训练出来的。它们砸钱制造了"外卖就该低价"的预期，然后用这个预期绑架了你——便宜是你的"默认选项"，贵了就是你被坑。

现在补贴撤了，你觉得贵。但食材没变、厨师的工钱没变、骑手还在跑——只是中间商不再替你付钱了。

你不是受害者，你只是账单到期了。

监管出手了，谁赢了？

市场监管总局叫停补贴战，说是要"回归健康竞争"、"防止无序扩张"。然后呢？

美团和饿了么双双停止补贴。股价涨了。投资人笑了。

监管叫停的不是垄断，叫停的是竞争。双寡头格局已经形成，市场占比加起来超过95%。这时候停止烧钱，对谁最有利？对平台。因为价格涨上去，消费者没得选——你不吃美团，就只能吃饿了么，换哪个都一样贵。

表面看，监管保护了消费者。实质看，监管帮平台完成了从烧钱到收割的平滑过渡。规则不追资本，只追个体。 补贴享受的时候消费者受益了，补贴结束的时候消费者承受了。资本呢？资本早已套现离场。

总结：谁付了钱

跟着钱走一遍：

  1. 投资人：出了钱，买了市场份额
  2. 平台：花了钱，控制了渠道
  3. 商家：让了利，换了流量（没有回头客）
  4. 消费者：得了便宜，养成了习惯，最后开始付溢价

现在投资人的钱花完了，平台开始向消费者和商家收网。这就是补贴的完整生命周期。

问自己三个问题：

  • 如果一单外卖30块，你还会每天都点吗？
  • 如果不会，那1分钱的时候你其实不是"受益"，你是"被分期付款"了。
  • 你的钱，迟早要还。

The Funeral of Subsidies: When ¥0.01 Meals Die, Consumers Start Doing the Math

The ¥0.01 meal delivery is dead.

Meituan and Ele.me have simultaneously slashed subsidies. Maximum coupons dropped from ¥20 to ¥5. New-user free meals are gone. The ¥0.01 meal is gone. And the internet is furious.

But ask yourself this: Are you angry because the subsidy is gone, or because you just realized that ¥0.01 meal was never meant for you in the first place?

A ¥0.01 meal doesn't make economic sense. The cost breakdown: ingredients ¥5-15, packaging ¥1-2, delivery fee ¥3-6, platform commission ¥3-8. That's at least ¥15 per order. You paid ¥0.01. Who paid the other ¥15?

Someone did. And it wasn't a charity act by the platform.

Layer 1: Platforms — Burning Investor Money to Buy Your Habits

Meituan spent ¥28 billion on subsidies in 2025. Ele.me spent ¥15 billion. Combined: ¥43 billion.

This wasn't profit. It was loss. Meituan's food delivery business was still in the red as of 2025 — gross margin at -3%. Every order shipped cost the platform an extra 3%.

Why would investors tolerate this? Because they weren't buying delivery orders. They were buying you.

Every ¥0.01 order generated a data point: your address, your taste preferences, your spending power, when you eat, what neighborhood you live in. Each order drew another brushstroke in your portrait. Once the portrait is complete, the platform knows exactly how to sell you premium products.

More critically, the platform was buying your path dependency. You got used to opening the app, ordering food, not cooking, not eating out. Once that habit is formed, it's hard to break. When subsidies end and a meal costs ¥30, you can't go back to cooking for yourself.

This wasn't a consumer victory. This was investors using your future to buy your present.

Layer 2: Restaurants — The Captive Participants

Think the restaurants profited? Wrong.

The platform runs a ¥0.01 promotion and says "Join us, we'll subsidize it." The restaurant thinks "free customer acquisition, sure." But here's what happens: the platform uses the restaurant's lowest-priced items as loss leaders to drive traffic. The customer tries it, thinks "decent food," and comes back directly next time — only to find the regular ¥30 price tag plus a 25% platform commission.

The restaurant discovers the promotion didn't create repeat customers — because when customers return, they can't afford the real price, or they feel cheated ("¥0.01 before, ¥30 now? No thanks") and move on to the next subsidized meal.

Then the platform says: "Want more exposure? Buy our ad slots. Bid for ranking. Pay per click."

The restaurant's margins are already razor-thin. Add advertising costs, and profits turn negative. Don't advertise? Zero orders.

The platform eats from both sides: using restaurants' lowest prices as bait, then charging them for the privilege of being seen.

Layer 3: Consumers — The Trained Price Animals

After ¥43 billion in subsidies burned, what did consumers get?

An illusion: that food delivery should be this cheap.

Think about when you decided that "any meal over ¥20 is a rip-off." The platform trained you to think that. They spent billions creating the expectation that delivery must be cheap, then used that expectation to hold you hostage — cheap is your new normal, expensive means you're being cheated.

Now the subsidy is gone and it feels expensive. But the ingredients haven't changed. The cook's wage hasn't changed. The rider is still running deliveries. The middleman just stopped paying your bill.

You're not a victim. Your tab just came due.

Regulators Stepped In. Who Won?

The State Administration for Market Regulation called off the subsidy war, citing a need for "healthy competition" and "preventing disorderly expansion."

Then what happened?

Meituan and Ele.me simultaneously stopped subsidies. Their stock prices rose. Investors smiled.

The regulator didn't stop a monopoly. It stopped competition. The duopoly is complete — combined market share over 95%. When you stop the burning at this point, who benefits most? The platforms. Because prices go up, and consumers have no choice — Meituan or Ele.me, either way it's expensive.

On the surface, regulation protected consumers. In reality, regulation helped platforms transition smoothly from burning cash to extracting profit. Rules don't go after capital, they go after individuals. When subsidies were running, consumers benefited. When they end, consumers suffer. Capital? Already cashed out and gone.

The Bottom Line: Who Paid

Follow the money:

  1. Investors: Put in the cash, bought market share
  2. Platforms: Spent the cash, captured the channel
  3. Restaurants: Gave up margins, got traffic (that didn't return)
  4. Consumers: Got the deal, formed the habit, now pay the premium

The investors' money is spent. The platforms are now collecting from consumers and restaurants. That's the complete life cycle of a subsidy.

Ask yourself three questions:

  • If a meal costs ¥30, would you still order delivery every day?
  • If not, then when you paid ¥0.01, you weren't "benefiting" — you were on a payment plan.
  • Your bill has come due.