Behind the Rumors of an Attack on Xi Jinping's Motorcade: The CMC Membership List Vanished Overnight — Has Xi Jinping Fallen into a Power Vacuum? Cai Qi's Secret Talks at Beidaihe: A Successor for the Fifth Plenum Emerges? [Jiang Feng Perspective 20260804 Episode 453]
The video cuts in from official media releases between July 28 and August 3, comparing arrangements such as the Tangshan memorial events, the August 1 reception, the Politburo meeting, and Cai Qi's visit to comfort experts in Beidaihe. It focuses on analyzing the zeroing out of the list of Central Military Commission members, Dong Jun's prolonged absence from the Central Military Commission, Xi's absence from the Tangshan events, and changes in the list of Beidaihe experts. Using the historical experiences of Hua Guofeng and Khrushchev as points of comparison, it proposes several indicators for observing the Fifth Plenary Session and changes in Central Military Commission personnel.
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Today, let's first look at four official media images. The first image: on July 28, the 50th anniversary of the Tangshan earthquake, Li Qiang went to present a flower basket. The beginning of the Xinhua News Agency dispatch read, "Entrusted by the General Secretary." Ten years ago, on the 40th anniversary, Xi went himself, personally presenting the flower basket and personally bowing three times. Ten years later, at the same park, the same memorial wall, and with the same three bows, the person had been replaced by the Premier.
The second image: on July 30, in Beijing, the Politburo held a meeting and decided that the Fifth Plenary Session would be convened in October. The agenda read: "Studying a number of major issues on persevering in advancing comprehensive and strict governance of the Party." Translated into plain human language, this October meeting is going to deal with people. The third image: on July 31, at the Great Hall of the People, the Ministry of National Defense hosted a reception to celebrate the military's 99th birthday. The beginning of the Xinhua News Agency dispatch had only one sentence: "Minister of National Defense Dong Jun attended and delivered a speech." That string of names that used to hang in front of this sentence in previous years was completely absent this year.
The fourth image: on August 3, in Beidaihe, Cai Qi visited experts resting for the summer vacation. The dispatch again contained "Entrusted by the General Secretary," and the Beidaihe time officially began. Placed together, these four images show Xi's name everywhere: in Tangshan, it was by his commission; in Beidaihe, it was also by his commission. He presided over the Politburo meeting, he signed the Central Military Commission's general orders, his name was everywhere, and the seal was still held tightly in his hands. However, the venues where the Commander-in-Chief himself should have been present had their personnel replaced one after another; the Central Military Commission members who should have shown their faces at the military's birthday banquet had their names disappear one by one.
Therefore, before heading to Beidaihe, let's first look at that table in the Great Hall of the People. Ten years ago, six Central Military Commission members sat at this table; this year, the number is zero. Let's establish a rule first: in normal years, the Ministry of National Defense's August 1 reception has a set of unchanging writing conventions—the Minister of National Defense delivers a speech, all Central Military Commission members in Beijing attend, and their names are called out without a single omission in the dispatch. This rule has been enforced by officials themselves for over a decade.
The dispatch at the beginning of the 89th Army Day anniversary in 2016 wrote that Chang Wanquan, member of the Central Military Commission, State Councilor, and Minister of National Defense, delivered a speech. Central Military Commission members Fang Fenghui, Zhang Yang, Zhao Keshi, Zhang Youxia, Ma Xiaotian, and Wei Fenghe attended the reception, with the six names lined up in a row. Note that the three characters for Zhang Youxia were sitting squarely in this list that year.
In 2018, the list changed, leaving three: Wei Fenghe delivered the speech, while Li Zuocheng, Miao Hua, and Zhang Shengmin attended. In 2023, there were still three: Li Shangfu delivered the speech, while Liu Zhenli, Miao Hua, and Zhang Shengmin attended. In 2024, there were also three: Liu Zhenli, Miao Hua, Zhang Shengmin, and Dong Jun delivered the speech. By 2025, only two remained; the names of Liu Zhenli, Zhang Shengmin, and Miao Hua were gone. By July 31 of this year, in the same banquet hall, from the same news agency, and using the same journalistic conventions, the opening was reduced to a solitary sentence: "Minister of National Defense Dong Jun attended and delivered a speech." A bureaucratic filler was added at the end: "Leaders from various departments of the Central Military Commission and relevant military units stationed in Beijing attended the reception." Which leaders? It no longer says.
I must be precise here to avoid nitpicking. First, the lack of names in the official report does not strictly prove that no one was present, and the authorities have never released a complete guest list. However, this convention for official reports has been in place for over a decade: any incumbent member of the Central Military Commission who attends publicly is invariably named at the beginning. Being named is a matter of political status; not being named is a political signal. The fact that zero names were mentioned is, in itself, the news.
Second, do not make an issue out of Zhang Shengmin. Zhang Shengmin is now a Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission. It is entirely consistent with established practice for a Vice Chairman not to attend a reception in a non-anniversary year. Since Zhang Youxia was promoted to Vice Chairman in 2017, he has not stepped into this banquet hall in non-anniversary years. Therefore, Zhang Shengmin's absence is compliant and beyond reproach.
But once the rules are set, the real problem emerges. If a Vice Chairman can skip it by convention, what about the members? This table is, by rule, reserved for members. In the current Central Military Commission, who else can sit at this table as a member of the Central Military Commission? Some friends mention Zhang Shuguang.
On July 3, the authorities promoted Zhang Shuguang to General and placed him in charge of the Central Military Commission's Discipline Inspection Commission; the promotion ceremony was presided over by Zhang Shengmin. But if you look closely at that official report, he was only given the rank of General and the burden of the Discipline Inspection Commission. To this day, the authorities have not bestowed the title of "Member of the Central Military Commission" upon him. Thus, his omission this time is not technically an exception; he has not yet even earned the qualification to be named.
Being promoted to General and taking the seal of the military's discipline commission, yet failing to enter the list of Central Military Commission members—this arrangement, stuck in limbo, is itself intriguing. Look at Dong Jun: when Chang Wanquan delivered the speech in 2016, his title was Member of the Central Military Commission, State Councilor, and Minister of National Defense. Wei Fenghe held this title, and so did Li Shangfu. When it came to Dong Jun, from 2024 to now—three years later—the official report remains bare; he is still just the host, the Minister of National Defense, celebrating the army's birthday.
The person standing on stage delivering the speech cannot enter the Central Military Commission himself; the members before him are carried away one by one, and the ministers behind him cannot be filled in. This gap has remained unclosed for three years. Is there a shortage of personnel? The CCP lacks everything except people who want to be officials. If it cannot be closed, it can only be because before one can sit in that chair, one must pass a review that no one can clearly define—a review called trust.
There is another detail hidden at the end of the official report. In previous years, the guest list at the end of the report followed a fixed format: representatives of retired veteran cadres, military heroes and models, militia from the capital, military families, dual-model individuals, and the spouses of foreign military attachés—these were the categories. This year, the list is the longest in history: representatives from the military, the National People's Congress, and the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference were added; outstanding grassroots officers and soldiers, outstanding civilian personnel, outstanding retired veterans, and representatives of advanced defense science and technology were added; even the heads of some mainstream media stationed in Beijing were listed. With no names to write for the main table, they piled titles into the guest column—this is an old trick in official reporting. The longer the list, the more it reveals the emptiness of what it is trying to cover up. Wherever a document suddenly becomes wordy, that is where it is feeling guilty.
Let me clear up a misconception for some friends. Some noticed that CCTV's Xinwen Lianbo did not broadcast this reception and felt this was a major anomaly. This is not actually an anomaly; in recent years, receptions in non-anniversary years have often only appeared on the military channel, and only major anniversaries (years ending in 5 or 0) make it onto Xinwen Lianbo. The real anomaly is not whether CCTV broadcast it, but that in the official report released by Xinhua News Agency, not a single name of a Central Military Commission member can be found.
So, while the table looked empty on the night of July 31, it has actually been empty for more than one night. It is the first time it has been cleared to zero after people were carried away one by one over the past three years. But while the list is empty, the gunfire has not stopped. On August 1, planes were still flying and warships were still patrolling near Huangyan Island. This raises a real question: as the machine continues to run, does it prove that the person in Zhongnanhai still has a firm grip, or does it prove that this machine no longer needs to look at the Central Military Commission's face?
So, is it the military or the Central Military Commission that has been hollowed out? Let's open the ledger first. The seven-member Central Military Commission elected at the 20th National Congress consisted of: Xi Jinping, Zhang Youxia, He Weidong, Li Shangfu, Liu Zhenli, Miao Hua, and Zhang Shengmin. Over the past 3 years, Li Shangfu fell, and Miao Hua was first suspended and then officially announced to have fallen. On October 17 last year, a 9-member list led by He Weidong was simultaneously announced to be expelled from the Party and the military. On January 24 this year, Zhang Youxia and Liu Zhenli were placed under investigation—5 out of the 7 have been crossed off.
The purges and retroactive inspections of equipment over these past 3 years—how they investigated Li Shangfu and how they struck on that Black Saturday—have already been dissected from start to finish. Today, let's take just one conclusion: far more than 5 people were purged. It is the entire executive layer of the Central Military Commission. Those in charge of equipment, political work, joint operations, and military command—an entire floor has been emptied out. The floor is empty, but the machinery underneath is still roaring along.
Around August 1, the authorities themselves released news that the Southern Theater Command conducted joint sea and air exercises around Scarborough Shoal, the Coast Guard organized rights-enforcement and law-control drills, and the Navy's 83rd Fleet formation sailed to Indonesia for a visit. On August 3, another military exercise announcement was released in the South China Sea. Guns are firing, ships are sailing, and exercises are proceeding as scheduled.
Some people say, "Look, the military is operating normally, which shows that the boss is as stable as a mountain." This sounds smooth, but it is actually muddled. Theater commands have annual plans, training is scheduled months in advance, and naval visits are pre-arranged diplomatic arrangements; this is called inertia. Machinery has inertia. Even if the upper echelons have collapsed by half, the rank-and-file at the grassroots still carry out drills. Inertia proves only one thing: the military hasn't paralyzed. It does not prove that all gun barrels still listen to the same person.
Military power is truly not about who stands on the city tower on the day of a military parade, nor whose name is printed on official orders. It is about when a matter of life and death truly arises, and a temporary, cross-theater command that no one dares to take the blame for comes down—whose phone call can make the troops turn around? State media never reports such phone calls, but they are the scales of military power. The scales are invisible, so let's look at something else that is visible: military ranks.
One of the most ironclad powers of the Chairman of the Central Military Commission is the awarding of general ranks. Who gets promoted to general, who commands a theater command, who enters the Central Military Commission—it's a matter of a single stroke of a pen. Two generals were promoted last December, and another two on July 3. Across all four hats, searching through their resumes, not a single one fell on his own people. The awarding ceremony goes on as scheduled, the appointment documents are issued as usual, the smiles in front of the cameras remain unchanged, but the heads beneath those hats all belong to others. Even his most formidable power bears someone else's fruit.
There is also a set of time gaps worth pondering. On the afternoon of July 30, the Political Bureau held a collective study session with a high-sounding topic: advancing the modernization of national defense and the military with high quality. The meeting was held in Zhongnanhai. During the day on July 31, he signed an order conferring honors on a unit; signing and issuing the document, everything was handled right on his desk. On the evening of July 31, the grand banquet for the founding anniversary of the military opened at the Great Hall of the People, and the table for the Central Military Commission was left empty.
Talking about strengthening the military in the meeting room one day, signing orders at the desk the next day, and by evening at the military's own banquet hall, not a single name representing the Central Military Commission could be displayed. Managing the military across a conference table, controlling the military across official stationery, he simply never touches the military itself. As yesterday's program mentioned, since January, his record of publicly walking into frontline military camps has been one long blank space. Today, we won't repeat where his footsteps went, but simply look at the new results.
By August 1, even the names of the Central Military Commission's executive layer had evaporated from the birthday banquet press release. And just 3 days before the list was cleared to zero, he had also missed another venue, a place 200 kilometers away from Beijing. On the exact same day 10 years ago, he had gone there himself.
On July 28, 2016, marked the 40th anniversary of the Tangshan earthquake. On that day, the personage in Zhongnanhai went there in person, presented flower baskets to the compatriots who perished and the earthquake relief heroes at the Tangshan Earthquake Ruins Memorial Park, bowed three times to the memorial wall, visited paralyzed earthquake survivors, and inspected post-disaster reconstruction. State media wrote extensively about this trip back then. This year, Xinhua News Agency reviewed the 50 years of Tangshan and specifically singled out his 2016 trip to mention it again.
Exactly 10 years later, also on July 28, it was Li Qiang who went to the memorial park, Li Qiang who presented the flower basket, Li Qiang who bowed three times, and Li Qiang who shook hands at the paraplegic sanatorium. The phrase "entrusted by the General Secretary" appeared repeatedly. In the sanatorium, Li Qiang even relayed words on his behalf: "The General Secretary cares deeply about everyone and has specifically entrusted me to come and visit you all." The message was delivered, but the person didn't show up.
Let's be clear from the start: leaders are under no obligation to attend every milestone anniversary, and this in itself does not constitute evidence of wrongdoing. However, there are three glaring points this time. First, a 50th anniversary carries more weight than a 40th; it is a half-century mark, a once-in-a-lifetime event. Second, he personally went through the entire process for the 40th anniversary, effectively setting a benchmark for himself; by not attending the 50th, the discrepancy is of his own making. Third, Tangshan is 200 kilometers from Beijing, a two-hour high-speed train ride, located within the security perimeter—it is neither far nor remote, and the protocol level is high enough. He personally visited such a venue 10 years ago, but this time it was left vacant, and the authorities did not provide a single word of explanation, leaving a gap.
Outside the Great Firewall, a story quickly spread, sounding quite detailed: the motorcade of the man in Zhongnanhai, originally intended for Tangshan, was ambushed on a road in a hilly area on the outskirts before even entering the city, with heavy gunfire, leading to the immediate cancellation of the trip. The leak also claimed that the perpetrators were not regular troops, but a makeshift team of veterans, and the weapons were not unusual—standard rifles and ammunition, with origins pointing to old guns and ammo phased out by the military equipment system over the years.
Following the old rules, let's label this statement: it is a single-source claim, and the person who released it also stated they take no responsibility for its veracity. There is no second independent source, no on-site footage, no records of road closures, and no casualty information that can be cross-verified. So why mention it? Because this rumor itself is a thermometer. For such a bizarre story to spread outside the Great Firewall within days, it relies not only on the mouths that weave the story but also on the gap left by the authorities themselves.
He went 10 years ago but skipped the 50th; if you don't explain, others will explain for you. Rumors can never serve as evidence, but they specialize in placing orders at the cracks of reality. The unexplained distance that has accumulated over the past six months between him and the military camps, public itineraries, and security routes is the crack itself.
Let's put forward three explanations for everyone to weigh. The first is a standard schedule: he had no plans to go, and the Premier attended on behalf of the CCP Central Committee, which is a normal division of labor. The second is health or security considerations, reducing impromptu outings and large-scale events, leaving the legwork to Li Qiang. The third is that the power and security system has undergone changes; while the mandate is still in his hands, there are places and routes he can no longer visit, or the security system along the way may no longer be entirely under his control.
Based on existing evidence, none of these three explanations can be ruled out. But if this were two years ago, the third explanation would have been laughed at. Today, with the August 1st list reset on the left and the Tangshan absence on the right, no one is laughing at the third explanation anymore.
On July 28, Li Qiang was entrusted to go to Tangshan. Six days later, another member of the Standing Committee set out with the same three-word mission; this time, the place was Beidaihe. What is being calculated in Zhongnanhai is military power, the October meeting, and the roadmap for the next five years. We cannot move those chess pieces; what we can hold in our own hands is nothing more than our own health.
First, let's clarify what Beidaihe is. It is a beach by the Bohai Sea in Qinhuangdao, Hebei. Since 1953, the CCP Central Committee has moved its entire operation there almost every summer, known as the "Summer Capital." How many major decisions were settled there during the Mao era? The Great Leap Forward was decided at Beidaihe, and the order to shell Kinmen was issued from Beidaihe. After the Cultural Revolution stopped it, it was picked up again in 1984, until the summer office system was officially abolished in 2003.
Although the system was abolished, the people did not disperse. Both incumbents and retirees still gather on that beach in the summer, meeting up after swimming to exchange views. There is no agenda, no minutes, and no cameras, yet many personnel decisions are settled on that sand. This is Beidaihe, a meeting that the authorities insist does not exist.
On August 3, Cai Qi arrived in Beidaihe to visit experts on summer vacation, representing the Party Central Committee and the State Council. Following the old rules, let's first clear away the parts that are not news. This is not the first year Cai Qi has done this; he has done it for four consecutive years, without even changing the dates. Therefore, his appearance alone does not indicate who has seized whose power; this is his routine duty.
Beidaihe has never had an opening ceremony or a meeting agenda; in the official narrative, it does not count as a meeting at all. It is a signal: from this day on, the visible political time of Beidaihe in the state media has begun.
What is truly new this year is hidden in the list within the official press release. In previous years, the theme for inviting experts was "Patriotic Struggle" or "Building a New Era," but this year it was changed to "Striving for the 15th Five-Year Plan." Even more glaring is the category of invitees; the press release is crystal clear: basic research, strategic frontiers, key core technologies, and philosophy and social sciences. The terms "strategic frontier technology" and "key core technologies" were written into the main Beidaihe press release on August 3 for the first time in history.
Experts are of course not invited to fist-fights; they go there to take vacations. But looking at who the CCP Central Committee picks to sit at the table tells you what dishes are going to be served. At the start of the 15th Five-Year Plan, the economy is heading downward and external tech blockades are tightening. Over the next 5 years, which projects get fed resources, which technologies count as state security, and whose budget gets approved by whom—this list is the draft allocation of power and money for the next 5 years. On the surface, Beidaihe has lounge chairs for recuperation, but underneath it is paved with this draft.
Now, let's lay out four dates across 7 days in a straight line: July 28, Li Qiang was entrusted to go to Tangshan; July 30, the Politburo decided that the Fifth Plenary Session would be held in October, with the agenda hanging on full and strict governance of the Party; July 31, the August 1 reception, where the names of the Central Military Commission members were reset to zero; August 3, Cai Qi was entrusted to appear in Beidaihe. These events may not have come from the same hand, but they inevitably collided on the same timetable.
Let's talk about those three words: "was entrusted." Taken alone, you can't pick out any faults, but put them back against the backdrop and look again: the military commission's executive tier has been zeroed out, the defense minister has failed to enter the military commission for 3 years, he himself was absent from the 50th anniversary in Tangshan, and he hasn't set foot in a military camp for over half a year. With this string of facts lined up behind it, the flavor of "was entrusted" changes. His mode of existence is shrinking step by step—from showing up in person, entering the troops in person, and shaking hands with officers and soldiers in person—down to presiding over meetings, signing documents, and entrusting others. His name is everywhere, yet he goes nowhere.
What is this called? An seal-like existence. But the crux of power has never been whether one can delegate. Even when the emperor was sick, he could entrust eunuchs to transmit imperial edicts; the crux lies at both ends: to whom does the entrusted person report after finishing the errand? When that seal goes down, do the people underneath treat it as a military order, or as a piece of paper that needs to be weighed? The official press releases never answer these two questions.
Yet this month in Beidaihe will use personnel changes to answer them for us. Beidaihe has no opening ceremony; it is more like a waiting room without security cameras, where various factions enter carrying their respective medical records, and when they come out, some get promoted, some retire, and some people's names no longer appear in the newspapers. The most conspicuous medical record placed at the door of the waiting room this year has four words written on its cover: Central Military Commission.
Some friends ask, can those minor ripples in the official press releases—like lists being reset to zero and being entrusted with errands—really indicate major problems? The history of the CCP has answered this itself, and the Soviet Communist Party has too. Let's look into both mirrors.
The first mirror is Hua Guofeng. After 1976, to what extent did Hua Guofeng's titles reach? Party Chairman, State Council Premier, and Chairman of the Central Military Commission—all shouldered by one person. He had the most complete set of titles since the founding of the PRC; not even Mao ever held all three simultaneously. Yet from 1980 onward, meetings were held, press releases were issued as usual, titles were hung as usual, and you couldn't find a single word scolding him in the newspapers.
Only three things changed: the names around him were replaced one by one; the occasions he appeared at were demoted step by step; and the modifiers preceding his name were shortened bit by bit. In September 1980, the post of premier was given up first to Zhao Ziyang, and the official press release was written very politely, saying it was proposed by Hua himself. The following year, the posts of Party Chairman and Military Commission Chairman were handed over together, still framed as a request to resign. Every step was written as voluntary, and every step was out of his control.
By the Sixth Plenary Session in June 1981, he requested to resign as Chairman of the Central Military Commission, and Deng Xiaoping took the seal. The whole process first hollowed him out and then removed his plaque; the press release was as decorous as a send-off. What this mirror teaches us is how to read: titles cannot outlive power, but press releases can. Who stands next to the name, the level of the occasion, and the length of the modifiers. The way people read the press release of the 99th anniversary reception today is the way savvy people read Hua Guofeng back then.
One distinction must be made clear: Hua Guofeng handed over the seal with dignity after being hollowed out, but the current figure still holds the seal tightly in his hand. When the seal is gripped and refuses to be let go, those who want to take it must figure out other routes, which brings us to the second mirror.
The second mirror is Nikita Khrushchev. In October 1964, Khrushchev was vacationing and sunbathing at the Pitsunda dacha by the Black Sea. On October 12, a call came from Moscow, and Leonid Brezhnev said on the other end: "Why don't you come back for a trip? We'll hold a meeting to discuss agricultural issues." Khrushchev boarded the plane, and when it landed, the welcoming protocol was wrong. Entering the Kremlin, the entire Presidium was present, and Mikhail Suslov stood up to read a report, listing his crimes one by one, and voted to strip him of all posts. The reason announced to the public was age and health.
Until the very moment he boarded the plane, this First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and Chairman of the Council of Ministers had not lost a single title; guards still saluted him, and his special plane took off as usual. He himself thought he was really going back to talk about agriculture. A person who has lost power is often the last one to know.
Put the two mirrors together: Hua Guofeng's mirror says that titles can outlive power by several years; Khrushchev's mirror says that the supreme leader can go on believing right up to his last day that he is merely attending a meeting on agriculture.
Finally, here are four things to watch moving forward. First, see who is appointed to the Central Military Commission. Dong Jun has served as Minister of National Defense for three years; will he be added as a member of the Central Military Commission? Will the rank that Zhang Shuguang was stuck halfway to receiving finally be filled? To whom will the vacant positions in the Joint Staff Department and the Political Work Department be given? Second, see when the person in Zhongnanhai actually steps into a military barracks. It shouldn't be watching a screen in the August First Building, and it shouldn't be meeting representatives in the Great Hall of the People; it must be at a theater command, on a warship, or with troops. Third, see who is standing next to him the next time he appears at a military event. Once the list of those in the same frame is released, the new military order will be written in the photo. Fourth, look at the seating chart for the Fifth Plenary Session in October. How the series of military cases are ratified, how Central Committee members are replaced, and whether the vacancies in the Military Commission are addressed—these are more honest than any slogan.
Beidaihe never publishes a list of attendees, but this year's Beidaihe is itself a roll call.