Speaking of which, Yang Zhengshan had been to Songhe Prefecture before. Back when the Tenglong Guard had just begun developing maritime trade, he had once come to Songhe Prefecture, and at that time, he had even blocked the ceremonial procession of a Censor-in-Chief of the Left.
Songhe Prefecture was still the same as before, incomparably bustling. Pedestrians flowed endlessly along the streets, and the shops on both sides were all filled with customers coming and going.
If one only looked at the scene inside the city, it was absolutely the picture of a flourishing age.
But when Yang Zhengshan and Yu Qingyi hired a multi-story ship and left Songhe Prefecture City, what they saw was another scene entirely.
In the river channel, all manner of tall or ornate ships traveled without end like a long dragon, fully displaying Songhe Prefecture's prosperity and wealth in vivid detail. Yet in the fields on both banks of the river, it was another sight altogether: poor commoners, one after another, with sallow faces and thin bodies, dressed in ragged clothes, sweating like rain as they worked in the fields.
From white-haired elders to seven- or eight-year-old children, all labored bitterly beneath the blazing sun.
Their skin had been scorched dark and swarthy by the sun. Their faces held not the slightest trace of color. Their eyes were filled with misery, numbness, and hopelessness.
Jiangnan's wealth had nothing to do with the poor commoners. Its wealth belonged only to officials, merchants, powerful clans, and Martial Dao forces. Ordinary commoners were merely a flock of farm serfs to be squeezed by others at will.
In Jiangnan, independent farmers had almost vanished completely. Ordinary farming households had all become tenant farmers.
They had no fields. They could only rely on renting land from landlords to feed themselves,