Wukang Mansion — 9 Decades of Pleasure, 10 Years of Pain
A Ghostly Tale Rooted in Tragic Reality
Wooden floor boards creaked beneath his shifting feet, as a friend mumbled, “Not sure how to describe it, but there’s a presence in the baby’s room.” Intentionally vague or not, I was ushered through a door, his hand firmly at my back. “Please, go in, and let us, uh, know, if you feel, uh, something.”
Hesitantly stumbling forward, I found myself in a room awash in blue light. Dust particles twinkled in and out of existence. Below large french bay windows, was an antique bed, complete with candlewick coverlet and a wrought iron frame. At the foot of the bed was a chest of drawers. In the farthest reaches of the room a bassinet sat still on wooden rockers. Minus the blue glow, the furniture and walls were a muted white. Rubbing a hand over the coverlet’s embroidery, an odd, unwelcome chill entered my body. Yanking my hand away, I tried to shake it off. Failing, something tugged at my side. As if possessed, my arm lifted itself into the air, taking aim at the chest of drawers. Against internal protests, it continued to stretch itself towards the end of the bed. Feet petrified, my upper body leaned forward, helping what my mind did not want. My arm seemingly grew in length, extending itself further than was humanly possible. Emanating from the bottom of my spine, another chilly wave confirmed it: a ‘presence’ was undeniable.
Fingers reaching the base of the bed, a dark shadow began to grow from beneath. My hand began to tremor as it continued to defy caution, fingers crossing a threshold I was not prepared to breach. Inches from the approaching darkness, I held my breath. Willing them to stop, neither index nor the middle finger listened. If my heart had been beating, it had surely stopped. The room’s atmosphere was eerily silent. Another inch of space was passed. Reaching its edge, my fingers entered, then trespassed. Hovering dangerously above the darkness, a cold vice suddenly clamped soundly around my fingers. The lights went out!
Blindly smacking a ghostly apparition away, my upper body sprung upwards. My heart threatening to burst from my chest, I heaved loudly. Over my own frightening gasps, hyperventilating, lungs starved for oxygen, a tiny, yet faintly familiar female voice cried, “Hey, what’d you do that for?”
Watching me struggle for a single breath, white-knuckling the bedspread, eyes wide with terror, the woman beside me was witnessing a full-blown panic attack. Inhaling harshly, I wheezed, “Who — are — you?!” Mind not yet cleared, I tried to continue, “What — is — go — ing — ”. Delicate, steady hands back on my own shaking ones, she tried to comfort as I rambled, “Where — ”, “I — mean — you!” After a long minute, panting shallowly, eyes adjusting to the darkness, muddiness gave way to clarity. I was finally able to confirm that I was safely in our bed. The woman was my wife. And, most importantly, there was no longer an unearthly presence.
With hurt in her voice, my wife explained, “seeing your arm stretching forward, worrying you were having a bad dream, I reached out to comfort.” It was the hand that I had slapped away, one that inadvertently pierced a nightmare with bone-chilling reality.
After sharing the nightmare with her, she replied, “Well, you’re safe now, lets go to sleep.” While my wife did not believe in the afterlife and the scientifically implausible, I did, or at least left room for the possibility.
Due to a tumultuous period in its colorful, century-long past, many believe Wukang Mansion may possess a few of its own lingering, tormented spirits. That night the exception, I have never suffered a panic attack or hyperventilated in my life. With the Shanghai landmark a hundred yards from my window, I took one step closer to believing whole-heartedly in the underworld.
Originally known as the Normandie Building, it was constructed in 1924, during the heyday of art-deco, by Hungarian-Slovak architect, László Hudec. Built to resemble a WWI battleship of the same name, the design was also in homage to NYC’s Flatiron — due to its own distinctive shape. The Normandie formerly housed the well-heeled foreign population in Shanghai’s former French Concession. During the second world war, the Japanese occupied much of the city, yet this concession remained largely beyond their control. Local actors and artists gravitated to the safe bastion, one that was conveniently located near filming studios which were still open for business. Thespians with names as colorful as the characters who earned them called the historic building home: Wu Yin, “Mother of the Orient”; Wang Renmei, “The Wildcat of Shanghai”; and one of the original “Four Divas”, Qin Yi, labeled the “Ingrid Bergman of China.” Another resident actress, Shangguan Yunzhu, whose debut film “Fallen Rose” and a starring role in “Long Live the Missus” as the mistress, foreshadowed her tragic end.
Fit with classic geometrically-patterned decor and copper-plated elevators, jutting forever forward at the 6-way intersection, the Normandie was as much for security and accessibility as the aesthetic beauty the French Renaissance architecture held. Ownership changing hands over the years, following the foundation of the People’s Republic of China, it fell under government control and was renamed Wukang Mansion. Unfortunately, decades later, a dark cloud began its approach; one that would leave the mecca for creative artists and movie starlets feeling its overzealous, anti-culture wraith.
The Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), a decade long purge of “bourgeois elements” and “revisionists” through violent class struggle — a fight between the capitalists (those who own — the haves) and the proletariat (those who work — the have nots), turned the country on its head. Intellectuals, including teachers, were the first to be attacked. Anyone and anything that was seen as “anti-revolutionary” was terrorized. Artists, actors and actresses were classified as “bad elements” their trade no longer “fragrant flowers”, but “poisonous weeds that had to be uprooted.” They were said to represent bourgeois decadence and imperialist ideology that was unbecoming of a socialist utopia. Even the inanimate did not escape label, as Wukang Mansion was renamed the Anti-Revisionist Building by the Red Guards — student-led paramilitary fanatics who denounced and persecuted those they saw as “state enemies” through humiliation and violence.
Forced to perform public self-criticisms, paraded and shamed through the streets, their very being, that of the arts, was stripped away. Dignity and values shattered beneath both words and fists, cast aside by a society gone man, souls were destroyed. Unable to see a future beyond the terror, a number opted out of the mass insanity, leaving Wukang Mansion with a brief, yet frightening nicknamed: “The Diving Board.”
For many, denounced as counter-revolutionaries, Wukang Mansion’s styled flooring would be the last ground their tortured feet would ever walk upon. Ni Jizhan, a young girl of twenty-five was one such victim. While her cousin was Madame Song Qingling, one of China’s highest leaders and wife of the founder of modern China, Sun Yatsen, there was no escape from a cruel fate, one that lent itself to taking the dive. Labeled a bad element due to family relations, the persecution of Ni Jizhan began. Her family was evicted from their home by the brutal Red Guard, which confiscated both property and money. Kicked to the streets, suffering physical and emotional humiliations as many of the ‘reactionaries’ (a loose label for anyone going against the political change taking place), Jizhan was left destitute. In 1969, bearing two years of constant abuse, she made a final visit to Madame Song’s home, directly across the street from Wukang Mansion. Sadly, Madame Song was in Beijing. Subordinates kept her relative’s torment a secret. Unaware of her dearest cousin’s plight, the young girl was denied respite. Feeling abandoned, self-worth physically and emotionally beaten out of her, Jizhan made her way across Huaihai Road and towards an end, Wukang Mansion. Eight stories up, walking across its flat rooftop, she took a final step forward and departed a fractured society.
While the actress, Shangguan Yunzhu’s, own life did not end from the heights of Wukang Mansion, it may have lent inspiration to the former resident. Reality reflecting art, the tumultuous times claimed yet another ‘fragrant flower’, this one, the “Fallen Rose”. Having risen to fame in the golden age of film, it was whispered that later in life Yunzhu caught the eye of Chairman Mao Zedong. Having once played a mistress on the big screen, she may have done the same in reality. Already labeled a counter-revolutionary, Yunzhu was tormented and attacked by followers of Chairman Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing, leader of the Gang of Four — the Cultural Revolution’s most radical elites. Unleashing the Red Guard, Yunzhu was beaten and forced to confess her relationship with the “The Great Helmsman”. In 1968, shamed and fighting a terminal illness, the actress leapt to her death from an apartment only blocks from the Wukang Mansion (1968). *Eight years later, following the death of Mao, Jiang Qing, was charged with systematic persecution of the artistic class, utilizing the Red Guards to turn homes - thus their occupants, inside and out in attempts to uncover evidence that may have led to her own failed acting past in Shanghai. She spent her remaining years in prison, eventually taking her own life.
Fortunately, this period has long since past. As I type this story in a Wukang Mansion coffee shop, a tour group passes below. In hushed reverence, their guides whisper into their microphones of its storied past, its glory days the focus. Newlyweds twinkle beneath the flash of lights and beaming smiles. Painters before their easels, capture the splendor of this iconic structure. Wukang Mansion continues to offer inspiration to artists and writers, dreamers and those who romanticize the past, while wistfully wondering what the future may bring.
To connect with US support and resources for suicidal crisis or emotional distress, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1–800–273–8255, or text HOME to 741741.
If in China, Lifeline China offers free, confidential, and anonymous support services from 10 AM — 10 PM, 365 days a year. Within China 400–821–1215 or visit www.lifelinechina.org to chat online
