On the night of September 11, 2025, in China, a tragedy unfolded in chilling silence.

Yu Meng Long, known to those around him as a man of rare gentleness — pure like snowflakes, untainted like a pearl — was lured into the cruelty of a high-class apartment building. Behind closed doors, his quiet body was forced to endure torment it was never meant to know. Alcohol, bitter and burning, was poured into him like poison, corrupting the purity he had always guarded. His fragile frame, delicate as if woven from silence itself, was pushed to its breaking point.

Then came the final cruelty. Hands without mercy shoved him against the cold railing of the 17th floor. The night wind cut through him, the world beneath waiting like an abyss. In that frozen instant, Yu Meng Long’s cry broke free — not just a scream of pain, but the despair of a gentle soul who knew his life was about to be stolen. His voice echoed into the darkness, a cry swallowed by the indifferent city below, as if the heavens themselves refused to answer.

And so, in a world too blind to protect the innocent, a quiet life was shattered. A soul that had harmed no one was silenced in tragedy, leaving only the memory of his purity — and the unbearable sorrow of a death too cruel for one so kind.