Honestly, it’s hard to look at a photo of Yu Menglong—the man everyone called "Alan Yu"—without feeling a bit of a chill lately. He had this ethereal, almost translucent quality on screen. You’ve seen it. Whether he was playing the aloof Ninth Prince in Go Princess Go or the gentle physician Xu Xian in The Legend of White Snake, he always looked like he belonged to another century.
Then came September 11, 2025.
One day he’s a massive star with 25 million followers; the next, his studio is issuing a brief, cold statement confirming he fell from a building in Beijing. He was only 37. The official word was an accidental fall due to intoxication. But if you spend more than five minutes on the Chinese internet—or what’s left of the discussions after the censors got to them—you’ll realize almost nobody is buying that simple explanation.
The Xinjiang Boy Who Became the Face of Ancient China
Yu Menglong wasn’t born into a showbiz family. He grew up in Ürümqi, Xinjiang. His mother actually named him after a phrase from a Chiung Yao novel, Hazy Moon And Hazy Bird. It’s a poetic name that, looking back, feels strangely prophetic.
He took the long road to fame.
He started out behind the scenes, directing music videos before he ever really stood in front of a professional camera as an actor. He tried out for Super Boy twice—once in 2010 and again in 2013. He didn't win. He didn't even come close the first time. But that second run landed him in the Top 10, and suddenly, he was a face people recognized.
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Why the Public is Obsessed with the Yu Menglong Case
The reason Yu Menglong has become such a lightning rod in 2026 isn't just about his acting. It’s about the silence. Within hours of his death in Chaoyang, Beijing, the police closed the case. No criminal suspicion. Move along.
But then the internet did what it does best.
Stories started leaking about a dinner party with "17 individuals." People started talking about a broken window on the fifth floor of a luxury apartment. Then there was the censorship. Weibo deleted over 100,000 posts. They suspended 15,000 accounts just for asking questions. When the government tries that hard to bury a story, the public usually assumes they're hiding a body—literally and figuratively.
- The "Accident" Narrative: Official reports say he was drinking and tripped.
- The Apartment Mystery: The property was allegedly owned by a well-connected figure in the art world.
- The Censor Storm: Even words that sounded like his name were banned for a while.
Basically, Yu has become a symbol of something much bigger than a TV career. He's become the face of a movement demanding transparency in an industry often shrouded in shadow.
His Most Essential Performances (Beyond the Controversy)
If you’re new to his work, you have to separate the tragedy from the talent. The man could act. He had this specific "Xianqi"—a celestial aura—that made him the first choice for any director filming a high-fantasy Xianxia drama.
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Eternal Love (2017) was probably his peak. He played Bai Zhen, the Fourth Prince of the Fox Tribe. He didn't need many lines. He just had to stand there looking elegant, and the audience was sold. He made the supernatural feel grounded.
Then you have The Legend of White Snake (2019). Playing Xu Xian is a rite of passage for many actors, but Yu brought a fragility to the role that made the romance with the snake demon feel genuinely high-stakes. It wasn't just another remake; it felt like he was playing the character’s soul.
He wasn't just a period-drama actor, though. He tried the modern workplace thing in Who’s Not Rebellious Youth and even a sports drama called Unstoppable Youth. Kinda hit or miss, honestly. He always felt a little too "regal" for a cubicle or a volleyball court. But he always put in the work.
The Music and the Directorial Dream
People forget he was a singer. His 2015 album Toy and his 2017 self-titled EP were actually decent. He had a soft, melancholic voice—the kind you listen to on a rainy night when you’re feeling a bit sorry for yourself.
His real dream?
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He wanted to be a film director by the time he hit 50. He had already directed the music video for "61 Seconds" by Deanna Ding and several of his own videos. He saw the world through a lens. That’s probably why his acting was so precise—he knew exactly how the light hit his face and how a slight tilt of the head changed the frame.
What’s Next for the Legacy of Yu Menglong?
As we move through 2026, the pressure isn't letting up. There are "psychic" divinations and "citizen investigators" claiming that a breakthrough is coming. Whether that's true or just wishful thinking from a grieving fanbase, it keeps his name in the search bars.
His last project, A Love Story of Oiled Paper Umbrella, became a bittersweet watch for fans. Seeing him on screen now feels different. It’s hard to enjoy the fiction when the reality of his departure is so messy and unresolved.
The best way to honor Yu Menglong isn't by fueling every wild conspiracy theory on Reddit, but by actually watching the work he left behind. He spent years trying to build a career that would last. The tragedy shouldn't be the only thing we remember.
If you want to understand why his loss hit the C-drama world so hard, go back and watch the early episodes of Go Princess Go. Look at the way he carries himself. He was a unique talent who was just starting to find his real voice before the silence took over.
Keep an eye on official international reports rather than just social media snippets. Real evidence often takes years to surface in cases this high-profile. For now, revisit his discography on streaming platforms to support his estate and keep his artistic legacy alive through the noise.