From the outside, Tongji University's Tianyou Building in Shanghai appears like any other academic facility on campus. Its clean lines and orderly structure house classrooms, offices, meeting rooms, and computer labs for departments such as the Medical School and Software Engineering. However, beneath the ordinary facade lies a disturbing story—one that has become an infamous urban legend among students and faculty alike.
Constructed in the late 20th century, Tianyou Building was designed to be more than just an academic building; it was built with an unusual purpose in mind. When the building's plans were being drawn up, the university administration decided to include a cadaver storage facility in its lower levels. This decision was justified by the building's proximity to the Medical School, as it was believed that having a cadaver storage area nearby would support teaching and research in anatomy and pathology. Yet, unlike typical storage facilities, this one was massive, rumored to be one of the largest of its kind in the country. To ensure this "storage" was properly balanced, the university consulted geomancy experts who advised on the building's positioning and interior design to control the ominous energy such a facility might bring.
To accommodate this cadaver storage, Tianyou Building was constructed with three basement levels. The first basement, accessible to students and staff, was allocated for extra storage space, containing mostly old desks, chairs, and unused furniture. It was a normal, if somewhat eerie, storage room. The second basement, however, was where the cadaver storage room was located, accessible only to authorized personnel. This second level held rows of cold, sterile chambers housing cadavers and anatomical specimens, the silent guests of Tongji University. But the mystery and horror of Tianyou Building didn't end with the second basement.
Beneath these two levels lay a third basement, originally intended as a storage space for laboratory equipment. However, the third basement soon developed a sinister reputation. Following the completion of Tianyou Building and the gradual filling of the cadaver storage room on the second floor, people began to report strange experiences when they ventured down to the third basement. Students, janitorial staff, and faculty members described feelings of intense pressure and discomfort, as though a heavy weight was pressing down on their chests. Some even reported hearing faint whispers, echoing down the dimly lit corridors, like murmured conversations in a language no one could understand.
The school administration initially dismissed these complaints, attributing them to poor ventilation or chemical fumes from lab materials stored in the area. An inspection was carried out, and the third basement was cleared of potentially toxic substances. Still, the incidents persisted. Staff and students continued to report strange sounds and an overwhelming sense of dread that intensified the deeper they ventured. Soon, even the bravest among the staff began to avoid the third basement, and the storage area became a place of dread.
In an attempt to quell the growing unease, the university enlisted the help of a well-known geomancer to investigate. This expert walked the halls and basements of Tianyou Building, spending several hours studying the structure and its surroundings. Finally, upon reaching the third basement, he stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "The energy here is dense," he said, his voice grave. "With the mass of cadavers stored in the second basement, this building has inadvertently created what we call an 'extreme yin zone.'"
The geomancer explained that the third basement, located beneath the cadaver storage, was now enveloped in an overwhelmingly negative energy. This energy accumulated from the rows of bodies above, adding to the natural pressure from the ground beneath. The cadavers in the second basement, he warned, intensified this dark energy, making it almost impossible for the living to venture below without feeling its oppressive effects. According to the geomancer, this configuration—the weight of death above and the intense yin energy surrounding—was incompatible with the living. The only solution, he advised, was to seal off the third basement entirely, preventing anyone from stepping foot in the extreme yin zone.
Following the geomancer's recommendation, the university took immediate action. The third basement was shut down, its entrances bolted and secured. Heavy metal doors were installed at each access point, and protective talismans were plastered across them, their yellow paper and red ink stark against the concrete walls. Rumor has it that the university even placed a small statue of a Buddha near the entrance to keep the area spiritually contained.
Since its closure, the third basement has become an object of fascination and fear for the students. Despite the warnings, some have tried to get as close as they can to the sealed doors, daring each other to listen for any sounds within. Students who venture to the second basement often describe an eerie chill, even when surrounded by sterile medical specimens. Some claim they feel an inexplicable coldness near the doors that lead down to the forbidden floor below, as if something from the depths is seeping through the locked doors, waiting for someone to unlock it.
One freshman, curious about the rumors, decided to investigate late one night. Armed with a small flashlight and a nervous friend, he made his way to the basement levels. The first basement was easy to reach and as mundane as expected, stacked with unused furniture and equipment. However, as they descended further to the second basement, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew colder, and a silence hung over the area, heavy and stifling. At the far end of the hallway, the sealed entrance to the third basement loomed, plastered with layers of yellow talismans.
Determined, the freshman stepped closer, his friend muttering nervously for them to go back. As they neared the door, a sudden draft swept through the hallway, chilling them to the bone. Then, almost imperceptibly, they heard it—a faint whisper, as though someone, or something, was speaking just beyond the metal door. The two students froze, and a sensation of dread washed over them. In that instant, they both felt as if they were being watched, their very presence an intrusion.
Without another word, the two friends turned and fled, racing back up the stairs and out of the building. The freshman swore he'd never go back, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something in the third basement had sensed him there and was waiting for the next visitor.
Since then, stories about Tianyou Building's third basement have only grown, and students continue to share their own eerie encounters near the sealed doors. Some have reported strange dreams after visiting, often of dark corridors, shadowed figures, or an overwhelming sense of suffocation. Others claim to hear faint voices on quiet nights, whispering just out of earshot. While Tianyou Building remains a key part of Tongji University's academic life, its sinister reputation is never far from students' minds. The third basement, sealed and hidden from view, has become a place of myth and dread, a reminder of the unknown forces lurking just below the surface.
The university, perhaps wisely, says little about the third basement now, and the doors remain sealed. Tianyou Building stands quietly, its secrets well-kept—at least, for those who dare not seek them.