The Rise of a Qing Dynasty Diehard

In the turbulent years of early 20th century China, few figures embodied the contradictions of the era more vividly than Zhang Xun. Born in 1854 to a poor family in Jiangxi province, this orphaned peasant boy would rise through military ranks to become one of the most controversial figures of China’s transition from empire to republic.

Zhang’s early life reads like a classic rags-to-rising story. Raised by his grandfather after losing both parents, the young Zhang absorbed tales of imperial loyalty that would shape his worldview. His military career began in 1883 during the Sino-French War, where his battlefield courage caught the attention of commanders. By the time of the First Sino-Japanese War (1894-1895), Zhang had earned a reputation as a fearless leader who personally led cavalry charges against Japanese forces.

The Making of the “Pigtail General”

Zhang’s distinctive characteristic – the queue or pigtail hairstyle – became his trademark during the chaotic years following the 1911 Revolution. While most military commanders accepted the new Republic and cut their queues, Zhang defiantly maintained this symbol of Qing loyalty. His troops followed suit, earning them the nickname “Pigtail Army” and Zhang the moniker “Pigtail General.”

What made Zhang’s stubborn conservatism remarkable was his position within Yuan Shikai’s Beiyang Army – the very force that had pressured the Qing court to abdicate. Despite serving under republican commanders, Zhang maintained unwavering loyalty to the deposed imperial family. This contradiction would define his controversial career.

The 1917 Restoration Fiasco

The bizarre climax of Zhang’s story came in July 1917, when he marched his 5,000 Pigtail troops into Beijing under the pretext of mediating a political dispute between President Li Yuanhong and Premier Duan Qirui. Once in the capital, Zhang shocked the nation by restoring the abdicated child emperor Puyi to the throne on July 1.

This attempted Qing restoration lasted just twelve days – one of the shortest-lived regimes in Chinese history. Contemporary accounts describe surreal scenes of hastily sewn dragon flags replacing republican banners overnight, while former Qing officials scrambled to dust off their court robes. The restoration collapsed when Duan Qirui’s forces easily defeated Zhang’s troops, forcing the would-be royalist to flee to the Dutch legation.

Why the Restoration Failed

Several factors doomed Zhang’s quixotic attempt:

1. Misreading the Political Climate: Zhang mistakenly believed other warlords secretly supported monarchism. In reality, they used his move to discredit political rivals.

2. Lack of Popular Support: Urban intellectuals and students overwhelmingly rejected the restoration, with figures like Lu Xun resigning government posts in protest.

3. Military Weakness: Zhang’s 5,000 troops couldn’t withstand the 50,000-strong “National Protection Army” mobilized against him.

4. International Opposition: Foreign powers, invested in maintaining the Republic’s stability, refused to recognize the restored monarchy.

The Curious Aftermath

Remarkably, Zhang suffered few consequences for his failed coup. Protected by his wife’s political connections and financial maneuvers (she had secretly donated to Sun Yat-sen’s revolutionary cause), Zhang lived out his days in comfortable retirement in Tianjin. When he died in 1923, even former adversaries praised his loyalty – a testament to how traditional values still resonated despite China’s republican experiment.

Legacy of a Living Anachronism

Zhang Xun’s story offers a fascinating window into China’s troubled transition to modernity. His restoration attempt wasn’t merely personal ambition, but reflected broader conservative undercurrents in early republican China. Many peasants and traditional elites remained attached to imperial institutions, while warlords cynically manipulated these sentiments for political gain.

The Pigtail General’s legacy endures as a cautionary tale about the dangers of nostalgia in times of revolutionary change. His life reminds us that historical transitions are rarely clean breaks, but messy processes where old and new uneasily coexist. In today’s China, Zhang remains a controversial figure – viewed either as a laughable reactionary or, by some, as a symbol of steadfast loyalty in changing times.

Zhang’s tomb in his Jiangxi hometown reportedly contains his body – still wearing the queue that became his defining symbol. In death as in life, he remained stubbornly attached to a vanished world, a living relic of imperial China in the republican age.