China’s political landscape is undergoing one of its most dramatic transformations since the days of Mao Zedong. On January 24, 2026, Beijing sent shockwaves through its military and political elite by announcing that Zhang Youxia, the nation’s highest-ranking general and a member of the Politburo, was under investigation for “suspected serious violations of discipline and law”—an official euphemism for corruption. This revelation, reported by The Indian Express, marked not just the fall of a powerful figure but the unraveling of a network that once seemed untouchable at the heart of China’s military command.
Zhang Youxia’s story is intertwined with that of President Xi Jinping. Both are so-called “princelings,” their fathers being senior Chinese Communist Party (CCP) officials, and their personal relationship dates back to childhood. Yet, even these deep connections offered no shield. Alongside Zhang, another top general, Liu Zhenli, is also under investigation, and both are set to be removed from the Central Military Commission (CMC). With three other CMC members already expelled, only Xi Jinping and his anti-corruption chief remain at the helm of the two-million-strong People’s Liberation Army (PLA).
As Nikkei Asia observed, this purge is unprecedented in scope. Not since the Cultural Revolution has the upper echelon of China’s military seen such a swift and thorough housecleaning. The move has been described as a “desperate measure” in response to “scandalous defects” uncovered within the PLA. Despite Xi’s investment of hundreds of billions of dollars to modernize the military and prepare for potential conflict—most notably over Taiwan—corruption has hollowed out the PLA’s fighting capacity. Technical failures in the elite Rocket Force’s arsenal have been particularly embarrassing: missile tanks filled with water rather than fuel, and silo lids that failed to open, rendering rockets useless. As Bloomberg put it, Xi fears his vaunted missiles “might turn out to be nothing more than expensive fireworks.”
This crisis of confidence is not limited to a few individuals. Since mid-2023, at least 50 senior officials in the military and defense industry have been swept up in corruption probes, according to The Wall Street Journal. Perhaps most startling, one-fifth of all senior generals promoted by Xi himself have now been either fired or accused of wrongdoing. It’s a striking admission that even Xi’s own handpicked cadre was not immune to the rot that has long plagued the system.
The consequences are reverberating far beyond the walls of Zhongnanhai. As The Taipei Times noted, the removal of experienced figures like Zhang—who fought in the Sino-Vietnamese War of 1979 and was regarded as a war hero—has raised doubts about Beijing’s war-readiness. The PLA’s top ranks are now perilously thin on combat experience, potentially weakening China’s ability to launch military aggression, at least in the short term. Yet, some analysts warn this does not necessarily make the world safer. Xi is likely to fill the void with loyalists less inclined to question his authority, potentially creating a leadership more eager to implement his vision, regardless of the risks.
For many observers, the anti-corruption campaign is as much about consolidating power as it is about cleaning up graft. “These arrests are political, first and foremost,” said Deng Yuwen in Foreign Policy. “Anti-corruption is just a cloak in which the politics are wrapped,” as Xi amasses ever more control. In a one-party state where corruption is endemic, no official is truly safe. Membership in the Politburo or being a “princeling” once conferred near-total protection. Now, as Zhang’s fate shows, those old rules have been swept away.
Xi’s campaign, which began in 2012, has investigated millions of officials across all levels of government. The result, as The Week described, is a bureaucracy “frozen with fear.” Officials are increasingly reluctant to make decisions, sign off on projects, or pursue reforms, worried that any misstep could bring them under suspicion. The machine, some say, is “eating itself.” The once-vaunted momentum of the Chinese state is at risk of grinding to a halt as self-preservation trumps initiative.
This climate of fear and uncertainty extends well beyond the military. Prominent dissident artist and free speech advocate Ai Weiwei, who spoke with Reuters in London on January 29, 2026, has long been a symbol of resistance to state control. Ai’s career has been shaped by censorship: his exhibitions have been canceled, his name erased from online platforms, and his advocacy for human rights has made him a target for official scrutiny. “In China, censorship relates to red lines. You cannot cross some red lines. It’s about state policy and discussions about state power,” Ai told Reuters. Sensitive topics—especially those related to minorities or religion—are strictly off-limits, and transgressing them can have serious consequences.
Yet Ai sees parallels in the West, where censorship is increasingly enforced not just by states but by companies, institutions, and even cultural organizations. “You also see censorship everywhere—not necessarily just from the state but from companies, from institutions, from schools or museums,” he noted. The rise of surveillance technologies and artificial intelligence, Ai warned, has further eroded privacy and individuality: “It’s like you are playing a game of poker—the other side knows what you are hiding in your hands, so how can you play the game?” When privacy disappears, he argues, “we have lost humanity, because we are no different from one another. We are just numbers.”
Ai’s recent return to China after a decade abroad was, by his account, a strange and bittersweet experience. “You’re going back somewhere you’re so familiar with, but at the same time it’s so different now because China has become a very powerful state in the international setting,” he reflected. While his visit was courteous and trouble-free—he attributes this to the authorities’ familiarity with him—Ai remains skeptical that China has become more accepting of dissent. “I just have ideological differences, and I argue about social justice, human rights, freedom of speech, so somehow they understand me. That’s what I hope.”
Despite his international acclaim, Ai is pessimistic about the future of free speech and artistic expression, both in China and abroad. “It’s obviously getting harder (to work) if you want to touch on those so-called sensitive issues, and it’s a test and a challenge to your integrity,” he said. For younger artists, he offered a word of caution: “I did it only because my nature is like that, but I don’t encourage everybody to do that because I don’t know if you can pay the cost of losing the means to survive.” The risks are real, and the price of truth-telling can be steep.
Still, Ai insists there is hope—if people act to protect their own consciousness and essential rights. “That is the only possibility for us to remain as individuals that can be associated with humanity. Otherwise, we are going to, in this fully developed technical world, easily disappear.”
China’s current upheaval, from the military purges to the shrinking space for dissent, is a stark reminder of the delicate balance between power, fear, and the human desire for expression. As the world watches, the future of China—and the voices within it—remains uncertain, but not yet silenced.