On the morning of July 6, 2026, the tranquil rural landscape of Hengzhou City in China’s Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region was shattered by an extraordinary and unsettling event. Record-breaking heavy rains, driven by the force of Typhoon Maysak, battered the region—causing widespread flooding and a crisis that few could have anticipated: the mass escape of nearly 900 snakes, including venomous cobras, from a local snake farm.
According to multiple Chinese media outlets, including Global Times and CCTV, the deluge was so severe that reservoir embankments in Yunbiao Town’s Dengwei Village gave way, submerging large swathes of low-lying land. The snake farm, one of the region’s many, was inundated. The flooding not only destroyed the farm’s infrastructure but also allowed hundreds of snakes—kept for medicinal and leather industries—to slither out into the surrounding countryside and, in some cases, right into people’s homes.
Photos and videos rapidly circulated on Chinese social media platforms on July 8, showing snakes swimming through floodwaters, their sinuous bodies cutting through the muddy currents. In one particularly striking image, a cobra can be seen gliding across a submerged field, its hood raised—a chilling reminder of the dangers lurking beneath the surface.
“On the morning of the 6th, the flood swept away the farm, and it’s estimated that 800 to 900 snakes escaped,” said Wu Zhi, the Dengwei Village chief, in an interview with local media reported by Global Times. “So far, one resident has been bitten by a snake and is receiving emergency treatment at the hospital.” This account was echoed by several other outlets, including Hongxing News and Yonhap News, which confirmed that the bitten individual was rushed for urgent care.
The escaped snakes included not only cobras but also king rat snakes and water snakes, as confirmed by both residents and farm operators. While cobras are notorious for their potent venom, some of the other species are non-venomous. Still, the presence of any snake—let alone hundreds—in flooded villages has left locals on edge. “Many of the escaped snakes are water snakes without venom,” Wu Zhi told Hongxing News, “but everyone is being cautious.”
The crisis was compounded by the geography of the region. Guangxi, known as one of China’s largest snake-breeding areas, has historically housed up to 20 million snakes—about 70% of the country’s total farmed snake population at its peak, according to CCTV and Hongxing News. Farms are often located in low-lying or hillside areas, making them particularly vulnerable to flooding when typhoons strike. This time, the failure of two reservoir embankments led to rapid submersion of these snake facilities, and some villagers found themselves trapped by rising waters and the sudden appearance of snakes.
“Some residents trapped in flooded areas were bitten by snakes but couldn’t get timely medical treatment because the roads were blocked,” said a local resident, as reported by Hongxing News. The sense of isolation and danger was palpable, with villagers forced to wait for rescue teams while keeping a wary eye out for snakes in their makeshift shelters.
Amid the chaos, the community responded with remarkable determination. More than ten unaffected villagers spontaneously formed snake capture teams, donning boots and gloves to comb through flooded neighborhoods and fields. Their mission: to catch as many of the escaped snakes as possible and prevent further injuries. “We’ve organized ourselves to go house-to-house, searching for snakes,” explained one volunteer in an interview with CCTV. Their efforts were not only about safety but also about restoring a sense of control in a situation that felt, for many, like something out of a nightmare.
Local authorities, too, sprang into action. The Hengzhou City Emergency Management Bureau confirmed the incident and quickly dispatched rescue personnel to the affected areas. Their priorities were clear: evacuate residents in immediate danger, initiate snake capture operations, and stabilize the situation. “We are responding by sending rescue teams to the site,” a bureau spokesperson told Global Times. “The full extent of the damage will be officially announced later.”
Officials also issued urgent advisories to the public. Residents were told to stay indoors as much as possible and to report any snake sightings immediately. The message was simple but stern: don’t take risks, and let the professionals handle the situation. For those living in nearby villages, the warnings struck a chord. Memories of previous floods and the dangers they brought were still fresh, but the idea of venomous snakes on the loose was a new and deeply unsettling twist.
Not all the news was dire, though. Some snake farm operators, such as Mr. Lei, reassured the public that the situation, while alarming, might not be as catastrophic as it first appeared. “Snakes exposed to prolonged flooding are likely to die,” Lei told CCTV, suggesting that many of the escapees might not survive long outside their controlled habitats. He also noted that farms located on higher ground had been spared the worst of the flooding, and that most snakes in the region are adapted to forest environments, not days spent underwater.
Still, the immediate aftermath was grim. The floods themselves caused significant human tragedy, with at least four deaths and eight people reported missing in the region, according to Global Times. The snake escape was just one facet of a broader disaster that left hundreds displaced and local infrastructure in tatters.
For Guangxi, the incident has sparked new conversations about the risks of large-scale snake farming in flood-prone regions. With the industry so deeply intertwined with local economies—providing snakes for traditional medicine and the leather trade—finding a balance between economic benefit and public safety is a challenge that’s not going away any time soon.
As of July 8, the situation remained fluid. Emergency teams and local volunteers continued their search for escaped snakes, and the authorities were preparing to release a full report on the damage. For now, the people of Hengzhou City are left to pick up the pieces, hoping that the worst is over—and that the snakes, wherever they are, pose no further threat.