An Autumn Journey Along the Grand Canal

In the late autumn of the Qing dynasty, the Grand Canal presented a picturesque scene with red knotweed and white duckweed adorning its banks. The season’s crisp air and golden hues provided a serene backdrop to the political tensions simmering beneath the surface of imperial China. It was during this period that Zhang Zhiwan, a high-ranking official, found himself traveling by boat from the canal into the Yangtze River, eventually arriving at Guazhou. After days confined to his vessel, Zhang felt the need for fresh air and decided to take a stroll ashore.

This simple act of stepping onto land would set in motion a series of events that would expose the delicate balance of power, the theater of officialdom, and the underlying vulnerabilities of Qing administration. The year was 1870, a time when the Qing government struggled to maintain control amid internal rebellions, foreign pressures, and bureaucratic inefficiencies. Zhang Zhiwan, as a prominent statesman, embodied both the authority and the fragility of the system he served.

The Incident That Sparked Ridicule

During his walk, Zhang felt a sudden physical urgency and sought relief in a nearby rural latrine. Isolated and exposed in the open countryside, this mundane act became a moment of potential vulnerability. Fearing assassination—a genuine concern for high officials during this turbulent period—the canal defense commander took extraordinary measures. He deployed two hundred guards armed with spears and swords to form a protective circle around the humble facility.

Local farmers harvesting rice in nearby fields watched in astonishment, unaware that this military display centered around a high official answering nature’s call. When they learned that “Commissioner Zhang” required two hundred guards to use a toilet, the story spread rapidly through official channels. By the time Zhang reached Nanjing, the tale had already arrived, becoming instant fodder for gossip and mockery among the elite.

Governor Kui Yu greeted Zhang with humorous exaggeration: “Among all provincial governors, the Canal Commissioner is the most magnificent—even requiring two hundred guards to relieve himself in the wild!” Addressing Zhang by his honorific name, he added: “Ziqing, you truly have no predecessors nor successors in this regard!” Zhang could only respond with a pained smile, acknowledging the absurdity while recognizing the genuine security concerns that prompted the spectacle.

A Meeting of Minds and Responsibilities

The two officials quickly turned from humor to the serious matter at hand. Zhang had been specially appointed by imperial decree to investigate a sensitive case, while Kui Yu sought to share the burden of responsibility. Their initial conversation became a delicate dance of deference and avoidance, each attempting to place ultimate authority in the other’s hands while recognizing their mutual obligation to collaborate.

That evening, Kui Yu hosted a welcoming banquet for Zhang, inviting several prominent officials: Acting Provincial Administrator Sun Yiyan, Judicial Commissioner Mei Qizhao, and Expectant Official Yuan Baoqing. The guest list reflected the complex web of relationships and alliances within Qing bureaucracy. Sun Yiyan, like Zhang, had achieved the prestigious Hanlin academic status, though a year later. His son Sun Yirang, though only a provincial graduate and minor official, had gained significant scholarly renown for his expertise on Mozi, earning the father-son pair respect as classical scholars.

Yuan Baoqing, nephew of the prominent official Yuan Jiasan, shared with Sun Yiyan a sense of obligation to the recently assassinated Governor Ma Xinyi. Yuan, appointed as head of military affairs, had aggressively pursued deserters and stragglers—a policy some believed contributed to Ma’s murder. During the banquet, both Yuan and Sun vehemently advocated for harsh interrogation methods to force the confessed assassin Zhang Wenxiang to reveal who had orchestrated the attack.

The Political Tightrope of Justice

Zhang Zhiwan maintained a cautious silence throughout the discussions, offering noncommittal responses while absorbing the various perspectives. After the other guests departed, he remained with Kui Yu and Mei Qizhao to address the case’s complexities away from the emotional appeals of Ma Xinyi’s supporters.

Mei Qizhao warned against following the aggressive approach advocated by Sun and Yuan, noting that their personal loyalty to the deceased governor might provoke broader unrest. He reported that Nanjing had become a city of anxiety, with many families staying behind closed doors—including Yuan Baoqing’s own household. Zhang realized the situation’s gravity, remarking that Nanjing had effectively become a city under siege.

The conversation turned to timing and strategy. Both officials expressed hope that Zeng Guofan would soon assume the governor position, though his arrival would likely be delayed by ongoing matters in Tianjin and required imperial audiences in Beijing. Zhang proposed delaying the case for approximately two months until Zeng’s arrival, recognizing that only someone of Zeng’s stature could properly resolve such a sensitive matter.

Manufacturing Truth Through Procedure

To create this delay, the officials devised a procedural strategy: they would order the arrest of Zhang Wenxiang’s relatives in Zhejiang province and another alleged associate, Shi Jinbiao, who served as a military commander in Shanxi. This approach allowed them to appear actively pursuing the investigation while effectively postponing its conclusion.

More significantly, they constructed an elaborate false confession for the assassin. This fabricated narrative served multiple political purposes: it created the appearance of personal motive that would satisfy imperial orders to investigate thoroughly, while simultaneously protecting Ma Xinyi’s reputation by suggesting his murder resulted from his diligent public service rather than any personal failing or systemic corruption.

The crafted story claimed Zhang Wenxiang had been a subordinate general under Li Shixian during the Taiping Rebellion, afterward fleeing to Ningbo where he collaborated with pirates while operating a small pawnshop. When Ma Xinyi became Zhejiang governor, his campaign against pirates allegedly executed Zhang’s friends and cut off his illegal income streams. Further grievances included Ma’s prohibition of usurious pawnshops . This series of personal misfortunes, according to the manufactured narrative, drove Zhang to assassinate the governor.

The Cultural Context of Justice and Administration

This case unfolded against the backdrop of a Qing administration struggling to maintain legitimacy after the devastating Taiping Rebellion and increasing Western pressure. The elaborate security around Zhang’s toilet visit reflected both genuine security concerns and the performative aspect of official power—the need to demonstrate importance and authority through visible displays.

The judicial process revealed in these events followed established Qing legal principles that emphasized confession as the foundation of conviction. This created particular challenges in politically sensitive cases where the truth might prove inconvenient to powerful interests. The officials’ manipulation of the judicial process—creating false evidence, delaying proceedings, and coordinating statements—was not necessarily seen as corruption but as practical statecraft aimed at maintaining social stability and protecting the regime’s image.

The social relationships displayed during the banquet and subsequent meetings illustrated the importance of scholarly networks, regional connections, and mentor-protégé bonds within Qing bureaucracy. These personal connections often influenced official decisions as much as formal procedures or evidence did.

The Legacy of a Manufactured Narrative

The handling of Ma Xinyi’s assassination had lasting implications for Qing governance. The elaborate fabrication of motivation, while temporarily satisfying imperial demands for resolution, ultimately undermined judicial credibility. The case became emblematic of the late Qing tendency to prioritize political convenience over truth, contributing to broader public disillusionment with the regime.

The involvement of Zeng Guofan, who eventually took over the case, represented the Qing court’s reliance on powerful Han officials to manage crises—a significant shift from earlier Manchu-dominated governance. This case demonstrated how personal authority increasingly supplemented institutional procedures in maintaining order.

The historical record of these events, preserved through official documents and personal accounts, provides valuable insight into the daily operation of Qing justice, the personal relationships underlying formal bureaucracy, and the challenges of maintaining authority in a period of decline. The toilet guard incident, while humorous on surface, reveals the paranoia and performativity that characterized late Qing officialdom.

Modern Relevance and Historical Reflection

This historical episode offers perspective on enduring questions about power, justice, and truth in governance. The tension between legal procedure and political expediency, the theatrical aspects of authority, and the manipulation of judicial processes for stability all find echoes in modern systems.

The case also illustrates how historical truth often emerges not from official verdicts but from careful examination of context, motivations, and inconsistencies. The researchers who later pieced together the likely fabrication of Zhang Wenxiang’s confession demonstrated how historical analysis can uncover truths that contemporary power structures attempted to suppress.

Finally, the human elements—the embarrassment of Zhang Zhiwan, the anxiety of Nanjing’s citizens, the grief and frustration of Ma Xinyi’s supporters—remind us that behind historical events lie individuals navigating complex circumstances with mixed motives and limited options. Their actions, however flawed, represented attempts to maintain order and meaning in a rapidly changing world whose challenges they could scarcely comprehend.

This autumn journey along the Grand Canal thus becomes more than an amusing anecdote about official paranoia; it becomes a window into the final decades of imperial China, when the traditions and systems that had sustained centuries of governance increasingly faltered against internal weaknesses and external pressures, yet were maintained through elaborate performances of normalcy and control.