Zhang Defies Xi – Refuses to Confess, Storm Hits Back Hard!

J35. A exposed U.S. defense mogul publicly mocks China's super fighter as entirely fake. Xiaomi challenges Tesla. A disastrous failure behind the glamorous made-in-China facade lies a catastrophe of safety and poor quality. Shocking revelation. Xi Jinping under house arrest in Beijing. NPC holds supplementary vote for the second time as Zhang Yuqia case triggers Zhongnanhai power misfire. Zhang Yuqia tortured brutally, firmly refuses to confess. Political storm turns back against Xi himself. The most outrageous scene of Chinese New Year. Beijing turned yellow. Xi is about to collapse. China will change. You're watching Decoding China, where we bring you timely analysis and grounded perspectives on today's China. J35. A exposed U.S. defense mogul publicly mocks China's super fighter as entirely fake. On February 3rd, the Singapore Airshow opened as scheduled. At the exhibition area of China's Aviation Industry Corporation, a model of the J35A drew considerable attention. Palmer Luckey, founder of the U.S. defense company Angeral Industries, personally took out a tape measure and measured the carrier-based J35. He later posted on social media that he did not believe China's J35 could achieve genuine operational capability. What appeared to be a casual gesture was widely interpreted as a public humiliation. Luckey was mocking the Chinese Communist Party's much-touted stealth fighter as little more than a copied shell lacking true core strength. Luckey's criticism went far beyond sarcasm. He targeted what he described as the life-and-death components of a fifth-generation stealth fighter. The engine, stealth coating, and avionics. The WS-19 engine was specifically cited. With a reported thrust-to-weight ratio of around 0.54, a figure critics argue is insufficient to deliver convincing maneuverability and acceleration. From that stems a heavier accusation. The J35 may struggle to reach the expected maximum speed of Mach 1, 6 for an aircraft presented as an F-35 peer competitor. The core issue lies in engine philosophy. The US F-35 relies on the powerful and reliable F-135 engine, enabling a single-engine configuration that still delivers high thrust margins and operational safety. In contrast, the J35 is believed to depend on two smaller engines. The consequence is a reduced thrust-to-weight ratio and constrained overall performance. A twin-engine layout also increases maintenance complexity and may complicate stealth optimization, as two engine bays and exhaust nozzles make it more difficult to minimize both radar and infrared signatures simultaneously. Perhaps the most explosive allegation concerns the stealth coating. Luckey described it as resembling car paint, rather than genuine radar-absorbent material, suggesting it could peel under harsh weather conditions. If accurate, this would not merely represent a minor shortcoming. It would undermine one of the foundational attributes of a stealth fighter, the ability to maintain low observability throughout its operational life cycle. The United States invested decades in developing specialized materials, maintenance procedures, and standardized protocols for stealth coatings. To date, China's comparable technology has not been independently verified by third-party sources. The avionics suite is another focal point. Luckey alleged that the J35's systems borrow heavily from the JF-17 Thunder, the export-oriented light fighter jointly developed by China and Pakistan, widely regarded as mid-to-lower-tier technology. The debate quickly centered on a defining question. Does the J35 truly possess advanced sensor fusion, the hallmark of fifth-generation aircraft? Or is it simply an upgraded platform stitched together with improved displays and radar? Even the radar came under scrutiny. Critics suggested the aircraft might employ the older KLJ-7A AESA radar, with shorter detection range and weaker electronic counter-countermeasures compared to the F-35's AN-slash-APG-81. Superficial resemblance may mislead casual observers, but the digital backbone of a fifth-generation fighter cannot be faked. Luckey's background amplifies the significance of his remarks. He is not merely a tech entrepreneur. He represents a new wave of American defense innovation focused on drones, autonomous systems, and advanced weapons. His company, Anduril, has reportedly accumulated significant battlefield data from Ukraine and, in 2025, supplied loitering munition systems to Taiwan, a move that directly struck a sensitive nerve in Beijing. As a result, Anduril was placed on China's sanctions list. In this context, Luckey's mockery of the J-35 was more than technical commentary. It was a strategic message. In his view, the CCP's stealth fighter is not a genuine threat, but a paper tiger inflated by propaganda. China's response was swift and forceful. Global Times denounced Luckey's actions as baseless performance and questioned his qualifications to comment on the aircraft. Yet the more forceful the rebuttal, the more it suggests sensitivity. As one online comment bluntly put it, the CCP reacted that way because it was hit where it hurts. Technological gaps cannot be permanently concealed beneath layers of propaganda. And sometimes it is the smallest design details that expose the deepest structural weaknesses. At the 2026 Singapore Airshow, Beijing appeared to intensify efforts to promote the J-35A internationally, targeting Belt and Road partner countries such as Pakistan, Egypt, and several African nations. These markets often face budget constraints, making the performance-to-cost ratio an attractive pitch. Sometimes bundled with infrastructure investment packages, critics describe as debt diplomacy. However, observers note three major export obstacles. Limited technical maturity and user validation. The high cost of integrating China's full combat ecosystem. Early warning aircraft. Air defense networks. Data links. Logistics. And geopolitical pressure. History shows that potential deals for China's J-10C or Russia's Su-35 faltered due to political intervention. Malaysia and Egypt came close to signing multiple contracts before US pressure derailed them. For the J-10CE, confirmed exports largely involved Pakistan, with other prospective buyers remaining hesitant. Xiaomi challenges Tesla. A disastrous failure behind the glamorous made-in-China facade lies a catastrophe of safety and poor quality. In the winter of 2026, at a park featuring a massive ice rink shaped like a pot, 48 meters in diameter and 6 meters deep, a driving challenge on sheer ice sent shockwaves through the automotive community. The Xiaomi Su-7, advertised with over 1,000 horsepower and once dubbed a domestic Porsche, rolled into the basin under bright floodlights and dozens of cameras. The driver pressed the accelerator. The tires screamed. The car dropped into the bowl and began spinning in place. Spinning in. More throttle. Still sliding. The battery percentage ticked downward as murmurs grew louder. Eventually, with the charge nearly depleted, a rescue team lowered a tow rope into the bowl and slowly dragged the Su-7 out. The image of the tow hook latched onto the front of the car spread across social media within hours. It did not end there. The YU-7 SUV, positioned as a direct rival to the all-wheel drive Tesla Model Y, entered the same challenge. The script replayed almost exactly. Loss of traction. Repeated spinning. Failure to climb the icy wall. The driver kept sawing at the steering wheel, flooring the accelerator until the body visibly shuddered, yet the YU-7 remained trapped at the bottom. A second rescue operation followed. Two attempts. Two tows. Comment sections exploded. The only one stuck in the pot. Where did the 1,000 horsepower go? Is this the collapse? The direct comparison made the contrast impossible to ignore. A Tesla Model Y entered the ice bowl, descended without hesitation, carved a smooth arc at the bottom, and climbed out in a single decisive surge. No rescue. No interruption. A Model 3 followed. After testing grip with a few controlled spins, it used its electronic control system to crawl its way up successfully. No slogans. No disclaimers. Just execution. The most damaging blow, however, came not from Tesla, but from a tiny car priced at around 40,000 yuan, approximately 5,500 US dollars. The Bastion Pony. When the toy-like vehicle entered the challenge, the crowd laughed. It spun awkwardly at the bottom, seemingly destined to wait for a tow like its far more expensive counterpart. But the pony persisted, hugging the edge of the bowl, searching patiently for traction. After several attempts, its front wheels cleared the rim, touched solid ground, and it climbed out to cheers. The National Cyberspace Regulator issued a notice naming the testing platform directly and labeling the winter challenge as non-standard testing that disrupted market order. The incident had moved beyond a viral video. It had entered the realm of brand credibility and industry conduct. Chinese cars often boast glamorous exteriors, modern eye-catching designs, and low prices that attract consumers. However, in reality, safety is the single most important factor. In January 2026, a Tesla Model 3 was rear-ended by a truck at 153 kilometers per hour, thrown into a median barrier, and then struck from the side by an SUV. The SUV's front end was severely deformed. Yet the Model 3's A-pillars remained intact. The passenger compartment preserved survivable space. The doors could still be opened manually. Airbags deployed on time. The high-voltage battery system automatically cut power. The driver sustained only minor injuries. When steel twists and glass shatters, there is no number one in acceleration, no looks are king, no fine print that steps forward to protect the occupant. This is why some online comments shifted from sarcasm to stark personal choice. I will not buy a Xiaomi car. I value my life. The statement may be controversial, but it reflects a growing sentiment. Consumers may forgive a slip on ice. They are far less willing to forgive the feeling that safety was not placed at the very top. The automotive industry is not a smartphone competition. It is not a contest over screen size or paint color. It is an industry where structural miscalculations can cost lives. The Ice Pot Challenge did what launch events and glossy presentations could not. It stripped away the narrative. When wheels lose traction, when a battery drains at the bottom of an ice bowl, when a tow rope must be attached under bright lights, marketing language falls silent. Marketing can generate applause for a few minutes. The market, however, has its own tests. And when the real test arrives on black ice or in a 153 kilometers per hour crash, what remains is structural steel, electrical integrity, and the philosophy chosen on page one of the product definition. When crisis strikes, it is not the in-car refrigerator, the oversized infotainment screen, the sofa-like seats, or microscopic disclaimers that save lives. What saves lives is load-bearing structure, automatic power cutoff, and the decision made from the beginning to put safety above everything else. Shocking revelation, Xi Jinping under house arrest in Beijing. NPC holds supplementary vote for the second time as Zhang Yuqia case triggers Zhongnanhai power misfire. A weirdly silent observation unveils the most thrilling power game in Zhongnanhai. On the eve of New Year 2026, Xi Jinping's rare contraction of his activity radius confined to Beijing, even at the CMC building, he only dares to connect remotely. What exactly is he fearing? At the same time, the NPC meeting agenda shows a fatal beacon fire. Zhang Yuqia and Liu Zhenli's NPC qualifications are still pending. On February 10th, the CCP's two official mouthpieces, Xinhua News Agency and People's Daily, simultaneously reported that the 21st session of the standing committee of the 14th National People's Congress, NPC, would be held in Beijing from February 25th to 26th. At first glance, this appeared to be a routine scheduling notice ahead of the upcoming two sessions. Yet one sentence immediately drew attention. The meeting would review a report by the NPC credentials committee regarding the qualifications of certain delegates. Seven days earlier on February 4th, the standing committee had unexpectedly convened an additional session also to address the qualifications of certain delegates. At the time, observers widely believed the agenda might involve Zhang Yuqia and Liu Zhenli, two senior figures previously announced as having fallen from office. And however, the outcome only terminated the delegate status of three other individuals with ties to the defense industrial sector, while Zhang and Liu remained listed on the official NPC website. This procedural stall immediately triggered conjecture. Had internal consensus not yet been reached? Was there an ongoing power struggle at the level of military authority? Some interpretations suggest that Xi Jinping's authority is encountering resistance. Reports have cited sources claiming that the military once submitted a removal proposal that was blocked, implying the presence of entrenched factions and power networks behind the scenes. In this context, pre-two session stability faces a tangible test. At the same time, another detail has drawn attention, Xi Jinping's pre-lunar New Year inspection itinerary. On February 10th, Xinhua released a video titled Xi Jinping Visits Grassroots Units Ahead of the Spring Festival. For more than a minute and a half, the footage contained only continuous applause, no original audio of Xi's speech, not even narration. This silent style propaganda is virtually unheard of in CCP political messaging history. That same day, Xi visited sanitation workers, food delivery couriers, and express delivery personnel. Yet they were not met at their actual workplaces but in enclosed settings. According to certain accounts, those participating may not have been randomly selected laborers but politically reliable grassroots cadres carefully prepared in advance. The objective was singular, ensure absolute security. Even more notable was the fact that Xi did not leave Beijing. In 2025, ahead of the holiday, he traveled to Tianjin, conducting on-site inspections and meeting with local military units in person. In 2024, though remaining in Beijing, he conducted wide-ranging video link-ups across multiple provinces in the aftermath of the pandemic. This year, however, all activities were confined to the capital. Even his inspection of military readiness took place via video from the Central Military Commission headquarters. Beijing is not merely a city, it is the hub where military authority, police power, and intelligence resources are highly concentrated. Remaining there means the shortest command chain, the most direct information loop, and the highest level of controllable security. In a context where aftershocks within the military have not fully subsided and anti-corruption purges continue, leaving the capital itself becomes dangerous. Moreover, Xi has many enemies and fears assassination. Frequent purges are often portrayed as evidence of consolidated power. Yet when loyalty must be continually reinforced through rectification campaigns, it suggests that institutional trust is narrowing. History has shown, from the late Soviet period to the later years of the Cultural Revolution, that when rectification becomes dense and consensus thin, systems enter a state of heightened tension. Jiang Yuxia tortured brutally, firmly refuses to confess, political storm turns back against Xi himself. At present, the political atmosphere inside Zhongnanhai is at an extreme level of tension. Under Chinese law, an NPC deputy cannot be arrested, prosecuted, or criminally detained during their term without proper authorization. The fact that Jiang Yuxia, vice chairman of the Central Military Commission and CMC member Liu Zhenli's delegate status has not been revoked means the legal procedures required to formally handle the two men have not yet been completed. Internal sources cited in leaks claim the reason is that the investigation has not yet concluded. However, many analysts believe the core issue may not be the pace of the investigation, but rather that Jiang Yuxia has refused to confess. Recent leaks suggest that Xi Jinping is pressing to secure Jiang's signed confession in order to finalize the procedural steps. Some reports claim Jiang is under soft detention in Shenzhen and being persuaded through softer means. Others assert he has been interrogated harshly in Hebei. Regardless of which version is accurate, the objective is said to be the same, obtain a confession to legitimize the next move. Why is a confession so decisive? Within the Chinese Communist Party's mechanism for handling senior officials, a written self-incrimination is not merely legal evidence. It is also a political signal. If Jiang voluntarily confesses, military commanders and red second-generation elites who quietly support him, including some currently serving officials, would likely have little room to respond publicly, even if they harbor resentment. A single confession could effectively neutralize his entire support base. What further complicates the situation is the reaction of the military. Since reports emerged that Jiang and Liu were detained, major theater commands and branches of the People's Liberation Army have remained almost completely silent. In the past, whenever a top leader fell, the military would swiftly issue statements pledging loyalty to the Central Committee. This time, the prolonged silence has been widely interpreted as highly unusual. Against the backdrop of recent purges that have left many key military posts filled only on an acting basis, a sense of internal instability is believed to be growing. Analysts argue that this is the most sensitive moment for Xi Jinping's control over the armed forces since he consolidated power. For this reason, the February 25th to 26th meeting is seen as a turning point. If Jiang Yuxia and Liu Zhenli appear on the new list of revoked deputies, it may indicate that Xi has regained the upper hand, whether through pressure or behind-the-scenes bargaining. Conversely, if their names remain absent, it would signal that the power struggle has entered a more openly confrontational stage, where internal rifts are no longer being concealed. In that scenario, the Jiang-Liu case could become a political time bomb hanging over the lead-up to the 21st Party Congress. For Xi Jinping, this is not merely about removing an individual. It is a critical test of his ability to maintain absolute control over the military, the most vital pillar of the regime's power. Is Jiang Yuxia truly on the brink? Or could this storm ultimately turn back against Xi himself? The late February NPC meeting may become the most crucial indicator of whether the Chinese Communist Party internal balance of power is approaching a point of total loss of control. The most outrageous scene of Chinese New Year, Beijing turned yellow. Xi is about to collapse, China will change? As the Chinese Lunar New Year approaches, the streets should be filled with festivity and celebration. Yet in recent days in many cities, the traditional rows of red lanterns have been replaced by large swaths of yellow ones. Beijing, Shandong, Hebei, Gansu, Shaanxi, and other regions have all adopted similar decorations, sparking intense public debate. Some netizens bluntly remarked, it looks like a funeral. Beijing has turned yellow. This doesn't feel auspicious. In Chinese slang, the phrase, it's yellow, often means something has fallen through. A deal collapsed, a shop went bankrupt, a plan failed. So when yellow lanterns appeared everywhere just before the New Year, many people immediately associated them with that metaphorical meaning. Some went further, saying openly, if Beijing is hanging yellow lanterns, that means Beijing is about to go yellow. The party is about to go yellow. The emperor's dream is about to go yellow. Such comments spread rapidly, revealing how sensitive public opinion has become toward even symbolic changes in longstanding traditions. According to the traditional heavenly stems and earthly branches calendar, 2026 is the year of Bingwu, also known as the fire horse year. In folk belief, the element of fire signifies intense energy and volatility, and such years are often regarded as prone to upheaval. Since the cycle repeats every 60 years, collective memory associates previous Bingwu years with major turning points, sometimes even conflict or political transformation. This gave rise to speculation that replacing red with yellow lanterns was an attempt to avoid the so-called red horse, red goat calamity, a superstition that excessive fire energy might bring misfortune. Whether or not such theories hold water, what drew attention was the swift reversal. As public discussion intensified, Zhuozhou began urgently removing the newly installed yellow lanterns on the night of February 7th, just two days after they were put up. Lanzhou, Xi'an, and several other cities soon followed. Yellow lanterns cost more than red ones, yet they were dismantled almost immediately. The installation and removal not only resulted in financial waste, but also left the impression of a rushed and poorly considered decision, more like an awkward episode than a carefully planned urban design. But the lantern controversy is only the surface. What troubles many people more deeply is the economic chill surrounding this year's holiday season. In previous years, factories ran overtime before Lunar New Year, orders piled up, and markets were packed. This year, many small business owners use one phrase, a cliff-like drop. One shopkeeper lamented that he used to earn several thousand yuan a day with ease. Now he makes barely over a thousand. Rent, warehouse fees, and wages remain fixed expenses. Revenue no longer covers costs, and some days he is effectively paying out of pocket just to keep the doors open. Another netizen shared that his boss's frozen food store once generated daily sales in the tens of thousands of yuan. Now, some days bring only a few hundred. By mid-month, he was laid off because the shop could no longer afford salaries. A family that has run a grocery store for more than 20 years said business this year has plunged dramatically. Goods simply are not moving. Even industries traditionally considered immune during the pre-holiday rush are feeling the cold. Hair salons, normally packed before New Year, are strangely quiet. No matter how much people tighten their belts, they still have to get a haircut, right? One owner asked. Yet even this basic service has seen customers delay or disappear. Car washes are not busy. Rural markets are visibly thinner in crowds. Many stalls in township farmers' markets remain vacant, even as the holiday draws near. In one town, around 6.50 a.m., numerous market stalls still sat empty. This is a relatively large township with a sizable population. Yet the contrast with previous years is stark. Elderly farmers bring vegetables they have grown themselves, laboring all day and earning less than 20 yuan. Some carry produce into the city, only to find that sales do not even cover transportation costs. The most vulnerable segments of society are bearing the brunt of the downturn. On major streets and in shopping malls, there is no longer the usual congestion. Shops are open and lights are on, but the shopping atmosphere has evaporated. People walk faster, browse less, pass by rather than step in. Restaurants, gift shops, fruit stores, once the busiest places at this time of year, now wait quietly. A phrase circulating among brick-and-mortar owners captures the mood. People are still here, but the money is gone. The Lunar New Year is supposed to be the moment to harvest the year's gains, the one opportunity for many small businesses to make up for lean months. When even the peak season turns bleak, the concern shifts from profit to survival. The yellow lanterns may have been taken down, but the sense of going yellow, a kind of collapse and failure, continues to haunt many. At a time that should be a golden opportunity to offset a year of hardship, the silence only deepens the anxiety. It is not that the streets are empty of people, but that willingness to spend has vanished. And when consumption, the most vital link in everyday economic life, weakens. The chill is felt not only on the streets, but in the hearts of those struggling to keep their shop lights on until the very end. Your feedback matters. Share your views in the comments. If this content resonated with you, we invite you to share it with your network. Your continued support empowers us to pursue independent, high-quality journalism. Subscribe and like to stay up to date with Decoding China. Thank you for watching.