Four Prophetic Lines Came True! Half of China Is Submerged in Water!

Karmic retribution descending? Half of China is submerged in water. Four prophetic lines from an ancient text all came true. The more you work, the more you lose. 300 million Chinese born in the 1980s-90s quit their jobs and sleep on the streets. 8,000 yuan for a whole apartment. China's housing market hits cabbage prices. Haigang used to be the punchline. A criminal police officer reveals the dark side of the CCP's public security, procuratorate, and courts. Zhang Yuxia and Liu Zhenli stripped of rank and NPC seats after half a year in the black box. Welcome to Redwall, where we examine major world events with clarity, context, and thoughtful analysis. Karmic retribution descending? Half of China is submerged in water. Four prophetic lines from an ancient text all came true. Shop floors are gone. Stock and cash went with the water. After the latest typhoon, southern China stayed under rain. Guangxi's flood zone widened. More than 54,000 people have been moved. Many of them still flinch when they wake. Last month, the same province took days of rain, unannounced reservoir releases, and dam failures. Families say they now live afraid that the next time they open their eyes, the house will be moving. This season has felt personal. White dolphins seemed bound for Japan, then bent back toward China. Shidel is doing the same. After it swallowed typhoon Aishani, it did not weaken. Satellite images show the cloud shield fatter by a full ring. One commenter called it a buy-one-get-one. Aishani's leftover moisture charged Shidel. Destroy whoever it meets, another wrote. Fujian is already wet from the last storm. Reservoirs started dumping before Shidel arrived. Ningde opened early. Fuching scheduled gates. In Guangxi, floodwater from typhoon Zitan has not gone down. Quanzhou, still soggy, was nicknamed Springzhou. The next landfall window is the same night-to-morning stretch. Since June, the script has been the same. Rain, flood, drain, recover, rain, again. In some cities, the first thought is no longer whether it will rain. It is where it will pond. That is the part that does not wear off. If the same streets drown next year, the problem is not only the sky. It is whether anyone in charge learned anything after the last one. People salvage, wait, and endure. Calling China a typhoon nest is still a joke. Flooding on cue, year after year, is not. On August 23, Naban Reservoir, one of Guangxi's three big ones, opened its gates. Fangchenggang and Chongzuo went under. Videos show city blocks as open water. People sat hungry for a full day with no crew in sight. Low-walled districts vanished. Residents spent the night hauling what they could up stairwells. Henan is in the same file. Locals say a discharge gate at Boshan Reservoir in Guishan County, Zhumadian, has been running for more than two weeks. Downstream, Anhui opened the Menghua Flood Retention Area and put four townships underwater. Almost no official notice followed. What people face now is not only the flood. Power is out. Taps are dry. Roads are cut. Houses are wrecked. Crops are gone. Many cannot go home. Official rescue has been late, so neighbors run their own boats free rides for people, drinking water, and rice. At Hemming Chicken Farm, the water had been back for nearly 48 hours. I haven't received any response from any department, the owner said. There's nowhere to complain. Our whole family has nothing to eat or drink. In another village, bags were already packed. Whatever needs to be carried is being carried. Beijing's own August risk note said rivers in the Yangtze, Huai, Hai, and Pearl basins could still top warning levels. That is more than half the country still in play. In places already flooded, the first water never left before the next rain and upstream pulse arrived. A second peak is what people mean when they say the disaster is everywhere. A woman in Guangxi said that on the 24th, the water had almost taken her first floor. No water. No power. A dying signal. She climbed to the fourth floor before the phone found a bar. In other compounds, the river backed into courtyards and first floors sat underwater. After the official teams failed to show, residents ran small boats themselves for the elderly, for flour, for bottled water. In some counties, the roads, the phones, and the stores all went at once. While the clips piled up, users pulled an old farming almanac, the Times' Di Mu Jing times the classic of the Earth Mother, and the entry for a bingwu year. 2026 is bingwu. Both characters belong to fire. The year is also called the Red Horse Year. The text reads, In the Tai Sui bingwu year, spring and summer bring much flooding. Planting is suitable on high ground. Low-lying sources will be washed away by water. The Times' Kangsheng Zhenzhengji times says nearly the same. Waters surge and roar. Plant high. Low fields go under. Celestial insects' mouths are like knives. The last bingwu year was 1966 major Yangtze flooding. Before that, 1906, catastrophic water across the south. Before that, 1846, widespread floods in the north. Whether anyone treats the verses as forecast or coincidence, the rule on the ground is not complicated. Do not gamble with the water. Do not stay for furniture. Move the old, the children, and anyone who cannot run before the flood is in the room. In the hills, watch for torrents, mud, and slides. The party opened gates without warning and left people waiting two days for a boat. The Almanac is an old book. The empty and irresponsible official CCP response is this year's. The more you work, the more you lose. 300 million Chinese born in the 1980s-90s quit their jobs and sleep on the streets. Job hunting is making me sick. One man looked every day, then passed an interview and did not want to go. Others in the thread said the same. In Guangzhou, the pattern is sharper. Large numbers of people born in the 1980s and 1990s have stopped sending resumes, skipped fairs, and closed the apps. It is not a slogan about lying flat. They ran the numbers and decided a full-time job leaves them poorer. 10,000 yuan a month in Guangzhou sounds decent until insurance, the commute, and meals come out. Add a mortgage, school fees, and the household, and there is almost nothing left. Many jobs are not 9 to 6. Two hours on the road. Messages after hours. Weekend calls. Time, health, and family get spent for a return that shrinks the longer they stay. So they live on savings for a stretch or take odd work. They are cutting losses. Guangzhou has fewer fat professional posts than Beijing, Shanghai, or Shenzhen. Factories, services, and mid-sized traders dominate. By 35, 20,000 a month is often the ceiling. Housing and schools are not much cheaper than in the other first-tier cities. Age is the other wall. Workers born after 1985, who spent a decade in management or tech, expected their files to open doors. Recruitment systems screened them out on birth year. Interviews cooled when the numbers showed. Younger staff cost less, last longer on overtime, and do not argue. Experience that used to raise a wage now counts as a surcharge. Small firm culture does the rest. Family talk. Loyalty speeches. All-day meetings. People who lived through boom bonuses and the crash smile and say nothing. A workplace blogger described a chamber event in 2023. Owners of firms doing tens of millions a year sat with a retired executive. How hard is another million in sales? Very. Net margin? About 10%. So a million in sales is 100,000 yuan profit, the cost of one employee. Cut 200 staff to 50, and you have booked 15 million. The blogger said firms used to hide that arithmetic. With the economy slowing, they say it out loud. Tencent and Alibaba used to publish higher targets. They stopped. The numbers, she thought, are too small to show. People who step out are not vanishing. One woman quit after her best friend did. A livestream seller now studies pottery in Jingdezhen. A 985-finance graduate lasted two days at an internship and coaches badminton. None of them are going hungry. When I had a job, I was anxious every day. Not working feels amazing. I live like a plant. The walk-off is spreading to the 2000s. A young woman on Douyin warned others off Guangdong factories. 10 yuan an hour. Started at 2pm. Off at 10. Agent gone. 7th floor dorm. No elevator. 6 to a room. A cloth for a bathroom door. 200 yuan deposit she would lose if she left. She cried and stayed. A blogger said some are not lazy. They are emptied. Poor homes taught them their needs do not count. Criticism without praise taught them not to try. Doing nothing hurts less than failing again. Then a case hit Weibo. Southern Metropolis Daily Times and others reported that Mr. Yang, 30, jobless and in online debt, ate cookies for 10 days, then water for 10 more. On day 21, he collapsed in Shenzhen with kidney failure. Dialysis in Jiangxi burned off what vitamin B1 he had left. Doctors at Zhejiang University's first affiliated hospital found Wernicke encephalopathy. He nearly went blind. A man in our village also starved to death, someone in Zhejiang wrote. The statistics bureau probably wouldn't count him. In 2023, Peking University's Zhang Dandan put real youth joblessness at 46.5%. The piece vanished. Promoted to associate dean, she now calls flexible work a benefit. Online, the reply was, she used to talk about work. Now she talks about a life people were forced into. A scholar put more than 200 million in that grey zone delivery, gigs, 10-hour rides, because no firm will sign a real contract. That is not freedom. It is survival math. The party still needs the industrial engine at full speed. The people who used to run it have done the same calculation and stepped off. 8,000 yuan for a whole apartment. China's housing market hits cabbage prices. Hegang used to be the punchline. It is not the only one anymore. In Guangdong, people now talk about coastal hegang. In Guizhou, so-called coast guard housing that listed at 1.1 million yuan is offered at 180,000. Landlords dump units and find no buyers. Occupancy in some of those projects sits under 10%. Abandoned blocks sit empty. In Wuhan, a unit that sold for 800,000 is listed at 160,000. A friend bought 98 square meters at the end of year two for 1.1 to 1.2 million. Less than four years later, 170,000 yuan listings have shown up. There are about 60,000 units in that cluster. The fear is not a 100,000 yuan trim. It is a house that sits for years, with no one walking through the door. Then Baoji, downtown Chengkang district, once Shaanxi's second city. A top-floor one-bedroom listed at 8,000 yuan. Not a down payment. Not a monthly note. The whole apartment. Unfinished villas stretch across courtyards. If you hadn't slapped your forehead and bought in 2017 or 2018, one local said, you would have saved yourself 20 years. Buyers from out of town are taking the train to pick up old walk-ups for 20,000 to 60,000 and call it a retirement plan. Huizhou coastal police housing fell from 12,000 yuan a square meter to under 1,000. 800 more than 85 percent. For the next three years, do not buy, one voice said. Light losses wreck you. Heavy losses wipe you out. Sites show rusted tower cranes and eight unfinished towers around an open pit. Projects that finished still did not sell. The mortgage stories are the same shape. Every month, more than 5,000 yuan for 30 years. A couple bought at the 2022 peak. Maybe the day I leave this world, I still won't have paid it off. In Shijiazhuang, a man counted 10-plus years of loans plus a car. Nearly 500,000 yuan against a local wage of 3 or 4,000 a month. I've already ruined my health. In Shanghai, one family sold their only apartment and lost more than a million. In Zhengzhou, a million-yuan purchase is down more than a million on paper. Another Shanghai buyer put 800,000 down on a 3-million unit in 2020, borrowed 2.2 million, renovated to 3.5 million, paid 400,000 over five years and the place is worth 2 million. Sell and the remaining loan does not clear. Keep it and work for the bank another 25 years. This isn't buying a house. This is bringing a living ancestor home. Zhengzhou's Xinbei district has 20-year-old towers that already look spent. A Hainan Seaview community planned for more than 5,000 households has occupancy under 10% in season, 700 yuan rents a month and a stretch of beach. Shops on the commercial street are mostly shuttered. On Wuhan's Fourth Ring, a delivery driver said, keep the cash for food and rent. Empty units are everywhere. In Gedeon, on the city's east edge, whole apartments go for 40,000 yuan, about 659 a square meter. Across the road at Yinao Garden, 50,000 or 60,000 buys a pick of units. Four phases were built. Almost no outdoor AC sleeves have machines in them. A county town buyer borrowed 1.17 million. Five years later, 1.1 million is still owed. The house is worth 700,000, salary 6,500, mortgage 5,080. Interest alone is 3,000 a month. He will be 57 when the term ends. In one coastal stretch, dozens of new-looking towers, shops dark, lights at night countable on one-hand occupancy is called under 5%. Seaview units are advertised at 80,000 with no real market. One owner sold at 430,000 after listing above a million. The owner's group called it smashing the market. Agents had walked him from 600,000 to 450,000 before a buyer appeared. A broker with more than 1,000 names on file said messages now die. Every complex is stacked with second-hand stock. Lushan in Shandong, Changshou in Chongqing, Qianjiang in Hubei, Huainan in Anhui, Hebei in Hebei have all been labeled new Hegangs. Media count 24 of them. Qingyun, sold as same city as Guangzhou, peaked above 10,000 a square meter and now sees 150,000 yuan units. Zhang Jiekou's GDP ranked last in Hebei in 2025. The population fell about 100,000 in five years. Houses under 100,000 yuan are common. Hegang is no longer a one-city story. Inside first-tier maps, Hegang-style districts have already opened. A criminal police officer reveals the dark side of the CCP's public security, procuratorate, and courts. On August 23, ex-account Lawrence Jingwei circulated a piece titled Times a Criminal Police Officer's Exposure of the Filth Inside the Public Security System. The writer said he started in special police, moved to a squad, and ran cases in a fairly standard way. He had used a VPN for years. He was a small catcher, he wrote. But he had been inside long enough. In 2024, an intentional injury file landed on his desk. A father beaten into serious injury. It was supposed to move. Then it stopped. An order from above. We couldn't really ask questions. Word in the office was the attacker had found connections. The case was brushed off. That same year, a colleague hungry for promotion took a rape complaint. The woman's times and places did not line up. No camera, no semen. He brought the accused in, cuffed him behind the back, ringed him with big men, and shouted. The man said she had asked a favor, then confessed feelings. He had a girlfriend and said no. She called it rape. The colleague exploded, emptied the man's pockets, and acted ready to hit him. The man folded. Whatever you say. Statement. Signature. Fingerprint. Detention. Five years. Everyone in the squad knew it was wrongful. That, the writer said, is how numbers get padded. Pick ordinary people with no money and no power. They do not know the holes, their rights, or where to complain. A friendly prosecutor looks away and sends it up. The court stamps the sentence. People who can hire real lawyers, who are educated, or whose families have officials are handled with care. Too many of those files, and the squad calls it bad luck. Procuratorates and courts will not cover you. If you want to avoid being treated unfairly, he wrote, don't appear weak or ignorant. Show strength, knowledge, connections, and money. Otherwise, it is very easy to be beaten and suffer inside. Facts get reversed. When a case will not close, the paperwork still says the facts are clear. Testimony is manufactured. Interrogation confessions are close to torture, only now without visible marks. So complaints die. A squad leader once cursed a deputy for touching an acquaintance and never explained why. The writer said he now checks backgrounds first, then decides how hard to go. I have also harmed quite a few vulnerable people. There's no way around it. I also need performance numbers. Otherwise, I'll lose my job. He goes to Yingxu in Anyang to wash away my sins. Watching the innocent locked up and the connected walk, he wrote, is torment. Change cannot come soon enough. Netizens said they already knew. One named a judge surnamed Xia in Xuyang County, Sichuan, accused of manufacturing convictions with local outfits. More than 80% of public security, procuratorate and court officers in China are guilty. Former Shenzhen defense lawyer Zhou Junhong wrote that of every 10 criminal cases he saw, seven were wrongful and that the more totalitarian the CCP becomes, the more of them there are. He said that is why he wants the system gone. The petition offices are the other door. House church pastor Zhu Yiding, in a China aid piece, called them a uniquely bizarre patch on the party's so-called rule of law. They were sold as a fix when courts fail. In practice, they burn petitioners' time, money and hope, or hand them to police on picking quarrels charges. One official, he wrote, yelled, We are working for the party. Don't talk to us about the law. Even if we beat you to death, we won't suffer any punishment. Cues at court petition windows run longer than the lines to file a real suit. People do not trust the docket. They still line up for a document that never comes. That, Zhu wrote, is China's shame. The cops' question is the same as the lawyers'. If the people who write the files say the weak are livestock for quotas, connections are not a safeguard. They are the system. Zhang Yuxia and Liu Zhenli stripped of rank and NPC seats after half a year in the black box. The National People's Congress Standing Committee closed in Beijing on August 28, after meeting from the 25th. Xinhua said the session removed Zhang Yuxia as vice chairman of the state, Central Military Commission, and Liu Zhenli as a CMC member. Both men, along with Zhu Gansheng and Zhang Xiaojun, disappeared from the PLA and armed police deputy list. The military bloc fell from 237 names to 233. A search of the NPC website turned up none of the four. Zhao Leiji chaired the Chairman's Council on the 27th. Secretary General Liu Qi reported on deputy qualifications and on appointment and removal bills. The titles came off the next afternoon. Zhang and Liu had been announced under investigation on January 24 for serious violations of discipline and law. That night, the military paper accused them of trampling the CMC chairman responsibility system, endangering party control of the army. A second editorial on the 25th listed seven major crimes. Through several NPC sessions after that, their deputy status stayed on the books. Outsiders read the delay as a fight still running. On April 28, a retired NPC legal official using the name Zheng Zei told the Times, Epoch Times Times, that a review of deputy qualifications is the usual first step before a seat is canceled. Individual deputies, he said, means specific people are already in the machine. The names are just being held. The vague wording, unlike past open listings, signaled a black box that had not yet been opened. In the past, high officers lost NPC seats after a case went to military prosecutors or after expulsion from the party and the army. The updated list may mean Beijing intends to push Zhang and Liu further. In July, a source close to the military, Tang Zhejiang, told the same paper that CCDI and military inspectors had finished the files two months earlier. Generals were unhappy. For more than half a year, the CMC command chain was a mess. Documents issued with no one willing to sign. Morale on the floor. On July 16, U.S.-based commentator Chai Shengkun said Zhang had refused to confess. Then investigators used his son as leverage. Cai said Zhang finally admitted a plan to force Xi Jinping out, with backing from high party figures and some elders. Cai called the run-up to the 21st Party Congress wide open. One shock and the top could flip. Commentator Hang He said holding Zhang more than six months before touching the NPC seat itself shows how hard the case is for Xi. He has already lost popular support and support inside the party. More formalities will not help. Zhu Gansheng, former commander of the Strategic Support Force, missed the fourth plenum in October 2025 and the military delegation meetings in March 2026. He is now off the deputy list. Zhang Xiaojun, once Xi's secretary from the Zhejiang years and later director of the CMC general office for 11 years, vanished from public view after a quiet 2024 transfer to political commissar of National Defense University. Singapore's defense ministry posted photos of him meeting Chan Hengke in August 2025. The item was blocked inside China. By October, Xia Zhihui was listed as NDU commissar in Pyongyang. Cai said in December that Zhang had been arrested. The same NPC close also shuffled the civilian side. Xiao Pei and Fu Kui off the National Supervisory Commission. Zhao Shiyong and Zhang Zhong on. Shen Liang off the Supreme People's Court. Deng Guangsuo on. Fu Kui was separately co-opted onto the CPPCC. The military names are the ones that matter. After half a year of editorials, unsigned papers, and a missing command chain, the seats are gone. What the files actually contain is still not on the table. We value your perspective. Let us know your thoughts in the comments. If you found this report meaningful, please share it with others. Your support helps us continue delivering independent, fact-based analysis on global affairs. Subscribe and like to stay informed with Redwall. Thank you for watching!