China’s Healthcare Nightmare Returns With Thunderstorm Asthma, Too Many Deaths, A Nation Dying

Hospitals across China are once again under immense pressure, this time not from a virus, but from an unusual health crisis known as thunderstorm asthma. On September 11, 2025, reports emerged that medical facilities in Ningxia and Inner Mongolia had become overcrowded, following similar scenes days earlier in Taiyan, Shanxi province. In some tragic cases, young patients in their 30s did not survive. Videos quickly spread on Chinese social media showing long lines in emergency rooms and crowded waiting areas. Patients described the same symptoms—tightness in the chest, difficulty breathing, and relentless coughing—that left many with no choice but to seek urgent care. One man wrote online that he had struggled to breathe through the night, at first blaming it on overeating until he realized his friends and neighbors were all talking about the same sudden illness—thunderstorm asthma. Others confirmed the severity. In one clinic, a woman in her 30s reportedly lost her life after suffering a sudden attack. Witnesses compared the hospital chaos to the early days of the pandemic, with hallways packed and families desperate for help. Local news outlets echoed the crisis. According to Ningxia Daily, by September 12, the People's Hospital of Ningxia had already treated more than 1,000 patients suffering from respiratory distress. Health experts advised residents to wear N95 masks when going outdoors, warning that the illness could spread quickly under the right weather conditions. The phenomenon did not stop in Ningxia. In Inner Mongolia, residents posted similar accounts. One video described how an ordinary thunderstorm had left dozens of people gasping for air—from schoolchildren to factory workers, even the owner of a small shop near a school. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, the witness said, I would never have believed it. The sudden surge of cases, the strain on hospitals, and the shocking reports of young patients dying have raised alarm across China. Once again, the sight of overflowing emergency rooms has left many uneasy, drawing comparisons to past health emergencies and fueling questions about whether the country's medical system can cope with yet another unpredictable crisis. China's economy continues to falter, and the wave of consumption downgrade is now sweeping through sectors once thought immune. Even the funeral industry, long seen as a business that never loses demand, has entered a deep winter. Fushou Yuan, the country's leading cemetery operator, has shocked the market with its first-ever loss since listing on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange in 2013. According to its mid-2025 financial results, the company's revenue in the first half of the year fell to just 611 million yuan, a plunge of 44.5 percent compared with the same period last year. Net profit swung into the red, with losses reaching 261 million yuan. The average selling price of burial plots collapsed from 120,000 yuan to just 63,000, while revenue in its core Shanghai market dropped by more than half. Founded in 1994, Fushou Yuan was once a symbol of high-minimum success. From 2010 to 2023, its revenue soared from 350 million to 2.6 billion yuan, with annual profits peaking near 800 million. In 2023, the company's Songhe Park in Shanghai sold a three-person plot for 457,800 yuan equivalent to 760,000 yuan per square meter, far above the price of luxury apartments, earning the nickname sky-high grade. But that era of seemingly endless prosperity has come to an abrupt end. In the first half of 2025, the company sold more than 6,200 plots, only a slight drop in volume compared with the year before, yet total revenue shrank by over 400 million yuan. The problem was not the number of sales, but the collapse in pricing. In its financial statement, Fushou Yuan admitted it had been forced to cut prices to adapt to weaker consumer demand and tougher competition across different regions. The downturn is not isolated. Other listed funeral companies have also reported sharp declines. Wanpengyan's revenue fell by 54 percent in the first half of 2025, swinging to a loss of nearly 9.4 million yuan. Anxianyan reported revenue down 16.9 percent and profit down 11.7 percent. What was once considered a recession-proof industry is now showing clear cracks. On the ground, sales staff say they feel the shift in attitude every day. One Fushou Yuan employee explained that when he recommends higher-end plots, the most common response he hears is, money is hard to earn these days. As long as the funeral can be done properly, we don't need anything fancy. In Chongqing, the marketing director of Ling'an Cemetery noted that more families are delaying purchases altogether, opting instead for wall burials, where urns are stored in small niches. A niche can cost as little as 3,000 yuan, with annual storage fees under 300. As he put it bluntly, young people today don't even want to get married. Why would they buy a grave? They'd rather spend their money traveling the world than becoming slaves to burial plots for the dead. From luxury apartments to sky-high graveyards, the collapse of prices in both housing and funeral property tells the same story. China's middle class, once the backbone of consumption, is growing cautious, anxious and unwilling to spend. The downturn has reached from life into death, leaving no sector untouched. iPhone 17 Frenzy in China – A Mirror of Consumer Contradictions On the evening of September 12, 2025, chaos erupted across China's digital landscape. The Apple Online Store crashed within minutes of opening pre-orders for the iPhone 17 series. Major e-commerce platforms like JD.coms and Tmall reported that within the first minute of sales, all models were gone. By the second minute, the flagship iPhone 17 Pro Max was sold out nationwide. By the 20th minute, Apple's official site showed shipping delays of three to four weeks, stretching deliveries into mid-October. Outside, the scenes were just as dramatic. In Shenzhen, long lines of customers snaked endlessly around Apple's retail store. Live streamers walked through crowds narrating breathlessly, Look at this. Too many people. The public staff already announced the quota is full, but people are still lining up. We haven't even reached the entrance yet. The camera kept moving forward, showing wall-to-wall bodies. It feels like all of Shenzhen came to queue, one remark. This eruption of demand stood in stark contrast to the rhetoric of the past year. Online nationalists had urged Chinese consumers to boycott American brands and buy domestic phones, especially Huawei's new foldables. Social media was filled with denunciations of Apple, complaints about its uninspired designs, and mockery of its supposedly declining innovation. Yet when the iPhone 17 finally launched, millions of Chinese consumers cast their vote with their wallets, not their words. Apple's numbers spoke volumes. JD.com reported that within one minute, the iPhone 17 series had surpassed the entire first-day sales of the iPhone 16 from the previous year. Tmall's pre-order volumes tripled compared with the last generation. The frenzy was so intense that Apple's website became inaccessible, leaving countless would-be buyers staring at error screens. By the end of launch night, the iPhone 17 dominated Weibo's trending searches. The hashtag iPhone 17 sold out rocketed to the top, reflecting both excitement and frustration. Many who had scoffed at the phone's ugly design now admitted they had tried and failed to secure one. As one user joked bitterly, All year we said it was ugly and now everyone is buying it. We've slapped ourselves in the face. The most sought-out model was the 1TB iPhone 17 Pro Max priced at 13,999 yuan. Screenshots of confirmed orders flooded WeChat and Weibo. A loan officer in Fuzhou even noted that several of his own clients, people he knew were struggling to repay debts, were among those flaunting purchase confirmations. They don't have much money left after paying their loans, he said, but somehow they can still afford a new iPhone. The irony was clear. Chinese households may be under financial pressure, but the iPhone remains a priority purchase, even if it means stretching their budgets. The iPhone frenzy has once again exposed the contradictions of China's consumer nationalism. For years state media and online influencers have promoted domestic alternatives, particularly Huawei. The company, often described as having close ties to the Chinese military, has been lionized as a champion of national pride. Huawei's marketing campaigns proclaim that its technology is far ahead, and loyalists flood social media with calls to boycott Apple. But when launch day arrived, the Apple stores were bursting while Huawei counters sat eerily quiet. One live streamer walked from the packed Apple section of a mall to the Huawei booth nearby. Look at this contrast, he said. Apple is overflowing with people, Huawei is deserted. Everyone says support Huawei, but their feet carry them straight to Apple. This paradox fuels heated online arguments. Apple buyers are often labeled traitors or unpatriotic. Some report receiving private messages calling them sellouts or foreign lackeys. In response, many push back, I work hard to earn my money, why can't I spend it on what I like? Apple pays taxes in China and hires Chinese workers. Buying Apple is not betraying the country. These debates reveal a deeper reality. Nationalism is powerful in rhetoric, but weak at the cash register. For many Chinese consumers, Apple and Tesla remain aspirational symbols of quality and status, regardless of political campaigns. Huawei's attempt to rival Apple with its second-generation tri-fold phone has fallen flat. Despite launching a week earlier than the iPhone 17, the new Huawei foldable failed to generate buzz. Live streamers ridiculed its software bugs and clunky experience. One complained, I open WeChat and it crashes. I open Jinri Toutiao, it crashes again. I paid 8,999 yuan and my heart aches. Others mocked Huawei's Harmony OS as incomplete, pointing out that its version of WeChat lagged behind other platforms. One customer lamented, I bought the Mate 70 Pro but even the original charging cable doesn't work properly. It's a disaster. Price cuts tell the same story. The Huawei P80, launched in June for 4,700 yuan, fell to just 3,200 yuan within three months, a drop of 1,500. Discounts that steep reinforce the perception that domestic brands cannot hold value. Why, despite constant complaints, does the iPhone still dominate? The answer lies in a mix of performance, prestige, and psychology. This year's iPhone 17 finally added features Chinese consumers had long demanded, a 120 hertz display across all models, faster charging, and improved battery life that lasts up to eight hours longer. Storage options began at 256 GB, meeting the demands of heavy app users. Prices remarkably did not increase compared with the previous generation. For consumers, the equation was simple. Domestic phones no longer offered a clear advantage. Once known for being cheaper, many Chinese brands have crept up in price while still lagging behind in performance. As one consumer put it, if I'm going to spend 8,000 yuan, why not stretch a little more and buy Apple? At least it holds its value. The psychological pull of Apple is equally strong. Owning the latest iPhone signals wealth and modernity in a way few other products can. Social media amplifies this effect, as users flaunt screenshots of their pre-orders and post-unboxing videos. The sight of so many hidden millionaires proudly displaying their 1TB Pro Max purchases only deepened the frenzy. The iPhone 17 launch has also ignited fierce clashes online. Pro-Huawei voices accuse Apple buyers of betrayal, while others counter that blind nationalism is irrational. Every company is a private business, one netizen wrote. If you get sick, Huawei won't pay your hospital bills. You rely on yourself, not on a brand. Let people choose freely. Meanwhile, rumors swirl about censorship. Some live streamers claim their videos criticizing Huawei were quickly removed, reported by fan armies. Others insist their only crime was suggesting Apple might still have advantages. The heavy-handed silencing of content only reinforces resentment among neutral observers. The spectacle of iPhone mania amid a weakening economy says more about Chinese society than about Apple itself. Official statistics point to sluggish growth, falling real estate values and shrinking disposable income. Yet the determination of consumers to own the latest iPhone, even if it means debt or sacrifice, shows how deeply status goods still matter. The contrast with Huawei underscores the limits of top-down nationalism. Consumers may cheer patriotic slogans online, but their real-world choices reveal skepticism. Trust is earned through consistent quality, not propaganda. The frenzy also highlights inequality. For some, the iPhone is an annual upgrade, flaunted on social media. For others, it is an unreachable dream, fueling resentment. The sight of ordinary workers who struggle with mortgages and loans still rushing to buy 14,000-yuan phones reflects both aspiration and contradiction. By September 13, the fever had not cooled. Reports described Apple's Suzhou store as exploding with people, even though no new demo units had arrived. Staff repeated that the earliest trial devices would not be available until September 19, but crowds lingered anyway. Meanwhile, Huawei stores remained quiet. Discounts and advertising blitzes failed to move inventory. Some observers noted bitterly, Huawei pays for endless ads, but Apple needs none. Consumers already know where they want to go. The irony deepened as critics accused Apple buyers of being brainwashed by the West, while defenders countered that it was Huawei fans who were brainwashed by nationalism. One repairman summarized it simply, If one day a Chinese phone beats Apple on performance, we'll say so. Until then, people will keep buying iPhones. The iPhone 17 launch in China has become more than a product release. It is a cultural event, a referendum on consumer trust, and a window into the contradictions of modern China. Despite political tensions, anti-American rhetoric, and calls for patriotism, millions of Chinese chose Apple. They chose it not because it is perfect, but because it represents reliability, aspiration, and prestige. Huawei may shout far ahead, but in the hearts and wallets of many Chinese consumers, Apple remains the real benchmark. In the end, the long lines outside Apple stores are not just about a phone. They are about identity, desire, and the complicated intersection of politics and consumerism in today's China. The frenzy may fade, but the questions it raises about trust, nationalism, and the true power of choice will linger far longer than the launch day queues.