Growing up with more
historical novels than textbooks, I always got drawn into the tangled power plays inside the Forbidden City. In the Ming dynasty, officialdom wasn’t simply a ladder you climbed by
passing exams and waiting politely — it was a maze where proximity to the emperor, control of information, and social networks mattered as much as merit.
The basic, formal route was the imperial examinations: scorable success gave you a jinshi degree and entry into the bureaucracy. From there, clever placement in the Six Ministries or the Censorate let you build a patronage network, shape appointments, and influence policy. But because the Ming abolished the old chancellor system, power was more distributed; the Grand Secretariat and ministers became gatekeepers who could either make or break careers by controlling documents and access to the throne.
Outside the scholar track, eunuchs carved out an astonishing alternative pathway. Because
they lived inside the palace, managed communications and sometimes ran the Eastern and Western Depot, they monopolized the emperor’s ear. Controlling memorials, managing the imperial household, and even commanding troops in certain periods let eunuchs like Wei Zhongxian become kingmakers. Add money (tax farming, salt, gifts), family alliances among gentry, military success, and the occasional corruption scandal, and you get a court where formal rank, personal favor, and behind-the-scenes networks all mixed together. I still find it wild how a scholar’s prestige and a eunuch’s whisper could weigh the same in that world.