How Did Xi Take Back the Military from Zhang? His Dark Past Resurfaces?

How could someone with no real roots in the military cause control of the armed forces to change hands overnight? And after that shift in command, why did the atmosphere in Beijing begin to resemble the Ming dynasty when the imperial secret police roamed unchecked? Even more dramatic is that this new Ming court seems not only afraid of a military coup, but also of old memories resurfacing. The label Xi Jinping dislikes most, along with stories about backdoor admissions after graduation, meteoric promotions, and long-circulated personal anecdotes, including the woman he once cherished, Meng Shui, have proven impossible to bury. The more they are suppressed, the more they resurface. The more voices are silenced, the more others speak out. In today's program, we'll take a closer look at Xi Jinping, the weapon he wields most skillfully, how he managed to shift control of the military, that why Beijing increasingly resembles the Ming court, and why the old debts he most fears being revisited are quietly reigniting online. The most shocking political event of this year was Xi Jinping's swift takedown of two senior generals, Zhang Youxia, first vice chairman of the Central Military Commission, and Liu Zhenli, chief of the Joint Staff Department. These were no minor figures. Both were among the very few top-ranking PLA commanders with real battlefield experience, men who had commanded troops and seen combat. Yet they were removed almost overnight. Many people are asking, how could leaders with such authority and prestige fall so quickly and decisively? To understand this, one must first grasp how power in the Chinese Communist Party actually works. Political commentator Chen Pocom puts it bluntly, The CCP's power structure rests on three pillars, the gun, the knife, and the pen. The gun is the military, two million regular troops and a million armed police. The knife is the security and intelligence apparatus, public security, state security, the Political and Legal Affairs Commission, and a body revived in recent years, the Central Social Work Department. This organ dates back to Mao's era, previously known as the Central Social Department or Investigation Department, tasked with internal purges, much like Stalin's NKVD. In addition, there is the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection and the military's discipline bodies, nominally anti-corruption agencies, but in practice, blades turned inward. The pen is the propaganda machine, party newspapers, loudspeakers, and control of public opinion. Of these three, Xi Jinping firmly controls the knife and the pen. After the third plenum of the 20th Central Committee in July 2024, rumors about Xi's health began circulating, and cracks appeared within the CCP's top leadership. For more than a year afterward, effective control of the military largely fell into Jiang Yoshi's hands. The essence of the recent move is therefore simple. Xi sought to seize back military authority from Jiang. But how could he manage it? By using the tool he wields best, the knife against the gun. Deploying the security apparatus to suppress the military has become Xi's signature tactic in power struggles. Why can the knife restrain the gun? Because the gun stands in the open, while the knife operates in the shadows. Soldiers wear uniforms and are easily recognized. Security agents wear plain clothes and remain unseen. An open spear is easier to dodge than a hidden arrow. The removal of Jiang Yoshi and Liu Zhenli did not follow normal procedures. There was no collective Politburo decision, no formal CCDI investigation, no military disciplinary review. Instead, it was reportedly orchestrated privately by Xi Jinping, Cai Qi, and Wang Xiaohong, mobilizing covert forces to conduct sudden raids and detentions. Put plainly, this amounted to a political coup. Some wonder how a seasoned figure like Jiang could be caught off guard. The logic is simple. In society, are victims of theft or assault foolish? No. Ordinary people abide by rules. Criminals operate in darkness and use any means necessary. Jiang and Liu, by contrast, trusted party procedures and institutional norms. But when facing a Xi Jinping who believes in a philosophy of acting above the law, such defenses offer little protection. Xi's governing style is already well known, personally escorting Hu Jintao out of the Party Congress Hall, the sudden cardiac death of Li Keqiang after his public swim. There are few methods he would not employ. Using secret police against top generals, pressing the knife against the gun, represents the apex of his power politics. Historically, this approach is nothing new in China. The Ming Dynasty offers the clearest precedent. Zhu Yuanzhang established the embroidered uniform guard. Zhu Di created the Eastern Depot. Later came the Western Depot and the Inner Depot. These secret police organs monitored and purged officials, entangled in factional struggles, often executing the innocent. Multiple spy networks surveilled and eliminated one another, turning the court into a place of fear and bloodshed. Mao Zedong admired Ming history, especially its secret police model. Today, Xi Jinping has not only revived Mao-era institutions like the social work system under Cai Qi's management, but also strengthened Wang Xiaohong's special security forces, elevating intelligence politics to a new height. Within such a system, top CCP leaders guard against one another, and everyone feels insecure, including Xi himself. Xi is suspicious, fearful, and distrustful of nearly everyone. He appears trapped in a vicious cycle. The more he purges, the more he fears. The more he fears, the more he purges. Some have called him the regime's chief accelerator, suggesting he may ultimately become the final straw that breaks it. As mentioned in a previous video, Xi's February 6th Spring Festival gala, honoring retired senior cadres, resembled a performance staged under the shadow of a possible coup. Numerous close protection officers blended among uniformed personnel, monitoring every movement of the elders. The Ming-style secret police politics has returned. Fear has returned. Suspicion has returned. Xi may wish to be emperor, but he cannot command hearts and minds. The more he tries to silence voices, the more they speak. The more he tries to erase memory, the more insistently it resurfaces. As a result, the dark history Xi Jinping most wants to bury has begun quietly resurfacing online. The Exaccount Lens on Asia recently published a series titled, What Xi Jinping Fears Most, including references to Deng Xiaoping once mockingly labeling Xi a Tsinghua Primary School student. On August 4th, 1977, a National Conference on Science and Education was convened in Beijing. Deng Xiaoping personally chaired the meeting, holding overnight discussions with 33 education experts. By the third day, Tsinghua University leaders, visibly anxious, reported that the academic standards of the current worker-peasant-soldier students were extremely low. Many had only elementary school education and had to make up middle school coursework after enrollment. Deng responded with biting sarcasm, then why not just call it Tsinghua Middle School or Tsinghua Primary School? Why call it a university at all? At the time, worker-peasant-soldier student Xi Jinping was studying chemistry at Tsinghua. With that single remark, Deng effectively stamped him with the political label Tsinghua Primary School student. When it comes to Xi Jinping's early rise, two phrases capture it precisely—backdoor entry and a meteoric leap. What many may not realize is that the degrees awarded to worker-peasant-soldier students were politically awkward. After Deng consolidated power, he made clear that governments at all levels were not to formally recognize their university credentials. In theory, Xi fell into that category. But Chinese communist politics has never operated solely by written rules. It also runs on unwritten ones. Doors that remain shut to ordinary people are often wide open to the well-connected. Thanks to the political networks his father, Xi Zhongshun, had cultivated, Xi Jinping did not have to toil at the grassroots after graduation. Instead, he entered through the back door and rose in a single bound. Within princeling circles, there is another version of how Xi's post-graduation assignment unfolded. In 1979, Xi graduated in chemistry from Tsinghua. Under enrollment policies at the time, he should have returned to his place of origin, Yan'an in Shanxi province. Instead, Ye Zhengying instructed his second son, Ye Xuanning, to contact an old subordinate, Geng Biao, then vice premier and secretary-general of the Central Military Commission, to arrange Xi's entry into the military system. Upon hearing that Xi was the son of Xi Zhongshun, Geng Biao readily agreed to appoint him as his political secretary. Thus, before even receiving his graduation certificate, Xi Jinping was already wearing the four-pocket cadre uniform and reporting directly to the general office of the Central Military Commission. That same year, while Ye Zhengying helped arrange Xi's path into the CMC, Xi Zhongshun, then serving as Guangdong's party secretary and governor, reciprocated. Before being transferred back to Beijing, he appointed Ye Zhengying's eldest son, Ye Xuanping, as vice governor of Guangdong and director of the Provincial Science and Technology Commission, later promoting him to governor. In other words, Ye Zhengying and Xi Zhongshun effectively helped secure each other's sons' political futures. What the Xi family did not anticipate, however, was how quickly the political winds would shift. Deng Xiaoping soon launched a new round of power consolidation, reshuffling Beijing's political landscape. What had seemed like a secure path suddenly became precarious. Once Deng fully consolidated authority, Geng Biao was labeled a remnant of Hua Guofeng's faction and targeted for sidelining. Hua stepped down quietly in 1981. By 1982, Geng Biao had also been stripped of military power. Sensing that his patron was falling, Xi Jinping reacted pragmatically. He jumped ship. In 1982, he swiftly cut ties with his former superior, left Beijing, and headed south to Zhengding County in Hebei Province, beginning what was later described as grassroots training. Put bluntly, it was a simple matter of This is precisely the chapter of his past that Xi Jinping today would prefer remain unmentioned, because it lays bare an uncomfortable fact. The narrative he now repeats about rising step-by-step from the grassroots obscures an original starting point built on family background, connections, and backdoor access. Finally, a brief aside. For Peng Liyuan to sit securely in the position of Rumors about Xi Jinping's alleged lovers and illegitimate children have long circulated in abundance. Among them is one woman said to have been especially dear to him, known as Meng Xie. In the book Xi Jinping and His Lovers, Chapter 17, titled Fuzhou's Dream Without Snow, recounts the story of Meng Xie. According to rumor, during Xi's tenure in Fujian, he became infatuated with a female host at southeast television in Fuzhou named Meng Xie. The gossip was so widespread that Peng, dubbed by some as the Empress, was said to have personally intervened. At the time, Xi was reportedly eager to persuade Li Kexing to invest, and went to great lengths to make it happen, even allowing his favorite companion, Meng Xie, to assist by interviewing Li directly. This rare use of personal connections has been described as a symbolic episode from the early stage of Xi's political career. However, after Xi emerged as the CCP's heir apparent, this so-called unofficial consort vanished from public view. It is said that Xi gave her a substantial settlement and parted ways, lamenting, Since ancient times, heroes have loved beauties, but I love the realm more. My future matters more. At first, few people took such stories seriously. They were little more than dinner table gossip. Even the book's author admitted in interviews that the material was based on conversations with individuals who had worked in Fujian and Zhejiang. The anecdotes were intriguing, but their full accuracy could not be verified. What surprised many observers was what happened in early 2016 when several staff members of Hong Kong's Causeway Bay Books, known for selling banned titles about Chinese politics, were suddenly detained by mainland agents. At the time, there were reports that the disappearances were linked to a book detailing Xi Jinping's romantic history. That move raised eyebrows. If the book's contents were merely sensational rumors that few believed, why would authorities go so far as to seize people across borders? The crackdown itself fueled speculation. It led some to wonder whether there was more truth in Ultimately, today's Chinese communist politics can seem like a grand performance. On stage, songs and dances proclaim peace and prosperity. Beneath the stage, even grass and trees are treated as potential enemies. Confidence is shouted aloud while anxiety lingers within. The more Xi Jinping seeks to craft an image of flawless leadership, the more scrutiny follows. History will eventually show that no power built on concealment and fear can endure indefinitely. What do you think about Xi Jinping's path? Feel free to leave a comment below. Thank you for watching and see you next time.