In 1932, amid the mounting fractures of the early twentieth century, a group of citizens in Qiqihar constructed a sanctuary dedicated to radical synthesis. The Qiqihar Five Religions Morality Academy gathered the teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, Taoism, Christianity, and Islam under a single roof. The physical architecture mirrors this ideological blending. Traditional brick carvings of soaring dragons and phoenixes sit alongside modern wood-framed glass windows and early cement construction. With its pragmatic, three-courtyard design, the complex resembles a prosperous merchant's estate, a deliberate choice for an organization focused heavily on earthly, civic action.

The founders established the court to combat widespread social decay through unified spiritual effort. Visitors passing under the flying eaves of the second gate, where wind chimes hang above walls of patterned grey brick, entered an active hub of charity. Eleven distinct sections—including preaching halls, meditation spaces, and a sutra library—housed operations devoted to public welfare. A prominent sign reading "Soup Served Here" marked a daily lifeline for the city's poorest residents during severe Manchurian winters. The organization even raised substantial capital to fund the construction of Qiqihar's famous Dacheng Temple.

The solid brick-and-timber complex soon absorbed the direct shocks of wartime occupation. In 1945, when Japanese forces seized Qiqihar’s provincial library, the Moral Court offered its halls as a refuge for the entire displaced book collection. Following the city’s liberation in 1947, the religious organization dissolved, and the spacious halls were partitioned into cramped civilian housing. The quiet spiritual center transformed into a busy residential neighborhood, eventually known locally as the "Korean Compound" due to the shifting demographics of its new occupants.

As decades passed, severe neglect compromised the building's structural integrity. Heavy cement roofs collapsed in sections, leaving carved wooden rafters exposed to the elements. The dark, decaying architecture spawned local superstitions, with neighbors whispering of sleeping residents mysteriously moved from their beds during the night. The ruins earned the colloquial nickname of the "Ghost Building." Recent municipal restoration efforts have stabilized the surviving masonry and timber, saving the structure from total collapse. The repaired courtyard stands today as a quiet meditation on Qiqihar’s modern history, an architectural survivor from a brief moment when local citizens answered war and poverty with universal compassion.