The Fall of the Hongguang Court and the Qing Dilemma

In the summer of 1645, the collapse of the Southern Ming’s Hongguang regime marked a pivotal moment in Chinese history. The Qing dynasty, having seized Beijing the previous year, now turned its attention to consolidating control over Jiangnan—the wealthy and culturally significant region south of the Yangtze River. Confident in their military supremacy, the Qing rulers believed the region was firmly under their control. They dispatched officials to demand surrender from remaining Ming loyalists while enforcing the infamous “Queue Order,” which mandated Han Chinese to adopt the Manchu hairstyle as a sign of submission.

For the Confucian-educated gentry of Jiangnan, this was an existential crisis. Many had already grown disillusioned with the corruption and incompetence of the Hongguang regime. Officials like Chen Zilong privately lamented the court’s inevitable collapse, yet few were prepared for the speed of its disintegration. Now, they faced an agonizing choice: submit to the Qing and preserve their status, or resist and risk execution.

Three Paths: Submission, Defiance, and Resistance

The gentry’s responses varied dramatically. A significant number, including prominent figures like the scholar-official Qian Qianyi, outwardly complied with Qing demands, shaving their foreheads and accepting new appointments. Some did so out of self-preservation; others harbored secret plans for rebellion.

A smaller but vocal faction chose martyrdom. Officials such as Su-Song Governor Qi Biaojia and Grand Secretary Xu Qian drowned themselves rather than submit, embodying the Confucian ideal of preserving moral integrity (jie) at all costs.

Yet the most consequential group took up arms. Across Jiangnan, former Ming military officers—including Jiang Xiang, Jin Shengheng, and Li Chengdong—soon launched revolts, catching the Qing off guard with their intensity. These uprisings exposed the fragility of Manchu rule and revealed that outward compliance did not equate to loyalty.

The Paradox of the Ming Loyalists

The anti-Qing resistance defied simple categorization. Many so-called “Ming loyalists” (yimin) had, at some point, reluctantly complied with Qing policies, including the Queue Order. Scholars like Gu Yanwu and Huang Zongxi, though later celebrated as resistance icons, initially navigated a precarious middle ground—avoiding direct service to the Qing while refusing futile suicide.

This moral ambiguity was epitomized by Liu Zongzhou, a revered Neo-Confucian philosopher. A staunch critic of the Hongguang court’s failures, Liu had alienated allies with his rigid idealism. When the Qing advanced, he refused to flee or fight, instead staging a public hunger strike. His final days were a performance of moral absolutism: dismissing news of anti-Qing rebellions as “irrelevant,” he starved himself to death, framing it as a protest against “utilitarian” resistance. Critics argued his act served vanity more than the Ming cause.

The Cultural War: Hair, Honor, and Identity

The Queue Order was more than a political decree—it struck at the heart of Han identity. Confucian tradition held that “the body, hair, and skin are gifts from one’s parents,” making forced haircutting a profound humiliation. Resistance often took symbolic forms: in Jiading and Jiangyin, entire cities rose up when Qing enforcers arrived, leading to brutal massacres.

Yet the Qing also co-opted cultural tools. They patronized Han scholars, compiling the Ming History to legitimize their rule. Some gentry, like the historian Zhang Dai, withdrew into private scholarship, preserving Ming culture without openly challenging the new regime.

Legacy: The Resistance That Shaped Qing Rule

The 1645 uprisings, though ultimately crushed, forced the Qing to adapt. The dynasty softened its policies, incorporating Han officials into governance and promoting Confucian orthodoxy. By the Kangxi era, the anti-Qing movement had evolved into a cultural resistance—preserving Ming aesthetics in art, theater, and clandestine literature.

Modern historians debate whether figures like Liu Zongzhou were heroes or tragic ideologues. Yet their dilemmas resonate beyond the 17th century, offering lessons on the complexities of resistance, collaboration, and the price of moral purity in times of upheaval. The Jiangnan gentry’s struggle reminds us that history rarely offers clear choices—only compromises with enduring consequences.

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