The best tea in Beijing is in a thatched house in the southern suburbs.
It had just begun to drizzle, and the man in Tsing Yi occupied the only table in the store by himself. The old man who sells tea knows that on the Qingming Festival every year, Mr. Ye will come to this teahouse to drink a pot of this year's new tea.
Gradually, he became a regular customer.
Ye Qingan poured herself a cup of tea.
He remembered what Shang Annan once said: I have been drinking tea for so many years, but there is no tea that is as good as here. Qing'an, if you have the chance, I will take you to try the king's wine.
How did you answer that time?
Ye Qingan shook his head.
Can't remember.
Everything that should be forgotten was forgotten. Shouldn't forget it, forget it all.