By Chen Jing
What many believed was bad news
On Jan. 24, Chinese authorities announced that Central Military Commission Vice Chairman Zhang Youxia and Joint Staff Department chief Liu Zhenli had been placed under investigation. The announcement spread quickly, sending tremors through political circles both inside and outside China.
Initial reaction was largely pessimistic. Many observers described the move as a decisive setback for reform-minded or pragmatically powerful figures within the military. Some concluded that Zhang Youxia had been politically finished.
That conclusion may not withstand closer scrutiny.
Rather than signaling defeat, Zhang’s removal may prove to be one of the most consequential moves in the current power struggle—producing a strategic outcome more effective than any open confrontation.
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From ‘a subordinate defying authority’ to ‘a leader turning on his own’
At first glance, Zhang Youxia appears to have fallen. In reality, the episode bears the characteristics of a deliberate political sacrifice.
Had Zhang opted for open defiance or a direct military challenge, even success would likely have branded him as a rebel guilty of military interference in politics. Such a course would have risked internal fragmentation, armed conflict, and the erosion of any claim to legitimacy.
Instead, the sequence unfolded in reverse. Xi Jinping moved first, purging a veteran general with deep institutional standing and a long combat record. The moral framing shifted accordingly—from a subordinate challenging authority to a leader turning against his own lieutenant.
That shift matters. Zhang emerges not as an insurrectionist but as the object of political elimination, while Xi is exposed as a ruler prepared to discard even long-serving allies once they are deemed liabilities. The episode strips away any lingering illusions about a system that tolerates neither merit nor dissent.
The disappearance of the middle ground
The most lasting impact of Zhang’s removal lies in the collapse of what remaining political middle ground there was.
For years, many within and outside the system clung to the belief that loyalty, silence, or disengagement might offer safety. Zhang’s fate sends a different message: within such a system, no one is insulated from purge, and neutrality offers no shelter.
What remains is a forced choice. Participation entails complicity and eventual vulnerability. Refusal entails rupture. Each successive purge, far from consolidating authority, deepens internal alienation and corrodes trust across institutions.
The purge reflects insecurity rather than strength. With Zhang removed, suspicion does not subside; instead, it sharpens. Once the blade is drawn, it cannot easily be returned to its sheath. Further purges within the military appear increasingly likely—not as demonstrations of control, but as symptoms of anxiety.
What follows is not consolidation but attrition. Imagined enemies are pursued until real ones take shape. In seeking to eliminate threats, the system steadily manufactures them. As fear replaces confidence, the ruler grows increasingly isolated—what Chinese political tradition would describe as a sovereign abandoned by all.
Not an ending, but an opening move
Zhang Youxia, a career soldier shaped by war and repeated encounters with death, is unlikely to be psychologically undone by detention or reputational damage. In this context, removal functions less as defeat than as a tactical withdrawal.
Paradoxically, his fall transforms him into a symbolic anchor. A single purge provides a focal point around which dispersed grievances can gather. Individual resentment hardens into shared awareness.
Zhang’s removal may appear to close a chapter. In reality, it marks the beginning of a more volatile phase. The next collapse is unlikely to be that of another general, but of the authority wielding the blade—and the political era it represents.
Past campaigns, from sweeping purges to ideological “cleansing,” reveal a familiar pattern: the targets eventually turn inward. Those once labeled “one’s own people” become expendable.
A line from Dream of the Red Chamber captures the logic of this trajectory:
“Cleverness can undo itself, and in doing so, destroy what it seeks to preserve.”
Editor’s Note: