A Hero’s Farewell from the South

In the waning months of 1868, the atmosphere in Nanjing crackled with ceremonial grandeur as Zeng Guofan prepared for his departure. Unlike his contemporary Li Hongzhang, who rarely inspired spontaneous public displays, Zeng’s journey north prompted an extraordinary outpouring. Along every major thoroughfare his sedan chair would pass, incense altars appeared as if by magic, while military garrisons fired ceremonial salutes in unified tribute. The streets thrummed with energy, a remarkable sight for a man who had cultivated emotional detachment throughout his career.

For Zeng Guofan, a scholar-official who prided himself on maintaining equanimity regardless of honor or disgrace, the display proved unexpectedly moving. The celebration stood in stark contrast to the precarious position he had occupied just years earlier. After the recapture of Nanjing in 1864—the final blow to the Taiping Rebellion that had threatened the Qing dynasty’s existence—Zeng and his brother had achieved legendary status, but as the saying went, “fame follows slander.” In the court’s political labyrinth, those envious of their achievements had whispered poison, creating an atmosphere where the brothers’ fortunes could have turned disastrously at any moment.

The Precarious Position of Qing Dynasty Reformers

To understand Zeng’s cautious approach to fame, one must appreciate the dangerous political landscape of late Qing China. The dynasty had weathered the catastrophic Taiping Rebellion , which had claimed millions of lives and nearly toppled the imperial system. Regional armies like Zeng’s Xiang Army had proven essential to victory, but this military success created new political problems. Court officials traditionally viewed powerful regional commanders with suspicion, fearing they might leverage their military influence against central authority.

Zeng navigated these treacherous waters with exceptional political acumen. Despite commanding the most formidable military force in China, he consistently demonstrated loyalty to the throne and took deliberate steps to avoid appearing ambitious. His dissolution of the Xiang Army following the suppression of the rebellion was a masterstroke of political signaling, demonstrating that his power served the dynasty rather than personal ambition. This context explains why the public adulation during his departure both moved and concerned him—such displays could reignite court suspicions.

The Long Journey Northward Reflection

Zeng’s journey to Beijing unfolded at a contemplative pace, stretching from the autumn deep into winter. He finally arrived in the capital on December 13th, taking residence at the Xianliang Temple—the same accommodations previously used by both Zuo Zongtang and Li Hongzhang. This leisurely progression reflected Zeng’s philosophical mindset, which he described using the phrase “like an intoxicated infant”—a state of natural simplicity unconcerned with worldly judgments.

During his travels, Zeng found himself reflecting on poetry he had composed for his younger brother’s forty-first birthday, particularly these verses:

“Nine years of hardship conquering a hundred cities,
Amidst widespread criticism and opposition.
Today we toast with yellow flower wine,
Celebrating my brother’s rebirth together.”

“On left side merit inscriptions, on right slander documents,
The world everywhere has its balances.
Bowing to acknowledge the butcher’s wisdom,
All matters are but clouds passing through the great void.”

“Youthful warmth without danger,
Drinkers expansive without suspicion.
With you I discuss secrets of longevity,
Learning from infants in their intoxicated state.”

These poems reveal Zeng’s philosophical approach to navigating fame and criticism—acknowledging the transience of worldly achievements while seeking simpler truths.

The Capital Abuzz with Anticipation

Zeng’s arrival in Beijing generated extraordinary excitement among officials and commoners alike. Having been absent from the capital for seventeen years—since before the Xianfeng Emperor’s reign—most junior officials had never seen the legendary figure who had saved the dynasty. Curiosity spread through government offices as word circulated: “Let’s go see Governor-General Zeng! Let’s go see Governor-General Zeng!”

The anticipation built around expectations of a commanding presence. Officials imagined someone with Li Hongzhang’s imposing stature and authoritative gaze, or Zuo Zongtang’s round-faced, big-bellied appearance that suggested good fortune. Some even expected the moral gravitas associated with Confucian scholars like Wo Ren.

The Reality Versus Expectation

The actual sight of Zeng Guofan proved startlingly different from these expectations. Many who gathered to catch a glimpse of the famous statesman found themselves disappointed by his ordinary appearance. Without the red feather-adorned official hat and rank beads that signified his position, he might easily have been mistaken for a country rustic rather than one of the most powerful men in China.

Those knowledgeable in physiognomy found particular fascination in Zeng’s features. His triangular eyes and downward-slanting eyebrows traditionally indicated a “punishment and execution” fate according to face-reading practices. Yet contrary to these ominous signs, Zeng had not only avoided execution—the common fate of many powerful officials—but had achieved the highest honors, including noble rank and ministerial authority. His current position virtually guaranteed immunity from punishment unless he committed outright rebellion, which his consistently cautious behavior made unthinkable. Observers concluded that moral cultivation could apparently overcome inauspicious physical characteristics—an unintended lesson in ethical improvement through Zeng’s very appearance.

Protocol and Politics at the Highest Levels

Zeng’s formal audience followed established court protocols but contained significant moments of imperial favor. He first visited the Grand Council to pay respects to Prince Gong and other members. The dynamics revealed much about shifting power structures—while Prince Gong and Baojun were his contemporaries, other council members were junior in both rank and examination status. Li Hongzao, who had recently returned to the Grand Council after observing mourning rites for his mother, stood as particularly junior, having earned his jinshi degree in 1852 when Zeng already served as Vice Minister of Rites and had been appointed examination supervisor.

Prince Gong received Zeng with exceptional courtesy, inviting him to sit on the kang heated platform—an honor reflecting Zeng’s status. Their conversation remained brief before the Grand Council received summons for imperial audience, after which Zeng himself was called to appear before the emperors, escorted by Prince Bo.

Audience with the Imperial Regents

The audience protocol demonstrated the respect accorded to Zeng while maintaining proper court formalities. After completing the required ceremonies, the Empress Dowager Cixi—effectively ruling China alongside Empress Dowager Ci’an during the Tongzhi Emperor’s minority—showed exceptional favor by permitting Zeng to remain standing during the audience rather than kneeling throughout.

After acknowledging this honor with another kotow, Zeng stood respectfully beside Prince Bo as the regents began their questioning. Their inquiries focused primarily on practical matters of governance: the completion of affairs in Jiangnan, the demobilization of troops, and the funding arrangements for discharged soldiers.

Cixi showed particular concern about potential unrest from demobilized troops, asking pointedly: “The soldiers you disbanded—did they cause any trouble?” To which Zeng reassuringly replied: “They remained quite peaceful.”

The conversation then turned to provincial administration, with Cixi emphasizing: “Zhili Province is critically important. You must train troops effectively.” She further stressed the need to rectify long-neglected administrative systems, indicating the heavy responsibilities awaiting him as Governor-General of Zhili.

Zeng responded with characteristic modesty and caution: “Considering my abilities, I fear I may not handle these matters adequately.” He acknowledged the strategic importance of Tianjin’s coastal defenses while noting his declining energy and limited capacity for frequent meetings with subordinates—an honest assessment that nonetheless suggested concerns about his effectiveness in the demanding new role.

The Symbolism of Zeng’s Return

Zeng Guofan’s return to Beijing represented more than a personnel transfer—it symbolized the Qing dynasty’s delicate balancing act between central authority and regional power. The massive public sendoff in Nanjing demonstrated the popular respect commanded by regional leaders, while the careful court reception illustrated the imperial establishment’s attempt to reassert control over these powerful figures.

His physical appearance—so ordinary despite his monumental achievements—became itself a political statement. In a system that valued conformity and feared ambitious individualism, Zeng’s unthreatening demeanor likely reassured court officials while his record of accomplishment demonstrated undeniable competence. This combination made him uniquely positioned to bridge the gap between Beijing’s political center and China’s regional administrations.

Legacy of a Practical Visionary

Zeng Guofan’s final return to Beijing marked the beginning of his last major official assignment—governor-general of Zhili Province, where he would implement reforms until his death in 1872. His approach to governance combined moral cultivation with pragmatic administration, reflecting the philosophy evident in his poetry and personal conduct.

The contrast between his monumental historical role and his unassuming personal appearance encapsulates a central paradox of Chinese political philosophy: true power derives not from obvious displays of strength but from cultivated virtue and practical effectiveness. Zeng’s ability to navigate the treacherous political waters of late Qing China, his careful management of military demobilization, and his modest acceptance of imperial favor all demonstrate the sophisticated political acumen that enabled his extraordinary career.

In an era when the Qing dynasty faced unprecedented internal rebellion and external pressure, Zeng Guofan represented both tradition and adaptation—a Confucian scholar who organized effective modern armies, a loyal official who commanded independent power, and a visionary reformer who appeared as a simple country gentleman. His return to Beijing thus represented not just the journey of one official, but the complex negotiation between central and regional power that would define China’s path to modernization.