Shen Zhaoning squatted in front of the stove, roasting this year's new tea with dried osmanthus. The tea leaves rustled in the iron pot. She had grown up listening to this sound since she was twelve years old. The stepmother said that what kind of future could a girl's family have if she hangs out with tea sellers all day long? She said nothing and only turned down the heat. It was at this tea stall last year that a customer from the north drank the tea she brewed and said, "This is the taste of Jiangnan." She remembered that sentence for a year.
