Monster Typhoon Ravages China: 2 Million Flee, Tofu-Dreg Cities Crumble!

China's economy in freefall. Millions can't eat. Industries collapse. Nation in despair. Monster typhoon ravages China. 2 million flee. Tofu dreg cities crumble. Zhang Yuxia broke these rules. Is she still the chairman of the military commission? Shocking leak. Russia arms Beijing with stealth parachutes for Taiwan invasion. Tianjin streets overrun by crabs at midnight. Chaos as crab-picking army emerges. Welcome to Secret In China, where facts matter, and every story is told with integrity. China's economy in freefall. Millions can't eat. Industries collapse. Nation in despair. The collapse has come, and it feels total. Shops are shuttered, streets are silent, and families are left with nothing but desperation. What once seemed like a temporary downturn has turned into a catastrophic collapse, pushing people to the edge of survival. Across China, people who once dreamed of better days now speak only of loss, despair, and the fight to hold on for one more day. A man in his 50s, unemployed for over a year, hands out bread flyers just to stay afloat. He remembers his first day in Shanghai. No money for a hotel, no roof over his head, just wandering in the park because there was nowhere else to go. His shop is now empty, customers gone, rent unpaid. In his words, holding on only means losing more. After two years of struggle, even your underwear is gone. Once thriving markets now sell at cost, just to feed workers. Temporary price cuts, the lowest in 15 years, still bring no buyers. At 8, 10 in the morning, when crowds once filled the stalls, not a single person showed up. It's not just one place. In Dayutown, Rudong County, Nantong City, every storefront is vacant. Restaurants are closed, the streets deserted. Raising livestock brings only losses, while imported meat floods the market. Taiyuan, once vibrant, now has rows of shops for rent. Only one open in an entire stretch. Night markets stretch from west to east with hundreds of stalls, yet every vendor sits idle. Factories too are stripped bare, with owners vanishing overnight and debts left behind. Ordinary people are crushed. In Henan, Huawei workers earn barely 0.40 yidags an hour, with no rest days, not even one in a year. Families face collective unemployment. Three adults out of work in a single household, surviving only on vegetables grown in their yards. They avoid even buying a bottle of water, too afraid to spend. Some scrape by on discount groceries, others eat only pickled vegetables because meat is unaffordable. In Shanghai, food delivery riders line up at traffic lights, many of them not just college graduates, but holders of masters and PhDs. And still, work is scarce. In neighborhoods, suicides are becoming normalized. A young man jumped from the 27th floor. Neighbors felt shock for only a few minutes before moving on. A couple jumped together after their home value collapsed, leaving them with unbearable debts. Across cities, shopkeepers post sales in WeChat groups with no response, while restaurants and seafood stalls that once bustled now sit closed and silent. Desperation spreads beyond borders. Some spend over $1,400 on tickets and visas to Africa just to sell roasted corn in local markets. Competing with locals over $0.21 corn, they still cannot get ahead. At home, struggling vendors offer free buns and soup to hungry passersby, insisting on giving despite their own suffering. Conversations among business owners turn into misery-sharing sessions. Projects that once sold for $28,000 now go for $2,800, or even $4-20 just to keep work coming in. In Changsha, famous nightclubs and KTVs, once billion-USD businesses, are gone. The entertainment industry collapsed when construction bosses and government leaders, themselves out of money, stopped spending. When they fall, so do beauty salons, fruit shops, and cleaning ladies who depended on their business. People blame the Chinese Communist Party, calling it the source of suffering. They denounce the corruption, the military parades funded while families starve, and the crushing of ordinary people under mortgages, medical bills, and joblessness. Some publicly announce their withdrawal from the party and its organizations, seeking hope elsewhere. Families now live under unbearable pressure. Workers fear layoffs, endure forced overtime, and deal with abusive bosses. The unemployed face heavier burdens. Debts? Aging parents? Children to raise? The wrong word at the wrong time can drive someone over the edge. Analysts warn that resentment is building like a social volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. Everywhere, business owners cry the same story. A Shanghai noodle shop invested hundreds of thousands but closed after three months, unable to make even $28 a day. Another owner, unable to survive, shut his store in tears. Survival, not pride, is all that's left. The suffering is deep and spreading. Across streets, markets, and cities, the refrain is the same. The collapse is not coming, it has already arrived. Monster typhoon ravages China. Two million flea tofu dreg cities crumble. Typhoon Ragasa unleashed one of the most violent storms South China has faced in recent years, bringing winds as powerful as a high-speed train, storm surges that swallowed entire districts, and destruction that will take months, if not years, to recover from. It was not just a weather event, but a force that exposed the fragility of coastal cities, the vulnerability of infrastructure, and the human cost behind every shattered window and uprooted tree. By the time it passed, millions had been displaced, thousands of flights canceled, and countless homes and livelihoods destroyed. The first impact came on the evening of September 24, 2025, when Ragasa roared into Yangjiang, Guangdong, with level 16 winds near its center. Within minutes, chaos broke out across the city. Videos showed metal sheets slicing through the air, glass from high-rise buildings shattering, and cars tossed aside like toys. Pedestrians were lifted off their feet. Trees that had stood for decades snapped like matchsticks, and massive turbines, worth millions, crumbled under the storm's pressure. Residents described the aftermath as apocalyptic. Roads blocked, vehicles smashed, and debris scattered in every direction. More than 53,000 trees were destroyed in Yangjiang alone, and over 30 major roads became impassable. But Ragasa's fury did not stop there. By mid-morning the same day, it battered Zhuhai with record-breaking winds, gusting at level 17. 59.1 meters per second, faster than a bullet train. Tides surged over two meters, triggering a red alert and flooding entire districts. Underground parking lots, shops, and first-floor apartments disappeared beneath rushing seawater. Residents captured surreal scenes. Cars bobbing like boats, streets transformed into rivers, and coastal guardrails swallowed in minutes. Even towering skyscrapers swayed under relentless pressure, while shattered windows and collapsed billboards left residents in fear for their safety. The whole building is swaying, my head is spinning, one Zhuhai resident on the 25th floor recalled. Evacuations were ordered along Jingwan Road, where water levels rose to five meters in some neighborhoods. Hotels overflowed as families sought refuge, many evacuating for the first time in 30 years. Shenzhen also braced for the worst. Authorities suspended schools and public transport, while residents reinforced their homes with sandbags and tape. Over 2.2 million people across Guangdong were relocated. At Shenzhen Airport, planes were wrapped in tape in a desperate attempt to shield them. Even before Ragasa's center arrived, Longgang District saw massive trees torn down and signs flattened. By September 23, forecasters had already warned that the storm had reached a superstorm, level 17 just 375 kilometers from the city. In Jiangmen, Ragasa made history. Shangguan Island recorded the strongest winds the city had ever seen, reaching level 15 before the storm even passed. Rainfall exceeded 250 millimeters in just 24 hours, flooding towns and toppling metal sheds. Residents posted videos of beds and belongings exposed to wind and rain after roofs were blown off. After this typhoon, everything is gone, one local said, standing among the wreckage. For farmers, the damage was devastating. In Yangjiang, a chicken farmer broke down in tears as he explained how his coop had been blown apart and his newly hatched chicks nearly wiped out. Only those who have raised chickens can understand this heartache, he said. Power outages spread across the region, with some areas still dark a day later. For the elderly living alone, the storm brought sleepless nights filled with rattling windows and fear of collapse. Hong Kong also took a direct hit. On the night of September 24, authorities issued a level 10 hurricane signal, the highest warning. Winds exceeding 118 kilometers per hour uprooted hundreds of trees and sent nearly three-meter waves blasting out of storm drains. At the Fullerton Ocean Park Hotel, glass lobby doors shattered as seawater rushed in, knocking guests off their feet. Disneyland closed, races were canceled, and supermarkets were stripped bare as residents taped up windows and stockpiled supplies. High-rise living became unbearable, with some apartments swaying more than a meter. It felt like being on a subway all night, one student recalled, describing dizzying motion and whistling winds that seeped through even-sealed windows. Macau, too, saw streets vanish beneath knee-deep water as storm surges raised tides by up to 2.5 meters. In some neighborhoods, fish and turtles washed ashore, prompting locals to wait out and collect them despite warnings. Tourist sites shut down, flights were canceled, and the city entered emergency lockdown. By the time Regassa weakened, it had left behind paralyzed cities, crippled transport networks, and an incalculable economic toll. More than 3,000 flights were canceled across the greater Bay Area, and countless businesses destroyed. Yet even as residents began assessing the damage, another tropical cyclone was already forming in the northwest Pacific, threatening to bring further storms to the region. For those who endured Regassa, recovery is only beginning, and the fear of the next typhoon already looms. Zhang Yuxia broke these rules. Is she still the chairman of the military commission? On September 23, 2025, Xi Jinping led a delegation of the CCP Central Committee to Urumqi for the 70th anniversary celebration of the founding of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, scheduled on the 25th. Yet, despite the symbolic weight of such a ceremony, Xi once again delivered no speech. He simply appeared. The arrangement echoed his earlier trip to Tibet, where the official narrative claimed high-level specifications. But in practice, it was CPPCC Chairman Wang Huning who functioned as the real leader of the delegation. This silence from Xi, especially amid growing concerns about his fragile health, feels unusual and telling. Even more striking was the absence of Zhang Yuxia, Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission, CMC. On the Tibet trip, Xi was accompanied by CMC member Zhang Shengmin. This time, it was Chief of Staff Liu Zhenli. If, as propaganda insists, these ceremonies represented events of unprecedented importance, Zhang Yuxia's absence raises questions. In July 2021, during Xi's earlier Tibet visit, Zhang was by his side. Now, he openly refrains from accompanying Xi without fear of reprisal. Such a breach of military protocol speaks volumes about the shifting balance of power. This is not an isolated case. Zhang's avoidance of the long established convention that a CMC vice chairman must accompany the CMC chairman began earlier. In March this year, Xi visited Kunming and met with garrison representatives. Yet no CMC members were present. At the time, rumors swirled that Vice Chairman He Weidong was under investigation. But Zhang, who should have accompanied Xi, was also absent. Reviewing official CCP reports, Xi almost always inspects military units during his domestic trips, with at least one CMC vice chairman alongside him. But in 2023 alone, Zhang has broken this rule three times. There were earlier hints of this pattern. In December last year, during Xi's trip to Macau, it was not Zhang, the first vice chairman, who accompanied him, but He Weidong, the second in rank. Yet on Xi's past visits to Hong Kong in 2017 and 2022, and Macau in 2014, the first CMC vice chairman always held this role. If Xi truly remained the uncontested supreme leader, with unquestioned control of the military, would Zhang Yuxia repeatedly distance himself? The second broken convention lies in the propaganda tone. Coverage of Xi and military outlets such as PLA Daily and PLA Pictorial has clearly weakened. Loyalty slogans like the 24-4-2 pledge still appear but with perfunctory repetition, lacking the intensity of earlier years. More tellingly, Zhang Yuxia has conspicuously avoided emphasizing the CMC responsibility system or issuing ritualistic pledges of loyalty. At the September 10th astronaut ceremony in Beijing, he did not mention Xi's concern for space development. Nor did he signal allegiance, an omission that would have been unthinkable a few years ago. Even visual propaganda reflects this decline. From April through August, PLA Pictorial did not feature Xi on its cover for five consecutive months. Such an editorial decision could only have been approved at the highest level within the military. Since the 19th Party Congress, when Xi consolidated power, PLA Pictorial had almost always highlighted him at major events. The sudden absence suggests that his image and authority has been deliberately downgraded. A third and even more striking breach came on September 3rd during the military parade. Zhang Yuxia stood in the first row atop Tiananmen Gate, alongside Politburo Standing Committee members, a privilege no CMC vice chairman had received in the past decade. State media prominently featured him, further cementing his elevated standing. Just two weeks later, at the September 17th meeting commemorating the 80th anniversary of victory in the war of resistance against Japan, CCTV footage consistently showcased Zhang alongside Xi and other top leaders. At the group photo session, the cameras captured Xi leaving, while officials such as Kai Qi, Wang Yi, and Yin Li clapped and followed behind. In stark contrast, Zhang remained still, merely raising his hands in a clapping gesture without actually joining in. A subtle but deliberate signal. Taken together, these repeated breaches of protocol suggest that Zhang Yuxia is no longer merely Xi's subordinate, but the true power behind the military, backed by influential party elders. For now, the illusion of unity must continue, with Xi and Zhang maintaining appearances. But when the truth eventually surfaces, these moments will be remembered as unmistakable signs of where real power had shifted. Shocking leak, Russia arms Beijing with stealth parachutes for Taiwan invasion. On September 26, 2025, a new leak reported by The Washington Post revealed that Russia is quietly helping China prepare for a potential military operation against Taiwan. A collaboration that experts say could transform the balance of power in the region. The documents show Russia is not only selling advanced weaponry to Beijing, but also training Chinese forces in highly specialized airborne operations designed to bypass Taiwan's defenses. Analysts warn this partnership could give China the ability to launch sudden, hard-to-detect strikes deep inside Taiwan, similar to Russia's lightning seizure of Crimea in 2014. The most alarming element of the deal is China's access to Russia's cutting-edge DAL-NOLIOT parachute system, designed by Rostec. Unlike traditional systems, DAL-NOLIOT allows personnel to jump from stratospheric heights around 10,000 meters and glide silently for more than 80 kilometers before landing precisely on target. At those altitudes and distances, even advanced air defense systems struggle to detect or intercept them. A more advanced version, TANDOM-400, even enables pairs, such as a soldier and a medic, to deploy together from over 11,000 meters. Experts believe these systems could allow elite Chinese units to infiltrate Taiwan's territory ahead of a larger assault, creating chaos in command centers or rallying support from pro-Beijing elements on the island. Oleksandr V. Donelyuk, a fellow at the Royal United Services Institute, RUSI, and former officer in Ukraine's armed forces, told Central News Agency that China might attempt to replicate Russia's Crimean playbook, infiltrating small, mobile units first, then exploiting political paralysis or internal division to pave the way for a broader offensive. Such a strategy would bypass conventional battles and instead aim to destabilize Taiwan from within, before defenses could fully mobilize. The leaked documents confirm that this cooperation began in October 2024, when Russia agreed to sell Beijing a package of military equipment worth nearly $584 million. The deal included 37 BMD-4M light amphibious infantry fighting vehicles, 11 Sprut-SDM-1 self-propelled anti-tank guns, 11 BTR-MDM airborne armored personnel carriers, along with specialized parachute systems and command vehicles. Russian specialists pledged to train Chinese airborne troops both in Russia and China, covering not only equipment use but also advanced command and control systems. RUSI has independently verified the documents, noting that the deal dramatically enhances China's aerial maneuver capabilities. This, the institute concluded, provides Beijing not only with new options for striking Taiwan, but also for projecting power against the Philippines and other island nations in contested waters. Jack Watling, a RUSI expert in land warfare, argued that Russia has now become a critical enabler for the Chinese Communist Party, offering not just weapons but also a strategic safety net. In any Taiwan-Strait conflict, Russian oil, gas and defense industry output could act as a backstop to sustain Beijing's campaign. Despite this, China has so far stopped short of supplying Russia with heavy weaponry in return. Instead, the partnership has been emphasized through displays of unity. Xi Jinping and Vladimir Putin have stood side by side at multiple military parades, while joint exercises have sharply increased. In 2024 alone, China and Russia held 14 combined drills, nearly double the number from a decade earlier. Just last week, Chinese forces joined the massive West 2025 exercises in Belarus, demonstrating high-altitude heavy equipment airdrops that echo the very systems now tied to Taiwan planning. For Taiwan, the developments are deeply concerning. A senior Taiwanese security official confirmed that Taipei has tracked Russia's transfer of parachute command systems to China and has already drawn up countermeasures. Yet, Su Tzu-Yun, director of Taiwan's Institute for National Defense and Security Research, warned that with Russian help, China may overcome its past weaknesses in large-scale troop deployment and sustainment. That would place far greater pressure on Taiwan's anti-landing defenses than ever before. Military experts stress that Taiwan is the most immediate target of this deepening Sino-Russian military alignment. Lyle Goldstein of Brown University explained that China's planners consider small elite airborne units absolutely critical in the opening phase of a conflict, even drawing lessons from the Normandy landings of World War II. Without effective airborne infiltration, Beijing doubts it could secure a swift victory. U.S. intelligence agencies have also weighed in. They assess that Xi Jinping has ordered his forces to be capable of seizing Taiwan by 2027, though this does not guarantee an invasion on that timeline. Joshua Orostegi of the U.S. Army War College observed that Russian command and control systems could help China maintain combat effectiveness in the complex and unpredictable environment of a Taiwan Strait battle, a major reason Beijing is willing to invest so heavily in Russian technology. The documents make clear that the partnership between Moscow and Beijing is no longer symbolic, but practical and dangerous. What began as political alignment is evolving into joint preparation for war, and Taiwan is at the center of the storm. Tianjin streets overrun by crabs at midnight. Chaos as crab-picking army emerges. In Tianjin's Tilihai wetland, an eerie spectacle has stunned locals. Swarms of crabs crawling en masse onto roads at night, drawing crowds from miles away who rush in with flashlights and buckets to scoop them up. Some residents have managed to collect as much as 10 caddies, about 5 kilograms, in a single evening. But behind the fascination lies an ecological warning that scientists say cannot be ignored. Experts believe this mass migration is tied to the worsening health of the wetland. A 2022 water quality report revealed nitrogen pollution nearly twice the safety standard, traced directly to discharges from 38 nearby aquaculture farms. The dense clusters of crabs appearing around fish farms, rather than deep inside the wetland, suggest a troubling imbalance. Analysts warn the phenomenon could mirror the early signs of Japan's Lake Biwa ecological collapse in 2009, when abnormal crab behavior preceded a massive cyanobacteria outbreak. Already, algae density in parts of Tilihai has reached danger levels, and stocking rates, over 2,000 crabs per MU, far exceed what the wetland can naturally sustain. On September 25, around 8 p.m., one witness drove 30 kilometers just to hunt crabs along Tilihai Avenue and nearby roads. He found dozens of others scanning the grasses and asphalt with flashlights, some hauling home buckets of crabs, while others came away nearly empty-handed. The scene was surreal. Beams of light zigzagging like stars over the reeds, buckets clattering with live crabs, and highways strewn with flattened shells crushed by passing cars. Sanitation workers later reported sweeping up half a bucket of crab legs by dawn. Locals traded tips, saying the best catches came from grassy ditches and roadsides near aquaculture ponds. Farmers, however, pushed back against the idea that the animals escaped from their operations, claiming instead that the crabs had wandered out from Tilihai wetland itself. One insisted that this was simply seasonal migration. Every year, crabs leave the wetlands in search of wintering grounds. But contradictions are piling up. This year's swarms far surpass previous patterns, with a single-day tally exceeding 23,000 caddies, an impossible number for the wetland's natural capacity. Another farmer, known as Old Jiang, said the timing itself was unusual. In past years, the crabs would already have migrated out to sea. Now, they seem disoriented, veering toward land instead. Ecologists and aquaculture specialists point to a darker possibility. When crabs abandon the water en masse, it may signal deteriorating water quality or disease. Stress factors such as pesticide residues, bottom water oxygen depletion, overheated sediments, or excessive fertilizer use could be driving the creatures ashore. Some experts warn this is the classic symptom of three highs—elevated ammonia, nitrites, and hydrogen sulfide—conditions lethal to aquatic ecosystems. For now, the midnight crab harvest has become a local craze, with villagers racing to claim their free seafood. But beneath the excitement lies a deeper anxiety. What looks like a seasonal bounty may in fact be a sign of ecological collapse in one of northern China's most fragile wetlands. Thank you for watching Secret In China. If you value thoughtful, independent journalism, we invite you to subscribe, share your thoughts in the comments, and join the conversation. Until next time, stay informed and take care.