You’ve probably met someone like Tong Guan. Not the 11th-century eunuch himself, but the type: impossibly capable, fiercely loyal, always ready to get things done when the system stalls. They’re the ones who bend the rules just enough to solve your problems, who have your back when the bureaucracy falls apart. And then, one day, they’re the ones you can’t get rid of.
In 1108, Emperor Huizong of Song made a decision that broke a century of precedent: he granted a eunuch the highest civilian rank, “Open Palace, Ceremonial of the Three Dukes.” Tong Guan had already been put in charge of military campaigns—unheard of for a eunuch in the Song dynasty. Later, Huizong even made him a prince, the only eunuch in all of Chinese history to achieve that title.
Why would a smart emperor, well-aware of the bloody eunuch disasters in Han and Tang dynasties, let this happen?
Here’s the trap. Every formal system has gaps. No set of rules can cover every situation, every personal relationship, every sudden crisis. So you create a back channel, an informal shortcut, a person who can move faster than the machine. At first, it works beautifully. The problem is, that person becomes indispensable precisely because the system can’t do what they do. And once you’re dependent on them, you lose the power to say no.
This isn’t just a lesson for emperors. It’s for anyone running a team, a project, or even their own life.
Think about your own “informal system”: the go-to person who always gets things done, the workaround you rely on when official processes are too slow, the trust shortcut you use instead of the rulebook. Each of these is a kind of personal power you’ve invested in someone else. The moment that investment grows bigger than the system itself, you’re in trouble.
The real insight here isn’t about good vs. evil—Tong Guan wasn’t a cartoon villain, and Huizong wasn’t stupid. The real problem is the structural tension between formal and informal power. Any healthy system needs both. But the informal must always remain an aid to the formal, not a replacement for it. The moment the informal channel becomes the primary channel, you’ve lost control.
So what’s the practical takeaway? Two things.
First, never let any single person become the only way through. If you have a “Tong Guan” in your life—an employee, a partner, a friend—make sure you have multiple paths. Redundancy isn’t inefficiency; it’s resilience.
Second, be honest about the cost. Every shortcut you take by bypassing the system is a vote of non-confidence in that system. If the system keeps failing, fix the system, not just the person.
Tong Guan’s story is a warning that applies to every organization, every relationship, and every moment when you’re tempted to say, “I’ll just trust this person to handle it.” Because eventually, that person stops handling things—and starts handling you.