A Childhood Forged in Poverty

The story of Li Lianying, one of China’s most infamous eunuchs, begins in the floodplains of Hejian Prefecture. Born Li Yingtai in 1848 to impoverished farmers in Dacheng County, his early life was shaped by the brutal realities of rural poverty. The Li family’s village, nestled along the flood-prone Ziya River, faced annual crop failures that forced desperate survival strategies.

Local oral history paints a vivid picture: “When the yellow-bellied frogs croak their nasal ‘en-na’ calls, the floods come.” These frogs became an ironic symbol of Li’s homeland—their cries signaling impending disaster, much like the upheavals Li would later navigate in the Forbidden City. His father Li Yu, orphaned young, clawed his way up through shrewdness, marrying the formidable Cao Shi whose pragmatism would shape her second son’s destiny.

The Brutal Path to Power

At age eight, facing family ruin after clan disputes over inheritance, young Li Yingtai made a horrific choice: self-castration. The procedure, performed by imperial surgeon Xiao Dao Liu (“Little Knife Liu”), followed a grim tradition where peasant boys traded masculinity for potential social mobility. His mother Cao Shi’s Buddhist vows—lifelong vegetarianism and nightly incense prayers—highlight the psychological toll.

Entering the palace in 1857 as “Li Lianying” (a name combining lotus and heroism), his rise defied norms. Unlike the illiterate majority, Li’s childhood winter schooling allowed him to read basic texts—a rare skill he leveraged. Initially assigned to humble tasks like cleaning chamber pots, his breakthrough came through an unexpected talent: hairstyling. The elaborate Manchu “liangbatou” hairstyle became his specialty, eventually catching Empress Dowager Cixi’s attention.

Master of the Shadows

Li’s political genius lay in his balancing act. During the 1886 naval inspection tour—a constitutional crisis as eunuchs were barred from military affairs—he demonstrated masterful optics. Downgrading his official hat from second-rank to fourth-rank, he publicly positioned himself as Prince Chun’s humble attendant, even insisting on washing the prince’s feet. This performance earned rare praise from officials like Li Hongzhang.

His domestic strategy was equally calculated. Dividing 37,000 acres and silver reserves among siblings preempted jealousy, while adopting nephews created succession plans. The “Seven Treasure Boxes” gambit—returning Cixi’s gifts to Empress Longyu in 1908—secured his peaceful retirement as regimes changed.

The Cultural Paradox

Li embodied contradictions: an illiterate peasant’s son who advised state affairs; a symbol of corruption who funded Beijing opera; a mutilated man whose family married into aristocracy. His nickname “Pixiao Li” (Saltpeter Li), referencing his father’s tannery, became both slur and legend.

The 1898 Hundred Days’ Reform crisis revealed his tightrope walk. While rival eunuch Cui Yugui threw Princess Zhen down a well, Li quietly aided the imprisoned Guangxu Emperor—smuggling him blankets during winter. This duality likely saved him post-Cixi, unlike Cui who was executed.

Death and Historical Legacy

Li’s 1911 death remains shrouded in mystery. Officially dying naturally at 63, rumors persist of assassination by Republican revolutionaries or former victims. His lavish tomb in Beijing’s Enjizhuang, built with imperial funds, was destroyed during the Cultural Revolution—a symbolic end for a man who straddled empires.

Modern reassessments view Li as a product of systemic violence rather than its architect. His life mirrors China’s traumatic 19th century—where peasant boys became political players through unimaginable sacrifice, navigating a collapsing imperial system with equal parts ruthlessness and filial piety. The nasal cries of Dacheng’s frogs still echo in his story: a warning of floods, whether of water or history.