” The Frozen Truth: Is Alan Yu’s Body Hidden Beneath Qihao Art Museum ?”

A shocking claim has recently surfaced online, suggesting that the body of the late actor Alan Yu (Yu Menglong) has not been moved since his death. According to an alleged insider who works on Qihao Art Museum, Yu’s body remains stored in a refrigerated chamber beneath the museum, hidden from public eyes.

Reports said that shortly after the news of Yu’s death, both the Bulgari Hotel and the Qihao Art Museum abruptly closed their doors, reportedly to “clean the scene” and “erase all traces of evidence.”

“Stop guessing—Yu Menglong is here with us,”

claimed the insider.

He alleged that around 3:00 a.m. on September 11, Yan Shijie, director of the Hongchuan Art Museum, personally led a team who transported Yu’s body through a secret underground tunnel into Qihao Art Museum.

At that time, the body was reportedly covered only with a black cloth, and witnesses noticed purple rope marks around his ankles.

The insider stated that the body was not placed in the exhibition hall, but instead moved directly to Cold Storage No.14, located at Basement Level B4….a private vault typically used for Qihao’s confidential art collections.

Access to the vault, he said, required three separate keys and Yan Shijie’s infrared palm scan. All staff members were strictly prohibited from entering the B4 floor, with warnings of severe punishment for any violators.

The source further described that Yan Shijie stayed underground for two days and nights, accompanied by several individuals wearing white protective suits. When they finally left, the air was filled with the pungent stench of formaldehyde and disinfectant.

He added that these people were not medical professionals, but rather biological researchers, judging by their speech and behavior.

The whistleblower urged for immediate intervention, warning that Yu’s body could be turned into a specimen if nothing was done.

Adding to the intrigue, an anonymous post appeared online, echoing this claim:

“What my mother brought back was only a jar of public welfare material that we had prepared. The real person is safe and perfect…even more perfect than when alive.”

[ I interpret this as: the jar Alan Yu’s mother brought back to Xinjiang….believed to contain his ashes was not genuine.

It was merely a container prepared by those behind the scenes, a cruel deception to make people believe he had been cremated.

In truth, Alan’s real body remains intact and fully preserved, hidden away by those so-called “d3mons” who orchestrated everything.]

The poster’s identity remains unknown, but their statement aligns closely with the insider’s version, suggesting a possible link to those involved.

Meanwhile, Bulgari Hotel announced a two-day Ferrari car exhibition, which many netizens believe might serve as a diversion—a convenient way to distract the public or to move something secretly.

Some suspect the event might even be used as cover to transfer Yu Menglong’s body out of the hotel-museum network, connected by underground tunnels.

If these allegations are true, both Qihao Art Museum and Bulgari Hotel are now under intense scrutiny of the public may no longer be safe locations. The conspirators could be preparing to move the body to a more secluded site.

Notably, both institutions are said to be state-owned enterprises, connected to the Chinese Communist Party through various representatives.

This raises haunting questions:

Was Alan Yu’s body really found at dawn on September 11 in Shaoyang District?

If he was transported to Qihao Museum at 3:00 a.m., whose body was discovered that morning?

Could it be that Yu Menglong died earlier than the public was told?

Experts note that body plastination…a process of preserving remains must be done within 48 hours after death, hinting at a chilling possibility: if true, Yu’s organs could have been harvested or preserved as trophies by those behind this dark operation.

With each passing day, new details emerge, deepening the mystery and the heartbreak surrounding Alan Yu’s death.

Qihao Art Museum (The Red Brick Art Museum)

#justiceforalanyu #AlanYu #alanyucase

The Frozen Truth: How Online Myth Turned a Celebrity Death Into China’s Latest Urban Legend

A Death, a Deletion, and a Digital Earthquake

When actor Yu Menglong died suddenly in Beijing in September 2025, the police called it a tragic accident.
Within hours, his name was wiped from Chinese social media. Hashtags disappeared, posts vanished, and fans who asked questions found their accounts suspended.

That silence created a vacuum. Into it poured a wave of speculation that, within weeks, had evolved into one of China’s strangest internet myths — a story involving secret tunnels, hidden vaults, and an art museum allegedly guarding a frozen body.

None of it has been proven. But in a country where official information is tightly controlled, the disappearance of facts can be more powerful than facts themselves.

HOW THE LEGEND BEGAN

On September 11, police announced that Yu had fallen from a high-rise apartment after drinking with friends.
By the next morning, screenshots of leaked CCTV footage and contradictory witness accounts began spreading on Weibo.
Censors removed them almost immediately.

Fans turned to VPNs, Reddit threads, and encrypted chat groups to share fragments: a blurred image here, a rumor there.
Someone mentioned a nearby luxury hotel. Another referenced an art museum.
Before long, the two locations merged into a single piece of folklore: the idea that Yu’s body had been moved underground, hidden away from public view.

The first English-language posts appeared on Reddit and Discord. Within a week, Vietnamese, Korean, and Spanish versions circulated, each embellishing the story further.

THE MUSEUM THAT BECAME A MYTH

The Qihao Art Museum—better known internationally as the Red Brick Art Museum—was never connected to the case in any official record.
But its dramatic architecture and labyrinthine basement made it a perfect setting for conspiracy.

“Every Chinese rumor needs a physical stage,” explains digital-culture scholar Liu Min of the University of Sydney.
“In this case, the museum’s red walls and private vault rooms symbolized secrecy and the elite.”

The theory grew more baroque with each retelling. Anonymous “insiders” claimed there were refrigerated chambers below the museum. Others said government cars were seen outside at night. Photos of unrelated maintenance crews were reposted as “proof.”

By mid-October, the phrase “frozen truth” had become shorthand online for any story that authorities might be hiding.

FROM INVESTIGATION TO OBSESSION

China’s fandom culture gave the rumor a heartbeat. Yu Menglong’s admirers organized “search squads,” combing through building blueprints and satellite images. Graphic designers produced 3-D renderings of imaginary tunnels between luxury hotels and museums.

Some of the most viral content came from short-video platforms, where creators mixed slow music, candlelight filters, and whispered narration. These videos accumulated millions of views before being deleted.

Outside the firewall, the story was amplified by overseas influencers who cover East Asian pop culture. On YouTube, one true-crime podcaster called it “China’s Jeffrey Epstein mystery,” a comparison that drew millions of clicks but no new evidence.

WHAT THE AUTHORITIES SAY

Officially, there is nothing to investigate.
Beijing’s Chaoyang District Police have stated repeatedly that Yu’s death was accidental and that “fabricated online stories are under criminal review.”
The Qihao Art Museum has denied all rumors of “storage chambers,” calling them “completely false and defamatory.”

Those denials rarely reach the same audience that the original myth did. By the time statements appear in state media, screenshots and translations of the rumor have already traveled across half the internet.

WHY PEOPLE BELIEVE

Analysts say the persistence of stories like this one reveals a deep crisis of trust between the Chinese public and official information.

“Censorship creates cognitive dissonance,” says journalist Wen Shu of Initium Media. “When people see a story erased, they assume it must be true. Deletion becomes confirmation.”

Foreign-policy scholar Bonnie Glaser, whose recent essay about Yu Menglong framed his case as an example of China’s fragile legitimacy, put it more bluntly:

“Every time authorities erase a face, they expose their fear of what that face represents.”

For many Chinese netizens, the erasure of Yu’s online presence was enough to convince them that something larger—political or moral—was being hidden.

THE DARK-WEB EFFECT

The rumor’s longevity also owes much to China’s thriving gray zones of information: VPN-based forums, semi-private chat groups, and dark-web marketplaces where “insider documents” are traded.
Researchers at Hong Kong University found that at least a dozen such forums reposted the Qihao-museum claim, often behind small paywalls.
Most of the supposed “evidence” turned out to be recycled photographs from unrelated buildings or AI-generated images.

Still, the paid access gave the myth a veneer of exclusivity—“truth for those brave enough to look,” as one post put it.

CULTURE OF CONTROL VS. CULTURE OF BELIEF

The government’s reflexive censorship of celebrity scandals reflects the Party’s fear that gossip can become politics.
Entertainment figures command audiences of tens of millions, often younger and more emotionally engaged than readers of official news.
When a beloved actor dies under unclear circumstances, silence feels intolerable.

“Rumor is the last free speech in a closed system,” notes sociologist He Ping. “It’s how emotion rebels when facts are forbidden.”

In that sense, the “frozen truth” myth is less about Yu Menglong’s body than about China’s collective psyche.
It embodies a longing for accountability in a world where official stories sound rehearsed and human ones vanish overnight.

THE GLOBAL ECHO

By late October, foreign media were covering not the rumor’s details but its reach. BBC Monitoring traced its trajectory from a single Chinese micro-blog to posts in 23 languages. The Straits Times called it “a digital ghost story born of censorship.”

In Washington, some lawmakers even cited the case during hearings on information freedom. “When facts are frozen, fiction becomes evidence,” one senator said, quoting Glaser’s line that “he doesn’t just disappear.”

For the Chinese government, that global attention is an embarrassment: a domestic information problem turned into an international narrative about authoritarian fragility.

FANDOMS AND FAITH

Despite warnings from police and threats of legal action, fan memorials continue both online and offline. At parks and subway stations in Beijing, bouquets appear with handwritten notes: “The truth will thaw.”

Abroad, diaspora communities hold candle-light vigils streamed on Instagram. The events mix genuine grief with theatrical protest—an echo of how fans once defended K-pop idols or mourned Western celebrities, but now charged with political undertones.

The boundary between mourning and activism has blurred. For many young Chinese, believing in the “frozen body” story is a way of saying they no longer believe the system.

MYTH AS MEMORY

Sociologists compare the Yu Menglong narrative to folklore that followed the Cultural Revolution: whispered tales of hidden graves and secret prisons that filled the void left by censored history.
Each era, they argue, invents its own ghosts to explain the silences it lives with.

Whether anyone truly thinks a body lies beneath a museum is almost beside the point. The power of the story lies in its defiance of erasure.

“When truth is locked away, imagination becomes resistance,” writes cultural critic Chen Yuxin.
“The more absurd the rumor, the more real the fear behind it.”

WHERE IT STANDS NOW

As of late 2025, no evidence supports the claim that Yu Menglong’s remains are hidden anywhere other than the official site of his cremation.
The Qihao Art Museum has resumed normal operations, hosting contemporary-art exhibits.
Yet the hashtag #JusticeForAlanYu continues to surface outside China, gathering millions of impressions from users who no longer care about proof.

In their minds, the museum’s basement represents something larger—the space where truths go to disappear.

THE UNMELTING TRUTH

In the end, the “Frozen Truth” legend reveals less about what happened to one actor than about the machinery of modern rumor itself:
an ecosystem where censorship, fandom, and foreign fascination combine to turn tragedy into myth.

No matter how many times officials deny it, the story keeps resurfacing, each retelling colder and more elaborate than the last.

Perhaps that persistence is the real moral.
In a system built on forgetting, people will keep inventing stories—however impossible—to remember.