The economy is collapsing, morals are fading, and food theft is now a daily routine.

As China's economy continues to decline, life has become harder than ever for ordinary people. The sense of shame is gradually fading. When morality no longer restrains behavior, people can easily fall into theft. Look closely at the girl in the video. She seems to be attentively searching for her order. But in reality, she's selecting the meal she wants to steal. Some people leave their motorbikes for just a few seconds, only to return and find that their food has been stolen. Two meals gone in a flash. Sometimes, because they forgot to turn on the camera, they couldn't record the moment the food disappeared. It's only when they reach the customer's building that they realize the order is missing, leaving them utterly demoralized. In one case, right after a delivery rider stepped away from his bike, another rider swiftly approached, expertly opened the delivery bag, and took out a meal. It's not just individual theft anymore. There are now cases of organized group theft. One person scouts ahead, and another rides in on a motorbike to coordinate the heist. The thief isn't always a passerby. It could even be a fellow delivery worker. Are you starving? Or just lacking something else? Now, society is full of this kind of lawlessness. If society is like this, then fine. You can steal from shops, but you can't steal from delivery riders. Do you know how much we make per order? Just 3.5 yuan. If you steal one meal, we lose tens of yuan. We still have parents and kids to support. One order earns just 3.5 yuan. Each delivery pays only 3.5 yuan, and we still have to climb stairs. Fifth floor? Sixth floor? You really can't do this? Then give it back to me. Return it to me. I'm sorry. There are even more outrageous cases. An office worker was caught stealing someone else's food, got fired, and yet showed no remorse. The next day, she brought her parents to the company and caused a huge scene. According to the person who filmed the video, the incident occurred around 10 a.m. The little fairy barged into the company president's office with her parents and older brother. Sensing trouble, the president immediately called in six security guards and two legal affairs officers. What's worth noting is that the girl didn't mention stealing food. Instead, she claimed she had taken the meal by mistake, thinking it was hers, even though she hadn't placed any order that day. As for the spilled coffee, she said it was an accident. But everyone knew the truth since the office had surveillance cameras. This time, when she came to the company, she made two demands. First, that her co-worker apologize for falsely accusing her and compensate her for emotional and reputational damage. Second, that the company compensate her for wrongful dismissal. But the president firmly refused and declared, if this chaos continues, the company would immediately report her to the police for crimes such as theft, destruction of company property, defamation, and disturbing public order, any one of which would be enough to warrant detention. When she realized she couldn't get her way, the little fairy put on a full-blown act, complete with supporting actors. She played the female lead while her parents were the featured co-stars. She screamed and cried like a soprano. Her father collapsed on the floor, claiming to feel unwell, and her mother even tried to jump out the window. But here came the farce. The office windows were electronically sealed due to the heat, so they were tightly shut. Her mother struggled to open one and finally managed to crack it slightly. She tried to lift her leg up to climb out but got stuck in the window frame, unable to go up or down. The scene was total chaos. The daughter wailing, the father collapsed, and the mother frozen mid-jump, one leg dangling from the window. There's a video showing a delivery rider dropping off an order. Not long after he leaves, another rider comes along and casually steals the freshly delivered meal. Unbelievable! Delivery riders nowadays aren't just delivering food. They're stealing each other's orders, too. At first, a man delivered a green bag. Then he seemed to call someone and noticed a table with several meals on it. He picked up a bowl of porridge ordered by one of our colleagues, looked up to check for surveillance cameras, and walked away with it. We started investigating to see whose order was in the green bag and tracked down the original delivery rider. Eventually, we found out the food was meant for an employee in the neighboring building, but the rider either took it by mistake or on purpose. This delivery guy not only stole food but also delivered the wrong order. Absolutely absurd! What kind of hiring standards do these delivery apps even have? It's not just people. Now even dogs and cats are stealing food. Hungry? They catch a whiff of something delicious and swoop in. Baguette sponge cake. Smells amazing. Oh, man, it's heavy. Hope no one sees me. A few days ago, a streamer wanted a healthy breakfast and ordered delivery. The rider called and said the food was left in the yard. A few minutes later, the streamer went down and found nothing. Furious, assuming someone had stolen it. But when he checked the camera, he saw an adorable little dog walking off with his meal in its mouth, happily wagging its tail. A few steps later, the white dog couldn't resist the smell of the sponge cake, sat down, and started gobbling it up right there. To be fair, it did leave the streamer two pieces. The streamer told his followers that next time he caught the little thief, he'd teach it a lesson it'd never forget. And sure enough, a week later, he spotted it again. As soon as it saw him, the dog had a clearly guilty look on its face. The streamer showed it the video of it stealing food, and the dog immediately rolled onto its back, belly up, pretending to be cute, avoiding eye contact like it was saying, I was wrong. I was so upset I had to share this. That day, I ordered two meals, which arrived just minutes apart. The first rider called, but I was busy, so I asked him to leave the food at my door. When I went out a few minutes later, only one meal was there. I was confused. Who would steal a meal in a residential area? It wasn't even expensive. The last time something like this happened was back in my college dorm, where food theft was common. But in a residential neighborhood, it felt unacceptable. I contacted the first rider, who confirmed he had dropped off the food. Then I checked the second rider's delivery photo. My first meal was already missing. Suspicious, I went to the building security office to check the CCTV footage. There was a blind spot, but when the second rider came down, he was holding a bag that looked like my missing meal. It didn't make sense. Why take anything back down? I called him, trying to stay calm. I asked if he took anything by mistake. He said no. I asked how many bags he brought up. He said one. Then I asked why he had two when coming down. He started stammering and couldn't answer. Something was clearly wrong. At that moment, I was still in the security office. The guard couldn't hold back and said, the camera clearly shows his face and what he did. If he won't admit it, we'll call the police. Still, the delivery guy wouldn't confess. I was angry, but also afraid of revenge. So I just asked him to pay for the meal and told him, don't do things like this again. Honestly, it's really disturbing. These people know where you live, so even when you're standing up for your rights, you're scared of retaliation. There are even more cunning cases. Without surveillance cameras, they'd be almost impossible to detect. A video blogger shared, I've seen people steal food deliveries before, but this was the first time I caught an L.E.M.E. rider doing it. I ordered a K-22 milkshake. The rider pretended to deliver it, took a photo to mark it as completed, then took the drink back. Once the order's marked complete, it legally belongs to the customer. Taking it is theft, plain and simple. Thankfully, my smart lock camera recorded everything. Without that footage, I'd have no proof. What's happening to this society? People like this are everywhere now. And to those who steal food, if you think the address is too far, don't accept the order. Don't steal other people's meals. If you're hungry, just say so. I'll give you something to eat, but don't take it and fail to deliver, then pass the order to another driver. My two surveillance cameras couldn't even catch you. Seriously? Didn't an order get stolen last time too? That's why this time, I specially bought a large locked container and a small padlock. This way, when I step away to deliver, I can lock it up, so the next order will be safe when I return. I'm off to deliver now, locked and super secure. I'll be back soon. I'm back. Whose bike is this? Oh, it's mine. In today's China, hunger and hardship are no longer distant fears. They're daily realities. Millions are out of work, savings are vanishing, and hope is wearing thin. With every factory that shuts down, another family falls into crisis. Desperation is quietly spreading, pushing ordinary people toward unthinkable choices. Theft, scams, and petty crimes are no longer rare. They're becoming routine. When survival is at stake, morals blur and society begins to fracture. This isn't just an economic downturn, it's a human unraveling in real time. What we're witnessing is not just poverty, but the breakdown of trust and dignity. And in the silence of censorship, these quiet tragedies multiply. Unseen. Dead-end economy. Broken dreams. China's collapse in 2025. This life alone has drained every ounce of energy from me. Decades of struggle, and all I have to show for it are invisible wounds. I saw a piece of news recently that broke me. They're still preaching about stimulating the economy, rolling out more hollow policies, but no one's listening anymore. Faith is gone. The truth is simple. It's harder to survive than it is to eat. Only government workers seem untouched. If you're a civil servant pulling in a few thousand yuan a month, you're considered lucky. For the rest of us, just being alive feels like a win. I left my hometown in Jiangxi for Guangdong, chasing the dream. It's been over a month. I haven't found a job, haven't eaten in 24 hours, and I don't even have money for a bus ride home. Look around. Broken pipelines, rusted buildings, a society falling apart. Middle-aged men look like ghosts, bent, thin, and hollow-eyed. Some beg for a single yuan. When people start kneeling in the streets, you know something is truly broken. I'm a college graduate, born after 2000. I dreamed of office jobs and careers. Now I deliver food for a living. I sleep under overpasses with grandmas and young women alike. The dream of a home has been replaced with concrete pillars and cold wind. So many are fighting every single day just to breathe. The harder you work, the heavier the anxiety. People who do everything right, study, work, save, still can't see a way out. In Guangdong, even minimum wage jobs are vanishing. Crowds are heading back to their home provinces. Just today, 10 buses left for Hubei, packed with the defeated. I have parents and a child to support. I hold a master's degree from a 211 university, but I've hit the wall. I'm going home too. People are pawning everything, houses, cars, fridges, even smartphones. The only growth left is food delivery and bottled tea. People order food not because they want to, but because hunger won't wait. Every day feels like a staged drama. They used to lie with a smile. Now they don't even bother. This isn't some dramatic headline. It's the raw truth millions in China are living under as the economy crumbles around them. Under the CCP's rule, hope has vanished. The only thing that matters now is making it to tomorrow. The collapse is visible everywhere. Factories are shutting down, companies are going bankrupt, and pink slips are being handed out like flyers. College graduates can't find work. People in their 40s and 50s are being laid off with nowhere to go. Entire cities feel like they're holding their breath, waiting for the next hit. Some can't even afford a basic meal. The physical hunger is real, but the emotional toll may be even worse. Economists warn this isn't just a recession. It's a social breakdown in slow motion, and it's only getting started. This could be the beginning of the end for a corrupt and heartless regime. But the government's still painting a fantasy. They proudly announce a 5.3% GDP growth in the first half of the year and declare major victory. That brief lie was enough to give the A-shares market a sugar high until it crashed again. The truth? Nearly 4,700 companies are in the red, less than 700 show gains. Bravo, my country! People scoff bitterly online. In Shenzhen, job hunting feels like trying to catch smoke. Temporary roles are flooded with summer students who are willing to work for 8 or 9 yuan an hour. The agencies prefer them. They're young, cheap, and don't complain. For adults without specific skills, it's a nightmare. For the past two months, we've been surviving day by day, counting every coin, skipping meals, wondering how to stretch nothing into something. There's no plan anymore, no future, just wandering aimlessly. Many now sleep on park benches or under bridges. If I had known this would be my life, I would have never left my rural hometown. The pain, the exhaustion, it's crushing. Young people aren't just struggling. Some are dying from despair. The other day, I saw a man dragging his feet along the sidewalk. His leg was swollen, clearly injured, and he looked like he hadn't eaten in days. He wasn't begging. He was still trying to find a job. Someone nearby saw him and said, come in, have a meal. He stepped inside, sat in the air conditioning, and slowly ate his first food in days. His total earnings? 10 yuan a day. If there's no job, there's no meal. I'm 21, a fresh graduate. I thought a degree would open doors. Instead, I've been pushed into a city I don't know, alone, willing to take anything just to stay afloat. There's no safety net, just survival. And that's the story of China in 2025. I can't take it anymore. A glimpse into the brutal life inside China's factories. Sisters, I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. Every day, I'm trapped on the assembly line from 8 in the morning till 9, or even 10 at night. That's 13 hours in the factory, minus 2 hours for meals, still 11 hours of non-stop labor. My hands don't stop moving, and the pain has spread through my entire body. I feel like a machine that's about to fall apart. We only eat at 11 a.m., then it's back to work at 12 p.m., and the moment the clock hits 12, the machines roar again. We grind until 5 p.m., and then we're told there's more, more overtime, more hours, more pain. I thought I could finally go home at 8. They made us stay till 10. It's like working on a conveyor belt straight from hell. Non-stop products, no room to breathe, no humanity. I want to quit so badly. But after a few days of work, part of me doesn't want to waste the pain. So I push through. One more month, I tell myself. Even the overtime pay doesn't make up for this torment. My hands are swollen. I can barely lift my arms. And the worst part? The humiliation. I forgot to write one report, and the factory supervisor screamed at me, in front of everyone. I've only been here for five days. You got yelled at by your boss, so you took it out on me? Does that make you feel powerful? Is bullying a new management style? You shouted again and again, as if I wasn't even human. Just because I'm new, just because I'm a girl, just because you thought I wouldn't fight back. This is happening in Guangzhou, China's pride of economic reform, the city once ranked third in the nation's GDP. But the miracle is fading. In 2024, Guangzhou's GDP growth fell to 2.1%, barely ahead of last place. Nearby Foshan hit rock bottom at just 1.3%. Factories here are offering 6 yuan per hour for student workers. That's less than a dollar. The recruiter said coldly, everyone gets 6 yuan. Take it or leave it. If you want more, find another boss. Online, people are outraged. Many say the labor market in Guangdong has regressed 20 years. But the truth is, this is the new normal. China's manufacturing engine is sputtering and workers are paying the price. Today, we're pulling back the curtain. This is the raw reality of working in a Chinese factory. One day feels like a week inside China's factory life. No one dares to talk about today is Xiaonan's first day stepping into the factory gates. He's broke, desperate, and determined not to run away, no matter how brutal it gets. He's here to earn his first pot of gold. But he has no idea what's waiting for him on the other side of that swipe-in card reader. Waking up before the sun, we drag our bodies to the gate, slippers in hand, entering what feels less like a workplace and more like a test of human endurance. The factory looks massive, cold, and emotionless. Can I really survive this? Swipe in, change into slippers. Clock starts ticking. From morning till noon, every second crawls by. By lunchtime, it feels like I've aged half a year. But this is just the beginning. After a short meal in the canteen, thank God the food's okay, we're thrown back into the production line. I don't know how long I can take this. Finally, when night falls and I clock out, it feels like I've lived through a week. One single day in the factory is like time in a pressure cooker. It warps, stretches, and breaks you. Somewhere else, a girl from Anhui is facing the same nightmare. Her mornings don't start with an alarm clock. They begin with the haunting reminder of her monthly paycheck, or the lack of one. Up at 6.40 a.m., she rushes to avoid losing an hour's pay. One minute late, and that hour's gone. No excuses. She doesn't live in the dorm. That means a 15-minute battery bike ride, wind in her face, exhaustion in her bones. By 7.40, she's already in the factory locker room, throwing on her uniform, bracing for another mind-numbing 14-hour shift. From 8 a.m. to 10 p.m., the grind never stops. Lunch is staggered. If you're lucky, you get the second batch. Fewer people, less chaos. After eating, she sneaks 40 minutes of sleep in some forgotten corner of the factory. That's the only peace she'll get all day. All of this, for 200 yuan a day. Sounds decent? Think again. The day starts with a discipline meeting. Code for being publicly scolded. They say half your wage is for the work. The other half? For being yelled at. She works the inspection line. Every product must be checked, stamped, placed perfectly. No room for error. Just when she tries to sip water, the supervisor floats by like a ghost. Watching everything. Eating or drinking. Forbidden. Last week, someone got fired and fined 200 yuan just for eating ice cream. You're constantly tiptoeing around rules, scared of the next punishment. Make one mistake placing products, and others on the line start yelling. The work is repetitive. Robotic. From morning till 10 at night, you don't own a single minute of your time. On day two, she already feels broken. She doesn't want to get up. Her body aches. Her shoulders scream from repeating the same action thousands of times. She's not used to being surrounded by strangers, even though some co-workers are kind. They invite her to sit at lunch, teach her the ropes. But she still eats alone, in the corner, because solitude feels safer.