"Don't make a sound." When his bloody palm covered her lips, Wen Nanxing tasted the unique mineral smell of Wuyi Mountain rock tea. The rusty smell of the man's breath sprayed on the back of her neck, and the emerald cufflinks made her butterfly bones ache. In the darkness, only the cinnabar mole on the tiger's mouth of his left hand could be seen, as bright as the pomegranate juice spilled on the steps on the day his mother remarried. After receiving the "Purple Jade Ice Bud" from a mysterious man, the trajectory of her life completely changed.
The boy dipped charcoal into her eyebrows and drew camellias on her eyebrows: "This is the amulet given by the king!" Wen Nanxing sprinkled the tea powder into his collar: "This is the curse cast by the little tea spirit. Big brother will be smelled of my tea wherever he goes to the end of the world!"
"Nan Xing, I dreamed last night that we were making tea and copying scriptures in the ancient book library. When I return to China at the end of the year, how about we take down the old tea room outside the west gate?" On the back of the letter, I drew a sketch of the restaurant with Pu'er tea paste: in the front room is a Ming Dynasty tea cabinet that they restored during their sophomore year, and the counter is designed as a giant tea grinder. There is also a drawing of a fat cat taking a nap in the far corner, with jasmine tea jelly scattered around its paws - it was the medicinal recipe he secretly prepared from ancient books when she had a stomachache.
Lu Yanci's pen left ink spots on his resume. He has seen too many tea masters who use intangible cultural heritage as wedding clothes: Suzhou embroidery cheongsam with Hermès silk scarf, gilt tea set with Patek Philippe. But I have never seen anyone who really dared to let charcoal ash get on his body, as if the coarse cloth tea clothes were a second layer of skin, wrapped in the soul that grew from the clouds of Wuyi Mountain and the morning dew of Anxi.
Concept: Tea Zen Love