Red Bloodline Rebellion: 200 Heirs Push Xi to Name His Heir

Red bloodline rebellion! 200 heirs push Xi to name his heir. Peng Liyuan's plan to join Xi's South Korea visit collapsed mysteriously, hinting at trouble in Zhongnanhai. Multiple viruses spreading in China? New strain highly contagious, deaths reported. China's housing market crashes. Cheap homes flood streets. Families trapped in mortgage crisis. Four Chinese women navigate delivery jobs amid economic slowdown and financial hardship. Welcome to Secret In China, where facts matter, and every story is told with integrity. Red bloodline rebellion! 200 heirs push Xi to name his heir. In Beijing's corridors of power, whispers are growing louder. Who will succeed Xi Jinping? According to new reports, more than 200 of China's powerful red second-generation elites, descendants of communist revolutionaries, have sent an unprecedented joint letter to Xi, urging him to build a system for grooming a successor before it's too late. Their move, both cautious and revealing, suggests mounting anxiety within China's ruling class about what happens after Xi. Independent commentator Kai Shenkun disclosed that he obtained information about the letter, which appeals to Xi to improve the mechanism for cultivating future party leaders. The signatories reportedly insisted they have no intention to pressure or challenge Xi, portraying their petition as a loyal gesture meant to preserve the regime's stability. But their underlying concern is clear. Xi, now in his early 70s, has yet to name or prepare anyone to take over. Even Mao Zedong began searching for a successor at that age, Kai noted. But Xi hasn't shown any sign of doing so. Kai interprets the petition as a survival instinct among the red heirs. China's political aristocracy, who see their fortunes tied to the fate of the Communist Party. They're in the same boat as Xi, he said. If the ship sinks, they all go down. He added that the letter could influence Xi precisely because it avoids confrontation. If Xi does make concessions, the next leadership reshuffle, expected at the 21st Party Congress, could include unexpected faces, possibly from younger generations born in the 1970s or 1980s, rather than from current top officials. Sources say Xi remains deeply distrustful of officials born in the 1960s who now occupy key party, military and government posts, believing many are still loyal to retired elders. Xi's third term runs until 2027, but speculation about his succession has intensified amid rumors of his poor health. After the 2018 constitutional amendment that removed term limits, Xi was widely seen as preparing to rule for life. Yet as the economy falters and internal divisions widen, even loyal factions appear uneasy about what comes next. Historically, succession in the Chinese Communist Party has been perilous. Mao Zedong's designated heirs, Liu Shaoqi, Lin Biao, Wang Hongwen, and Hua Guofeng, all met tragic ends, dying, imprisoned, or purged. Deng Xiaoping's choices, Hu Yaobang and Zhao Ziyang, were also ousted, the latter spending his final years under house arrest. No one dares to be Xi's successor, said Ding Shufan, a Taiwanese scholar. In the CCP, every heir apparent has fallen. Since the 20th Party Congress, many of Xi's handpicked loyalists have run into trouble or lost influence, deepening uncertainty. China's economy continues to slump and high-level infighting has grown sharper. Commentator Du Zheng warned that Xi's refusal to establish a line of succession could plunge the regime into chaos once he exits the stage. The communist ship is already leaking, he wrote. When Xi goes down, he may take the entire party with him. In China's opaque political system, silence often signals tension. The Red Air's letter, unprecedented in its scope and timing, underscores a rare sense of vulnerability among those who once seemed untouchable. For now, Xi remains firmly in command, but beneath the surface, even China's elite are asking the same question as the rest of the world. After Xi, what comes next? Peng Liyuan's plan to join Xi's South Korea visit collapsed mysteriously, hinting at trouble in Zhongnanhai. The sudden disappearance of China's first lady from a major overseas visit has cast a spotlight on a deeper, behind-the-scenes struggle inside the Chinese leadership. When President Xi Jinping arrived in South Korea at the end of October for the APEC summit in Gyeongju, he traveled and stayed alone, a sharp contrast to earlier indications that his wife, Peng Liyuan, would accompany him. That shift has fueled speculation that the Chinese Communist Party's internal power dynamics are more fraught than ever. In early October, credible Korean media outlets reported that Beijing had informed Seoul that Peng would join the trip and that the Chinese leadership had adjusted its hotel arrangements accordingly, opting for the Kowloon Hotel in Gyeongju over a more luxurious venue. The reasoning, security concerns for Xi, and the added logistics of his wife's presence. The plan appeared set. Yet when Xi arrived on October 30, Peng was nowhere to be seen. Analysts believe Beijing's last-minute change reflects larger turbulence following the 20th Party Central Committee's fourth plenary session, held October 2023, during which nearly 60 Central Committee members were absent, including 27 from the military. An extraordinary show of instability, that session produced a surprising set of outcomes. Only Zhang Shengmin was promoted to the military commission's vice chair, while three vacant seats remained unfilled, and no new Politburo members were named. The lack of clarity has fed interpretations that Xi's hold on the military and party elites is less secure than it appears, and that the absence of his wife from the Korea mission may signal her own marginalization. Peng's absence is especially striking because she has frequently accompanied Xi on major foreign visits, such as the European tour in May 2024 to France, Serbia, and Hungary. On previous East Asian visits, she made solo appearances at cultural sites, reinforcing China's subtle soft power diplomacy. Her exclusion from the Jiangsu trip raises questions about her current role and suggests she may have been deliberately sidelined or even held back in Beijing pending internal developments. For the Korean host, the turnaround forced quick logistical changes. Local media cited Korean government officials saying that Seoul had prepared for Peng's visit, including special activities linking her with Korea's first lady, Kim Hee-kyung, and visits to historic sites such as Bulguksa Temple, for the spouses of world leaders attending APEC. That Korea invested in this plan indicates that Beijing's change came close to the wire and produced real diplomatic ripples. The significance extends beyond one hotel booking or diplomatic protocol. Xi's solo appearance in Gyeongju sent a subtle signal. He remains at the helm of China's foreign policy agenda, eager to project strength even as the domestic scene appears more unsettled. Amid the summit, Xi took center stage, meeting with South Korean President Lee Jae-myung and calling for deepened China-Korea ties, while emphasizing green industry cooperation, supply chain stability, and mutual trust. His platform at APEC, though overshadowed by U.S.-China dynamics, did little to dispel doubts about Beijing's internal cohesion. The missing first lady becomes a proxy for larger undercurrents. Her absence may reflect a recalibration of how the Chinese leadership projects itself abroad, or it may signal that Xi needs to keep Peng on standby amid flux in the party and military. Observers note that absences at the plenary and in the military leadership suggest Xi may be navigating factional challenges and consolidating his power carefully. In short, the seemingly small detail of a cancelled foreign trip for a top leader's spouse now offers a rare window into China's opaque internal world. Whether the change was due to domestic power plays, security protocols, or simply logistical recalibration, one thing is clear. Beijing's messaging is no longer as seamless as it once was. For South Korea, which had geared up for a bilateral visit by both Mr. and Mrs. Xi, the recalibration underscores how unpredictable China's diplomacy can be when internal politics take the lead. The broader takeaway is this. Even high-profile diplomatic visits are not immune to the undercurrents of power politics at home. Multiple viruses spreading in China, new strain highly contagious, deaths reported. As winter grips China, hospitals are overflowing, schools are shutting down, and parents are terrified, not of a new pandemic, but of an aggressive flu strain spreading faster than authorities can contain it. China is once again facing a surge of respiratory infections, with at least three viruses circulating simultaneously across the country. Health experts warn that the H3N2 subtype of influenza A has become the dominant strain, known for its high transmissibility and rapid mutation rate. The virus is striking children especially hard, overwhelming pediatric wards and forcing schools in major cities such as Beijing, Harbin, and Shaoqing to suspend classes. Online footage and first-hand accounts describe hospitals packed with feverish children and worried parents waiting for hours to be seen. Doctors on Chinese social media platforms have urged families to take precautions, noting that H3N2 spreads easily within households. Compared with last year's prevalent H1N1 strain, immunity against H3N2 appears significantly lower. Vulnerable populations, including young children, the elderly, and those with chronic illnesses, are particularly at risk of developing serious complications like pneumonia or myocarditis. Professor Liu, a Chinese medicine specialist based in Canada, explained that H3N2's constant antigenic changes allow it to evade immune defenses. Typical symptoms include fever, chills, cough, sore throat, muscle and joint pain, and profound fatigue. People with weakened immunity are the most likely to develop severe complications, Liu said. Data from China's Centers for Disease Control and Prevention confirm that influenza-like illness cases have surged several-fold compared with earlier weeks, a trend mirrored across both northern and southern regions. Influenza A now accounts for more than 90 percent of detected cases, and over 90 percent of those are identified as H3N2. Meanwhile, Hong Kong's health authorities have reported multiple severe flu cases this year, including the deaths of children. Experts caution that the strain's ability to affect the central nervous system could lead to life-threatening complications such as encephalitis. The crisis has taken a tragic turn beyond hospitals. During a student athletics event in Nanjing, a 17-year-old boy collapsed and died suddenly during a sprint. A death that drew intense scrutiny online. Days later, even state-run media issued an unusual warning, advising citizens not to exercise while recovering from a cold or fever, citing the risk of sudden death. A rare acknowledgment of the outbreak's severity, as the hashtag don't exercise after a fever, it could be fatal. Trended across Chinese social platforms, public anxiety surged. With infections rising and the health care system straining under the pressure, many are left wondering whether China is on the brink of another nationwide health crisis. One fueled not by a novel virus but by a familiar one that has returned with renewed and dangerous force. China's Housing Market Crashes. Cheap Homes Flood Streets. Families Trapped in Mortgage Crisis. China's once unstoppable property empire is crumbling into a graveyard of broken dreams, where million-dollar homes rot unsold, and families drown in debt. Welcome to the great real estate reckoning. Across the nation, ordinary wage earners are reeling from a market implosion that has vaporized trillions in paper wealth. In Guangdong, a 2019 buyer who paid nearly $248,000 for a home now begs takers at $96,000, still lowing over $138,000 in loans with 28 years of $690 monthly payments ahead. Equity worth $96,000 vanished overnight. Another owner, stuck with a $193,000 purchase, watches offers plummet to $41,000, a $152,000 loss that leaves renovated units empty and owners in tears. Beijing commuters who scraped savings from dawn-to-midnight shifts over a decade ended up with rotten-tail projects. Unfinished shells where construction halted years ago. From Evergrande's 2021 debt crisis, triggering defaults across developers, to ghost cities like Zhuhai's Binhai business district, where pristine roads echo with solitude and high-rises glow with just a handful of lights at night, the bubble has burst. In Hainan's Seaflower Island, occupancy hovers at 5-10% in a cement forest of hundreds of dense towers. Seaview villas stand empty, rentable for $69 to $83 a month if you can stomach the isolation. No shops, no neighbors, no life. Rotten tails dot the landscape. In Shanghai's Evergrande Huafu, buyers wait seven years for delivery, only to see projects relocated or abandoned. Submerged basements and delivered units cause elevator plunges after slapdash repairs. In Guangxi's Wuzhou, Evergrande's 3,000-mega project, once packed at launch with $966 to $1,104 per square meter prices, lies desolate, a weed-choked monument to hubris. Owners who camped in sales offices after prices cratered from $524,000 to $165,000 vent fury. But no one forced the frenzy. The math is merciless. Presale funds flow through bank escrow. Developers race to top out structures for 60% to 70% payouts, then stall on costly finishes. Doors, wiring, landscaping. Billions vanish. Nationwide, nearly 6 billion buildings exist. Urban stock alone could house 10 billion people. Yet secondary markets are dead. No buyers for steel and concrete relics that will be rubble in 60 years. In small counties, 26-story towers have one renovating unit. Villas gather dust. Demographics accelerate the rot. Youth shun childbirth. Aging owners will clutch moldy assets they can't sell or rent. Property taxes creep in. A Henan township charges 0.81 yuan per square meter, hinting rural levies ahead, prompting demolitions. Despite 780-plus 2024 policies urging purchases to prop land finances, experts declare the market irretrievable. A poison-quenching thirst built on two decades of government-fueled bubbles that enriched officials and developers first. Prices in 95 cities across 25 provinces have haigangized. Plunging to cabbage levels. $20,007 two bedrooms. $24,800 for three. In five years, tens of thousands per unit could be the norm in dozens of cities. Ghost towns multiply. Delivery impossible. Night silence save your breath. Houses, once gold nuggets, are hot potatoes. Unsellable. Unrentable. Taxed into oblivion. China's real estate dream has morphed into a nationwide nightmare, swallowing lifetimes of savings in its collapse. Four Chinese women navigate delivery jobs amid economic slowdown and financial hardship. In today's China, the hum of delivery scooters has become the heartbeat of a faltering economy. Beneath those blue and yellow helmets are not just young men chasing tips, but mothers, former entrepreneurs, and college graduates racing against poverty. As China's once-booming economy slips into stagnation and consumer spending dries up, millions have turned to food delivery as their last resort. The job's low entry barrier and instant pay make it a lifeline for those crushed by debt, layoffs, or collapsing small businesses. But behind the illusion of flexible employment lies a grueling struggle for survival. Take Ms. Chen, a 90s-born mother of three from Shenzhen. Once a boutique owner, she now spends over 12 hours a day weaving through traffic, delivering meals from dawn to midnight. When her clothing shop folded under shrinking retail demand, she had no choice but to join the delivery ranks. Each short-distance order earns her barely $0.56, each long one $0.85. Forty deliveries bring in around $28, a meager return for endless hours and constant danger. I just keep running, she says. I need to earn my own retirement. Further north in Anhui province, 30-year-old Ms. Zhao juggles family debt, a mortgage, and a 7-year-old son. Since last summer, she has cycled through scorching heat and frigid winds, sometimes earning less than $8.50 a day. There are days with no orders, she admits. No work. No money. Her weight has dropped from 124 to 117 pounds since she began. In Hubei, 39-year-old college graduate Ms. Ma faces a similar reality. With her husband's paycheck barely covering expenses, she spends her days caring for a toddler and nights delivering food. Life is bitter this year, she sighs. The job demands endless stair climbs and dead-end detours. Still, for women like her, delivery work is the only way to hold their households together. And in Guangzhou, 19-year-old Ms. Huang represents the next generation of precarious workers. Shut out of office jobs and factory floors, she rents a tiny room in the city and delivers 30 meals a day, earning just enough to survive. It's tiring, she says. But at least the pay in the city is higher. She knows she can't do it forever. Delivery platforms cut off riders past age 45. Across China, an estimated 14 million couriers now race against time and algorithms. Platforms track their every move, rewarding speed and punishing lateness. A single complaint can cost them hours of income. Though companies have replaced fines with point deductions, the pressure to deliver faster never eases. Many riders see themselves not as employees but as expendable cogs in a system optimized for efficiency, not humanity. According to the 2024 China Blue Collar Employment Report, food couriers earn an average of $1,056 a month. Frequent riders make up to $1,408, part-timers barely $740. It's a modest wage for relentless labor, and one that reflects the hollowing out of China's job market. Behind every steaming takeout box lies a quiet story of desperation. These riders, once shop owners, graduates or full-time mothers, are the face of a new working class born from economic decline. They keep China's meals moving even as their own futures stand still. 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.