It was labeled an accident—until the shadows coughed up proof that screams murder.

Yu Menglong, the prince of eternal love who danced through xianxia dreams, tumbled from Beijing’s heights on September 11. A drunken slip, they said. But now? Leaked audios echo his final pleas, autopsy scars whisper of torture, and a vanished USB hides elite sins. Was it a fall… or a final shove from the powerful? Fans worldwide rage: the truth can’t stay buried.

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What was meant to be a swift closure to a celebrity tragedy has instead ignited a firestorm of doubt and defiance across China and beyond. On September 11, 2025, Yu Menglong— the 37-year-old actor whose brooding charm captivated millions in hits like Eternal Love—plummeted from the 17th floor of a luxury apartment in Beijing’s upscale Sunshine Upper East complex. Authorities wasted little time: within 12 hours, police declared it an accidental fall fueled by intoxication, ruling out foul play and urging the public to “mourn rationally.” Yu’s deregistered studio echoed the line, and by September 16, a statement purportedly from his mother reinforced the narrative: a tragic mishap after drinks, nothing more. But as whispers turned to roars online, a cascade of leaked evidence has upended the story, transforming a presumed accident into a potential homicide laced with allegations of assault, coercion, and high-level cover-up. With fans mobilizing global petitions surpassing 530,000 signatures and censors scrambling to contain the fallout, Yu’s death has become a litmus test for transparency in China’s opaque entertainment machine—and perhaps a window into darker power plays.

Born on June 15, 1988, in Ürümqi, Xinjiang, Yu Menglong (also known as Alan Yu) embodied the rags-to-red-carpet arc that fuels C-drama dreams. A high school standout at Beijing Contemporary Music Academy’s affiliate, he dipped into singing contests early—landing in the Top 16 of SMG’s My Show! My Style! in 2007 and vying on Hunan TV’s Super Boy in 2010—before pivoting to acting. His big break arrived with the 2014 family drama The Loving Home, but superstardom beckoned via 2017’s Eternal Love (or Three Lives Three Worlds, Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms), where he played a tormented prince opposite Yang Mi, racking up billions of streams on iQiyi and Tencent Video. The xianxia epic, blending romance, fantasy, and palace intrigue, grossed over $200 million and cemented Yu as a heartthrob with a velvet voice and piercing gaze. Follow-ups like the gender-flipped romp Go Princess Go (2015), which exploded with 10 billion views, and 2019’s Legend of the White Snake as the doomed Xu Xian, showcased his range—from comedic timing to soulful pathos.

By 2025, Yu’s portfolio brimmed with 20-plus projects, including the 2020 thriller The Inextricable Destiny and endorsements from Louis Vuitton to domestic skincare giants, swelling his net worth to an estimated $15 million. Off-screen, he was the introspective type: a Xinjiang native who championed Uyghur cultural festivals and quietly donated to earthquake relief in Sichuan. “Fame’s a mask; truth is in the quiet moments,” he mused in a 2022 Variety China profile, hinting at the industry’s undercurrents he navigated warily. That wariness, insiders now claim, may have sealed his fate.

The night of September 10 unfolded like a script from one of his darker roles. Yu, fresh from a low-key Bulgari Hotel dinner, arrived at Sunshine Upper East around midnight for what sources describe as a networking mixer with producers and influencers. Eyewitness accounts, pieced from deleted Weibo posts and VPN-circulated clips, paint a descent into chaos: heavy pours of baijiu, escalating tensions, and Yu—visibly unsteady—being “escorted” to a balcony by two unidentified men. At 4:17 a.m., his body hit the manicured lawns below, BAC clocking at 0.18%, clad in a bloodied Armani shirt. Paramedics confirmed death on-site from multiple blunt traumas; no note, no witnesses stepping forward initially.

Beijing’s Chaoyang District police moved fast: a September 11 bulletin dismissed criminality, and by September 21, three women were detained for “spreading rumors” of assault and elite involvement. One, a 40-year-old surnamed Zheng, had posted on forums alleging Yu was “set up by henchmen after resisting a big shot.” The crackdown fueled the flames: #JusticeForYuMenglong trended covertly on X and Telegram, amassing millions of veiled posts before firewalls tightened. Enter the evidence deluge, starting September 25 with a YouTuber’s screenshot of resident chats from Sunshine Upper East: “They paid us tens of thousands to zip it… threats if we talked,” one read, timestamped days after the fall.

The leaks escalated. On September 28, grainy CCTV—allegedly hacked from the complex—surfaced on overseas servers, showing Yu dragged limp from a hotel van, force-fed liquor en route. Audio snippets, purportedly from his phone’s final lock screen recording, captured gasps: “No, stop—they’ll kill me for this.” A bombshell text to his mother, leaked October 1 via a family friend’s WeChat: “Mom, they’re coming for me anytime. The USB has it all—don’t trust anyone.” The drive? Rumored to hold videos of coerced “accompaniments” at industry soirees, implicating Tianyu Media execs and “princelings”—offspring of CCP elites—in a web of exploitation.

Forensic firecrackers followed. An October 8 “autopsy report,” circulating on Koreaboo and 8 Days despite authenticity debates, detailed anomalies: pre-fall genital trauma, abdominal incisions suggesting a botched USB extraction, and ligature marks inconsistent with a solo plunge. “These scream assault, not accident,” forensic consultant Dr. Li Wei, speaking anonymously to Vision Times, analyzed. “Blunt force predates impact; toxicology shows sedatives beyond booze.” Echoes of 2016’s Kimi Qiao suicide—another Tianyu talent with similar “depression” rulings—amplified suspicions, with netizens dubbing it a “pattern of silenced stars.”

Taiwanese lawyer Yan Ruicheng torched the probe’s speed on October 2: “Impossible to clear in 12 hours—smacks of tampering.” He flagged cremation risks undermining autopsies and potential charges for evidence destruction if the USB exists. Leaked police files, dated September 13, hint at a prior molestation probe against Yu—bailed September 10—possibly a smear to discredit him post-mortem. Suspect lists ballooned: agent Du Qiang for “monitoring” duties; actors Fan Shiqi and Gao Taiyu for alleged complicity; even producer Cheng Qingsong, whose “delicious” Weibo post timed suspiciously. Broader ties? Whispers of military clans and Xi Jinping’s inner circle, per October 18 Vision Times exclusives, with censorship orders “from the top.”

The human toll mounts. Yu’s mother vanished mid-funeral prep October 5, resurfacing in a “coerced” video pleading calm. His sister launched a WeChat tip line, flooded with 500+ industry confessions of “the list”—a ledger of favors traded for roles. Vigils blend grief and grit: October 15 Shanghai rally of 5,000 waved lanterns etched with Eternal Love quotes; Taiwanese mentor Sun Derong’s October 17 soul ceremony in New Taipei drew rainbows and fish clouds, fans dubbing it Global echoes: SAG-AFTRA petitions observer status; BollywoodLife spotlights<grok:

Petitions surge—Avaaz’s hit 530,000 by October 20, demanding exhumation, CCTV release, and witness safeguards. X (formerly Twitter) pulses with resolve: Backlash bites: Fan Shiqi’s concert flopped at 15 tickets; boycotts tanked Gao Taiyu’s streams.<grok: Mango Super Media, a tangential investor, shed 29% shareholders post-scandal.

This isn’t isolated rot. China’s $50 billion entertainment sector, per 2023 Peking U data, sees 40% of young talents battling untreated depression amid “accompaniment” pressures—echoing #MeToo’s 2018 fizzles. Amnesty’s October report tallies 20+ unsolved celeb cases since 2010, from Zhao Wenzhuo’s “suicide” to Li Yifeng’s erasure. Xi’s “Clear Sky” purge banned 100+ for “lapses,” but critics like exiled Cai Shenkun call it selective theater. Foreign Policy notes the demoralizing impunity: “If stars vanish, what of us?”

As October 20 ticks on, task forces tease polygraphs and blockchain audits, but trust erodes. Actress Zhang Xiaomin’s acrostic poem—questioning Xi directly—was zapped instantly. A “Coder’s” dream of Yu’s spirit, shared October 18, urges: “Expose the wolves.” For the faithful, it’s personal: “He danced with destruction on screen; now we fight for his light off it,” one X user posted, clip of Yu’s White Snake leap attached.

Yu Menglong’s plunge—from balcony to battleground—mirrors a nation’s fraying illusions. In Xinjiang’s echoes and Beijing’s haze, his story demands: not just answers, but awakening. As a Putuo mural pleads,