Dragon's Neck Road, a winding and weird path that cuts through the solemn grounds of Nanjing's Zhongshan Mausoleum, is cloaked in mystery and dread. In the daylight, it seems unremarkable, merely a quiet road flanked by stone walls and trees. But as night falls, the road transforms. Cloaked in darkness, without a single streetlight to pierce the gloom, Dragon's Neck Road becomes a passage through a different world—a world suspended in shadow, history, and unspoken memories.
This road has a dark past, rooted in the ancient battles that took place on the very soil it crosses. It's said that countless soldiers were buried beneath this earth, many of them resting uneasily after perishing in brutal combat. Locals believe their spirits haunt the area, tethered by the lingering anger and sorrow of lives cut short. Whether or not one believes in the supernatural, Dragon's Neck Road has gained a reputation as one of the most haunted places in Nanjing, drawing curious thrill-seekers and those compelled by tales of the paranormal.
Dragon's Neck Road lives up to its name: the path twists and winds like the coiled body of a dragon, its shape concealing what lies ahead. On either side, gnarled trees and tangled undergrowth seem to close in, hemming travelers in with shadows. At night, the road becomes an abyss, nearly pitch-black, as the thick branches overhead block out any moonlight. The unsettling silence and utter darkness have led many to avoid traveling along the road at night, but for those who must pass, it is a journey they make with white-knuckled grips on their steering wheels, eager to reach the end.
One story recounts the experience of a young man named Lei, who, after a late night at work, decided to take a shortcut along Dragon's Neck Road to reach his home. It was well past midnight, and Lei was exhausted, his eyes heavy as he drove in the darkness. He knew of the stories, of course—the rumors of restless spirits, strange apparitions, and inexplicable accidents—but he dismissed them, thinking they were tales meant to frighten children or excite thrill-seekers.
But as soon as Lei's car turned onto the road, a strange feeling washed over him. The air grew colder, and a peculiar silence fell over the vehicle as though he had left the noise of the city far behind. His headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating only a few meters of road at a time, and beyond that, nothing but thick, impenetrable black. The shadows cast by the trees seemed to shift as he passed, creating the illusion of figures lurking in the corners of his vision.
Then, in the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of something that made his heart skip a beat. For a fleeting moment, Lei thought he saw a figure sitting in the backseat—a man in a faded military uniform, staring blankly ahead, his face pale and gaunt. Lei whipped his head around, but there was no one there. Nervously, he refocused on the road, but a cold dread had settled over him. The shadow in the mirror was gone, yet he could still feel the lingering chill as though someone—or something—had indeed been there.
As he drove on, he found himself inexplicably drawn to the rearview mirror, checking it every few seconds. The shadowy figure didn't reappear, but Lei felt an overwhelming sense that he wasn't alone. His hands began to shake, and he pressed down on the gas pedal, desperate to escape the oppressive darkness. Just as he rounded a sharp bend, he lost control. The tires skidded, and the car veered into the stone wall on the side of the road with a loud crash.
By morning, Lei was found by passing motorists, his car crumpled against the wall. Remarkably, he survived, but he refused to speak of what had happened, insisting only that he had lost control. The eerie memory of the figure in the rearview mirror stayed with him, haunting him for weeks. He could still recall every detail of that pale, unseeing face and the empty gaze that seemed to pierce straight through him.
At the end of Dragon's Neck Road lies a destination just as shrouded in mystery and darkness—the infamous "Beamless Hall." Known for its unique architectural design, Beamless Hall is a shrine dedicated to the heroes of the Republic of China, a place meant to honor the memory of fallen soldiers. Yet, its design defies architectural conventions: the entire structure is built without any visible support beams, giving the impression that the hall is held up by some unseen force. Local geomancers and spiritual experts claim that Beamless Hall is an "extreme yin" site, a place where the energy of death lingers heavily. This kind of architecture is rare and is often associated with tombs and burial sites, places meant to bridge the realms of the living and the dead.
Legends abound that Beamless Hall, with its somber atmosphere, is haunted by the spirits of the heroes enshrined there. Visitors often report a strange, bone-deep chill as they step inside, a silence so thick that it seems to absorb sound. The vast, empty hall has an unsettling way of amplifying every sound, each footstep echoing back as though someone—or something—else were moving in sync with you.
One night, a young woman named Lin dared to visit Beamless Hall. She was fascinated by the supernatural and had long heard tales of the eerie atmosphere that filled the place after dark. Armed with a flashlight, she entered the hall, her footsteps the only sound in the vast, empty space. She felt the chill immediately, a coldness that seemed to seep through her skin, settling in her bones.
As Lin ventured deeper into the hall, her flashlight flickered. Shadows danced along the walls, stretching and contorting in ways that made her uneasy. She stopped, listening. A faint sound reached her ears, like the low murmur of voices just out of hearing range. She strained to catch the words, but the whispers eluded her, shifting and fading like mist.
Then, suddenly, the flashlight died, plunging her into darkness. She fumbled with it, desperate to restore the light, but it wouldn't turn back on. Heart pounding, Lin felt a presence in the darkness—a sensation as if countless eyes were watching her, judging her. She could feel them, these invisible witnesses, bearing down on her with a weight that made her legs weak.
Then she heard it—a slow, deliberate footstep, echoing through the hall. The sound was soft, almost imperceptible, but in the silence, it felt deafening. Another step followed, closer, then another. Lin's throat tightened, and she froze, unable to see but painfully aware that someone, or something, was coming towards her.
With a final surge of panic, Lin stumbled backward, retreating as quickly as she could to the entrance. She burst out of Beamless Hall, gasping for air, her heart racing. The cold, silent presence she had felt within stayed with her even as she escaped, like a shadow that refused to let her go. She later told friends that the darkness within the hall was unlike anything she'd ever experienced—alive, watchful, and filled with memories of a past that had not been laid to rest.
The myths of Dragon's Neck Road and Beamless Hall continue to endure. The road remains an ominous path through Nanjing, drawing in those fascinated by its history, yet who leave with chills and memories that defy explanation. Beamless Hall stands in its eerie, beamless glory, a place that seems suspended between worlds, where the living can feel the pull of the dead.