Weibo Watch: The Story of Wukong the Cat

Published

1 year ago

May 11, 2025

Dear Reader,

There is a lot going on this week, but one particular topic went trending and kept people — including myself — awake. It’s a bit of a long read, but there’s a lot to unpack. If this is too long for your email inbox to handle (and there’s quite a lot of images included here), check it out online here instead.

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 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. In the morning, she stuck around the tent, Zhao fed her, and the two bonded.

Wukong on the night she adopted her human.

Ofcourse, Zhao was smitten – and so were his followers – how could he possible 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). He hoped the cat, like the Monkey, would have ’72 lives’, 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 3 pm 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.

🚩 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 is there indeed 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 and Zhao at the place she loved on the left, and on the right Wukong when she was found on the road, and being buried.

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 unkown.

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.

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. “I’ve been continuously following this case,” one Weibo user wrote. “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 likely continuing his journey — leaving Xinjiang for Qinghai — and may be stepping back from social media for a while. 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.”🐾🔚

Best,

Manya

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China Insight

“Even Pigs Have AC”: The European Heatwave Through Chinese Eyes

As Europe struggles through record heat, Chinese social media is turning the story into something much bigger than the weather. Plus: the graduation speech everyone is talking about & more.

Published

2 weeks ago

July 5, 2026

Manya Koetse

🔥 China Trend Watch (week 26/27 | 2026) Part of Eye on Digital China, this is my premium newsletter where I explain the stories, memes, debates, and viral moments shaping online conversations in China. This edition was sent to paid subscribers — subscribe to receive the next issue in your inbox.

Here’s your weekly update on what’s been trending. In case you missed it, earlier this week I published a deep dive into the CITIC Tower plane crash and how its immediate aftermath was handled online. In this newsletter: Louis Vuitton’s victory in a noteworthy trademark case against a Chinese tea brand; how and why the European heatwave has become a major topic in China; a controversial gaming character; and an inspiring must-know phrase of the week.

🗞️ QUICK SCROLLS

🍉 Don’t buy precut watermelons. During these hot days, watermelons are a popular snack, but this stern warning went viral: avoid pre-cut watermelons sold by roadside vendors, as they’re a potential health hazard due to improper refrigeration and cross-contamination from cutting surfaces and knives —you have no idea what else they’ve been used for 😬.

🇯🇵 China blames Japan for ties hitting a new low. During a July 1st press briefing, China’s Foreign Ministry said Sino-Japanese relations are facing “severe difficulties,” blaming Tokyo’s stance on Taiwan and security issues. The remarks come amid renewed tensions, including Japan’s announcement that multiple Chinese naval vessels had transited waters near the country and the reported formal arrest of a Japanese citizen detained in Dalian.

🌾 No messing around with China’s heroes. A Chinese agricultural influencer with over 2 million followers has been permanently banned from Douyin after posting negative remarks about the hybrid rice breeding technology developed by the late Yuan Longping (袁隆平), China’s national hero and “Father of Hybrid Rice,” widely praised for his role in combating poverty and hunger.

🛎️ The 24-hour checkout as a new hotel standard? Check in at 3 pm, check out at 3 pm the next day—that’s the idea behind a viral checkout policy introduced by the Chinese hotel chain Qinzhu Hotel (沁住酒店). The policy breaks with the long-standing industry practice of requiring guests to check out before noon. Instead, checkout is calculated from the guest’s actual check-in time, allowing them to stay for a full 24 hours before checking out. The policy is generating discussions, with many wondering if this could point towards changing policies in the broader industry.

🎖️ The Party turns 105. July 1 marked the 105th founding anniversary of the Communist Party, an occasion heavily promoted across Chinese social media as eight Party members received the “July 1 Medal” (七一勋章), the Party’s highest honor. Among them was Henan village Party secretary Li Liancheng (李连成), who transformed a poor village into a model of rural development. July 1 also marks 29 years since Hong Kong’s return to Chinese sovereignty in 1997.

📅 Interesting fact: July 1 is not the Communist Party’s actual founding date. The 1st National Congress opened in Shanghai on July 23, 1921. The Party settled on July 1 as its anniversary in 1938 only because the Yan’an-based delegates who had attended the congress, including Mao Zedong and Dong Biwu, could remember that it had taken place in July, but not the exact day (and wartime conditions made archival verification difficult).

🌸 Whose flower is it anyway? The French luxury house Louis Vuitton won a first-instance trademark infringement case against the new Chinese tea chain Molly Tea (茉莉奶白) this week. The Chinese brand was sued over the four-petal flower symbol in its logo, similar to LV’s core floral element. But many netizens disagree with the judge’s decision, arguing that the flower can be traced to the iconic Baoxianghua (宝相花) motif that flourished during the Tang Dynasty (618-907).

👁️ WHAT STOOD OUT

Nationalism, Soft Power, and the European Heatwave in China

AI-generated images posted on Chinese social media showing Europeans suffering in the heat while Chinese pigs are relaxing with cool units (left) and Chinese manufacturers selling out (right).

The high temperatures in Europe have become a hot topic in China, where the heatwave across France, Belgium, Germany, and other countries has been one of the biggest international stories of the past two weeks, with China cast in a particularly prominent role.

In China, the European heatwave, with temperatures reaching 40–45°C and causing deaths across several countries, is discussed from various angles and is also used to make broader geopolitical, economic, and ideological points about Europe and China-EU relations. These are the three dominant ways in which the heatwave is currently being discussed on Chinese social media:

🌡️ 1. “China Is Keeping Europe Cool”: European Heat Through the Lens of Chinese Soft Power and Anti-”De-Risking” Narratives

Chinese state media have framed the European heatwave by emphasizing the role of Chinese-made air conditioners. In countries such as Spain, Germany, and France, air-conditioner sales have nearly doubled compared to last year, with Chinese manufacturers such as Haier and Midea reporting sales increases of up to 70% while ramping up production to meet demand.

A main narrative is that China is helping Europe by meeting demand at a critical time. A similar narrative emerged during the 2022 energy crisis, when Chinese media emphasized how made-in-China products, from blankets to heaters, were keeping Europeans warm.

As a recent Xinhua commentary argued, the current shortage demonstrates that Chinese manufacturers are filling a gap where European companies are falling short. While Europe increasingly frames China-EU trade in terms of “de-risking,” the article argues that Chinese manufacturing actually provides resilience during times of crisis and should therefore be seen as an asset rather than a risk.

🌡️ 2. “Even Pigs Have Air Conditioning in China”: Schadenfreude and Nationalism

The heatwave story and the fact that most European homes do not have air conditioning have also been met with ridicule and disbelief on Chinese social media, where one recurring joke is that while Europeans are suffering through extreme heat, even pigs have air conditioning in China.

The story partly originated on Chinese social media but was also fueled by posts on X. Around June 24, one tweet showing Chinese pigsties equipped with air conditioners received thousands of likes.

Chinese netizens also had plenty of banter over other X posts in which Europeans proudly showed off their newly purchased air conditioners, as though they had just discovered a new technology. For many Chinese commenters, it is simply unimaginable that air conditioning is still considered a luxury in much of Europe.

A local Hai’er account on Xiaohongshu joked:

💬 “Europeans spend hundreds of euros on an AC and still have to check the regulations; we spend a few thousand yuan (…) and enjoy wrapping ourselves in a quilt while eating watermelon in the middle of summer.”

A recurring theme in these discussions is that China once admired Western technology and modernity, whereas today the roles seem reversed. Now, some commenters say, Europeans are marveling at Chinese-made air conditioners. As one Weibo wrote: “It’s like our ancestors when they first saw cars.”

🌡️ 3. Europe Is Putting Climate Policy Ahead of Ordinary People: Criticism of EU Governance

Another dominant theme is the idea that Europe has become hypocritical—or excessively “politically correct”—in its environmental policies. Many commenters argue that the low prevalence of air conditioning in European homes is partly the result of regulators’ longstanding skepticism toward air conditioning on environmental grounds.

This has fueled the narrative, amplified by Chinese media this month, that Europeans are now suffering and even dying during heatwaves because green ideology has stigmatized air conditioning.

At the same time, many users mock what they see as the EU’s willingness to criticize other countries over greenhouse gas emissions while failing to protect its own citizens from extreme heat.

One AI-generated meme showed crying polar bears, monkeys, and penguins alongside the slogan:”Save nature! Save the animals! Oppose Europe installing air conditioning—this is a betrayal of Mother Nature.” One of the meme’s posters wrote on Weibo:

💬 “Europeans have been preaching the gospel of environmentalism (环保圣经). Now, it’s finally coming back to bite them.”

Another depicted Ursula von der Leyen relaxing beneath a powerful Midea air conditioner, comfortably enjoying the very equipment that her policies supposedly discourage.

All in all, for some, the debate over air conditioning is about something much bigger. The lack of air conditioning in many European countries—along with the regulations, infrastructure constraints, and electricity costs surrounding it—has become symbolic of a broader reassessment of Europe. For some Chinese netizens, it challenges the long-held idea that life in Europe is necessarily better or more idyllic than life in China.

One netizen even advised fellow Chinese against emigrating to Europe:

💬 “Over the next five to ten years, I think people in China will become much more clear-eyed, and many existing illusions about Europe will gradually disappear.”

📱ON THE FEEDS

**No More Werewolves in the Love and Deepspace House**

The Chinese mobile game Love and Deepspace (恋与深空) has been all over the feeds, with some Weibo discussions garnering nearly half a billion views after the game was hit by controversy.

The game, developed by Papergames, is a so-called otome game — a story-based romance video game aimed primarily at women. Recently, a new male character lead was introduced: Ao Yin (敖尹, English name: Valk0), introduced as a werewolf, who breaks into the home of a woman living alone as part of a romantic scenario, after which he says: “What’s wrong with inviting the wolf into the house?” (引狼入室有什么不好) — a line critics say romanticizes non-consensual home intrusion.

What also sparked outrage was a reference to an “A-0731” file number tied to an in-game human drug-trial dossier. Players connected “0731” to Unit 731, the biological and chemical weapons program operated by the Japanese Army in China during the Second Sino-Japanese War/WWII.

The developers apologized, and for now, Ao Yin is canceled entirely — no more werewolves coming in the house.

🀄 ONLINE PHRASE OF THE WEEK

“Move forward firmly amid the noise”

在众声喧哗中坚定前行 (zài zhòngshēng xuānhuá zhōng jiāndìng qiánxíng)

An unusual speech by a Peking University professor made waves over the past week. Cheng Lesong (程乐松), chair of Peking University’s Department of Philosophy, delivered a graduation speech on June 26 that sparked widespread discussion for breaking away from the usual clichés and generic commencement themes.

In the speech, Cheng captured the cultural mood and social pressures facing China’s younger generations today: a society where everything—from career choices to a cup of milk tea—needs to be meaningful, yet increasingly feels meaningless; and where everyone is expected to succeed while increasingly feeling like they’re falling short.

“The anticipatory anxiety about the ruthlessness of social competition leads us to plunge into an overwhelming fear of failure,” Cheng said. “Because we expect constant affirmation, we come to interpret every ordinary day as proof that our lives have failed. We become absorbed in the hope that one day we will ‘begin our real lives,’ forgetting that we are already living them.”

Life was never meant to be meticulously ordered, Cheng argues, and needs room for a certain amount of chaos and twists and turns that no one saw coming. A completely disordered life is unimaginable, but so too is a life of perfect precision. How we go through life depends on how we deal with it, how we understand ourselves, and how we learn to allow life to unfold.

The true mission in our lives, the lifelong task that philosophy presents to us according to Cheng, is therefore to carve out a unique spiritual path for ourselves, and “to move forward steadily amid the cacophony of many voices.”

That message has struck a chord among netizens, with some saying they replayed the speech over and over again because they felt Cheng was really talking about the predicament facing young people today.

That’s a wrap. Have a good week, and keep your head cool.

If you find these newsletters useful, please be sure to like them, and share them if you want. I only started out Eye on Digital China on Substack late last year and could use some help in making sure the right audiences – like you – find my work.

Best,

Manya

Eye on Digital China, by Manya Koetse, is co-published on Substack and What’s on Weibo. Both feature the same new content — so you can read and subscribe wherever you prefer. Substack offers community features, while What’s on Weibo provides full archive access. If you’re already subscribed and want to switch platforms, just get in touch for help. If you no longer wish to receive these newsletters, or are receiving duplicate editions, you can unsubscribe at any time.

Chapter Dive

China’s CITIC Tower Crash: The Story That Never Trended

How information surrounding the CITIC Tower crash was managed, from a five-day media blackout to a sixth-day official narrative.

Published

2 weeks ago

July 2, 2026

Manya Koetse

🔎 Originally published in Eye on Digital China.
My premium newsletter covering the stories, memes, debates, and viral moments shaping online conversations in China. Subscribe here to receive future editions.

The story that never went trending was undoubtedly the biggest story of the week. On June 26, an incident at the Beijing landmark CITIC Tower (aka China Zun 中国尊) in the Chaoyang central business district sparked disbelief online. At 5:55 pm local time, a small plane, a Sunward SA60L Aurora, crashed into the tower, after which wreckage from the small aircraft fell to the street below (video).

For those who immediately responded to the incident on social media, it seemed unimaginable that this had happened in the capital. Beijing is one of the most heavily defended airspace zones in China. Since May of this year, recreational drones are also banned in Beijing, with outdoor flights requiring prior approval from authorities.

“A small plane hit CITIC Tower??? How could something like this happen? What happened to the air defense capabilities in our core restricted zone???“ one Weibo commenter wrote on Friday night.

After videos and images of the incident spread, online discussions were swiftly and thoroughly censored. That same day, while media outlets around the world began reporting on the crash, it did not appear among the top 50 trending topics on Chinese platforms—in fact, it wasn’t reported anywhere at all. As related keywords and hashtags were taken offline, it quickly became clear that this was the “6.26 Incident That Shall Not Be Mentioned.”

Even the next day, when Chaoyang authorities issued a brief official notice, republished by state media, the name of the tower was never mentioned, just that “a single-engine, two-seat light sport aircraft collided with a high-rise building during flight,” and that an investigation was underway. The one person on board, the pilot, died in the crash. Thirteen others were injured.

Later, flight tracking data revealed that the aircraft had taken off from Shifosi Airport, northeast of Beijing, and had come close to a Hainan Airlines passenger jet, forcing at least two commercial flights to abort their landings.

For the five days following the incident, little to no official information was available on the highly unusual incident. Meanwhile, Chinese authorities reportedly ordered a nationwide suspension of most general aviation activities, including recreational flying.

Why the CITIC Tower Incident Triggered an Information Blackout

But why has the censorship surrounding this incident been so intense, leading online censors to scrub all footage and discussion of it from the internet?

This has to do with the nature of the incident.

It is not uncommon for major incidents to be heavily censored, especially when the details surrounding them are still unfolding. But this kind of information “blackout” generally occurs only when incidents are considered particularly sensitive, and the regular toolkits used to manage and control information are no longer deemed sufficient.

Some examples include:

▪️The 2011 Wenzhou Train Crash, which happened at a time when the prestige and reliability of China’s high-speed rail system was celebrated as a flagship national project.

▪️The 2013 Tiananmen SUV ‘Suicide Attack’, which happened in a tightly guarded, already politically sensitive public space and the symbolic heart of the state.

▪️The 2022 Anti-Party Protest Banner at Sitong Bridge, which happened just before the opening of the 20th Party Congress that confirmed Xi Jinping’s unprecedented third term.

▪️The 2024 Beishan Park Stabbings of American Tourists, which happened just as China’s inbound tourism was beginning to recover in the post-COVID era and “China is safe” narratives were playing an increasingly important role in official messaging.

All of these incidents are different in nature, but what they have in common is not just that they are examples of bad news being suppressed, but that they reflect a specific pattern in which news that is bad for the Party-state is suppressed. In their own ways, these incidents—and the discussions and speculation surrounding them—challenge one or more foundational narratives about the competence of China’s leadership, its modernization, its security, its stability, and its capacity to maintain social order.

📌 The 6.26 CITIC Tower incident is particularly sensitive because it touches on several of these core narratives. It immediately opened the door to a flood of politically sensitive questions: How could this happen in the capital? Were the authorities really in control? Were the security systems adequate? Was it a deliberate attack? This all directly contradicts the logic of “Safe China” (平安中国), a grand strategy for governance in the Xi era that seeks to project an image of a closely monitored society in which risks are anticipated and prevented through the integration of efficient public security, surveillance, and Party leadership (see Trevaskes & Lin 2024)¹. A small aircraft striking Beijing’s tallest building—located in one of the country’s most tightly controlled airspaces—challenges precisely this claimed capacity to maintain order, guarantee security, and keep China safe.

📌 Another reason why incidents like the 6.26 one are censored so heavily is that they have the potential to snowball or even trigger copycat behavior. What begins as an isolated accident can quickly evolve into broader discussions about political dissatisfaction, which might spiral into social unrest – and protecting domestic stability is central to the Party-state’s legitimacy and maintenance of power.

📌 A third factor is the symbolic significance of the location. Unlike an ordinary office building, the CITIC Tower is a symbol of Beijing’s cosmopolitan skyline and of China’s economic rise and state-led modernization. Situated in the heart of the capital’s central business district, next to CCTV headquarters and visible across much of the city, it is one of Beijing’s most recognizable landmarks. An incident involving such a building inevitably carries far greater symbolic weight than one occurring in a less prominent location.

⮕ Taken together, these factors make the 6.26 incident unusually sensitive in political, social, and symbolic terms. It is not just a random aviation accident; it touches upon national security, state competence, political control, social stability, and the protection of one of the country’s most symbolic urban spaces. Rather than threatening a single Party narrative, as some of the other aforementioned incidents did, it threatens several at once. This helps explain why it was treated not as an ordinary censored event, but as one requiring an almost complete information blackout.

A Familiar Censorship Playbook

Although these top-censored news incidents are all unique, they follow a similar whack-a-mole-style playbook in suppressing discussion of these events, even though they had only just happened.²

The main playbook is always more or less the same: Sensitive incident occurs → News disappears from front pages and trending search lists → Popular videos and images are taken offline → Incident-specific keywords and hashtags are scrubbed → Censorship expands to generic category-level terms (such as “Beijing,” “Chaoyang District,” or “small plane”) that could lead users back to the incident) → State media remain silent while shifting attention to other news.

(This week, the distraction might have been an otherwise arguably uninteresting controversy involving Chinese singer Han Hong.)³

Offline, the same pattern often plays out through physical scene control: bystanders are asked to delete their footage, journalists are kept away from the scene, or even entire street signs are removed (as happened after the protests on Wulumiqi Road and following the Sitong Bridge protest).

Meanwhile, selected commentary from permitted voices is sometimes allowed to appear online—for example, from former Global Times editor Hu Xijin—although even those posts are not immune from later deletion, as happened following the Beishan Park stabbings. This is often the first step in shaping the official narrative.

A brief authoritative news report may then be released, often ending with a statement that “the incident is under investigation,” which also buys time. Sometimes, however, no meaningful official explanation ever follows. After the 2022 China Eastern MU5735 crash, for example, authorities never released a full public investigation report, even though reports emerging in 2026 claimed the crash, which killed all 132 people on board, was deliberate.

Nevertheless, an official narrative and investigation outcome do usually follow. The 2013 Tiananmen attack, for example, was officially labeled a premeditated terrorist attack orchestrated by the East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM), with Chinese authorities presenting it as evidence that Xinjiang-linked militancy had become part of a broader international terrorist threat. In doing so, the incident was reframed from a local security failure into part of a global fight against terrorism.

Finally, arrests often follow, and people are held accountable. At the same time, those accused of “spreading rumors” online may also face consequences, while foreign media are often criticized for biased reporting or double standards. These counterattacks further reinforce the official narrative while simultaneously shifting attention away from the original incident.

How AI Chatbots Are Part of the Censorship Ecosystem

For the 6.26 incident, the main narrative for the first five days after it happened was that nothing really happened. Even Hu Xijin posted nothing about the incident.

On Weibo, the hashtag “The Story Behind the CITIC Tower Crash Incident” (#中信集团大厦被撞事件始末#) was taken offline, along with many others.

Five days after the crash, Weibo’s Qwen-3 chatbot (powered by Alibaba) claimed it knew nothing about any incident involving CITIC Tower.

The Weibo chatbot responds to a question about the CITIC Tower incident, saying it knows nothing (July 1st).

Six days after the incident, on July 2nd, DeepSeek’s chatbot went a step further. Rather than simply claiming no information was available, it described reports about the crash as fake news, stating that there were no official records or media coverage and that such rumors originated on “overseas social media platforms.” Kimi refused to answer questions about the incident altogether, while Baidu’s ERNIE Bot said it had no information about the incident and warned users not to believe or spread unverified rumors.

[caption id="attachment_76508" align="aligncenter" width="484"] DeepSeek responded to what happened at CITIC Tower, claiming it’s “fake news” (July 2nd)

The 6.26 CITIC Tower incident illustrates a broader development in China’s online information ecosystem. A great deal has changed since the 2011 Wenzhou train crash. Social media control has become far more sophisticated—not only through better automated filtering, but also through platform regulation, agenda-setting, distraction strategies, and increasingly coordinated narrative management.

Now, AI chatbots have become part of that ecosystem.

Integrated AI assistants (LLM-powered chatbots embedded in platforms such as Weibo, Douyin, and other Chinese apps since 2025) are not merely additional tools subject to censorship. They have become an integral part of the online information environment and increasingly play a role in the handling of sensitive incidents.

Unlike Grok on X, these AI assistants are deeply integrated into the user experience and actively encourage people to ask questions, search for information, and receive summaries of ongoing events and controversies. What makes them particularly powerful from the perspective of propaganda and information control is that they can centralize official narratives at the platform level. Previously, that role was distributed across state media, government accounts, and other official actors.

Because these chatbots do not present themselves as state media or government authorities, they can appear more neutral and objective. Users may perceive them simply as AI-generated summaries with less media bias and greater factual accuracy.⁴ In the case of the 6.26 incident, they effectively conveyed a state-ordered message to social media users: that really, nothing happened, and that if something happened, it must be fake news.

“A Public Security Incident Caused by Personal Factors”

On July 2nd, Beijing Chaoyang’s verified official account issued a second short statement via its WeChat channel. This time, providing more details about what had happened on June 26.

According to the statement, the pilot was 66-year-old Mr. Liu (刘), a Beijing resident who was self-employed and lived alone. He obtained a sport pilot license in 2021 and a private pilot license in 2024.

Authorities said Liu deliberately deviated from his flight route, subsequently lost contact with the airport, and then intentionally crashed into the building, killing himself. They added that he had suffered from depression in recent years and that his diary contained multiple references to wanting to “end his life.” The incident was officially described as “a public security incident caused by personal factors” (个人原因造成的危害公共安全案件).

The second, July 2nd, statement.

It is noteworthy that such a short statement includes details about the pilot’s age, marital status, pilot licenses, mental health, and even diary entries, yet provides virtually no information about the building itself, the security response, or the broader circumstances of the incident. The statement never mentions the CITIC Tower by name, referring only to “a high-rise building near the East Third Ring Road.” It likewise omits any mention of the aircraft entering restricted airspace, the reported disruption to commercial air traffic, or the obvious questions the incident raises about security failures.

On Weibo, the statement was widely shared, but comment sections beneath those posts remained either hidden or only contained a selection of replies.

And so, six days after the incident, there is a slight opening in the media blackout—just enough to establish the official narrative. This framing reduces a wide range of sensitive questions to the story of one troubled individual. It is not about broader questions of public safety or governance, but about a lonely man’s suicide; it is not about the Party-state, but about personal circumstances; it minimizes a news event that received maximum attention and turns a possible mass attack into an isolated incident. And so the message subtly shifts from “nothing happened” to “it’s time to move on.” The playbook is complete. It’s almost as if nothing really happened.

By Manya Koetse

With contributions by Miranda Barnes

See: Susan Trevaskes and Delia Lin, “Integrating Stability Maintenance into Comprehensive Governance: The Burgeoning ‘Safe China’ Behemoth,” Modern China 50, no. 6 (2024): 671–701. https://doi.org/10.1177/00977004241254709.
Some might say the 2015 Tianjin explosions also belong here, but that disaster was so large and witnessed by so many people that, while the official narrative was tightly controlled, it did not receive the same near-total information blackout.
This controversy involved Han Hong (韩红), a popular Chinese singer and philanthropist, who recently urged Beijing audiences in the local dialect to show up at the box office for the underperforming latest Feng Xiaogang film Catch the Spy (《抓特务》), for which she is the music producer. She used the colloquial expression zǒu ge miànr (走个面儿, roughly “show your face”), and was accused of inappropriately putting moral pressure on people to buy tickets, which also led to criticism of her charity work. She made the remarks at a June 17 premiere, and it didn’t become a dominant story until eleven days later.
See also: Yan Li, “The Impact of Automated Journalism on Media Bias, Accuracy, and Public Trust: Evidence from Young Chinese News Consumers,” Humanities and Social Sciences Communications 13 (2026): 688. https://doi.org/10.1057/s41599-026-06612-6.

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