Ninety years ago, on October 22, a small place called Jiangtaibao (将台堡) in northwestern China witnessed a moment that would change the course of Chinese history. After enduring countless life-and-death ordeals, the Chinese Red Army joined forces there, bringing the epic Long March (长征) to an end. It was an astonishing outcome for an army that had once seemed destined for destruction. These were troops once surrounded by enemies far superior in numbers and firepower. Over those two years, Red Army soldiers had marched some 12,500 kilometers across more than ten provinces, crossed nearly 100 rivers, climbed snow-covered mountains, waded through swampy grasslands, and fought more than 600 battles and engagements (top right). Nine decades later, Chinese President Xi Jinping commemorated that extraordinary journey in a speech at Beijing's Great Hall of the People (top left). "The history of the Long March has never faded. The journey continues," he declared. For those unfamiliar with modern Chinese history, that may sound puzzling. How can a military expedition that ended 90 years ago still matter so much? And why does China's leader believe his country is still on a "new Long March"? Major Western media outlets gave relatively brief coverage to Xi's speech. Reuters, for example, briefly mentioned on his remarks about economic development and military modernization. Interestingly, 90 years ago, before American journalist Edgar Snow traveled to northwestern China to interview Mao Zedong and the Red Army, Western media knew surprisingly little about these forces either. Many reports relied heavily on information supplied by the Kuomintang, portraying the Red Army's strategic retreat as a march toward inevitable defeat. History had other plans. As a historian and observer of contemporary China, I find this extraordinary reversal of fortune fascinating. How did an army that many believed was doomed to destruction not only survive, but eventually help reshape the destiny of China? And what is it about that remarkable journey that still resonates with Xi 90 years later? To find the answers, we need to go back even further-to a time when China itself was struggling for survival. The story begins in the 19th century. Following the First Opium War of 1840, China suffered repeated military invasions by Western powers and Japan, along with unequal treaties, territorial concessions, enormous indemnities, and a succession of devastating wars. Just how far did these humiliations go? Consider two examples. In 1860, British and French troops looted Beijing's magnificent Old Summer Palace, taking away countless priceless treasures, before they burned it to the ground. And what happened next? Did Britain have to compensate China for the destruction? Quite the opposite. China paid enormous indemnities instead, plus giving part of the Kowloon Peninsula away to Britain. Then came Japan, a country that had once faced many of the same pressures from Western powers. In 1894, Japan took a gamble and launched a surprise naval attack on China, destroying China's prized fleet. China was forced to cede Taiwan and pay Japan an enormous indemnity, money that would help fuel Japan's rise as a power to invade China again and again. For centuries, China had regarded itself as one of the centers of world civilization. But by the late 19th and early 20th centuries, growing numbers of Chinese began to question whether a civilization with thousands of years of history could still find its place in the modern world. Some sought a better life abroad. Others placed their hopes in reform. Still others concluded that the entire political system had to go. One of the most prominent among the latter was Sun Yat-sen (孙中山). In 1911, his revolution broke out. The following year, China's last emperor abdicated. The Republic of China, Asia's first republic, was born. At last, it seemed, a glimmer of dawn had appeared after a long night. But overthrowing an empire was one thing. Building a strong, modern nation was quite another. Sun and his fellow revolutionaries commanded only limited military forces. When the revolution erupted, much of northern China remained under the imperial control, while the dynasty's most powerful modern army was commanded by a deceitful minister named Yuan Shikai (袁世凯). The revolutionaries had little assurance of victory if they attempted to unify the country by force. Eventually, the two sides reached a political compromise: Yuan would secure the emperor's abdication, while Sun would step down as provisional president and allow Yuan to succeed him. Yet the compromise brought China neither genuine democracy nor lasting unity. Yuan was authoritarian, even audaciously restored the monarchy and crowned himself emperor in 1915. After his death in 1916, China descended to endless fighting between warlords. Time and again, Sun Yat-sen tried to organize military campaigns against Yuan and other warlords, but his efforts were repeatedly frustrated by his lack of military strength. He also looked abroad for help. Sun once spent years living and studying in the United States, so he turned to Washington for support, even writing to the US president. But the assistance he hoped for never came. The turning point came from an unexpected direction: the Soviet Union. It offered Sun financial, military and organizational assistance. It helped reorganize Sun's Kuomintang (KMT) into a more disciplined and effective political party and supported the establishment of the Whampoa Military Academy (黄埔军校), which trained a new generation of brilliant modern military officers loyal to the revolutionary cause. As part of this cooperation, Sun paved the way for the united front between CPC and KMT. In January 1924, the Kuomintang held its First National Congress in Guangzhou (广州), formally establishing this new alliance. Among the delegates was a 31-year-old Mao Zedong, who served as the acting head of the KMT Central Publicity Department. It is a remarkable twist of history: Mao, who would later lead the Communist Party of China (CPC) to victory over the KMT, once served in the leadership of the very party he would eventually defeat. The alliance also fueled the rapid growth of the CPC. When the CPC was founded in 1921, it had just over 50 members. By 1925, that number had grown to around 1,000. By 1927, it had surged to nearly 60,000. In 1925, Sun Yat-sen died of illness. Having devoted much of his life to the pursuit of China's revolution and modernization, he never lived to witness the military breakthrough his revolutionary movement was about to achieve. In 1926, the KMT and CPC jointly launched the Northern Expedition from Guangdong in southern China. This time, the outcome was dramatically different from Sun's earlier failed military campaigns. The revolutionary forces swept northward, defeating one warlord army after another and advancing rapidly into central and eastern China. The reunification of China seemed within reach. But just as the revolution appeared to be on the verge of triumph, the alliance that had made it possible began to fall apart. In the spring of 1927, Chiang Kai-shek, a self-proclaimed disciple of Sun and one of the most powerful commanders of the National Revolutionary Army, launched a purge of Communists. Large numbers of CPC members were slaughtered. Chiang soon took over the supreme leadership within KMT. For the CPC, this was a struggle for its very survival. On August 1, 1927, Communist leaders, together with units of the National Revolutionary Army under their command or influence, launched an armed uprising in Nanchang (南昌), Jiangxi Province. Other uprisings ensued. Beginning in 1928, the Communist-led forces gradually adopted the name Red Army. Decades later, August 1 would be designated as the founding anniversary of the People's Liberation Army (PLA). But the Communists now faced a fundamental question: Where could this newly independent revolutionary army go, and more importantly, how could it survive? In the early stages of their armed struggle, some CPC leaders, influenced by the Soviet revolutionary experience, believed that capturing major cities was essential to achieving nationwide victory. Yet China was a very different country from Russia. When the Bolsheviks seized power in 1917, Russia was engulfed in World War I, with much of its army fighting at the front. The overwhelming majority of China's population lived in the countryside, and major cities were firmly controlled by the KMT and other military forces. The Communists repeatedly attempted armed uprisings in major cities, only to suffer defeat after defeat. Mao began charting a different course. If the Red Army was not yet strong enough to capture major cities, why not turn instead to the countryside, where most Chinese people lived and the KMT's military grip was weaker? There, the Communists could establish revolutionary bases, mobilize the peasantry, build up their armed forces and gain the strength to challenge the KMT. In the autumn of 1927, Mao led the surviving forces of the Autumn Harvest Uprising to the mountains in Jiangxi and Hunan provinces, where he began establishing a rural revolutionary base. In 1930, Mao wrote "A Single Spark Can Start a Prairie Fire (星星之火可以燎原)", expressing his conviction that a small revolutionary force could grow into a powerful movement. In 1931, the Provisional Central Government of the Chinese Soviet Republic was established. Mao was elected chairman of both its Central Executive Committee and its Council of People's Commissars. It was around this time that the title "Chairman Mao", by which he would later become known around the world, began to gain widespread use. But as the Red Army grew stronger and its revolutionary bases expanded, Chiang Kai-shek became determined to stamp out the movement. He wanted to extinguish Mao's spark before it could spread into a prairie fire. Between 1930 and 1934, the KMT launched five major encirclement and suppression campaigns against the Communist-controlled Central Soviet Area. The KMT enjoyed overwhelming advantages in manpower, weapons and resources. Yet its first several campaigns failed to crush the Red Army. During the earlier campaigns, Mao Zedong played a leading role in directing the Red Army's operations. But by the fifth encirclement campaign, the situation had changed dramatically. Having learned from his earlier failures, Chiang Kai-shek adopted a new strategy: building fortified blockhouses, advancing step by step, and tightening the economic blockade to steadily squeeze the Red Army's territory. Meanwhile, Mao Zedong had already been stripped of his main military command responsibilities. In 1934, the Red Army suffered devastating losses, and the situation deteriorated. By October, the Red Army could no longer hold its hard-won revolutionary base. It faced an agonizing decision: Abandon the territory it had spent years building up and set out into the unknown. Today, we know the Long March as a historic journey with a clear beginning, an ending, and a place in history. But for the soldiers who embarked on it, the road ahead was filled with uncertainty. They had to evade enemy forces that vastly outnumbered them while battling hunger, disease, raging rivers, snow-covered mountains and swampy grasslands (bottom left). It was at this desperate moment that Mao Zedong's previously sidelined military ideas began to regain influence. He gradually assumed the leading role in military strategy and in the party again. As the Red Army struggled to survive, Mao's once-dismissed military ideas began to gain ground. He gradually emerged as the dominant figure in the Party's military leadership. Against extraordinary odds, the Red Army eventually reached northwestern China, where it found a new foothold. Why does the Long March hold such special significance for Xi Jinping? Beyond its importance in the history of the CPC, there is a personal connection that many observers may not be fully aware of. Xi's own family history and formative years are deeply intertwined with northwestern China. In the 1930s, Xi's father, Xi Zhongxun (习仲勋), together with fellow Communists such as Liu Zhidan (刘志丹), helped establish and expand a revolutionary base along the border between Shaanxi and Gansu provinces. Its existence played a crucial role in the Central Red Army's decision to establish a new foothold in northern Shaanxi, when the exhausted army finally reached northwestern China after its grueling journey. In the years that followed, the Communist Party made Yan'an its main center of leadership, rebuilding its strength, promoting a united front against Japanese aggression, and taking part in China's resistance against Japan. After WWII, the Communists emerged from this northwestern stronghold and, following several years of civil war, established the People's Republic of China in 1949. Decades later, Xi Jinping's own political journey would also begin in northern Shaanxi. In 1969, not yet 16 years old, Xi left Beijing for a rural village in Yan'an. He spent the next seven years living and working alongside local farmers. It was in that village that he joined the Communist Party, became the village Party secretary, and developed his understanding of rural life, grassroots society and public service. For Xi, therefore, Yan'an and northern Shaanxi are more than historic places associated with the Chinese revolution. They are also places that profoundly shaped his own life and political outlook. As a young man, Xi developed a keen interest in the history of the Long March. According to the wife of writer Wang Yuanjian, who had interviewed numerous Red Army veterans and devoted much of his work to telling their stories, Xi would carefully take out a notebook and jot down notes whenever Wang recounted their experiences during their conversations in the 1980s. In the years that followed, both as a provincial official and later as China's top leader, Xi repeatedly visited historic sites along the Long March route. For Xi, the Long March is far more than a military expedition to be commemorated. It also offers enduring lessons about confronting crises, finding the right path forward, mobilizing the people, and remaining committed to long-term goals. In the 1930s, the CPC faced a fundamental question: how could it survive military encirclement and a deepening political crisis? Today, China faces a very different set of challenges. How can a country of more than 1.4 billion people achieve modernization on such an unprecedented scale? How can it ensure that the benefits of development are shared more widely, rather than concentrated in a handful of regions or among a privileged few? How can it achieve technological breakthroughs amid intensifying global competition? How can it continue to grow economically while protecting and restoring the environment? And how can it stay the course toward its long-term goals amid geopolitical upheaval and growing external pressures? None of these challenges can be overcome overnight. As Xi once put it: "The Long March of our generation is to achieve the Two Centenary Goals and realize the Chinese Dream of national rejuvenation." In Xi's vision, Chinese modernization means common prosperity for all, cultural and intellectual advancement, harmony between humanity and nature, and national rejuvenation through peaceful development (bottom right). Since 2012, China has achieved its goal of lifting nearly 100 million rural residents out of extreme poverty, while continuing to invest in infrastructure, industrial upgrading, technological innovation and the transition to greener development. From electric vehicles and robotics to artificial intelligence and space technology, China is seeking to position itself at the forefront of a new wave of technological change. But these achievements do not mean that China's modernization is complete. An aging population, regional disparities, technological bottlenecks, foreign trade restrictions and an increasingly complex international security environment all pose long-term challenges. Xi has often drawn on the imagery of the Long March to describe the difficulties China still faces: "There are still many 'snowy mountains' and 'grasslands' for us to cross." Of course, history is not a straight road leading inevitably to victory. Every major decision during the Long March involved enormous risks, and countless soldiers never lived to see its end. China's subsequent development has also involved setbacks, mistakes, costs and adjustments. Ninety years ago, the Long March confronted one fundamental question: How could the Chinese revolution survive and move forward when almost every road seemed blocked? Ninety years later, Xi's vision of a "new Long March" seeks to answer another: How can a nation of more than 1.4 billion people chart its own path toward modernization in a world of profound uncertainty and change? The era has changed. The mission has changed. But for Xi, one spirit remains worth passing down from generation to generation: The determination to hold fast to one's convictions, find a way forward, and keep going, no matter how daunting the obstacles. And perhaps that is what makes his words on the 90th anniversary of the Long March's victory especially worth reflecting on: "The history of the Long March has never faded. The journey continues."