Chapter 2607: Jiujiang Great Market

Huang Xiyin hadn't expected Zhang Xiao, an outsider, to know so much about Jiujiang's water conservancy. Assuming the man wanted to hear the Song dynasty's achievements praised, he obliged with flattery: "Ever since the enclosure was built, the tidal fields of Xiqiao have enjoyed nothing but good harvests. Guangzhou became China's greatest rice market, exporting surplus grain to Fujian and Zhejiang—the famous 'Guang Rice.' Truly a work of merit for our age and blessing for a thousand generations."

Zhang Xiao accepted the flattery without awkwardness. The Sangyuan Enclosure genuinely was a marvel of ancient engineering, protecting fourteen bao across Nanhai and Shunde—thousands of qing of fertile land supporting vast populations. It ranked among the most critical embankments under Guangzhou Prefecture's jurisdiction, and a vital source of tax revenue.

"There's a particular section of the dike," Zhang Xiao continued, "only a few hundred meters long, yet absolutely crucial to the entire enclosure."

Zhang Jiayu's interest was piqued. "Which section, Chief?"

"The Heng Dike of Jizan Village—built during the Yuan Dynasty." Zhang Xiao gestured toward the distant mountains. "It sits at the foot of Xiqiao Mountain. If the Dalu Gorge Dike ever broke, floodwaters would surge around the mountain and drown the plains behind it. Once the Jizan Heng Dike was completed, the swamp water trapped inside the enclosure could finally be pumped out by waterwheels. That opened up new land for farming and settlement. Villages moved down from the foothill terraces onto the lowland plains. Sluice gates controlled the tidal flow, and single-crop rice became double-crop rice." He paused. "But by the Ming Dynasty, silt had accumulated at the Daoliu Harbor outlet. Whenever floods came, the enclosure couldn't drain—worse, the West River's floodwaters would reverse course and pour back in, devastating homes and fields. The damage grew worse each year. Finally, in the twenty-ninth year of Hongwu, Chen Bowen of Jiujiang rallied the Guan, Cen, and other great clans to dam Daoliu Harbor. They sank stone-laden boats into the river, plugging that outlet entirely. Combined with dozens of li of dikes across Nanhai, Xinhui, Sanshui, and Shunde counties, they formed a continuous barrier against the tidal backflow."

Zhao Hening had been gazing around the Dafa boat, but now the conversation drew her in. "Chief, if the Sangyuan Enclosure was so important—blocking all that tidal water—why do I see ponds everywhere instead of rice fields?"

Zhang Xiao smiled. "Things are a unity of opposites, little girl. Every benefit carries a disadvantage; we simply choose the lesser evil. After the enclosure was sealed, it blocked the tidal backflow, yes—but it also trapped water inside, creating a new flooding problem. To cope with waterlogging, villagers in Jiujiang, Longshan, and Longjiang dug out the low-lying fields most prone to flooding and turned them into ponds. The ponds served double duty: storing water and raising fish. They dug deep to hold more water, then piled the excavated mud around the edges. Those raised banks are called 'ji'—the same character as 'embankment,' just written differently."

Zhao Hening looked at him with newfound admiration. "So that's where the 'Ji-Tang'—the Dike-Ponds—came from."

"Exactly. They first appeared in the lowest-lying areas: Jiujiang, Longjiang, Longshan. It marked a fundamental shift in how the Sangyuan Enclosure was farmed during the early Ming."

Li Yao'er watched the passing scenery and reflected that success truly required "favorable timing, geographical advantage, and human harmony." Tens of thousands of mu of fish ponds had developed here naturally—why had they insisted on digging new ones back in Xiangshan? She blamed the bandits who'd overrun the countryside before, making proper surveys impossible. They'd gone straight to Xiangshan for its textile industry without ever scouting properly.

As the journey continued, Zhang Xiao's group passed rice fields on higher ground, though the grain produced within the Sangyuan Enclosure had fallen short of self-sufficiency since the Wanli era. The closer they drew to the low-lying areas around Jiujiang and the two Longs, the more dike-ponds appeared, spread across the landscape like squares on a chessboard. Shrubby plants lined the pond banks, their trunks cut cleanly near the roots, already sprouting fresh branches and tender buds. Other banks bore fruit trees—longan, lychee, and citrus.

"Chief, everyone says Jiujiang is the birthplace of mulberry dike fish ponds," Zhao Hening said, "but I don't see any mulberry trees." Born in Jiangnan, she knew the Jing and Lu mulberry varieties—deciduous trees with either abundant fruit and small serrated leaves, or fewer berries with stout branches and thick foliage. All along Jiujiang Creek, she hadn't spotted anything familiar.

Li Yao'er wasn't surprised. After returning from Hangzhou to Lingao, Zhao Hening had lived an ordinary life, attending school with the Initial Class. Her agricultural training lagged behind children raised by the Agricultural Committee. Li Yao'er pointed at the new growth on the pond banks. "That's mulberry. The variety here differs completely from the northern ones. It's called Guangdong Mulberry—a shrub, not a tree."

"Oh." Zhao Hening scratched her head, embarrassed, a blush spreading across her delicate features.

Zhang Xiao laughed. "Hening doesn't exercise her four limbs and can't tell the five grains apart now?"

"Teacher Zhang, don't tease me too!" She crossed her arms in mock anger. "I'm better at raising silkworms than you are! Hmph!"

Zhang Jiayu had been following Zhang Xiao for some time now. He'd met quite a few "Chiefs" and learned that Australians genuinely lacked the strict hierarchies toward subordinates that Ming society demanded. Still, Zhao Hening's behavior surprised him. She was supposedly Chief Zhao's "adopted daughter"—which, to Ming sensibilities, usually meant a slave in all but name, a way to circumvent court restrictions on bondservants. Yet she acted every bit like a spoiled princess, without a shred of servant's deference. Lost in thought, he found himself staring at her.

Zhao Hening felt eyes on her back, watching her embarrassment with amusement. She spun around to scold whoever it was—and met Zhang Jiayu's gaze directly. Targeted by such a handsome young man, her heart lurched and her face flushed crimson. Covering her embarrassment with petulance, she declared, "Hmph! You're all bullying me! I'm ignoring every one of you!" Then she fled to the stern to watch the spray kicked up by the propeller.

In that moment of eye contact, something about those clear eyes stirred Zhang Jiayu. He realized his impropriety and wanted to apologize—but propriety between men and women forbade such proximity. His legs might as well have been rooted to the deck. He stood frozen, torn between impulses, silently berating himself: Look not at what is contrary to propriety. Zhang Jiayu, you're truly a beast!

Zhang Xiao and Li Yao'er exchanged knowing glances, one shaking his head, the other shrugging.

Zhang Xiao suddenly pointed toward the distance, where large patches of Guangdong Mulberry spread across the landscape. "What place is that?"

"That would be Datong, Chief," Huang Xiyin replied. "There's a market nearby called Datong Market, already within Jiujiang Fort's territory."

Before long, the fleet approached Jiujiang Great Market. Along the way, no one had been foolish enough to threaten two steamships belching black smoke. The bayonets of the National Army Battotai reminded every passing merchant and boatman: Australians were coming.

"This place is thriving!" It was Zhang Xiao's first time witnessing such rural prosperity. Compared to Lingao at the beginning of D-Day, this scene was like clouds above mud.

According to historical records, from the Ming Dynasty's Wanli period through the Qing's Qianlong era, the Sangyuan Enclosure region contained two cities and fifteen markets—nearly one per bao, spread evenly across the territory. The goods traded were diverse, dominated by rice-farming products. Jiujiang Township, benefiting from its monopoly on fish fry and a thriving silk-weaving industry, had developed an unusually dense concentration of markets.

Agricultural needs dictated that the enclosure's intermediate markets clustered at water-network junctions, serving as transit hubs between the Sangyuan Enclosure and the outside world. These markets operated largely independently, each covering its surrounding grassroots markets without much overlap—satisfying the demands of broader regions without directly competing.

Before the Jiajing era, commoners were forbidden from building family temples to venerate ancestors; only officials could establish such shrines by imperial grant. After Jiajing, the Emperor permitted common families to erect ancestral shrines. From then on, family temples and ancestral halls proliferated throughout the Pearl River Delta. As the saying went: "Shunde has ancestral halls, Nanhai has family temples." Market construction fell to the clans, creating a characteristic layout: shrines and temples at the center, shops radiating outward around the ancestral hall. The markets of the late-Ming Sangyuan Enclosure were enclosed spaces with gates at every entrance. Many passages led to neighboring villages or river creeks.

In the first year of Zhengde, Jiujiang villagers leveraged their waterway access to build the Tianfei Temple Front Market and Kaibian Market along Shima Creek and Li Hai—Jiujiang Creek. By the late Ming and early Qing, three markets—Li Hai, Liangcun, and Yuewan—formed a stable tripod. Over a hundred market pavilions were constructed for commercial activity. Generations of local gentry participated in their development: Huang Zhong, Junior Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices; Censor Chen Wanyan; Prefect Huang Yingxiu; along with Zhu Rang, Guan Jiyi, and others. By the mid-Qing, the three markets had merged in name as Jiujiang Great Market. During the Republic, it earned independent city status alongside Foshan, Jiangmen, and eight other areas, gaining the nickname "Little Guangzhou"—testament to its prosperity.

Jiujiang Great Market's development paralleled Foshan's: both flourished through local handicraft industries rather than government decree. The main street ran along both banks of Jiujiang Creek, with waterfront shops lining each side. These facing storefronts formed what locals called "palms joined together," while other streets and alleys branched off in a "Fei" (non) character pattern following the river's course. Rice shops, money houses, silk and satin merchants—all were represented. The streets were narrow, barely two meters wide. On market days—the 3rd, 6th, and 9th—crowds packed so tightly that water couldn't leak through. From morning to night, heads bobbed in an endless tide of activity.

After taking office, Zhang Xiao had studied both Ming Dynasty and Senate policies on rural trade. Since ancient times, imperial power never reached down to the countryside. The Ming court maintained a laissez-faire attitude toward rural markets, neither encouraging trade nor interfering with it. If commerce remained small-scale, officials rarely bothered collecting taxes. These modest rural exchanges escaped the court's commercial tax policies entirely. That said, areas below county level weren't completely ungoverned. Since the Yuan Dynasty, Patrol Divisions—Xunjian Si—operated under county-level yamen, stationed at key towns, markets, and passes under the magistrate's jurisdiction. The Inspector, or Xunjian, typically held rank 9a. Though the Patrol Division's original purpose emphasized public security and military functions, over time a distinction between civil and military inspectors emerged, giving the office characteristics of a county dispatched agency.

(End of Chapter)