The_Anonymous_Tan

In a fractured empire plagued by war and tyranny, a peasant named Huai Shan rises from obscurity to lead a desperate rebellion. What begins as a last stand in a mountain fortress grows into a sweeping uprising against generals and kings. Along the way, Huai gathers a ragtag army of outcasts, faces betrayal, and learns the brutal cost of leadership. As cities fall and empires crumble, his legend spreads — feared by the nobles, hailed by the forgotten. But in chasing victory, Huai must decide what kind of ruler — and man — he’s willing to become.

Rise of the peasant emperor

"In the ashes of the fallen, the phoenix learns to rise." — said by Mei Xuan

The sun barely pierced the clouds over Longchuan that morning, casting the city in a dull, gray gloom. But beneath the weight of that sky, the streets of the outer quarter buzzed with a tension no sentry could quite place.

To the north, a grain warehouse burned in the early hours—no witnesses, no suspects, just ash and silence. To the east, a garrison door was found jammed shut with its locks filled with tar. In the city square, someone painted a crude phoenix on the side of the central well before dawn.

None of these acts alone meant much.

They meant something was watching.

In the sewers, Mei Xuan crouched over a map etched into the damp tunnel wall, a flickering oil lamp casting her sharp profile into dancing shadows.

"The wall here is old," she said, tapping a spot with her dagger. "It wasn't reinforced after the siege ten years ago. We break it there, we're within fifty paces of the cell chambers."

Beside her, Liang Yu—the group's makeshift engineer—nodded. "We'll need at least four blasts. Two charges to break through the stone, two more to make it look like a collapse, not a breach."

"We don't want them knowing it was us," Mei said. "Not yet."

A murmur of assent passed through the gathered rebels. They had no uniforms, no insignia, nothing but scraps of steel and memory. But they moved with the conviction of a trained unit.

"We'll have only one chance. Once we go in," Mei said, standing straight, "there's no second attempt."

A silence settled, heavy and solemn.

"I swore I'd never follow another war," said an older rebel, gray streaks in his beard. "But I'll follow Huai Shan."

Others nodded. Some whispered the Phoenix Oath—a vow from the early days of the rebellion, once thought lost with Moquan.

Huai had marked the passing of days by the drip of water in the far corner of his cell.

He knew the guard who brought him food—Ren—had started speaking less and less. He also knew Ren had begun arriving slightly off schedule. And today, Ren's hand had lingered on the tray a moment too long before sliding it through the slot.

Inside was a shard of parchment. Three words only:

"Midnight. East wall."

He ate every bite of food. Drank every drop of water. And when he finished, he stood.

The pain was still there. The stiffness. The weight of his injuries.

He closed his eyes and let the silence come.

Han Yu watched the smoke curl from the far districts. His officers gave scattered reports: sabotage, disruption, strange symbols.

He sipped his wine and muttered, "Desperate animals. Lashing out before death."

Still… he didn't sleep that night.

The explosion was muffled, carefully placed. Not loud enough to be heard above the fortress walls, but deep beneath, stone cracked and groaned.

Huai heard the sound echo through the stones of his cell. He stood.

The east wall collapsed outward in a slow, grinding fall of rubble and dust.

Through the haze, Mei Xuan stepped into the prison.

Her face was smudged with soot. Her armor was scrap metal and old leather. But to Huai, she looked like the rising dawn.

Huai looked down at his body, wrapped in rags and bloodstained linen.

They vanished into the sewers before the alarm was ever sounded.

And by the time the guards found the collapsed chamber, the dust had already settled.

The Phoenix Watches