Old Capital.
Harvest Moon could be called the farmers' favorite festival.
The wheat they had painstakingly grown all year had turned golden, and the Earth Mother would protect the farmers by reducing this month's rainfall. The joy of harvest put smiles on the country farmers' faces, but when they thought of the taxes they had to pay and the seed loans from spring they had to repay, their hearts still felt somewhat clogged.
The Haluar authorities did not accept grain as tax payment. Their grain was either sold to grain merchants, or several families would join together to thresh the wheat, load it onto carts, and sell it to the state granaries in town. After exchanging it for gold and silver coins, they would carefully hide the money away and return home to wait for tax officials to collect taxes according to how much land each person owned.
But that had nothing to do with the people of the Old Capital. As citizens, most of them did not farm. The land passed down through their ancestors was generally managed by hired hands or leased out, earning them a considerable income every year.
Those with ambition opened small shops in the Old Capital or learned a trade to make a living. Those without ambition spent their days bragging, playing cards, and muddling through the year. Anyway, if someone in the family showed talent for magic, they could take out a loan for schooling. Once the child graduated, wouldn't that little loan be easy to repay?
Even if they worked hard all year, they would only earn around a hundred gold coins. How many years would they have to save to support one person?
But Nassau City's decisive use of violence against violence a few days ago had shown people the majesty