The pain Zhao Lusi can’t escape: haunted by the thought that founding her company earlier might have broken the chains suffocating Yu Menglong and so many others trapped by industry power brokers. th

“A Friend’s Unbearable Guilt: Zhao Lusi’s Grief Over Yu Menglong Fuels Industry Reckoning”

Beijing, China – February 24, 2026 – In the hushed aftermath of Yu Menglong’s tragic fall, actress Zhao Lusi has barely held back sobs, her voice breaking as she whispers a haunting regret: “If I had founded my own company just a little earlier, maybe he’d still be here… maybe I could have saved him from them.” The words, echoed in fan-shared clips and interpreted from her emotional online tributes, capture a private agony turned public: the chains of industry power that allegedly crushed Yu now feel wrapped around her heart too.

Yu Menglong’s death—ruled accidental by Beijing police after a gathering involving alcohol—sparked widespread suspicion of foul play, fueled by leaks of injuries, coercion claims, and rapid case closure. Zhao, a fellow star who has faced her own battles, emerged as a vocal supporter, posting calls for “honest investigation” and decrying unanswered questions about a life lost too soon. Her grief resonates deeply: having endured alleged abuse from her former agency—including isolation, denied care during mental health crises, and extreme interventions—she sees parallels in Yu’s rumored struggles with pressure, debts, and untouchable figures.

Zhao’s path to independence—leaving a toxic management setup and making a triumphant return with Love’s Ambition—has become a beacon for fans. Reports of her mistreatment (locked rooms, “exorcism” during depression) underscore why she might feel she could have offered Yu sanctuary. If she had broken free sooner and established her own entity, could she have provided the protective environment many young artists crave? The thought torments her, per circulating interpretations, and shakes the industry: her guilt mirrors a collective fear that bolder action might prevent future tragedies.

The backlash against Love’s Ambition—stemming from co-star Fan Shiqi’s alleged link to Yu’s final night—has intensified the discourse. Fans demand accountability, boycotts, and edits, while Zhao’s emotional support for Yu adds layers: her pain highlights systemic issues like agency control, mental health neglect, and elite impunity. Online communities (Weibo mirrors, Reddit, YouTube tributes) amplify her story, linking it to broader calls for reform—better contracts, psychological support, and independent options for talents.

Zhao’s unfiltered expressions—sobs in videos, posts urging truth—have broken hearts and sparked fury. No official statement directly blames her delay in independence for Yu’s fate, but the sentiment persists: one artist’s escape could inspire others. As petitions grow and voices rise, her regret is no longer private—it’s a fierce demand that no one else suffers in silence. In China’s entertainment world, where power often silences pain, Zhao Lusi’s tears may mark the start of real change: protection that arrives before it’s too late.