The Accidental Emperor

Zhu Zaiji, known posthumously as Emperor Longqing, ascended the Ming throne in 1566 after enduring twenty years of anxious waiting. His path to power was anything but assured—as the third son of the notoriously difficult Emperor Jiajing, he had never been groomed for leadership. Fate intervened when his elder brothers predeceased their father, thrusting this reluctant prince into the spotlight. The transition was characteristically chaotic; even on his deathbed, Jiajing couldn’t bring himself to clearly name an heir, leaving Zhu Zaiji to inherit the throne through a contested will.

The new emperor’s first court sessions revealed his profound discomfort with power. As ministers passionately debated—some even openly quarreling—Longqing maintained an eerie silence from the dragon throne. This wasn’t strategic reticence but the behavior of a man psychologically unprepared for leadership. Having spent decades navigating the treacherous waters of his father’s court, where only political masterminds like Xu Jie and Yan Song thrived, Longqing knew his intellectual limitations. The aggressive ministers now surrounding him might as well have been aliens; he simply couldn’t comprehend their world.

The Silent Sovereign’s Predicament

Longqing’s silence became a political liability. When Zheng Lüchun, an official from the Document Authentication Office, audaciously criticized the emperor’s passive governance style, the normally placid ruler erupted in fury. The subsequent punishment—a public caning—marked one of Longqing’s rare displays of authority. More often, he found himself financially constrained, unable to fulfill basic imperial duties. A request to the Ministry of Revenue for funds to purchase jewelry for the imperial harem was flatly denied by Minister Ma Sen, highlighting how fiscal regulations constrained even the Son of Heaven.

The emperor’s poverty stemmed from his father’s extravagance—Jiajing had drained the imperial coffers funding Taoist rituals and alchemical pursuits. When Longqing turned to the notoriously combative censors for solutions, he received a barrage of criticism instead. Censor Zhan Yangbi, nicknamed “Zhan Three Memorials” for his prolific impeachment submissions, became particularly insufferable. After condemning the proposed jewelry purchase, Zhan audaciously meddled in the emperor’s marital affairs, suggesting Longqing reconcile with his estranged empress. The emperor’s restrained response—a terse rebuke about minding one’s own business—only emboldened the censors further.

The Puppet Master Behind the Throne

Recognizing his administrative shortcomings, Longqing made a fateful decision—to delegate governance to trusted advisors. His former tutors Gao Gong, Zhang Juzheng, and Chen Yiqin became key figures in this arrangement. By early 1567, the Grand Secretariat swelled to six members, with the shrewd Xu Jie remaining as Senior Grand Secretary. The power dynamics were complex—newcomers like Zhang Juzheng had to navigate strict seniority rules that placed him sixth in line despite his brilliance.

The political landscape soon erupted in turmoil. The triennial capital evaluations (京察) became a battleground, with Minister of Personnel Yang Bo conducting an unusually aggressive purge of officials. When censor Hu Yingjia accused Yang of regional favoritism (noting many dismissed officials came from non-Shanxi regions), Grand Secretary Gao Gong seized the opportunity to eliminate a rival. However, the censors retaliated fiercely, led by the legendary “God of Impeachments” Ouyang Yijing—a bureaucrat whose memorials had toppled over twenty high-ranking officials including dukes and military commanders.

The Shadowy Kingmaker

The political drama took an extraordinary turn in 1569 when a mysterious figure named “Great Xia” Shao arrived at retired Senior Grand Secretary Xu Jie’s doorstep. This self-styled political fixer claimed he could restore Xu to power—an offer met with derisive laughter. Undeterred, Shao traveled to Henan province to meet another fallen statesman—Gao Gong. Unlike Xu, Gao took the stranger seriously. Shao’s secret weapon? Connections to palace eunuch Chen Hong of the Directorate for Imperial Accoutrements, who controlled critical logistical channels to the emperor.

Through this unlikely alliance, Gao Gong engineered a stunning comeback by December 1569. Emperor Longqing, overjoyed at his mentor’s return, granted Gao an unprecedented dual role—Grand Secretary and Minister of Personnel, concentrating extraordinary power in his hands. The stage was set for Gao’s political revenge.

The Grand Secretary’s Reckoning

Gao Gong moved systematically against his enemies. The censors who had hounded him were the first targets—over twenty were dismissed or transferred. The notorious Ouyang Yijing mysteriously died while fleeing punishment, while Hu Yingjia succumbed to stress-induced illness. Next came Grand Secretary Zhao Zhenji, whose seniority-based arrogance made him a natural rival. Utilizing his control over personnel evaluations and mobilizing censors, Gao forced Zhao’s resignation.

By 1570, only two obstacles remained between Gao Gong and de facto control—figurehead Senior Grand Secretary Li Chunfang and his old nemesis Xu Jie. The final act of Gao’s political drama would center on an unlikely pawn—the famously upright official Hai Rui, whose rapid promotion under Xu Jie’s patronage would become a key vulnerability. As Gao positioned himself to strike at Xu through Hai, the Ming court stood on the brink of another seismic power shift.

Legacy of the Reluctant Monarch

Emperor Longqing’s five-year reign (1567-1572) represents a paradoxical interlude in Ming history. His personal weaknesses—disengagement, financial mismanagement, and administrative delegation—paradoxically created space for significant reforms. Freed from micromanagement by a strong-willed emperor, talented officials like Gao Gong and Zhang Juzheng initiated critical fiscal and military policies that temporarily stabilized the dynasty.

The era’s political turbulence also exposed structural flaws in the Ming system—the unchecked power of censors, the vulnerability of imperial finances, and the growing influence of palace eunuchs as power brokers. These issues would culminate in the Wanli era’s crises. Longqing himself remains history’s accidental emperor—a man who never sought power but whose reign, through its very passivity, enabled transitions that would shape late imperial China. His story serves as a poignant reminder that leadership often reveals itself most clearly in knowing what not to control.