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Chinese Netizens Voice Concerns over Molly the Elephant, Call for Animal Performance Boycott

Molly the elephant has become a powerful symbol for hundreds of other performing elephants in China.

Manya Koetse

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The fate of Molly, an elephant born in the Kunming Zoo and separated from its mother at the age of 2, has become a topic of public debate in China. As viral photos show the elephant being forced to perform tricks, calls for an animal performance ban in China are growing louder.

A little elephant named Molly is a big topic of discussion on Chinese social media this week. There are various hashtags about Molly on Weibo, where the elephant also has several fan forums (‘supertopics’) dedicated to her.

There are Molly artworks, Molly videos, Molly gifs, Molly cartoons, but most of all, there are the calls from netizens to ‘rescue Molly the little elephant’ (#救救小象莫莉#).

Molly’s Chinese name is Mòlì (莫莉), an Asian elephant born on March 20 in 2016 in the Kunming Zoo in Yunnan. The baby elephant was initially nicknamed “Little Princess” (小公主). When she turned one year old, the Kunming Zoo invited the public to help come up with a name for her.

On her first birthday, the popular ‘Little Princess’ received her official name and a special big elephant birthday cake. The celebration was covered by local media at the time.

Although Kunming Zoo initially seemed to take pride in their baby Molly, they separated her from her mother at the age of two in April of 2018. Molly was then transferred from Kunming Zoo to Qinyang, Jiaozuo, in Henan in exchange for another elephant.

Over the past few years, Molly the elephant has allegedly been trained to do tricks and performances and to carry around tourists on her back at the Qinyang Swan Lake Ecological Garden (沁阳天鹅湖生态园), the Qinyang Hesheng Forest Zoo (沁阳和生森林动物园), the Jiaozuo Forestry Zoo (焦作森林动物园), and the Zhoukou Safari Park (周口野生动物世界).

Netizens started raising the alarm about Molly’s welfare when they spotted her chained up and seemingly unhappy, forced to do handstands or play harmonica, with Molly’s handlers using iron hooks to coerce her into performing.

Posts about Molly being abused started to gain more online attention in the summer of 2021, and photos showing the stark difference between Molly at the age of one and at the age of five years old circulated online.

After so many netizens expressed concerns about the elephant’s mistreatment, the local zoo and authorities issued a statement in September of 2021 saying Molly was not being maltreated. But because no further clarification was given, netizens kept pushing for the elephant to be rescued and reunited with its mother in Kunming.

One of the reasons why Molly became a big topic on social media again this week is because her case was pushed forward on the social media platform Xiaohongshu, after which it also gained renewed attention on Weibo due to various big accounts posting about ‘Save Molly’ and calling for an elephant performance ban in China.

One of these influentiual people expressing concerns over the elephant is Taiwanese actress Chen Qiao’en (陈乔恩), who posted about Molly on Weibo on April 24, using the #SaveMollytheElephant hashtag:

It’s heartbreaking to see Molly covered in wounds. She shouldn’t be treated like this. Please reject animal performances, please don’t abuse animals, please save Molly the elephant.”

Chen’s post received over 90,000 likes and a lot of attention, leading to more netizens voicing their concerns about the elephant and joining online groups about Molly’s case.

As voices speaking up for Molly grew louder, some of the groups and hashtags related to the ‘Save Molly’ movement were taken offline by Weibo censors.

“There are many ‘Molly’s’ in this world, the more you try to silence us, the louder we will get,” one Weibo commenter wrote.

A Maze of Conflicting Regulations

Beyond Molly’s situation, there is a somewhat confusing web of laws, regulations, and standards about wildlife protection and animal performances in China.

China’s Wildlife Protection Law (WPL), the national legislation for animal protection, was enacted in 1989. Throughout the decades, the law was widely criticized for not doing enough to actually protect animals and promoting the use of wildlife for human benefit. Although the law was revised in 2015, it still facilitated the commercial use of wildlife and there is no anti-cruelty legislation that might penalize cruelty to animals in zoos, wildlife parks, or other venues where wild animals are kept in captivity (Li 2021, p. 227).

When it comes to China’s zoos and safari parks, there are two regulatory bodies that play an important role: China’s Ministry of Housing and Urban-Rural Development (住房城乡建设部, MHURD), and the Chinese State Forestry and Grassland Administration (国家林业和草原局, SFGA).

The Ministry of Housing and Urban-Rural Development (MHURD) is the relevant organ overseeing Chinese zoos, which are usually owned and managed by municipal or regional governments. The MHURD also hosts the Chinese Association of Zoological Gardens (中国动物园协会, CAZG), which is an organization that most of China’s larger zoos are members of.

China’s Ministry of Housing and Urban-Rural Development banned animal performances in China over a decade ago in 2011, although the rule excluded performances at aquariums and did not specify penalties (China Daily 2012). In 2013, the MHURD also issued the “National Zoo Development Outline” (“全国动物园发展纲要“) which strictly prohibited all animal performances in zoos.

Nevertheless, many zoos and wildlife parks have still continued shows featuring cycling bears, jumping tigers, and dancing elephants since then – and not necessarily illegally.

One of the reasons why there are conflicting regulatory regimes is because “zoos” and “wild animal parks” fall under different jurisdictions in China.

The MHURD 2011 administrative national ban on animal performance was unable to stop animal performances at China’s privately-owned wild animal parks, safari parks, or circuses, since they are administered by the Chinese State Forestry and Grassland Administration (SFGA), which also regulates the holding of all exotic species, including those in city zoos. The SFGA, however, does not consider the welfare of these animals its responsibility (see Arcus Foundation 2021, p. 99; Li 2021, p. 227).

City zoos can theoretically still subcontract animal performances to private companies within special areas of the zoo as long as their contract was signed before 2011, and can also still sell or trade animals with these parks. Dozens of zoos with performance programs have therefore continued animal performances, sometimes also in violation of policies in place (Arcus Foundation 2021, p. 99; Li 2021, p. 19).

In line with the WPL, the SFGA is able to provide permits that allow animal parks to hold animal “exhibition and performances.” The Qinyang Swan Lake Ecological Garden, where Molly is, also has a permit to “showcase wildlife” (展演野生动物), basically giving them a green light to put on performances.

Beyond Molly

On April 27, the Kunming Zoo responded to the online storm over Molly, claiming that the elephant is in good condition and that the zoo in question has since long stopped animal performances.

Chinese media outlet Phoenix News also published an article about Molly on April 30, aimed to uncover the truth about the conditions in which Molly is currently being kept at the Qinyang Hesheng Forest Zoo.

The report concluded that Molly was kept in good living conditions, and that the elephants at the park were not participating in any (circus) performances. The person in charge of the Qinyang Hesheng Forest Zoo, Shi Baodong (史保东) reportedly claims the park has stopped all animal performance activities as of April 2019, with Shi denying all claims of animal abuse taking place.

Staff members also said that some of the footage and images circulating online in relation to the Molly incident are not of Molly at all, instead showing elephant training in Thailand, India and other countries.

But many Chinese netizens believe the zoo is not speaking the truth, since social media users said they still saw Molly performing and carrying zoo visitors on her back in 2021. Even if Molly is not performing at this moment, many still think that media reports and statements cover up the truth of how the elephant is really doing.

For others, the ‘Save Molly’ hashtag is not just about Molly anymore, as the elephant has come to represent hundreds of other elephants who are living in captivity in China and are forced to perform. They hope the government can prohibit elephant performances entirely and introduce better laws and regulations to prohibit animal performances and mistreatment.

“One person doesn’t have a lot of power, but as a group we have more power,” the description for one Molly supertopic on Weibo says (小吉象莫莉).

Underneath one of the Weibo threads about Molly’s current situation, a top commenter replies: “This is not just about Molly anymore, we want to protect all of the ‘Molly’s’ out there.”

“Reject animal performances, don’t turn suffering into entertainment.”

This is not the first time netizens come into action to get justice for zoo animals that are suffering. In 2017, visitor photos of a mouth-foaming, lethargic-looking panda at Lanzhou Zoo also caused outrage on Weibo. In 2016, netizens also jumped to the aid of a polar bear by the name of Pizza after he was found living in deplorable conditions at an aquarium in the Grandview Mall in Guangzhou. He was later removed from the mall.

UPDATE MAY 17 2022: MOLLY RETURNS TO KUNMING ZOO

To follow more updates regarding Molly, check out Twitter user ‘Diving Paddler’ here. We thank them for their contributions to this article.

To read more about zoos and wildlife parks causing online commotion in China, check our articles here.

By Manya Koetse

References (other sources linked to within text)

Arcus Foundation (Ed.). 2021. State of the Apes: Killing, Capture, Trade and Ape Conservation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

China Daily. 2012. “Animal Rights Groups Seek Performance Ban.” China Daily, April 16 http://www.china.org.cn/environment/2012-04/16/content_25152066.htm [Accessed May 1 2022].

Li, Peter J. 2021. Animal Welfare in China: Culture, Politics and Crisis. Sydney: Sydney University Press.

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Manya is the founder and editor-in-chief of What's on Weibo, offering independent analysis of social trends, online media, and digital culture in China for over a decade. Subscribe to gain access to content, including the Weibo Watch newsletter, which provides deeper insights into the China trends that matter. More about Manya at manyakoetse.com or follow on X.

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China Celebs

Earring Gate: Huang Yangdiantian and the 2.3 Million RMB Emerald Earrings

Online sleuths connect emerald earrings to post-earthquake business ties—sparking official investigations.

Ruixin Zhang

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Dear Reader,

 

This week, the Chinese internet exploded over a pair of earrings worn by a child actress.

In recent years, China’s netizens have been paying closer attention to so-called “nepo babies”—the children of the rich and powerful whose success often seems tied more to family connections than to talent.

Some, like Huawei’s heiress Yao Anna (姚安娜), have been criticized for using family ties to enter the entertainment industry. Others, like the infamous “Miss Dong” in the recent medical scandal, have sparked public outrage for abusing privilege to bend academic rules.

Facing economic difficulties and a tough job market, the public’s tolerance for nepotism and corruption is running increasingly thin. But when these issues touch on national trauma, including natural disasters and charity efforts, the public anger runs even deeper.

That’s why a Chinese teenage actress named Huang Yangdiantian (黄杨钿甜) recently found herself at the center of an online storm.

 

Earring Gate: Behind the Sparkle

 

Huang, born in 2007, started her career as a child actress in the 2017 historical drama Princess Agents (楚乔传).

Huang in Princess Agents (2017).
Huang in Princess Agents (2017).

She later gained more popularity by starring in other hit series, including Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace (如懿传), and also built an online following.

The recent scandal broke out after Huang shared a series of photos on Xiaohongshu, where she has around 328,000 followers. In the photos, meant to celebrate her 18th birthday, she’s seen proudly wearing a pair of sparkly emerald earrings. In the caption, she mentioned they belonged to her mom.

Sharp-eyed netizens quickly identified the earrings as a pair from the British luxury brand Graff—worth a jaw-dropping 2.3 million RMB (319,000 USD).

The coming-of-age photo shoot that would trigger an online storm.
The coming-of-age photo shoot that would trigger an online storm.

Digging deeper, online sleuths also found a Weibo post from 2018 showing Huang’s mother wearing a Cartier bracelet, which now retails for around 450,000 RMB (62,400 USD).

Considering Huang’s limited acting experience and modest earnings as a child actress, these luxury items raised eyebrows—and questions about where the family’s wealth was really coming from.

The “online detectives” didn’t stop there. They discovered that Huang’s father, Yang Wei (杨伟), was once a public official in Ya’an City (雅安市), Sichuan Province. After a major 7.0-magnitude earthquake struck Yan’an in 2013 (the Lushan Earthquake), Yang was reportedly involved in post-earthquake reconstruction projects, including investment and tendering.

Interestingly, in 2014, just a year after the earthquake, Huang’s family registered a film and culture company in Shenzhen with 5 million RMB (694,000 USD) in capital. Initially, the company’s legal representative was Huang’s uncle, followed by her mother in 2016. But after Yang resigned from public service, he took over as the official legal representative.

During the pandemic in 2020, Yang also registered a biotech company, which was later rebranded as a beauty and cosmetics trading business. The timing—one company during post-quake reconstruction, then another during a global health crisis—raised suspicions about whether Yang was using national emergencies as business opportunities.

It was also discovered that the Yang family currently lives in a luxury villa in one of Shenzhen’s most upscale neighborhoods, valued at over 100 million RMB (approximately 13.8 million USD).

How did Yang get enough money to start such companies and purchase a multi-million yuan villa? Even if all his official work and business ventures were legitimate, netizens pointed out it still wasn’t enough to explain the family’s enormous wealth.

 

Huang’s Father Responds, Netizens Dig Deeper

 

As the controversy grew, Huang’s father responded on May 16 via Weibo, using an account simply named “Huang Yang’s Dad” (黄杨爸爸).

In his post, he claimed that the emerald earrings were fake and of little value. He acknowledged having worked for the Yan’an government but denied any involvement in post-earthquake work, saying the online accusations against him were a case of mistaken identity—“just someone with the same name.” He even added, “I’ve never been corrupt—feel free to report me.”

But the “same name” defense didn’t hold up for long.

In a second wave of ‘detective work’ by online sleuths, netizens found a phone number listed under the name “Yang Wei” on a government website related to post-earthquake reconstruction projects in Ya’an. Some tried sending a small transfer to this number via Alipay, revealing that the profile picture linked to that account was a photo of Huang and her mother when she was younger, immediately making his “same name” explanation completely implausible.

Soon after, the account could no longer be found on Alipay, but because the number was likely tied to many services and platforms, it wasn’t easy to erase entirely. People quickly traced the same phone number to Yang’s accounts on other platforms. Around the same time, the legal representatives of the family’s companies were abruptly changed, only further fueling public suspicion.

Huang’s talent agency issued a statement calling the online rumors false but didn’t offer any concrete evidence to back that up.

By now, a local investigation by the Ya’an Discipline Inspection Commission has confirmed that Yang engaged in illegal business activities and that the birth of his second child (Huang’s younger brother) violated the one-child policy still in effect during his time as a government official. However, the investigation also denied any misappropriation of post-earthquake reconstruction funds. (link).

Most netizens find that many key questions are still left unanswered, and continue to investigate and dissect every single detail relating to Yang, Huang, and the earrings.

 

More than Online Gossip: Privilege & Public Grief

 

Some argue that the online speculation surrounding this case has now gone too far.

But for many Chinese netizens, especially younger ones, this isn’t just another scandal passively consumed by the so-called “melon-eating masses” (吃瓜群众). It strikes a nerve because it brings together several sensitive issues all at once.

Although China’s “nepotism babies” frequently spark backlash, they’re also everywhere, from business and entertainment to political and academic circles. For years, the fù èr dài (富二代), or “second-generation rich”—children of those who built fortunes after China’s economic reforms in 1978—have drawn criticism for flaunting wealth and behaving irresponsibly.

Through the years, new terms have been added to China’s nepotism lexicon: there’s xīng èr dài (星二代), referring to the children of celebrities; guān èr dài (官二代), a negative label for the children of government officials or bureaucrats; and hóng èr dài (红二代) and jūn èr dài (军二代), used to describe the children of political elites and military families.

Nepotism is closely tied to corruption—another painful issue in society that surfaces time and again. It’s particularly sensitive because it undermines more than just trust in (local) leadership; it erodes faith in meritocracy and leads the public to question the fairness of the entire system.

When these kinds of issues become entwined with national disasters and charity work—where the already privileged are seen to illegally profit from public grief for private gain—it becomes more than just a breach of public trust. It crosses a moral red line in the most extreme way.

For many young Chinese today, earthquake disasters are not distant history – they’re part of a shared collective memory that still strikes a nerve. In the comment sections of related news posts these days, many netizens recall donating money and supplies to earthquake relief efforts, now wondering whether their goodwill ever truly reached those in need.

The timing has only added fuel to the fire. The controversy erupted around the 17th anniversary of the devastating 2008 Wenchuan earthquake (5.12). Though that disaster is different from the 2013 earthquake, both struck Ya’an City, and public discussions has started to lump them together, bringing back old memories and concerns about disaster relief and public trust.

Back in 2009, Professor Deng Guosheng (邓国胜) from Tsinghua University studied where the 76.7 billion RMB (about 10.5 billion USD) in Wenchuan relief donations had gone. He found that nearly 80% of the money was controlled by the government or groups linked to it, like the Red Cross, with little transparency on how it was spent. People basically have no idea how the money they donated was spent.

In light of the recent controversy, Deng’s study and its numbers are being brought up again in many threads across Chinese social media. Today, as much as 15 years ago, the call for transparancy on how the public’s money is being used in the post-disaster time period is just as relevant.

One Weibo commenter wrote: “For context, in all of 2024, Ya’an City’s general public budget revenue was 8.4 billion RMB in total. This means that the total amount of donations and supplies after the 2008 earthquake was equivalent to 25 years of Ya’an’s current public budget revenue!” He later added: “It’s really not unreasonable at all for the public to ask questions about the authenticity of a pair of 2.3 million RMB earrings.”

Others agree: “It’s absolutely valid for everyone to focus on whether Huang Yangdiantian’s father was involved in embezzlement or bribery (..) When it comes to a tragic event like the Wenchuan earthquake, claims should especially be backed by solid evidence.”

The speculation about Huang’s family wealth goes well beyond celebrity gossip or a “nepo baby” narrative; it reflects a deeper call for clean governance and stricter oversight of how public and charitable funds are managed and spent.

As for Huang, the consequences of her glamorous photoshoot and the controversy it sparked are already unfolding. While her father has now become the target of further formal investigation by disciplinary authorities, it’s rumored that Huang has been removed as the female lead for the historical drama Peacock Bone (雀骨), as well as casting uncertainty over the viability of some of her upcoming projects.

At least we almost certainly know one thing: she won’t be wearing those earrings again any time soon.

Best,

Ruixin Zhang & Manya Koetse

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China Animals

Behind the Mysterious Death of Chinese Internet Celebrity Cat Wukong

“Dont believe the media,” Zhao Shuo said: “And also don’t believe me.”

Manya Koetse

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How did the death of a young stray cat lead to a online wave of grief and outrage over the past few days? It started with fans mourning a beloved Chinese internet celebrity cat, then turned into backlash against fake news, anger over animal cruelty groups, and suspicions that local officials were more concerned with controlling the narrative than finding the truth.

Although things turned dark quickly, it began beautifully light.

The journey of Chinese cyclist Zhao Shuo and his cat Wukong seemed to come straight out of a novel. Zhao Shuo, the protagonist: a solitary traveler who would cycle through snow-covered mountains and endless desert roads for days on end, seriously disciplined and focused.

Then came Wukong, the playful and spirited stray cat who suddenly appeared, curled up inside his tent, purring happily beside him as if they had always been together. She found just the warmth she needed – and so did he.

 
From Stray Cat to Star Status: Wukong and Zhao’s Journey
 

Zhao Shuo (赵朔) is a Chinese cyclist who runs a social media account about his adventurous travels, cycling and camping in China’s western regions. Since 2023 – starting in Xi’an — he has been documenting his remarkable journey on his Douyin account “Notes from Zhao Shuo’s Western Journey” (@赵朔西行漫记), which now has over three million followers.

In his videos — often long-form by Douyin standards (ranging from 12 to 40 minutes) — he offers viewers a glimpse into his ‘bikepacking’ life, cycling across West China, including Tibet, Xinjiang, and Qinghai, where he sometimes goes days without seeing another person, coming across lush green areas and dry, sandy territories while dealing with extreme temperatures.

Zhao Shu’s adventurous bicycle and wild camping travels, documented on Douyin. Screenshots via whatsonweibo.com.

Zhao had already published dozens of videos of his bicycle tour when he first introduced the kitten he named ‘Wukong’ (悟空) to his followers.

On October 30, 2024, while camping out in a village in Kanas (喀纳斯), near the main peak of the Altai Mountains (阿勒泰) in northern Xinjiang, the stray appeared in front of his tent at 4 am, waking him up with her cries. The kitten seemed cold and hungry. She had a small injury near her mouth and might have been a target in an area filled with stray dogs.

When he allowed her to step inside his tent, she soon comfortably settled inside his sleeping bag and purred away (video). In the morning, she stuck around the tent, Zhao fed her, and the two bonded.

Wukong on the night she ‘adopted’ her human master.

Of course, Zhao was smitten – and so were his followers – how could he possibly leave his ‘Wukong’ behind now? A suitable and creative nickname, ‘Wukong’ is the legendary Monkey King in the classic Chinese novel Journey to the West (西游记). Like the monkey’s 72 transformations, he hoped the cat would have 72 lives instead of just nine, and decided to take her along with him.

Wukong made Zhao’s travels a lot more lively, but also a bit trickier — he had to rearrange his cycling gear to accommodate her, including a special cat backpack and a basket out front, and now he was cooking for two.

A new travel companion.

But it was all worth it. Wukong, who Zhao endearingly called his “stinky cat” (臭喵), grew bigger, chubbier, and braver, and the two became inseparable. By late December, it was minus 20 degrees Celsius (−4°F) when the two visited the scenic Sayram Lake (赛里木湖), where they played in the snow — something they would do far more often later on in their journey.

Playing in the snow – a favorite pastime of Zhao and Wukong.

Snow adventures at the lake, by @奶盖味的小山竹.

So far, so cute – the story of the lonely traveler Zhao finding an unexpected companion in the little stray Wukong resembles that of the Scottish Dean Nicholson, who found a best friend in Nala while cycling through Bosnia and then taking her along cycling around the world. It even led to the book Nala’s World.

The story of Zhao and Nala shows some resemblance to that of Dean Nicholson and his cat Nala, about which he wrote the book Nala’s World. (Image via Traveling Cats).

Zhao kept Wukong close, but still gave her enough freedom to roam around. In the late afternoons or at night, she would play around the tent — or in the guesthouse room when temperatures dropped too low. She often hunted for mice and would proudly bring Zhao her catch. She always returned to him. In December, as they passed through areas with more cars and traffic, Zhao got Wukong a cat leash and a GPS collar for safety.

Chinese netizens and media quickly took notice as the special bond between the cyclist and his cat deepened — the two literally sticking together through snow and wind, sunshine and rain. In December 2024, they even made the news for unexpectedly boosting sales of a Xinjiang yogurt brand featured in many of Zhao Shuo and Wukong’s videos. Zhao’s travels, with Wukong the internet celebrity cat as his ‘mascot,’ seemed to bring positive attention to Xinjiang and its various regions.

 
“It’s Done”: Wukong Is Gone
 

The happy story of Zhao and Wukong abruptly ended on April 15. In a video posted to Douyin in the middle of the night, Zhao Shuo, his eyes glassy and his appearance stressed, explained that Wukong had a run-in with a car earlier that day and was now “eternally resting.”

Standing on the side of the road in Ruoqiang (若羌), with Wukong’s remains in a cardboard box, Zhao said he had just gotten a car from the Miran Site (米兰遗址) to try and find a freezer to store the remains of his cat friend, hoping some of his followers could help. The video received more than 116,000 replies.

The midnight call for help from Zhao in Ruoqiang.

However sad, Wukong’s death initially did not attract as much attention outside the Zhao and Wukong online fan circles. The case really began receiving widespread attention in the weeks that followed, as what first appeared to be a tragic accident started raising unsettling questions.

In early May, Zhao Shuo posted a 42-minute video (link to copy) recounting the various developments — from how Wukong died to everything that followed.

On April 15, Zhao Shuo and Wukong woke up at their campsite near the visitor center of the Miran Ruins (米兰遗址) — the remains of an ancient Silk Road settlement and Buddhist religious center located in Ruoqiang County.

Zhao had slept in that day until 3pm due to a rough, sleepless night the previous night. Zhao got out of his tent to go to the public toilet nearby, chatted with some visitors, and Wukong was following him as usual, staying near and playing around the square in front of the visitor center. Zhao put the GPS collar on her around 4 pm.

After 4 pm, Zhao briefly went into the main hall and took some photos. Wukong did not go in with him and remained at the front of the hall. Inside, Zhao inquired about the best route to continue his travels from Ruoqiang in Xinjiang toward Qinghai. He exited around 4:20 and visited the museum on the premises. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon, when he returned to his campsite, that he found Wukong was no longer there — not at their spot, not at the site.

By 6 pm, he went out looking for her. Thanks to the GPS system, he found — to his surprise — that Wukong’s location was over two kilometers away, and that there had been some disturbance in the signal.

He kept the camera rolling as he headed out on his bike to look for her, calling her name through an area of desert and empty highway. Then came the tragic moment Zhao spotted Wukong lying by the side of the road: “Oh god. I can’t believe my eyes, Wukong!” he said, the shock and pain visible on his face. The little cat was already lifeless and stiff. (Original video on Douyin removed; reuploaded video on YouTube: this is the moment Zhao finds Wukong)

Their heartbreaking final ride together.

“The stinky cat has been running around,” Zhao said, his voice breaking. “It’s done.” In a moving scene, he placed her in the basket on the front of his bike to take their final ride together and bring her back to the camp.

 
“Inexplicable Death, Full of Suspicious Points”: Zhao Searches for Answers
 

Back at the camp, Zhao walked around with Wukong’s stiff body in his arms, placing her on the ground and then picking her up again, seemingly overwhelmed with grief and unsure of what to do next.

Perhaps speaking more to himself than his viewers, he wondered how this could have happened — there was nothing but desert out there, with only a patch of green near his campsite. Wukong always stayed close, and there was nothing beyond to explore. How had she ended up so far from the site, all the way out by the national highway?

Once he collected himself, Zhao’s first priority was to cool Wukong’s remains. He packed up his belongings, arranged for a car, and made his way to Ruoqiang. There, he arranged storage for his bike and posted that video asking his followers if anyone could lend him a freezer. After that was taken care of, he spent the following days organizing a vehicle and a portable icebox. With Wukong stored in the back of the car, he returned to Miran to check the security footage — only to find that nothing had seemingly been recorded due to a malfunction.

The complete lack of surveillance footage was not the only peculiar detail surrounding the death of Zhao’s cat. To his surprise, he came across a news article from the well-known Chinese media outlet Jiupai News (九派新闻), reporting on Wukong’s death. The article had been published just hours after Zhao posted his first video announcing her passing and within 24 hours of her death.

In the report, published on April 16 at 14:04, reporter Huang Qiaowen (黄巧文) wrote that Wukong had died in a car accident, citing police as saying that the cat had crawled under a car and was accidentally run over when the driver started it. The article claimed the matter had already been resolved.

But according to Zhao, he had no idea how his cat had actually died — and had never come to any “understanding” with a car owner. “Which car owner? I don’t know anything,” he said. “This is considered a relatively big media outlet, it’s truly a blatant fabrication.”

Zhao added that he had spoken directly with the police, who told him they had no details about the incident beyond what he himself had reported, making the news story entirely false.

Zhao Shuo decided to set out again in a rental car on April 19, driving nearly 900 kilometers (560 miles) from Ruoqiang, via Korla, to Urumqi — the capital of Xinjiang. There, he visited three different pet hospitals to have Wukong examined, including both an X-ray and a CT scan.

The scans showed that Wukong’s organs and bones were intact.

In late April, Zhao returned to the Miran Ruins site twice, first to check whether the surveillance system had been fixed (it hadn’t), and later to see if any footage from the day Wukong disappeared had been recovered. Although the system was eventually repaired, there was still no footage from that day. Zhao also searched the surrounding area for any other surveillance cameras but found none that were relevant to where Wukong came from and where she was found.

“Traveling with a cat is full of risks, and I could accept it if Wukong had died in an accident,” Zhao said. “But this inexplicable death is full of suspicious points.”

🚩 One of the suspicious points is that Zhao found no obvious external injuries on Wukong — no bleeding from the nose or mouth. However, while her paw pads were intact, her claws were completely worn down, with split and damaged nails. Zhao initially considered the possibility that Wukong had climbed under a car parked near the visitor center and was unknowingly taken along when it drove off, eventually falling out onto the highway — which could explain the worn claws. However, the examination results showed that all major internal organs and bones were intact, with no signs of trauma, ruling out both a vehicle collision and a fall from height. Suffocation was also ruled out by the veterinarians.

🚩 Zhao also noted that the button on her GPS leash had come undone when he found her — something the cat would not have been able to do by herself.

🚩 The night when Zhao went to Ruoqiang in search of a freezer to store Wukong’s remains, he packed her in a plastic bag inside a cardboard box. Although there had initially been no visible bleeding, when he removed her body around 2 am, he found blood flowing from her mouth and nose in a non-coagulating state. This type of bleeding is consistent with toxin-induced bleeding, not trauma or natural death.

🚩 The conclusions from the different veterinarians were all consistent with symptoms of poisoning. The CT scan showed undigested food in Wukong’s stomach — notable because Zhao hadn’t fed her yet that day, as they had both slept in until later that afternoon. Zhao also inquired whether there was any rat poison in or around the visitor center and was told there was none.

🚩 The manufacturer of the GPS collar provided Zhao with the recorded data: the last refresh was at 4:10 pm, when Wukong was still near the visitor center, just after he had put the collar on her. The next location recorded was at 4:30 pm, right at the spot where Zhao later found Wukong’s body. This leaves a 20-minute gap in the data, which is highly abnormal, as the signal should refresh every 2–3 minutes under normal conditions.

Beyond the strange 20-minute interval, this also means that Wukong would have had to travel the full 2 kilometers from the Miran visitor center to the remote highway junction where she was found within those 20 minutes. But by the time Zhao discovered her around 6 pm, her body was already stiff and covered in flies, suggesting she had died well before that, making the timeline even harder to explain.

GPS collar data shows a 20 minute gap and the collar location going from the visitor center to side of the highway.

🚩 The area where Wukong was found sees hardly any traffic — it’s a quiet, almost abandoned stretch of highway. With all the information at hand, it’s just one more detail that makes her death all the more incomprehensible.

With all the new developments and information at hand, Wukong’s death not only triggered a wave of grief among fans, it also sparked broader concerns and anger over how she died.

These concerns soon touched upon the topic of so-called “cat abuse groups” — online dark web communities of twisted minds who take pleasure in abusing animals. These groups reportedly film or even livestream the capture and killing of stray cats. Some individuals even pay to watch such content. There is also a disturbing phenomenon of “bounties,” where money is used as bait to incite others to abuse or kill cats — sometimes specifically targeting well-known or popular strays to generate more buzz and attention.

The existence of these cat abuse groups became more widely known in April 2023, when Chinese food vlogger Xu Zhihui (徐志辉) was exposed as a member of a cat abuse chat group on QQ.

Various Douyin users have claimed that Wukong was, in fact, listed on one of these so-called “bounty lists.”

Whether or not Wukong’s death was actually connected to such abuse groups remains speculative — although many bloggers believe it is — most netizens engaged in these online discussions are convinced that, group or not, Wukong was deliberately poisoned by someone with malicious intent.

At the time of writing, several online animal advocacy groups are still urging the public to come forward with any dashcam footage or information they may have about what happened on April 15.

 
“Don’t Believe Me”: An Unnatural Apology
 

Amid all the online anger and speculation, a 3-minute video update by Zhao Shuo appeared on his channel on May 9.

In the Douyin video (link to reuploaded copy on Youtube), Zhao explained how he had rented another car to get back from Qinghai’s Mangya (茫崖市) to return to Ruoqiang County a final time to further investigate the cause of Wukong’s death.

The video was recorded at the exact spot where he found Wukong.

From the apology video.

Looking ahead while walking, Zhao says:

💬 “These days, I’ve been at the local Public Security Department, the Publicity Department and Cultural & Tourism department. With the warm assistance of local volunteers and citizens, through a step-by-step analysis and investigation, and step-by-step restoration of the scene, we basically determined the cause of Wukong’s death. That is the death caused by accidentally ingesting a [certain] small rodent. Other types of causes like car accidents, poisoning and torture have all been completely ruled out. So if we put it this way, the person who carries the biggest responsibility for the death of Wukong is me. As his owner, I didn’t look after him good enough. Wukong’s death has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else. Furthermore, this incident has caused a very negative public opinion for the local area. I hereby apologize to everyone, even though I know this apology is powerless, because the direction of public opinion is not something that can be changed by individual will.

That part of the video was picked up by Chinese media. Beijing Daily even posted the apology on Douyin.

But they did not include what came next: a moment when something seems to shift in Zhao’s demeanor.

“Don’t believe me,” Zhao says.

After walking with the wind at his back, he suddenly turns around, now moving against it, looks straight into the camera, and says:

💬 “Additionally, I want to remind everyone of two points. First, never blindly trust anyone or any media outlet, especially immoral ones like Jiupai News. You even should not believe me. Everyone should rely on their own judgment. You need your own independent thinking to assess what a matter is about, how it developed – make your own reasoned judgement. Second, no matter how difficult or shocking the changes in life may be, we must respond with rational judgment, not blind emotional outbursts. Emotional release won’t solve anything — it will only make matters worse. Only by handling things rationally can we truly resolve problems.”

Zhao concluded the video by bidding his viewers farewell — something that was just as unusual as the short format of his video.

The next day, the video was suddenly deleted, along with a few other ones. Zhao’s Douyin account was also set to private.

On Chinese social media, from Douyin to Weibo, most commenters think they know why. “It’s because his apology wasn’t considered sincere enough,” one Douyin user suggested. Others also suggest that Zhao had been ordered to create an apology video.

📱 “(..) [It] clearly sounded like someone higher up told him to say them — way too official/formal.”

📱 “Classic, truly classic — absolutely classic!!! (..) They only talk about the impact of public opinion, but not about what triggered it. And they even hide the truth! So classic!

📱 “I’m bursting with rage, they’re deleting the Douyin videos. So they claim it’s because [Wukong] mistakenly ate a small rodent, and that’s why it unbuckled its own harness, the signal was blocked, and [the cat] walked two kilometers in a straight line by itself? Wow. I honestly don’t even know what to say anymore.”

📱 “Wukong would never eat a dead rat — at most, he’d eat small field mice. I’m really furious. I can’t say too much, I don’t want to cause trouble for [Zhao Suo], but I will remember this place: Ruoqiang County.”

📱 “It probably ate a bat, and after eating it, it could fly and flew straight for two kilometers… even managed to undo the clasp behind its neck… in the end, it clawed at the ground until its paws were torn apart, then collapsed and couldn’t get up...”

📱 “I think that if Wukong’s cause of death is really as the Ruoqiang authorities claim, then they should release pictures of this rodent species. This rodent is definitely poisonous — the evidence being that Zhao Shuo took Wukong to more than two hospitals, and tests confirmed the presence of toxins. After all, that area is visited by many tourists, so it’s important to inform them to stay away from this rodent.

📱 “Doesn’t anyone want to know the truth? Doesn’t anyone feel very bad for these two? One died in an unclear and unjust way.The other suffered while seeking the truth, and was crushed by an invisible force, like a mountain pressing down. This is truly criminalizing the innocent. Most netizens only see what’s presented on the surface, and blindly believe it.(..) Hope this incident can push for improvements in the Animal Protection Law.”

Was Wukong truly the victim of an animal abuse group? Was the cat purposely killed by a local? Or, as some suggest, did she eat rat poison near the visitor center and was disposed of near the highway by people who did not want any trouble? Or is there a far more innocuous reason for the cat’s death, like digesting a poisonous rodent and running 2km before dying?

Regardless, the entire incident does little to enhance the image of Xinjiang’s Ruoqiang region, and this very likely played a role in the eventual ‘apology’ video posted — and then deleted — by Zhao.

There are many sides to this story, and you can dive deeper depending on what you choose to highlight. There’s the simple fact that Chinese digital media outlets like Jiupai News apparently fabricate stories for reasons one can only guess; there’s the angle that draws attention to how animal abuse is used as a form of entertainment in niche online circles; and there’s the undeniable reality that Chinese influencers have the power to make and break the public image of certain places in China — a fact that is readily embraced by local authorities when it casts them in a positive light, and sometimes quietly erased when it doesn’t.

But, above all, this is still a story about the friendship between a man and his cat. The way it ended only underscores just how deep that bond truly was.

After visiting Urumqi to have Wukong examined, Zhao drove another 600 kilometers (about 370 miles) — making it a total of 1,500 kilometers (around 930 miles) from Ruoqiang (and another 1,500 kilometers to return to his bicycle) — to reach Kanas and the majestic Altai Mountains, where he first met the kitten Wukong in 2024.

Wukong buried in the snowy mountains she loved – and where they first met.

It is here where Zhao wanted to say a final goodbye to his “stinky cat.” He dug a grave and laid Wukong to rest.

Meanwhile, on Chinese social media platforms like Weibo, Xiaohongshu, and Douyin, people are honoring Wukong — and venting their anger — in their own ways. These are some of the online tributes:

Wukong the cat, with reference to “Journey to the West,” saying: “Humans, do your best.” Posted by Douyin user: 大哥性感

Posted by Weibo user @杨于钥杨羊.

Zhao kneeling besides the box, with Wukong rising from it, shared by @余煌化妆师.

Dark hands reaching for the celebrity cat – original creator unknown.

The “Monkey King” cat is drying the tears of Zhao, at the camp site. Shared by @温婉的牛马, @赤火飞.

Wukong left at Altai Mountain, Zhao Su walks away. AI image via Xiaohongshu, original creator unknown.

Wukong in the grave, shared by @余煌化妆师.

Paw prints left on Zhao’s heart, memories of happy snow days.

More examples of online tributes to Wukong.

There are also artists who draw Wukong, sometimes on paper (see here), but also on walls (see videos here and here).

In a way, these images have now become a form of resistance in the face of uncertainty, and Wukong has come to represent something bigger.

One Weibo user wrote:

📱 “I’ve been continuously following this case. Based on the latest updates from the ‘master’ [an online nickname for Zhao Shuo], it really feels like he’s been threatened and can no longer continue searching for clues. In the end, it’s the power of capital and background connections that’s suppressing us ordinary people.(..) Supporting the legislation of an Animal Protection Law is more urgent than ever — it starts with you and me. Speak up for Wukong, and for the countless stray animals out there!

Although there are various laws in China regarding wildlife and the protection of animals, there currently is no national law that is explicitly against animal cruelty for all animals. In recent years, voices calling for better laws on animal abuse in China have grown louder.

As for Zhao Shuo, he is continuing his journey — leaving Xinjiang for Qinghai. In his latest video, he said he won’t talk about Wukong anymore. Beyond any external pressures he faces, it will take time for him to process the loss of his travel companion, whose legacy endures not only in his heart but also within a much wider online community.

“Thank you for bringing joy into my otherwise ordinary days,” one Weibo user wrote. “Goodnight, little Wukong, and don’t forget — we’ll miss you very much, you stinky cat. I think I’ll remember this story for a long time — we’ll often look back at the footprints you left behind.”🐾🔚

 
By Manya Koetse

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