The Rise of a Controversial Eunuch

In the intricate power dynamics of the Qing Dynasty’s Forbidden City, few figures were as polarizing as An Dehai, the favored eunuch of Empress Dowager Cixi. His ascent to influence began during the reign of the Xianfeng Emperor, but it was under Cixi’s patronage that he became notorious for overstepping boundaries. Unlike typical eunuchs who operated discreetly, An flaunted his proximity to power, openly disrespecting even Emperor Tongzhi and Prince Gong. His arrogance sowed resentment across the court, setting the stage for a dramatic downfall.

Historical records, including the Diaries of Weng Tonghe, note An’s unchecked ambition. He manipulated palace protocols, amassed wealth, and—most dangerously—exploited the rivalry between Empress Dowagers Cixi and Ci’an. The latter, though gentle in demeanor, held a secret weapon: a deathbed edict from Xianfeng authorizing her to “restrain Cixi if necessary.” This document would later loom over An’s fate.

The Provocation: A Forbidden Journey South

In 1869, An Dehai committed an act of breathtaking audacity. Under the pretext of procuring imperial robes, he petitioned Cixi for permission to tour southern China—a privilege reserved exclusively for emperors. Astonishingly, Cixi approved, ignoring Qing law codified by the Shunzhi Emperor: “Any eunuch leaving the capital shall face irrevocable execution.” The edict was inscribed on an iron plaque in the Hall of Union, a stark warning An chose to disregard.

His planned expedition was a brazen violation. Preparations included a retinue of attendants, ceremonial flags, and even a private vessel—an unmistakable mimicry of imperial tours by Kangxi and Qianlong. To the court’s silent fury, An seemed untouchable. Yet this very hubris became his undoing.

The Conspiracy: A Web of Silent Allies

An’s enemies saw an opportunity. Emperor Tongzhi, long humiliated by An’s slights, reportedly decapitated clay figurines while muttering, “Kill Xiao Anzi!” (a derogatory nickname for An). Prince Gong, nursing grievances from past conflicts, and Ci’an, guilt-ridden over failing Xianfeng’s trust, conspired to act.

The key architect, however, was Ding Baozhen, the shrewd governor of Shandong. Summoned to Beijing under the guise of celebrating his victories against the Nian Rebellion, Ding received clandestine orders during seven audiences with the emperor and Ci’an. As the Little Biographies of Modern Figures recounts, Ding was praised for his “unwavering loyalty”—a coded approval to eliminate An.

The Trap: Deliberate Inaction as Strategy

The court’s reaction to An’s departure was a masterclass in deception. Ci’an, Prince Gong, and Tongzhi deliberately withheld opposition, lulling Cixi and An into complacency. When questioned, the young emperor feigned indifference: “Let it be—the Empress Dowager has arranged it.” Meanwhile, Ding Baozhen lay in wait.

As An’s procession entered Shandong, Ding arrested him, citing the ironclad prohibition against eunuch travel. The speed of the execution—carried out before Cixi could intervene—was critical. Ding’s decisiveness earned accolades from luminaries like Zeng Guofan, who hailed him as a “heroic scholar,” and Li Hongzhang, who declared Ding’s fame assured.

The Aftermath: Shifting the Balance of Power

An’s death sent shockwaves through the Qing establishment. For Cixi, it was a humiliating blow; her inability to save An exposed vulnerabilities in her authority. Conversely, Ci’an and Prince Gong temporarily regained influence, while Tongzhi savored a rare victory. The episode also reinforced the symbolic power of imperial law—the iron plaque’s warning had been vindicated.

Yet the long-term consequences were nuanced. Cixi, though chastened, would later consolidate greater control, especially after Ci’an’s mysterious death in 1881. An’s execution thus became a cautionary tale about the limits of eunuch power and the peril of underestimating silent adversaries.

Legacy: A Warning Etched in History

An Dehai’s story endures as a vivid chapter in Qing political lore. It illustrates the dangers of overreach in a system where favor could be fleeting. Modern historians often cite his downfall as emblematic of broader tensions: between regents and emperors, between law and patronage, and between visibility and survival in the Forbidden City’s shadowed corridors.

For readers today, the tale resonates beyond its imperial context. It’s a timeless reminder of how power, when wielded without restraint, invites its own undoing—a lesson as relevant in boardrooms as it was in the Qing court.