The mountains of Anyi stood immovable, like ancient sentinels guarding centuries of forgotten history, when Xu Ping gathered his captains, propagandists, scribes, and the villagers of the valley on the wide central plain. Smoke from past battles still lingered on the horizon, drifting like a ghostly reminder, but what was to be decided that day was no ambush or skirmish, no fleeting campaign. It was something far greater: the destiny of the peasant movement itself.
The news of the annihilation of the Imperial army of one hundred thousand had rolled through the villages like a thunderclap. Farmers and shepherds no longer spoke of Xu Ping as a mere guerrilla leader, but as a founder—a man who might build an entirely new order, different from that of nobles and usurpers. The cry was unmistakable: winning battles was no longer enough; the time had come to forge a power that could replace the crumbling Empire.
Xu Ping understood this truth better than anyone.
On a makeshift podium built of rough logs, Xu Ping addressed thousands of fighters and villagers who had gathered in the valley: men armed with spears stripped from dead Imperials, women who had carried grain and water through the marches, children learning to read propaganda pamphlets for the first time.
"Today we do not celebrate a mere military victory," he declared, his voice rolling like the beat of a war drum. "Today we celebrate the birth of something new. The Empire sent one hundred thousand soldiers to crush us, and now their armies are nothing but ashes. We have proven that the peasant can defeat the noble. We have proven that justice can break the whip."
A roar surged through the crowd, a tide of voices that shook the very air.
Xu Ping raised the iron spear he had wielded since his earliest fights.
"From this day forth, here in Anyi, we will not be merely an army. We shall be a State. And this State shall not belong to the children of a single family, nor be handed down through blood and lineage. Power will not pass from father to son, but from fighter to fighter, from people to people! Whoever serves the people, whoever dies for justice, shall have the right to lead. Lineage will be buried alongside the nobility."
The words struck like hammers against centuries of tradition. It was a clean break, a declaration of war not only against the Empire but against the very logic of inherited power. The State of Anyi was born as something radical: no emperors by birthright, no dynasties clinging to golden thrones. It was to be a collective project, a State forged in fire and in the hands of the people.
Immediately afterward, Xu Ping ordered the destruction of the old banners—patched-together cloths with improvised symbols. In their place rose new standards of deep crimson, bearing the emblem of a plow crossed with a spear.
"We are no longer scattered peasants or wandering guerrillas," he proclaimed. "Today we cast aside the name of the Army of the People. From this day, we are the People's Army. The iron we wrest from the Empire shall become the iron that shields the people."
The soldiers erupted into cheers, while the propagandists moved through the ranks, repeating the slogan again and again until it echoed like a chant. The identity of the movement was sealed: not rebels without a cause, but the regular army of a nascent State.
The next step was clear: to organize the liberated land. Xu Ping knew well that victories could not be sustained by speeches alone; only structures gave permanence. He ordered the construction of fortresses in strategic points of Anyi: wooden towers in the valleys, palisades guarding the mountain passes, fortified granaries to store both food and weapons.
The liberated villages were reorganized as bases. Each community was required to build a small garrison, contribute men and women to the People's Army, and keep emergency stores of supplies ready for war. They were no longer just villages—they became the nodes of a military network stretching across the valley and beyond.
Blacksmiths hammered iron day and night, carpenters raised walls, and farmers rotated between tilling the soil and drilling in formation. The State of Anyi began to function not as a loose rebellion, but as a living organism built for permanent war.
Xu Ping did not stop at internal organization. He sent detachments to neighboring villages, not as conquerors but as liberators. The propagandists always marched ahead, their voices loud in the marketplaces and on the dirt roads:
"We do not come to tax you, nor to steal your daughters for the beds of nobles. We come to offer justice and to call you to arms. Let the one who wishes to live in chains remain silent. Let the one who seeks justice march with us."
In every village, peasants stepped forward, giving their sons and daughters to the People's Army. Fear that had once held them back evaporated like mist at dawn; Xu Ping had shown he could destroy Imperial columns, and that was enough to ignite belief.
Within weeks, his forces grew from sixty thousand to more than seventy thousand. Though they still lacked the impeccable drill and glittering order of Imperial troops, their cohesion was greater than ever. They were no longer a mass of desperate survivors; they were the backbone of a new political power.
In council with his officers, Xu Ping declared the guiding principle:
"The State of Anyi will not resemble the realms of the nobles. There will be no heirs by blood. There will be no dynasties. The ruler shall be whoever serves the people, and the people themselves shall have the right to raise or cast down their leaders. This shall be a State born of justice, not inheritance."
The announcement spread like wildfire. Pamphlets carried the message into markets; heralds shouted it in plazas; scribes recited it aloud in villages where few could read. To the peasants, it sounded like an impossible dream made real: a State without nobles, a State where the son of a farmer might one day lead.
The bonfires of Anyi burned through the night, lighting the birth of a new order. Luo Wen still clung to Guangling, Wei Lian still ruled the waves with her fleet, but in the valleys of the north something had risen that neither could ignore: the State of Anyi, sustained and defended by the People's Army.
It was no longer a revolt.It was a State in arms.And with every passing day, the fire of the peasantry spread farther beyond the mountains, threatening to engulf the Empire itself.